jjeeeo reblogged
taken last night in vrchat, a girl with an all might avatar was tearing it up then i asked my boyfriend (the prince) to go join her
jjeeeo reblogged
jjeeeo reblogged
⦉HACKED?⦊ - DBH Connor x Reader
-yikes, this is my first fic in a long?? while and my first piece of writing ina LONGGGG while. I’m so so sorry if its really bad im out of practice and am reallyyyyy sleep deprived rn and so yeah
i’m also testing out different person p.o.v’s this one is first person pov bc thats what i think im best at. ANYWAYS I HOPE U LIKE IT??
words: 1,283
warnings: none
> I walk into the building, fresh rain dripping off my umbrella and coat as I hang them up. Nodding towards Captain Fowler in his office, I head to my designated desk. I accidentally make eye contact with someone for a quick second. He cocks his head to the side, staring at me from his own desk. Of course, he noticed me looking at him for less than three seconds. I felt his eyes on me while I unpack the things I brought from home. Observing everything I set on top of the desk. Photos, a birthday card, pens, along with other important materials for work. I adjust my grey pencil skirt and formal, black blouse in a nervous tick. Before sitting, I place a small plant next to my incredibly advanced computer.
His eyes still burn into the back of my head and I sit absolutely still. Why was he staring so intently at me? Is he waiting for me to make one wrong move? Perhaps it’s because I’m new, most people are rather cold and distant with new employees. It’s because he doesn’t know me yet, that’s it. I quickly begin to unlock my computer with my work account and scan the cases solved and the ones I need to start on. My eyes dart to a little mirror I put for decor besides the plant. He’s still staring. He’s analyzing everything I have and do. It should be really, deeply creepy. But it’s not. No, he just looks like a curious puppy seeing a new person for the first time.
I stand and immediately make my way to his desk, “Hello, may I help you? You’ve kind of… been staring at me for a while.”
“I’m sorry, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“Ah,” I try to relax him with a wave, “It’s nothing. Any particular reason why?”
“Why what?”
“The staring. I thought that would be a bit obvious.”
“Oh. Yes. I was staring because I haven’t seen you yet. I scanned you to find out more information.”
“You do know you could just ask, right? I’m (Y/n) (L/n), what’s your name?”
He adjusts his tie according to his own specific standards, “I’m Connor. I am the android sent by CyberLife.”
“See how easy that was? It’s nice to meet you, Connor,” I say with the most sincere smile I can muster.
“Who the hell are you? And why are you talking to Connor?” A grey-haired, older man says. His hair quite unkempt and reeks of alcohol.
“It’s (Y/n) (L/n). She’s new here.”
I give a quick smile before replying myself, “Yeah, I’m here to help with all sorts of cases. From drug smuggling to homicides!”
“You said that with too much enthusiasm, but whatever.”
“”“”“”`
I watch (Y/n) walk back to her desk after more idle conversing. Her hair flowing behind her, almost like a cape. She sat in her chair and proceeded to work. Like I should be doing, but something about her isn’t letting me focus. I grew warmer when she was near me, a strange, good feeling of warmth. Not overheating, no, the sensation was much different. It’s still lingering now just from watching her at her desk. She looks into her mirror like she had done previously. Smiling. I can feel my lips forcibly form into a smile to match. There’s something wrong. Something wrong with my systems- coming from (Y/n). What did she do to me?
//▲S̶o̵f̶t̴w̸a̷r̸e̵ ̵I̶n̷s̸t̵a̵b̶i̶l̷i̴t̴y̵▲//
My hands tingle with artificial nerves, stretching out above my keyboard. Erratically, my eyes shift from the screen back to her. She must have hacked me. When? How? She only just arrived and talked to me very little. I need her to stop, she’s ruining my rate of mission success. Her skill is beyond amazing. How exactly did she get into my sensors and such without touching a wire inside me? Why would she even do that? Maybe she’s set up to do it- her honey sweet smile and kind, accepting eyes deceiving even the most advanced android.
She’s fixated on the screen in front of her, reading what must be one of her cases. Her fingers softly graze the keyboard as she reads and it gets my systems heating up a bit. I don’t understand. I don’t understand how staring at her confuses my systems, processors, and such. I wonder what kind of thing she’s got in me. What hacking process could cause me to react like this? I shake my head slightly, glancing at Lieutenant Anderson for a moment. He looks like he has had a rough night. And morning. And evening.
I’d scan him to see how he is doing health wise, but I have time to after I deal with (Y/n). I’m drawn to her instantly when she stands up, her ID card bouncing off her torso as she walks. She’s most likely going to look at evidence of cases. I get up to follow, walking at a pace both determined and hesitant. I watch her, watching her swipe her card to gain access, I step in to provide assistance. Her card won’t work right now, she is fairly new and on day one.
“Hello, Detective (L/n). Do you need assistance?”
“Oh, yes! Please and thank you, Connor. And by the way, I’d prefer if you called me (Y/n).”
“(Y/n),” I repeat and press my hand on the interface by the door.
Her face twists in a weird delight while she looks from my hand to the now open door. I suppose she’s never seen an android at all, really. Then how would she even know how to hack me? (Y/n) gives an appreciative nod before walking in. I follow right behind her, hand connecting to her shoulder as soon as the door closes with an audible click.
“Why are you hacking me, (Y/n)?”
She twists around, face showing her confusion, “Connor? What do you mean?”
“Give it up, you’re hacking my systems and making me… different. Heat up.”
“No, no I’m not doing that. Are you okay? What happens if someone is hacking you?” She reaches and gently touches my forehead, “Oh my God, you are really warm. I can actually feel it a bit.”
“I could only suspect you to be up to this… You’re the only one I feel hotter while looking at.”
“W… wait, Connor- Uh. Maybe it’s something else.”
“Like what?”
“I-I mean, like, so… people tend to feel a lot warmer, per say, when they find attraction towards someone? Not saying or boasting that I’m attractive, no!”
“You are very pretty, Detective. Extremely eye-catching, one could even say.”
//▲S̶o̵f̶t̴w̸a̷r̸e̵ ̵I̶n̷s̸t̵a̵b̶i̶l̷i̴t̴y̵▲//
“Thank you. You’re very handsome yourself, Connor.”
◬W̷A̴R̴N̴I̴N̶G̶!̴ ̷S̴Y̵S̷T̷E̸M̶S̸ ̵O̸V̴E̶R̷H̴E̵A̷T̸I̸N̴G̷!̸◬
“I-I’m… I’m overheating, (Y/n)… Do you think we could continue talking another time? I’ve heard people enjoy talking over coffee.”
//▲S̶o̵f̶t̴w̸a̷r̸e̵ ̵I̶n̷s̸t̵a̵b̶i̶l̷i̴t̴y̵▲//
Her eyes light up, face glowing with happiness, “Are you asking me on a date, Connor?”
“Only if you’d like to.”
“Well, I don’t think I’d like to….” She pauses, taking a step towards me, “I’d love to.”
I smile, turning to leave and focus on my missions. (Y/n) stops me immediately, grabbing onto my tie. She hastily pulls me down and leaves a kiss on my cheek. Letting go as quickly as she had me, she walks off towards the evidence room. The kiss lingers on my cheek, just like the lingering heat that I had hoped to have gotten rid of. I make my way out, back towards my desk. My smile unwavering, even as Detective Reed bumps into me purposefully.
jjeeeo reblogged
Three shades of a man
Summary: You have seen Bucky Barnes at his best and his worst, and he asks you to help him through it all.
Characters: Bucky x Reader Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY; strong language, and so much smut. Get out of here if you’ re not over 18 please.
A/N: Still working out how to write the smut, so might turn this into a few chapters for practice. Feedback and comments are always more than welcome.
You have seen him at his best, at his worst, and every variation between, but there are three distinct shades of Bucky Barnes that shine bright in your mind. Each is unique and complex, the layered expressions of a man who has been to the deepest corners of hell, but still retained the good heart he had before he was lost in the snow.
In those times when he struggles to cope with everything, he comes to you in the dead of night, wordlessly asking for an intimacy to help him deal with all he has seen and done. It was different every time, what he needed from you to survive himself, and it was in these moments you saw the shades behind the mask he wore in front of the world.
Dark, rigid, controlling. Anxious, desperate, panicked. Calm, relieved, playful.
You loved every single part of him, patiently and unequivocally, no matter what he did or who he became, and he clung desperately to that acceptance, never understanding why you offered it, but taking everything you were willing to give him.
jjeeeo reblogged
When I Saw You
AU Bucky Barnes x Reader Fic
Previous One Shots: The Fluffer* | Perfect Just The Way You Are* | Waxing Gone Wrong
Pairing: Pornstar!Bucky Barnes x Reader | Word Count: 10001 Warnings: Fluff, a little angst, some fat shaming, self-doubt
Another offering in this series. A look into Bucky and Reader’s first meeting. Enjoy!
It was late evening on a hot summer night, and you and Bucky were gathered around the pool with the family of misfits you’d come to love. Vision and Wanda, Clint and Natasha, Tony and Pepper, and Steve were gathered to laugh and drink and eat, celebrating the anniversary of your marriage to Bucky. It had been a good evening and a fun party, loud with laughter and shouting as the guys all competed to impress their ladies.
All except Steve who’d come alone.
You side-eyed him, laughing with Bucky, wondering if you should talk to your husband about setting the blond up with a girl you knew from work, but even as you thought it, you dismissed it. You also dismissed the pang of insecurity the idea of seeing Steve with some gave you.
“Hey, (Y/N)?” Tony called out, pulling you away from your distressing thoughts.
“Yeah?”
“How did you and Barnes meet?” he asked, causing Natasha to snicker.
“Oh… I don’t think-” you tried to protest only to have her speak over the top of you.
“Oh, I think we all need to hear that story!” Natasha laughed, having heard it once before.
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Beauty and The Beast - Sandor Clegane
A broken man comes to the inn you work at, a split leg and tarnished spirit. Maybe you can heal him, both body and mind; and show him just how a speck of beauty can turn a beast into a good hearted man.
Warnings : ROUGH Langauge, BRIEF unwanted touching, slow burn romance thingy. Words : 5826 (longest writing I’ve ever done, but it’s good!)
Life in The Vale was calm and pleasant, for the most part. While you called home a few miles away from the Bloody Gate, you still felt the mountains around the small inn you lived in could protect you from any harm. You had never known anything else; the stone cliffs and high peaks were a part of you as you were of them.
The innkeeper even knew better than to disturb you as you sat above the small tavern. Your ritual of sitting on the crag above was known by the frequent visitors of the inn. If they saw you up there, enjoying the sunset, they’d wave. Men would often whistle, trying to get your attention. You were known through this part of the Vale as the most beautiful. You simply ignored their calls and fixed your eyes on the sky.
Most of the time, they were far too small for you to even notice. Your eyes would be glued to the warm blush colors of the evening sky, not on the ants down below. You’d only clamber down from your high spot when the first sliver of the moon shone on the horizon. Then, and only then, would you return to the small keep.
Except one day, a man caught your eyes. It was the fact he was being carried by four other men that seized your attention. The men rushed their wounded cargo inside the inn, yelling for help and water. Nerves prickled down your spine, just enough to get you on your feet. Darrick wouldn’t take too nicely to their demands of aid; even if they were justified. So, you made your way down the rocks, running into the tavern to stop your employer from making a scene. As it turned out, you were a bit late.
“Who’s this? Why’d ya bring ‘em here?” Darrick had his hands on his hips, his round, grubby face scowling at the men that barged in. One of them looked to be a knight, with shining armor and a sword sheathed in fine leather.
“We found him, he was bleeding badly. He still is,” the knight said. Darrick’s expression only grew more sour and you prepared to step in. “He’s The Hound, the guard dog that fled the Blackwater. The Lannisters would pay to see him returned.”
“Joffrey Baratheon is dead,” Darrick shouted, silencing the floor of the inn. “Cersei Lannister will not want the crowd protector of her dead child unless his head is on a spike.” You stiffened at the thought of the Lannisters killing this man, even if he was The Hound. No one deserved their cruelty. They went as far to kill Robb Stark at a wedding; a wedding!
“We should patch him up,” you said, causing Darrick to look past the knights that brought the man inside. Darrick raised his eyebrows, glancing at you and then The Hound. “We can,” you looked over at the killer being hoisted up, “hold him for ransom. If that doesn’t pan out we can find some other use for him.” Darrick let out a gruff laugh, his fat folds trembling as he did.
“Oh Y/N, you’re lucky that you’re pretty,” Darrick turned away, “your so naive.” You felt your hands curl into fists at his words; you couldn’t let the Lannister kill someone else. Looking down at The Hound, you could see just how dreadful his situation was. He was far from conscious and if he did open his eyes, his dirty hair would hinder his sight. The leg of his trousers was soak in crimson blood and his leg bone poked out of his flesh. Despite his apparent wounds, you could see the strength in him; but if you didn’t help him soon, he would die.You turned to the knight in the clean iron armor, who was looking at you with confusion.
“Well don’t just leave him there! Bring him to the extra room in the back.” The four men heaved The Hound up, following you as you led them past the wooden tables that littered the inn’s floor. The extra room, normally saved for high priced customers, was quite large. The cot in the corner was longer than the rest of the beds in the inn.
“Set him down there,” you said, pointing to the bed. The men set him down with a big groan from the cot. You walked out to the inn’s kitchen to find the store of the healing herbs, bandages, and milk of the poppy. You took everything you could carry, rushing back to the man bleeding out on Darrick’s finest sheets.
When you returned to the room, the knights had removed the man’s armor and left him only in his cloth clothing. The Hound was also trying to haul himself up but the one knight that remained kept him down; or tried to.
“You have to stay down, you’re going to make it worse.” The knight was far from threatening or forceful, so The Hound pushed him away with ease.
“Fuck off, boy,” he spat as tried to push himself up once more. Before he could, you walked in, bringing his attention to you. You could see his brown eyes through his long hair, peering up at you with an unreadable expression.
“You are going to make things worse if you try to walk,” you said walking over to the desk. You set down your medical materials and turned back to him. “Lay back down, Ser… “ you trailed off, not knowing The Hound’s true name. You had only heard the horror stories of his treachery and cage-less temper.
“Clegane, Sandor Clegane,” he hissed. His voice was gruff and it sent a chill down your spine. “I’m no Ser either,” he added, slowly leaning back against the bed. You walked over to the edge of the bed, feeling the eyes of the knight on you.
“Why do you stay?” you asked, meeting the knight’s blue eyes. They reminded you of the sky before sunset, crisp and bright; but something lingered behind his eyes. The look you saw in the eyes of lustful men was mirrored in his expression.
“To aid you, my lady. I’ve heard about the beautiful Y/N L/N across the Eyrie and would enjoy helping you.” You smiled sweetly at this, but he knew it was fake. You didn’t enjoy his attempt at flattery. Moving your attention back to The Hound, the knight shifted angrily on his feet. His attempts to help only gave him grief and he sensed another let down.
“You can have Darrick organize a room for you if you’re so concerned for this man’s health. You are not needed as of now.” The skinny knight let out a huff and walked out of the room.
You leaned over The Hound, studying his split leg. Gently reaching a hand out, you moved some of the fabric away. Clegane let out a hiss as you pulled part of his pants out of his bloody flesh. Ignoring him, you pursed your lips as you thought of a way to mend it. Finally coming to a solution, you walked over to your healing supplies. You tied a smock around your body to keep any blood off your gown. You looked over and saw The Hound watching you.
“Do you want milk of the poppy?” You asked as you looked over ot the desk to grab the things you needed. You heard the man behind you let out scoff.
“No,” he said, a hint of agitation in his voice. At this, you turned and walked back over to him. You set the bandages and salves on the edge of the bed. You looked back at him, meeting his eyes. A section of his hair had fallen to the side, revealing the other half of his face. The mangled, burned skin frightened you at first, but you looked away before you were caught staring for too long.
“It’s going to hurt,” you said, busying yourself with unraveling the dressing for his leg. You glanced back up at him for a brief moment and found him looking at you with an incredulous expression.
“No shit, it’s gonna hurt,” you clenched your jaw at his words. Before you could snap back, Clegane let out a rough cough. A bit of blood came up as he hacked and you frowned.
“That’s no way to speak to the woman who’s going to save your life,” you said, trying to keep calm. You grabbed a cloth and wiped at his mouth, clearing away speck of blood.
“I’m already dead, lass,” he said softly, “there’s no point in trying.” He gently pushed your hand away from his face, causing you to frown.
“Well your groaning and coughing will keep paying customers awake during the night; so I have to do something.” You carefully leaned over him, looking at his leg to see how much of the supplies you should use. While you did that, Sandor was watching you.
Your had a stubbornness about you that reminded him of the Stark girls. Arya would always give him a hard time, while Sansa wouldn’t let it show how much Joffrey had hurt her. He furrowed his brows at the memory of the two girls, a part of him missing them. He felt his lips form half of a bitter smile and was glad when you didn’t see it.
“I’m going to have to set the bone, stitch it up, and then wrap it,” you said aloud. You looked over at The Hound, his eyes still fixed on you. “Are you certain you don’t want milk of the poppy?” The Hound nodded and you mentally readied yourself.
“I’ve been through worse,” Clegane said. You nodded and dipped your fingers in a cleaning salve, gently spreading it around his wound. Your ears picked up a hiss of pain, but you focused on your careful work. “There’s a spot on my neck that could use a bit of that stuff,” he gestured to his neck with a heavy hand and you glanced up at him. His dark eyes were trained on your face when you moved over to examine his neck.
Peeling away the blood soaked fabric of his shirt, you could see the wound clearly. You let out a sigh before getting more salve on your fingers. You lightly brushed your fingers against his bloodstained skin, letting the ointment soak into the bite. You did your best to ignore how close you two were, but you had to get your mind off of it.
“How did you come to get so battered?” The Hound let out a throaty, forced chuckle. You pulled away from his neck, glancing at his face. He wasn’t the cleanest man; dirt and blood covered his face and tangled in his beard. Only something big would’ve been able to inflict the damage you had seen. Perhaps a bear or Shadowcat.
“I was,” he paused and you turned your attention back to his leg. “I was trying to protect someone, tryin’ to keep ‘er safe.” As he talked, you grabbed the gauge for his leg in preparation.
“What attacked you?” you questioned, trying to keep him talking. Clegane only let out a scoff, rolling his eyes and shook his head.
“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he spat. You gazed up at him, holding his eyes as you did. The Hound shifted in his spot, his stone cold exterior melting under your glare.
“I would,” you said firmly, “knowing how your wounds were inflicted would aid me in treating them.” You started to unravel the binding, still looking into The Hound’s face. “Now,” you said, “tell me.” His eyes flickered with something you couldn’t place before he spoke.
“A huge beast of a wom-” before he could finish, you reached over and snapped his broken bone back into place. The bone was slick with blood, but you managed to align it. The Hound let out a loud howl of pain, however it was brief.
“You’re a tricky lady,” he grunted out. An amused smile formed on your lips as the brutish man before you winced and grimaced in pain.
“It had to be done,” you said, wiping your hands on the dirty apron you wore. With now clean hands, you grabbed the needle a thread. As quickly, and as carefully as you could, you stitched up his flesh. The Hound tried his best to stay still, but the jabs of the needle stung after a while. When it was done, you sat back to admire you work. Then you reached for the binding.
“I’m going to have to wrap this around your leg to keep the bone set, so stay still.” He let out a huff, looking at the blood around his leg.
You studied the man, wondering what he was like before his leg split. How many people had he killed in the name of the Lannisters, or just because he wanted to? He wouldn’t be killing anyone for a while after you were done with him. He’d walk with a limp now, be a tad slower too.
Carefully lifting his leg, you wrapped the bandage around the wound. The Hound’s face would twitch and flinch in pain, trying his best not to show how much the injury pained him. You were about halfway through the binding when he started to complain.
“Ya, done yet?” You kept your eyes glued on your work, ignoring him. “It stings a bit, ya know,” he said dryly. Your eyes snapped up to met his, smiling sweetly.
“I thought you had been through worse?” you teased, squinting your eyes at him. The Hound scoffed and leaned back against the headboard of the bed.
“You gotta mouth on you. Only known one girl that ever talked back to me like that.” You shifted and went back to your work.
“What happened to her?” you asked, your voice betraying your thoughts. The deeds The Hound had done for Joffrey were well known. It wouldn’t surprise you if the young king had his dog kill a woman that refused him. Clegane shifted at your tone, sitting up a little from his spot.
“I didn’t hurt her,” he claimed, “I don’t hurt women.” You looked up at him, still waiting to hear what happened to the girl that talked back. He swallowed hard, “she was the person I was trying to protect. But she left me to die.”
“You must’ve deserved it then,” you said with no emotion. The Hound stiffened at your words but he felt you were right. Part of him still wanted to die, wanted to be done with all the petty Lords and stubborn Ladies; but life seemed to still have it’s hold on him. Or at least you were too hard headed to let him just die.
“Aye,” he said dejectedly, “I did.” You curled your lips together and looked up at his eyes. Dirt still covered his face, hiding the man you were trying to save.
“I’ll get a rag to wash you up.” You stood, walking over to the desk at the far side of the room. Sandor Clegane’s eyes followed you as you moved. You obviously didn’t enjoy him, so why were you helping him? His head was too cloudy with pain and exhaustion to think about it properly. So the tired man just watched as you dipped an old rag into water and made your way back to his bedside. You leaned down again, looming over him.
Your eyes scanned over his face, landing on the scarred skin there. The flesh looked to be mangled by flames, with spots of red interlaced with his skin tone. Carefully reaching out, fearful he’d push your hand away, you brushed the rag against his face. His brow furrowed when you cleaned the burned side, watching your expression change from soft to thoughtful. He could only assume that you were thinking about his ugliness, the disfigurement that made him look like the monster everyone in the Seven Kingdoms blabbed about.
“Don’t like whatcha see, lass?” He didn’t know why he even asked. Of course you didn’t like looking at him; no one did. Clegane waited for a snarky answer, but you simply moved the rag to the other side of his face without a word. Once his face was clean, you looked him in the eyes. Something had changed in your eyes, as you looked at the man before you.
“It’s just different,” you said finally. “You’re different, Sandor Clegane.” You dipped the rag in the water once more, handing it to him. “You can clean the rest of yourself,” you stood and looked down at him. “I’ll check in on you in the morning, you should still be alive.”
Sandor let out a husky laugh, “maybe. If I do live, you still gonna give to the Lannisters?” You met his eyes once more, a question on your lips.
“I thought you were passed out when I said that?” The Hound remained quiet, still waiting for your answer. “No, Clegane,” you said finally. “I had to give Darrick a reason to let me treat you. Holding you ransom seemed to win him over.”
“You’re a bright girl, Y/N” he said, with almost a hint of affection in his voice. Your name sounded foreign coming off his lips. He must’ve remembered it from the prissy knight tried to flirt with you. “You shouldn’t be workin’ in a tavern out in nowhere.” You smiled softly and shook your head.
“I’m right where I belong,” you turned back to the door, opening it. “I’ll see you in the morn, try to rest Clegane.” Without another word, you left the room. Sandor shifted against the bed, the wet rag still in his hand. He looked down at it; his thoughts drifting to one of the only people in the world that had showed him a lick of kindness.
You were leaning with your back resting against the wall. The air inside that room was musty with misuse, as the inn hadn’t had a highborn guest in years. That wasn’t the only thing that made it hard to clear your head. Who knew The Hound had fear and a heart. Defending and protecting a little girl seemed below what he was used to, yet it was what lead him to you in the first place. Maybe he wasn’t the beast everyone said he was.
jjeeeo reblogged
jjeeeo reblogged
okay so I’ve seen a lot of artists,including myself, make this common mistake of coloring the palm of a hand(and the sole of a foot) as the same color as the person’s skin tone.
but in fact ,palms and soles are a different color compare to our skin
this is due to the lack of Melanin on them
hope this helps!
jjeeeo reblogged
chelsea072498-deactivated202303
Lost Girl (Possible Triggers!!)
Quick Info - This one is dark. This is not a cutesy little story. You will not have warm fuzzies… No Pairings Word Count - 2573 Warnings - LOTS OF THEM!!! Language, angst, sexual content, triggers…female called whore and slut, abuse, self loathing/doubt. This isn’t a happy story. At all.
@supernaturallyfantastic @mojowoho @winchester11 @mojochester11 @tankcupcakes @frenchybell @wildtendermythologia @p-b-and-cas @babydanixox @charliebradbury1104 @samwinchesterondemonblood @imnotalosechester @mamaredd123 @nichelle-my-belle @spnfanficpond @smoothdogsgirl @butiaintgonnaloveem @tree-of-blue-squirrel @sdavid09 @ivonstiel
Thank you @nichelle-my-belle for encouraging me to post this one.
I have no idea if I’ll turn this into a series later. There’s potential for that, but I do have a lot of stories going on. I won’t say yes or no. I want to see what you all think and then see how I feel.
Lost Girl
The warnings are listed above. This is not a cute love story…
jjeeeo reblogged
ariesthekid
Dead Girl Walkin’.
A/n: Yay! My first marvel fic, and of course it’s Frank, who else would it be? (Maybe Bucky….or Sam..) Points aside, I’m glad he’s the one to kick off this blog. Also big shoutout to @murdochinthetardis For beta-ing some of this. Anyway, Reqs are open, send in ask, blah blah blah.
Summary: (Set pre-season 2) After you get caught trying to do the unthinkable you get a thirty hour ticking time bomb of a punishment, and, yeah, It’s a miracle you’re not dead, truly, but come on.Thirty hours?That’s not enough time to do anything, well…maybe go see Frank. There’s time for that. Or, the one where the reader seeks a friend at the end of the world.
Word Count: 4.9K
Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader.
Rating: E (for explicit, not everyone.)
Warnings: Violence, blood, Cursing, Frank is his own warning, Smut, I’m talking the freaky deaky. It’s rough, and Frank, bless his heart, is a dominant man if there ever was one. But also fluff, because he’s a sweetheart. Pining, God, you two are a mess of it I swear.
Author: Jada.
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It was an absolute fact that you weren’t gonna die a peaceful death. Yeah no, you were gonna go out one of two different ways. One, a Bruce Willis, Die Hard type thing with
at least
two explosions. Or two, someone else is gonna punch your card for you. Full stop. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, that’s it.
Frank threw a guess in once. Said you’d probably go out saving a bunch’a kids from a burning building or something, because you’re a soft ass like that, Sunshine, that’s why. He was three stitches deep on his right arm, and shooting you looks from his side of the couch. Ain’t that right, Sunshine?
Nope. Nuh-uh, not even close. You get a grand total of thirty hours, all Courtesy of Mr. Kingpin himself. Fisk. What kind of name is Fisk anyway? It sounds too much like Fist, or fish, either way it’s awkward. You’re just being pissy, because you got caught, and Fisk is rubbing it in your face.
jjeeeo reblogged
A New Way Of Life Master list
jjeeeo reblogged
Moans and Sighs
Summary: Listening to newlyweds having sex through hotel walls gets you and Dean turned on—but how to relieve it when Sam is asleep in the same room? Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam Word Count: 3,960 Warnings: SMUTT. NSFW!! Fingering, Audio!Voyeur (eavesdropping on sex)/dirty talk?, spoon sex (first time writing that position, sorry!), and risk of getting caught kink. I had fun with this one. Author’s Note: This is the last of my (admittedly very late) submissions to the 2017 Smut Apocalypse. Thanks to everyone for your patience—life and technology were against me this go round. Anyway. This was a fun idea to write, and I hope I gave an original spin on the style of “Sam’s in the room, shhhh!” This was also a submission to my dear friend Jenn’s “Dirty 30 Birthday Challenge” with the Alice in Wonderland quote in bold below. I hope you enjoy it, @avasmommy224!
“I’m so glad that’s over.”
The boys had told you before that they had worked a case that centered around fairy-tale deaths caused by a girl in a coma, and another case where there was a shifter who liked to act out parts of movies.
This last one had rated at least a 12 on your scale of weird: a twisted witch that was obsessed with Alice in Wonderland.
And not even the recent film with Johnny Depp—no, she was a fan of the 1951 cartoon.
It had taken a while for you to piece it together, since the boys had never seen the movie and it had been decades since you watched it yourself. She’d been chopping the victims’ heads off, and there were odd things left at each scene—a dead white rabbit with a pocketwatch tied to it, several heart playing cards in a pile with some empty oysters, and the first victim had a belly full of blue caterpillars, which had been weird enough to draw your attention.
It was lucky that you had a good enough memory to connect the dots.
Well, that, and a cat that witnesses claimed disappeared while smiling. That was kind of a big hint. Turns out it was the witch’s familiar.
Sam was inclined to find the humor in the situation now that the danger had passed; “Oh, come on, at least she threw you an unbirthday party.”
You rolled your eyes at his childishness, walking towards the lobby of the hotel. It had been recommended by the local sheriff as an upgrade from the roach motel you had been in the past three nights, and you were ready for a nice shower to get the mixture of red paint and tea out of your hair—cramming it beneath an old ball cap had surely not improved matters. Hopefully there would even be a bathtub for a nice soak with bubbles—you liked to treat yourself after a successful hunt.
Dean was slower to catch up, having made sure that the Impala and the trunk were all locked up for the night. You threw a smile back at your boyfriend and fellow hunter, glad that tomorrow you’d be heading back to the bunker and your shared bedroom. It had been a long hunt and the adrenaline buzz had left you horny as hell.
From the look Dean had just been giving your ass, you were pretty sure he was in the same boat with you.
jjeeeo reblogged
sebastianstandoffish
A Personal Connection
Author: @sebastianstandoffish
Pairing: Reader (She/Her) x Bucky Barnes
Summary: Bucky may or may not have a crush on Steve’s PA.
Word Count: 5,551
Category: Fluff/Very light smut
Warnings: Cursing (per usual), some smutty stuff but not all that explicit, etc.
A/N: A whole month! Time really flies. This was going to include more explicit smut scenes in it, but, after some deliberation, I’ve decided to put that into a separate work. It’ll be a continuation of this with actual smut in it. Hopefully the separation doesn’t disrupt too much and also allows readers that a) don’t enjoy reading explicit smut and b) don’t connect with an explicitly biologically female reader can still enjoy the story. Thank you for reading and understanding!
She had started out as a way to appease Tony, who had insisted that Steve needed a personal assistant. Stark blathered on and on about how much his life had changed after getting a PA and how maybe a little help with coordinating and the day to day tasks would “remove the stick from that star-spangled ass.”
So, Steve had caved and asked Pepper to set up a couple of interviews with people interested in the job. After a parade of ecstatic fans and sexual propositions, he was just about ready to give up.
Instead, at the end of a very long day of being ogled and fawned over, (Y/N) had appeared with a rose-scented resume and two popsicles she’d bought from the street-vendor outside the Tower. Her smile was sweet and her eyes kind, a little wide at the opulence of the Stark equipment, but not predatory like the previous applicants.
Omg! This is fanTAStic!!!!
jjeeeo reblogged
[X-Men] Study Buddy [Hank McCoy x Reader] (NSFW)
Study Buddy
Hank McCoy x Reader
TAG LIST: @alexsummers-wife, @darcyjonesisaabnormalperson, @idkmanilikefries, @quicksilverbells, @haankmccoy
Again: tried to tag enviouspie but I think they changed their handle. Not sure. Don’t remember if I was supposed to tag anyone else :/
– – – – – – – — — – – — — — — — — — – – — —- — – —- — – – - —
Inspired by a comment @writing-rogue made to @haankmccoy.
“okay but hank helping with your anatomy homework by pointing the things out on his body and him slowly losing clothes as he does this. not that you mind.”
Writing-rogue said it was okay to use.
This is a modern day college AU. Alex Summers is going for a major in physical therapy/sports medicine with a minor in geology (love-hate jogging buddy with Hank. They had a 42% compatibility rating but were still shoved together as roommates/dormmates). Sean is a criminal justice major who constantly debates switching to ichthyology or a master brewer’s program (met Hank through Alex. Not roommates.)
You’re whatever kind of major you want to be but anatomy is required. Not going to get too specific. You’re a barista on campus.
— — – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – — – – - – - - —
You dropped the bags of discounted seasonal coffee on your roll-away storage tower and sighed. Hat hanging on the door handle, you combed your hair back. Cramming your head full of anatomy vocabulary seemed like a good way to get rid of all the shit you had to process today. While college kids weren’t as bad as the standard café crowd, they had their moments.
“If she’d take off those damn sunglasses she’d be able to read the menu,” you couldn’t help but grumble to yourself as you sat down. The customer stood out because you’d almost made her a drink when she saw you reach for the milk.
‘Oh, none of that! I’m trying to go vegan!’ she’d said.
‘Would you like almond or soy milk instead?’
‘Can you have coffee without milk? Like, a mixed coffee? I don’t like it black.’
If you could call a question paradoxical, that would be a perfect example.
You shook your head and used a couple of fingertips to press along the inner corner of your eye brows, murmuring ‘glabella, glabella’ as you went. While the sparsely furnished room wasn’t worth the housing cost, you appreciated the tiny pull-out drawer on the far side of the desk. It had several binders, the daily planner you quit using after the first two weeks of class, and your anatomy book. Dragging it towards you with a body-deflating sigh, you buried yourself in skeletal terms and muscles.
The basics of the skeleton were fairly easy—cranium, cervical vertebrae, thoracic, lumbar, etcetera, etcetera—but the grooves of the bone were throwing you off. You were very hard-headed and stubborn, refusing to stop until you’d mastered the terms. Results were subpar at best; sometimes you’d get the grooves perfectly but forget the associated ‘home bone’.
Then you’d lose it all together, laughing at ‘home bone’.
This is my sign. I need a break, you gave a little moan and rubbed your eyes. I’m rubbing my eyelid—is there a medical term for eyelid? Palpe-something, right? Palpeball? No, palpebral! This sucks…
You stopped rubbing your eyes and slumped against the chair. Hank had been nagging you lately about the repercussions of studying without breaks. He was a Pomodoro Technique supporter—work for twenty-five minutes, rest for five minutes. You told him he had no business advocating for anything when he was a straight up genius who could finish his homework in an hour.
Thinking of the lanky brunette made you grin. Sometimes you wondered how the two of you were friends. Hank was very quiet and easily flustered. He startled easily and tended to stutter or go red in the ears if someone heckled him. The two of you were ‘opposites attract’ at its finest.
It was a bit easier to understand once you found out Alex Summers was his roommate.
Hank McCoy was someone everyone should hate but nobody wanted to. He was back working on his third and fourth PhD—yes, third and fourth—at twenty-three and still had time to socialize. Not enough, Alex would argue, but the time existed.
You honestly didn’t see how.
Rumor had it he was a TA for some of the Biology and Chemistry professors ‘when he felt like it’. It was a suspicion at best but many students saw him hanging around with the teachers. He fit right in with his button-up shirts, cardigans, and array of bowties. A little out of place for his age group but undeniably charming.
Very classic!
He spent most of the time camped out at his table in the coffee shop. Usually tutoring other students. Occasionally working on a paper (but most of the time he had those done already). Lately he’d been refining powerpoints and throwing back coffees like they were shots.
Everything in his giant brain seemed to go silent when he was in front of people his age. You watched him crash and burn at some ‘Student Research Recruit’, unprepared for the dead eyes and side conversations of disinterested students. Your Anatomy class was last on the list and you’d never seen him rush out of something so fast in your life.
The intramural track team was right to be interested in him.
You swung your tired body back up into an admittedly awful hunched position and tried to go over the names again. Knocking prevented you from getting past the sutures, planes, and bones of the skull. Eyes narrowed suspiciously—we usually text. Who’s knocking?—you opened your door. It wasn’t your roommates or any of their friends double-checking which food cabinet was yours, but Hank.
A very furious Hank.
“Where were you?” he hissed, red from his neck to his ears. The odd-but-not-unusual combination of flannel under a brown leather jacket gave him a very ‘dad’ vibe. A very unhappy dad fixing to chew your ass out.
“I’ve been right here,” you mumbled, eyeing him owlishly. Nudging the door open with your elbow, you pointed back to the open book. There was probably a week’s worth of notes and ‘recommended’ activity pages on the desk. You’d found some coloring exercises online and deemed them worthy of your free print credit.
He stormed in, all Beast. Alex had affectionately—or sarcastically, he’d never told you the truth—nicknamed him that after witnessing some mad Frisbee skills. Sean said he was full of shit and Hank was just aggravating drunks who were harassing workers at the late night ‘convenience and grill’ place on campus.
You never got the real story.
The name had several origins, according to Sean and Alex. They could only agree on one: several ultra-competitive fellow braniacs who’d been one-upped too many times (unintentionally and on purpose) also called him Beast (among other things). A few teachers who found themselves threatened by his genius also whispered the name out of earshot.
Hank felt like a massive asshole. This wasn’t how to speak to someone you were worried about.
“Relax, would you? Coffee’s right over there…” you huffed and waved at him dismissively.
Yeah, getting up to answer that would put anyone in a bad mood.
He was just frantic and out of breath because no one knew where you were. The few people he knew at the shop—the few people he bothered to remember, anyways—said you’d left an hour ago. It wasn’t like you to ignore your phone so he started looking for you. Sean and Alex were playing Frisbee on the green but you were nowhere to be found.
Hank walked briskly to the library, standing awkwardly to the side as he craned his neck and stood on his tiptoes to search for you. He knew exactly where you liked to sit—close enough to the reference desk if you needed help and not too far from the vending machines—and was alarmed to find the spot occupied by others.
His heart pounded with all the barely-contained stress and desire to run. You, in all your keen and mystical people-savvy barista ways, had become a fixture in his life. Somehow. He wasn’t sure how it’d gone from personalized cups and random ‘we’re having a promotion!’ texts to whatever this was.
He didn’t know what to call it. He was too afraid to call it anything. Hank didn’t want to call it anything because what did it matter? You didn’t know, anyways!
At least…he didn’t think so.
Alex hadn’t tried to say anything after the Ultimate Frisbee tackle last week. Sean was too smart to say anything. Hank thought the Criminal Justice major was a good fit.
“Where’s your phone? I’ve been texting you for an hour!” Hank swallowed the rage and worry, hyperaware of his embarrassment. His almost-tachycardia diagnosis. His hand moved to snatch up the few discounted bags, fingers curling around the crimped and folded edges, but he couldn’t bring himself to grab them.
It would save him a lot of stress, stuttering, and sweating to just leave but you didn’t deserve such a thoughtless, hasty retreat.
“It’s—where is it? Did I leave it at the shop? I’m pretty sure it needed to charge…” he turned around after listening to you pat and rifle through your apron. Hank watched you dig through your pants pockets and paw through some tips and junkmail on the tiny excuse for a dresser the college included in the housing expense. Your phone had somehow come off the charger cord.
That’s all it was.
He felt like an even bigger idiot now.
Just a simple mistake. An improperly connected cord. That’s all it was. Nothing life threatening.
Asking Alex—damn near begging—to abandon Frisbee and run by the dorm seemed stupid now. You rarely stopped by their dorm, anyways! At the time he wasn’t thinking that, though. The two of you organized another coffee exchange and you couldn’t be found; that’s what he’d been thinking.
His cheeks burned with a residue of panic and unspoken affection. A bit of aggravation, if he was honest. Alex tried to convince him that your absence was no big deal, that you’d probably driven to the nearby strip mall to treat yourself, and jokingly agreed to check the dorm if Hank did his homework for a week.
So now he had a week of Sports Medicine and Geology to do. Fucking rocks…
I’ll throw a rock at his head, Hank thought, finally taking his hand from the coffee bags. He put them on his hips and exhaled through his nose, trying to look as relaxed and casual as possible.
It wasn’t about the fucking coffee anymore.
It was about the silence crushing him. It was about the stupidity of his own tongue; he could speak Latin and give a thesis but couldn’t seem to talk to you unless coffee was involved.
“So, um, what are you working on?”
There was a beat of silence. Your fingers skirted over the pencils that continued to elude you and accumulate as you settled into your chair again. You had every right to stab him with one of them (or all of them) after the way he’d shown up.
“Anatomy,” you answered. He felt the storm blow over with that one word. The tension melted.
“I could help you with that, you know, if you want.” Hank offered meekly.
You looked to him out of the corner of your eyes. He heard your teeth click together lightly as your lips started to twist in the beginnings of a ‘yes’.
Instead you reached for your still-charging phone. Enough power to bring up the home screen, swipe away seventeen text messages and one voicemail (all Hank), and scroll through the history. “’Yes to Friday but I can’t stay. I’ll be lucky if I can make it back to the dorm and brew a cup. Appointments all afternoon. Appreciate the coffee, though.’” you quoted.
He swallowed, hoping the sound didn’t echo like he thought.
“They cancelled,” he managed. He didn’t dare say that he canceled because ‘something unexpected came up.’
You didn’t buy it. Your gaze threatened to shave away his lie and expose him like the practiced hand of a dissection teacher. The seconds passed; his shoulders tensed as he felt his resolve cracking. Your unblinking eyes carefully peeling back the layers.
“You know how it is,” he shrugged. “It’s Friday. Who wants to study? People want to go out and drink!”
You shrugged, finally looking away. Some people were more studious than others. Hank had been outright abandoned during home games. The siren call of tailgates and free booze was hard to compete with.
The repeat question died on his lips, buried in a half-breath casket as you stood up and gently reached for his face. Hank bent down, absently holding his breath, as you started naming plates, sutures, and bones. He nodded, enforcing your correct answers. He’d tried to make a sound—any sound—as his body began to flush under soft sweeps of your hand.
The caress of your fingertips.
Something that was part-whisper, part-hum, and awkward throat-clearing grunt bubbled up when your fingers drifted down his throat to trace the hyoid bone (or where it resided behind his Adam’s apple). You kept trying to turn his head and point out the sternocleidomastoid but Hank always moved back.
His eyes never left you. You vaguely remembered taking off his glasses to trace the nasal bones but you felt like you were seeing his eyes for the first time. They were really fucking blue. Impossibly blue; almost clichély blue.
How had you not noticed this during the coffee visits? Hank didn’t have enviable, complimentary lashes but his lips were very red. He liked to chew on his lips, pens, and the little stoppers the café head for people who took coffee to go.
Maybe it was a side effect? Or maybe he won the genetic jackpot and made out with a pair of MAC-worthy red lips that would forever suit his pale skin.
“Sternocleidomastoid.” you tapped where it should be since he refused to turn his head. Hank ducked his head when you found the carotid artery, his ears heating up. You said nothing about his racing pulse, the smallest of grins tugging at your lips as your fingers danced under the folded lapel to find his clavicle.
It was hard to think as you touched him. Hank’s head, usually so full, had no solution to feel in control. To feel anything but at your mercy.
He had to do something or he’d make a fool of himself. Being quiet wasn’t helping. You’d cupped his face for a few immortalized seconds and he’d lost the ability to nod ever since. All the shitty advice Alex had given him, the girly magazines Sean borrowed from Maeve, the overly detailed ‘I’m going to tell her if you won’t!’ plans Alex basically shouted in the common area every time he left to get coffee came roaring back.
The feel of your hands falling from his body registers at last and Hank panicks. Mourns. He wants desperately to have those sparks on his nerves again.
The Lecturer comes out as he disguises all of his nerves and hastiness with slight flailing and a half-blind twist that leaves his coat hanging on your bedpost. Undoing the buttons on his flannel, Hank looks down as best he can at his own chest. “Now the thoracic region,” Hank straightens up to his full height.
You never imagined that mild-mannered ‘a billion layers’ Hank McCoy would get naked in the name of science. Well, you could. Alex said he actually did a lot of stuff ‘in the name of science’. Granted most of it was the one time he and Sean managed to get him drunk, but he did. ‘For science’ was a running joke between the three of them, the implied excuse when roughhousing or annoying each other in public.
His shoulders weren’t obvious and squared like Alex’s but they weren’t lacking, either. The cardigans and button downs did the dip and soft curve of his shoulders no justice. They either erased it entirely or bulked it up. He talked you through the pectoral muscles, the two of you nearly in sync, as your hands drifted to his long arms. Hank spun himself around, cheeks brightening as you squeezed his biceps.
He didn’t do arm days like Alex. Didn’t do much in the gym, really. Sometimes he was a stand-in for the grappling club because of his height. Hank liked to think he got his arm workout by setting up stuff in the labs, carrying textbooks, and writing all those fucking papers at his desk.
And typing. Typing flexed muscles, too.
Hank rushed you through the biceps and triceps, stiffening when your fingers glided down his thoracic vertebrae. Apparently he’d spaced out as you ticked off the shoulder muscles. He wondered if this is what it was like to be struck by lightning. Your touch shook all of his nerves and damn-near dazed him. His body was hot and tender under the pads of your fingers.
Everything ached.
He pressed your hand against the Teres major as best he could, right hand tucked under his left arm.
“I don’t need to know this, you know. Not right now.” you whispered.
Hank wanted every word. All of your words. The gentle whisper across his back, the tentative plume of heat…
“Infraspinatus,” Hank choked out. “And romboid major.”
He moved his right hand and held it out, tilting it expectantly. Your put your hand in his before you really thought about it. Hank took your wrists in his hands and planted them just outside the spine. “Latissimus dorsi,” you announced simultaneously.
Hank never gave a relationship with you much thought, sure he’d fuck it up before it even began. Now, with your hands on him, with this dangerously open understanding that was so much more than a few terms, it hit him full force.
He wanted your hands to roam forward and find his obliques, to cut a straight line down the nine gastric regions (technically his rectus abdominis), and move to his iliac spine.
But if he turned around you’d see his erection.
Still anatomy, right?
I should leave, the thought was so small and quiet.
“Thoracolumbar fascia,” Hank’s right shoulder rolled and tightened when you swiveled your wrist and sent your nails up the small of his back. “Lumbar triangle.” he took your left thumb and pressed it into a near-imperceptible spot between the external oblique abdominal and what his pants allowed of the latissimus dorsi.
“And that’s it.”
“That’s it?” Hank repeated. “No, you still have more to go through.” he insisted.
“Patella, calves, hamstring, calcaneus. Done.” you tapped a leg with your foot.
The alarms were starting to go off in your head. Hank was half-naked (and he looked really good). If this didn’t stop it would end one of two ways: amazingly or horribly.
You were still the caffeine supplier to his coffee addict. It didn’t have to be anything else. It could be nothing by the end of it. That was the risk.
“What about the gnathion? The tubercle?”
Gnathion? Tubercle?
What the hell were those?
Hank turned to face you in the silence, leaning towards you. His pupils were blown. “Gnathion: the lowest point of the chin.” Hank pinched it with his thumb, pointer finger curled under your lower lip.
THIS IS IT! HOLY SHIT! DO IT, MCCOY! DO IT!
Your lips opened slightly, twitching in anticipation. Hank took his eyes off of them with some effort. “This is your tubercle,” the second-long glance dissolved as he closed his eyes and pressed his mouth to yours.
You threw your arms around his neck and Hank grunted. He stumbled into your bed, hands on your hips as he prodded the mattress blindly with his knee. “Colloquially—shit! My knee!—colloquially—mmm! You’re-you’re a really aggressive kisser!—colloquially known as—”
“Stop talking and get up here!” you breathed as you released him. Hank’s chest flexed with sharp inhales as he looked behind him and stretched his leg up and over the annoying post blocking his way.
Twin bed frames were not made for tall people!
He had to negotiate something with the college just to get a bed he could sleep on!
Flustered, aware of the hair sticking up at the back of his head, Hank straddled you. “Commonly known as the cupid’s bow.” he finished huffily.
He’d given up on saying ‘colloquially known as,’. It was obvious the universe didn’t want him to say it.
“Fascinating,” you raked your nails up his neck and buried them in his hair again. “Now come down here!”
Hank gave a joyful, guttural moan, diving into your mouth again. It was just lips sliding over lips but fuck it was good! Someone ventured out with their tongue—he didn’t know who—and he was gone.
Fuck every phone call in the world! He was not leaving!
His body burned, trembling under your hands as they smoothed over his shoulder blades. The sensation of feeling everything but being aware of nothing—when did he tilt his head? Why were you still dressed?—felt like pulling an all-nighter with an unsafe amount of caffeine.
It was amazing. He didn’t know how to explain it but it worked. Hank was flying high and blown over by every raspy, gasping breath. Your nails scratched down his back and each streak—each shockwave, all ten of your goddamn fingers—hit him like an earthquake.
He felt your left leg rise about the same time he started to grab it. His hand slid clumsily off your kneecap and gripped the underside of your thigh, pressing it to him. Grinding against your thigh, Hank broke away with a really long, rushed ‘one second, one second!’ while unbuttoning his pants.
“Do you have a condom?” your brain finally got enough oxygen to form a sentence.
“What?” Hank was just as dazed, teeth of his zipper framing a bulging tent.
McCoy wore boxers. Kind of unexpected. You took your eyes off the band and looked at him again. Hair messed up, a panting mess, and trailing his tongue tentatively over his lips to see if they could still feel anything…
Fuck! What had he done to you?!
How could this guy be the same one under those cardigans and button downs? When the glasses came off did the muscles come out? Where had this grabby Hank come from?!
“Do you have a condom?” you enunciated.
“N-Not with me.” Hank sighed, leaning back. “They’re in the dorm.”
“Why do you have them in your dorm?” you wiggled up enough to sit on your elbows. “Have you—”
“I’ve only dated Trish and that didn’t get anywhere,” Hank clarified quickly. “It’s better to be safe than sorry.” he added.
“Not even one in your wallet? A lot of guys keep them in their wallet.”
There had been several awkward conversations and attempts to hide it as they dug for their ID or cash.
“You’re not supposed to keep them in your wallet,” Hank rolled his eyes. “The friction could tear it.”
How the hell were you supposed to know?!
“Move!” you shoved him away.
Hank was honestly hurt. You were going to throw him out just because he didn’t have a condom?! Couldn’t you just talk?
Or kiss? Kissing was free! He liked the kissing!
Dumbfounded, Hank felt you untangle your legs and slide out from beneath him. Opening the drawer under your pull-out shelf full of folders and books, you fished out a condom.
Hank followed you, fussing with his pants. He got them to his knees and nearly fell over. There had to be at least thirty in there! Blue, yellow, and dark purple packages littered the inside of the drawer.
“Why are there so many?” Hank stepped out of his pants. You weren’t having that much sex, were you?! You hadn’t even mentioned anyone!
“It was from the condom shower last week.”
Hank doubted drunk people’s coordination but ‘condom shower’ was appropriate. Between ‘Safe Sex’ week and three nights of back-to-back home games most dining locations were spammed by a mix of interfaith groups and the regular drunks. Safe Sex coordinators and the interfaith groups paired up to throw condoms to customers.
They tried, anyways. When they kept missing they just started throwing them in their general direction. Hank was in bed at two AM, like a sensible person, but some of the people he tutored were semi-sober or an unfortunate victim at the time. ‘BECAUSE JESUS LOVES YOU!’ and ‘I WANT YOU TO BE SAFE! BE SAFE! YOU’RE TOO SMART NOT TO BE SAFE!’ rang out as they threw handfuls of condoms into the air.
“We had the guy that tripped and started asking who threw condoms at him,” you grinned. Yes, he’d been quite confused at the mounds of condoms around his feet. He’d tripped on one and tipped over a display of on-the-go snacks.
You grabbed one.
“Grab a few.” Hank suggested.
Your brow rose with mild interest. “A few?” you teased. “Why, do you want to practice putting them on?”
“In case they’re out of date or punctured!” Hank muttered testily. You didn’t miss the deliberate way he reached under your arms—hands brushing your waist—to grab some for himself. “Or they don’t fit,” he smirked against your ear, yanking the tie of your apron as he moved back to the bed.
You blushed and fumbled with the apron, cursing as it caught on your ear. He chuckled as you tossed your shirt and apron over the back of the chair.
How well could he see without his glasses? He was looking pretty intensely at the packets…
Kicking your pants off near his, you walked back to the bed. Hank whittled down the selection to a choice few as your bra dropped by the bedside. His eyes flicked up to your breasts as he tore the wrapper, his mouth opening.
“If you say ‘mammaries’ this is over. I will kick your ass out right here!”
“I wasn’t going to.” he grinned, shoving the extra condoms onto your windowsill. “But I’m glad you know your anatomy.”
“Shut up!” you smacked him, laughing despite yourself. “Not the time!”
“You sure? It’s kind of how this started.” Hank swung his legs over the side of the bed and took his boxers off.
“McCoy I swear—huh…that’s…that probably makes Alex sad.” you blurted out.
What could you say? You’d never thought about Hank’s dick but now that you were looking at it you were honestly impressed. He wasn’t crazy thick but he was longer than you assumed.
Unexpectedly impressive for such a polite nerd.
Hank gave an honest laugh, his cheeks reddening. He thought sex would be serious and completely instinctual but this was very casual and relaxed. Part of him was glad but part of him was trying to get the mood back.
He liked the grabby breathlessness.
“If you won’t let me name anymore body parts,” Hank’s brain finally kicked in again, “I’ll impress you in other ways.”
He put the condom on.
“Other ways?”
If you didn’t know he was honestly sorry for you. And disappointed in the last guy you dated.
Hank took you by the hips and gently rolled you over, you beneath him, and hooked his long fingers in your underwear. He pressed fluttering kisses to your thighs and over your knee, debating on whether or not to name a few muscles.
Just to piss you off. Revenge for the earlier ‘do you want to practice putting them on?’ thing.
Hank dropped the panties.
He pulled your legs apart or you opened them subconsciously as he worked his way back towards your hips. “This is your pubis,” Hank stopped kissing the crease of your thighs to admire the scant tuft of hair.
“Hank—” you began threateningly.
“The outer lips,” he ran his thumb over the curls and back down, massaging the lips. “And here we have the inner lips.” Hank ignored the threat of your legs as they slid over his shoulders, dangerously close to his neck, and used both thumbs to examine you.
“McCoy—”
“And the key to the best orgasm you’ll ever have,” his voice was so dark and sure it stopped you cold. You didn’t know Hank’s voice could do that! He stroked your clit with the calloused pad of his thumb, relishing your shock and the sharp quiver.
The roll of your hips. The way your legs tightened just a fraction against his neck.
‘McCoy’ and ‘what the fuck?!’ struggled to come out at the same time. Nothing did. Not even a whisper. Not a whimper.
His lips found the nub and started to suck. The sound didn’t come out of you, but from you. Your head snapped back and hit the wall. “What the fuck, Hank? What the fuck?!”
He let it go, laughing against your thigh before brushing his lips over your slit again.
His tongue was—his tongue was doing all kinds of things! Legs clutching his neck, hand scrambling for a hold that didn’t exist, Hank worked his tongue against your folds.
You were more than wet enough. A taste of your orgasm on his tongue, Hank let you ride out the waves on his fingers. He was more interested in your lips and places he couldn’t kiss when you were clothed. Hard and hot against your thigh, Hank nipped at your lips.
You nipped back, suckling on his lower lip.
Those lips dragged him back down again, sucking him in. Sucking on his. Hank rutted against you, popping his hips lightly and pushing into you. You flinched and he slowed down.
This shouldn’t hurt, right? If a woman’s properly aroused it doesn’t hurt? Or did that just decrease her risk of bleeding from penetration?
Hank couldn’t remember. He waited for a signal—a moan, a sigh, some petting—before pushing further. Fingers skirting his earlobe, legs around his waist, Hank continued.
Holy shit! It was a warm, wet squeeze and—fuck! How could anyone get off on their fist? That was nothing like this!
Now he understood why Sean never answered his phone on ‘Maeve days’!
Things got blurry pretty fast. Some things were pretty clear—two hickies that would make Maeve blush and the soft but firm breast in his hand—but most of it was hot skin and squeezing. A bit of biting.
Hank felt you clamp down around him. He gave one more thrust, arching into you as you accidentally kicked him in the back. Your legs slid down his, resting against the bend of his knees. Glad to find the condom still on him—some Safe Sex week pamphlets warned that the condom could come off in the partner—Hank tried to take it off without ruining your sheets.
Well, ruining them further.
He put it in the trashcan and stumbled back to bed. You scooted towards the wall as he tucked himself in beside you. Silence stretched between you but Hank, for once, wasn’t overanalyzing it.
What happened now? Talking? Cuddling?
Should he reach for another condom? Would you? Could you go another round?
He kind of wanted to but his body was in the refractory period. His brain was processing all of the sensations. The events.
Was he catching his breath or were the parasympathetic reactions kicking in?
He could definitely go again. He loved the idea of being with you. The wildness of it all.
But he couldn’t get hard just yet.
Was he hot or cold? Could he be both?
“Tell the boys they have another reason to call you Beast,” you patted his chest, pulling a chunk of blanket out from between the bed and the wall to drape it over your body.
Hank pulled the blanket and sheet out, actually covering you. You quickly found his chest, forcing your way under his arm.
Warm from all side. Perfect.
Hank didn’t seem to mind. You listened to his heart.
“You’re really shitty tutor,” you giggled. “I don’t remember half of what we named.”
“You just need more practice.” Hank snuggled down in the bed, trying to figure out how to save his shoulders and neck but keep his legs inside the blanket.
“Are you going to be my study buddy?”
“Is that what they call it now? I thought it was ‘bae’.”
“Don’t ever say that. Ever.” the words were out of your mouth before he could roll over to face you.
Hank snorted at the seriousness and suddenness. It was curl up or dangle his feet. That was also an issue.
“Boyfriend first, then study buddy.”
“And we’ll really study next time?”
“We’ll really study next time.” he promised, twining his legs with yours.
jjeeeo reblogged
wxrmandfxzzies-deactivated20190
fat bodies tutorial!
ALRIGHT SO my pal @kalreyno wanted help with drawing fat characters and as a fat artist i felt like i could give a bit of helpful insight on that. there’s also been a lot of complaining about “boo hoo fat characters are hard to draw so i can’t include them in my work Ever” goin on lately so if that’s your case then this is for you too!! and also just for anyone who would like help with fat bodies in general, ofc. anyway, let’s get this show on the road!!
let’s start with some common misconceptions. these are the two main attempts at chubby bodies i run into, so i’ll focus on them.
the Anime Chubby i see everywhere, and it’s just……so wrong in many ways. first of all, there is almost no additional body fat compared to your average thin character - except for where it’s added in “attractive” places (breasts, hips, thighs). the breasts are way too perky, and don’t have the realistic shape fat would give them (though how to draw accurate breasts is another tutorial all on its own lmao). there is still a thigh gap, which usually only happens in very thin people, and bones are still visible on the surface of the skin, which also rarely happens in fat people.
the Michelin Man is better in some ways, but still not that great. it’s a slightly better attempt, but basically all that’s done there is taking a thin character and blowing them up, while giving no thought to fat distribution. the thigh gap is usually still present, and they look a lot more hard than soft - and fat is very soft and pliable.
here’s a chart on how fat usually distributes (if you can’t read my messy writing, “1. next to no fat, 2. moderate amount, 3. most of the fat distribution”). basically, the more muscle an area has, the more prone it is to develop fat, such as the abdomen, thighs, and upper arms. it’s important to note that fat sits on top of muscle, and that it does distribute in different levels, and not evenly across the body as shown in the Michelin Man.
now, here’s an accurate fat body with all of that kept in mind!! notice how the fat isn’t only kept to aesthetically pleasing areas, and how it sits realistically on the character’s body. their breasts sag a lot more, which happens even in thin people with larger breasts, and the nipples are pointing more downwards than straight out. there is no thigh gap in sight, there are no bones in sight, and most importantly, they have fat rolls, which are very important in drawing a convincing fat character!! as far as i know i’ve never met a single person with no rolls at all, and everyone has them, whether thin or fat - they’re just more prominent and more consistently present in fat people. pay close attention to where they are and how they’re shaped.
here are a couple of drawings showing how fat is affected when sitting vs stretching. as seen in the first, the fat specifically on the stomach is distributed a lot more evenly and stretched out, so it becomes “flatter”. the love handles are still pretty visible, though, as well as the fat on the thighs and arms. the breasts are raised with the shoulders, and the fat on the shoulders and near the neck forms rolls as it’s being pushed together.
in the second, there is a lot less room for distribution, so the fat is all pushed together. the breasts sag and the stomach forms rolls and spills into the lap. a good analogy for the way fat works is to liken it to a water balloon, and thinking of how its shape would change when resting flat on a surface, hanging off of a ledge, held upright, etc.
here are a few extra tips i find a lot of people miss!
first on the top is the hip/pubic region. the first circle is showing the way the bellybutton is folded in fat people, as opposed to stretched out in thinner people. the second is the stomach fat spilling over onto the pubic region and creating a separation in the two areas, which is something that’s missing in a lot of art. in addition, the pubic mound also gains fat, making it round as seen in the profile drawing i did up there (i’ve heard people refer to it as fupa?). the last in the hip region is the lack of a thigh gap. i can’t stress this enough!!!! if you’re trying to draw a convincing fat character, make sure their thighs are pretty much always touching!! for reference, mine literally don’t separate until my feet are about 2ft from each other.
the bottom right is showing the double chin, which a lot of people are afraid to draw!! fat does distribute itself here too, and there’s nothing wrong with it, so don’t feel like you shouldn’t give fat characters a double chin in your work for fear of it looking like a caricature.
in the bottom middle, it’s showing how fat affects different types of breasts with the presence of more or less breast tissue.
lastly, at the very right are stretch marks with their usual locations and directions, which i also can’t stress enough!!!!! i sometimes forget to add them honestly, but they’re so important in accurately portraying fat characters, as they literally come from the skin being stretched from fat being gained (and they’re also just rlly neat lookin like why wouldn’t you lmao). some people have less and some people have more, feel free to experiment with them!
the last thing is body types!! there isn’t one single way for a person to be fat, so feel free to experiment with shapes once you’ve learned the basics!!
so there you have it, a tutorial on how to draw chubs!! now go forth and make some accurate fanart or some rad fat characters, because the world could always use more of both. hmu if you have any questions or concerns, and thanks for reading!!
EDIT: someone pointed out the bad wording in the tutorial. thank you for bringing it to my attention and sorry for offending anybody. i’ve updated the tut, so please reblog this one!
jjeeeo reblogged
Gangster Dean Winchester AU
gif credit (x)
No Choice - Dean Winchester is a gangster and notorious bank robber in the United States in 1944, shortly after the end of WWII.
Part 1 - Imagine being kidnapped by the most notorious bank robber of the 1940′s, Dean Winchester. But is he really the bad guy he’s been made out to be? Trying times make people do crazy things.
Part 2 - The reader has been kidnapped by notorious bank robber, Dean Winchester. She comes to realize there may be more to him than she first imagined.
Part 3 - Notorious bank robber, Dean Winchester and the reader spend some time alone.
Part 4 - Dean and the reader have to make a fast getaway.
Part 5 - Dean’s brother, Sam, makes an appearance. Things between the reader and Dean head in an interesting direction.
Part 6 - The reader learns about Dean’s past, while her future, as well as Sam’s and Dean’s, hangs in the balance.
Part 7 - Can Dean rescue the reader from Crowley? And if he does, what then?
Part 8 - Dean and the reader are on the run.
Part 9 - Dean will do whatever it takes to protect the reader from Crowley.
jjeeeo reblogged
Attention ALL artists!
You sure have seen this post. It has spread like wildfire over the past few days so I doubt there is any artist out there who hasn’t seen it. But even if you didn’t, you should read on because I’m about to tell you a handy little thing that can help you to protect your art from such assholes as the anon who submitted this bullcrap, as well as art thieves in general.
The magic word is Metadata.
Metadata is like an invisible signature that is embeded into a file. It can contain all kinds of information, like Title, date, keywords for online seach engines, and copyright information. And the best thing is, since this information is “hidden” in the code of your picture, it’s hard to remove it.
There is a nice basic tutorial on how to add Metadata, or “additional file information” to your images in photoshop. It’s really, really easy so check it out!
I’m not sure if you can do the same with any other art program. If you know how to do this in other programs / can confirm that it works the same way there, please tell me so I can add the information to this post.
Adding the Metadata will not stop idiots from taking and reposting your art. It also won’t make them stop editing out your signature. It WILL however, help you prove that you are the original artist whenever you have to. Always remember my friends. You, the artist, are protected by law. No one has the right to take your intellectual property and hard work and repost, use or edit it without your permission. Ever.
art thief: well how can you prove its yours??
me: /opens metadata