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#it was because they were using a more water based paint to be more skin friendly
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Am I crazy or do Cats makeup designs seem to slowly be losing their more vibrant colors over these past few years, at least with certain productions?
You're not crazy at all! That seems to be exactly what's happening. I can only speculate as to why, as I am not part of the production team.
And it's not in a "our colour palette is more muted" kinda way in that it's meant to be grungier or more cohesive with its surroundings (see, say, Vienna or Broadway). It's a...it just seems...they took the 2016 beauty guru "blend blend blend" far too literally. Maybe there's a production issue, maybe they've halved the makeup budget, maybe they *are* using water based paints for details which take a lot more for opacity and bleed far easier, or maybe Napier's updated deigns are just not bold enough in how they are being executed, honestly at this point who knows.
The issue, I feel here, is that when I squint at literally any of these faces or consider spotlight washout/eliminate the contrast, they disappear. And you'd think "Jemi why are you doing that what does that matter" - because if I'm in the audience at a seat anywhere other than first or second row, the faces become this:
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And obviously that's an exaggeration (but maybe not enough of one) because the current UK designs and such others aren't perfect in this department either so don't get me wrong here, but contrast is *important* in theatre makeup. Lines when attempting to create face shape and "catify" human features are important for illusion - otherwise they just look like people with ears anyway. It's not Instagram makeup - it's not meant to be. The lighting techs are probably pulling their hair out.
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undercoverpena · 30 days
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3. heather purple
frankie morales x f!reader | chapter three of do me yourself
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summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.
wordcount: 3.8k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] meet cute, flirting. fluff. flirting in person and over IG. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used, you do wear a top and jeans tho. minor worrying/nervousness. no use of y/n. an: i love them i love them i love them
prev chapter | frankie's ig
key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics
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Nervous energy pulsates through you.
It first manifested as a rattle, an annoyance when your eyes opened this morning. Now, it had grown into moving things half an inch and constant tapping—on surfaces, on you, on walls. All restless, practically relentless—vibrating and thrumming.
Then, your teeth began lazily, grazing over your lower lip, eyes flicking to the clock—fingers adjusting your laptop on the counter for what feels like the tenth time in as many minutes.
With a catch of your thumb, your phone illuminates, another nervous-tic, another thing you've been doing for the last so many moments.
Even if you know he’s on his way, having told you as much.
Normally, you would find it easy to calm yourself through pacing, the flexing of your fingers, and deep, soothing breaths. But not this time.
This time, it lingers. A persistent knot in your stomach that refuses to unravel and instead attempts to bathe in giddiness—a sensation you’d never imagined, never mind expected.
Suddenly, with another fluttering jolt, you wish you could backtrack the messages you had sent. The ones that had invited him—jovially, before seriously.
Because despite spending several minutes leaning on your cool, kitchen counter, with a glass of water pressed to your neck, warmth is still radiating from your skin.
The thinnest layer of sweat still remains on the base of your spine, sticking; the same as it is around your head—no matter how often you dab it away.
Admittedly, it’s all self-inflicted. Caused by the fact you had tried on a thousand things within the last half an hour. All of the failures were discarded, shoved (all unceremoniously), at the bottom of your closet, the door shoved shut in frustration.
Nothing had felt right. Nothing had looked right.
A mess of worries and overthinking churning in your head, all caused by your friend's echoing voice as you stared at yourself in the mirror:
Do you think he’ll size up your new office and then size you up? Do you think this is a date? Do you think he’s expecting to see your bedroom? Because if you count the coffee, this is the third, which means—
At the time, it had been easy to laugh. Play it down—continue to wash your dishes and clean around the sink.
But, it’s when the goodbyes had been exchanged; when there were no more cups or plates to clean, and you found yourself alone with nothing but the sounds of suds swirling down the drain. That's when your mind began to wander. To weave patterns of concerns, begin concocting.
Do you think…Do you think?
Do you think?
Deep down, you know it doesn't matter. Less so as your hand brushes over your face, heavy sigh exhaled, because he'd be here soon.
In your home.
Frankie would be able to see the poor state of your “remodel” or “flip” or whatever term it is for when you buy a rundown thing and try and make it liveable. He'd be able to see exactly why you'd looked lost in the hardware store he works, because look at your home. The place where you rest, sleep and work.
You could come and see it for yourself, wouldn’t need to keep guessing what I’m dreaming up. Yeah? You sure? Well, it would be easier than me trying to explain the issues I’m faced with because until an hour ago I didn’t know what a wrench was called. What did you use to call it? Tightening-tighty. Fitting name. I thought so too—until your latest “helpful” video ruined it. At least you’re learning now how selfish I am. You are, but I’ll forgive you because you have a nice smile. Is the smile enough to upgrade me from DMs to a phone number? Oh, you are pushing it. Well, to keep on pushing and this is presumptuous, but I can come round tomorrow. After I’ve finished up at work. Luca is back with his mom. Yeah? Send me your address and I’ll be there, rainy. I’ll send you my number too, so you can call when you leave.
And you had.
Then, tomorrow had become today, and you’d found yourself trying to flood the worries from your half-a-job redecorating with cleaning.
Some of it alleviated by decluttering half-empty boxes from around the base of pale walls, but part of it added more issues to your plate because suddenly you wished you had more plants. More colour.
More anything.
Because it’s bare, a barren of nothing. There are marks on the floor not lifted from scrubbing and cracks in the wall that need filling.
Disappointment lands on your shoulders, weighed down with pinched regret—because you realise (once again, having lived in blissful ignorance) that there is so much to do.
Swallowing, you glance around, scents of wood polish and floor spray swirling. You glare at the many holes filled in by the previous owners. The ones not painted over just yet.
Because you hadn’t decided on a shade—no colour scheme having jumped out.
The place is all just pale, off-white or faded magnolia.
"Fuck."
The urge to crawl into a ball rises, a sickening feeling swirling.
Somehow, if the state of your home doesn’t scare him away, a small part of you knows it can find comfort that maybe your humour is enough to keep him around.
A thought that should relax you, but instead makes your stomach twist more. Because you're not actually sure you're that funny. A realisation that forces your palms to become tacky, the thinnest layer of sweat trying to appear there, as well as everywhere else.
Because you like him.
The knowledge of it pricking at you, making you bite the skin from your lip and pick at your nails; it makes you wiggle your toes inside your socks on the wooden floor and fight a smile at something funny he’d said last night.
And then you hear it.
Wheels. Tyres crunch gravel as a black pick-up pulls up outside your home. One you remember from outside the store, from parking several blocks down from yours.
He’s here.
He’s here. He’s here. He’s fucking here—
The thought rotating, spinning—like a whirlpool drenching you in more sweat and making your head dizzy all at once.
You can’t move, can’t unstick yourself from the floorboard you’re on. Watching. Transfixed. Both feeling joy that he has come (as he said he would) and filled with horror because it’s happening, it’s all fucking happening.
With each step he takes up your drive, you want to bolt from your place and hide in your bedroom. Pretend you’re not home. Pretend something came up.
But you can’t lie.
Guilt swallowing that immediate thought. Watching him get closer and closer, until his knuckles wrap on the door, the noise filling your barely-filled home.
Fuck.
You manage to move then. All quiet steps. Delicate in how you cross the room that’s become a poor attempt at a living room.
Wrapping your palm around the handle, you’re surprised at its sudden heaviness—all cold, so cool against your skin it almost makes you hiss. Almost slipping when you turn it, palm so slick with nervousness as your arm tries to vibrate in its socket.
Opening the door, you disguise it. Layer all your worries and unravelling under a mask. Smothering and burying it in a smile—practically instantaneously. As though it’s the easiest thing to do around him.
But then, it is.
Because even if the rest of your body is having some reaction to the idea he could be stepping inside, you find yourself unable to help but grin. Not able to help lighting up like fairy lights hanging in the darkest night.
And, in the milliseconds of the two of you standing there, you actually begin to feel better.
“Hi.”
“Hey,” you reply, grin growing, forcing your cheeks to hurt in a matter of beats.
And you know you should move, let him in. But, what does it mean if you do? That voice, the one growing louder, who speaks nothing but worse cases and negativity, begins to increase in pitch. Smothering the sound of birds and someone cutting their grass several houses down.
Because is he here to measure up, to give recommendations—or will he kiss you again like he did against your car? Will his mouth move to other places, hands busying themselves, peeling? Will he be disappointed by what lies underneath your comfortable t-shirt and—
“You gonna invite me in?”
Pausing, you lower your gaze to the floor, leaning against the door for a moment. Eyes catching spots of purple on his jeans, finding yourself staring, glancing at how they resemble petals scattered in a careless dance.
You know it likely was accidental, a mere mishap, but it looks pretty, intentional. Even if it's likely tarnished an overworn, maybe slightly beloved pair of jeans.
He says your name, forcing your head up. Speaking it all soft—so full of care and intention—it almost makes you swoon and crack. Almost makes you widen the door to let him inside.
“I’m embarrassed. It’s… it’s not even—“
“Hey, hey, look at me.” And you do, like nothing could be simpler. “I know you haven’t long moved in—and, you wouldn’t be askin’ for an opinion if it looked the best it ever could. Right?”
“Right.”
“So, let me in b… Rainy, please.”
You don’t miss it.
Even if you pretend you do.
It circling, playing. Imagination fuelled up and running the show now.
A thing which drowns the worries, holds its head under water as your brain begins to wonder what him calling you baby could sound like, be like.
Slowly, you lift your head from the door and step to the side to let him in.
Thankful you do, because you catch the scent of the hardware store—one you found you’ve actually really, really missed.
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As though picking up on the thousand hints at how on edge you are, Frankie asks to see the dresser.
Makes a comment about needing to see if the paint covered, if butterscotch orange looked as good on wood as it did on walls.
You don’t argue, instead leading the way. Take him past your sofa and armchair right into the kitchen. As you do, he shares his day, weaves in bits on Harry—how he’s nothing but a torment, even if he says it with a grin.
“He asked about you.”
Thankful for the pot boiling, you pour him a cup of coffee, placing it down before clutching your own. Admiring the way he’s squatted down next to the dresser—fingers sliding over the edges.
“And, what did you tell him?”
Shrugging, Frankie looks over his shoulder—a smile there, evident, easily present. “Said I would ask when I saw you tonight—but, that I assumed you were good from how much you made me laugh last night.”
Heat burns your ears, almost making them match the temperature of your palms from being around the mug.
You think, search, and feel desperate for something to say, all aiming to fill the emptiness when you begin explaining what you’ve already done to your 'cheap find'.
Doing so with as many technical terms as you remember from videos—how you’d restored it, sanded it, etc, etc.
It’s only when he looks over his shoulder again, do you realise how not-weird this is. How it doesn’t feel wrong—relaxing at the realisation, the room and house following suit.
Resting the cup to your chest, you clear your throat, “You know, you’re the first person outside of my best friend that’s been here.”
Brows raising, lost under his hat and curls, his smile slides up further into one cheek. “That makes me special, right?”
“Oh, I think you know you’re special, Morales. I’ve read the comments under your videos.”
A bark of laughter leaves him, head shaking, attention turning back to the dresser as he runs his hand over the top.
“You’ve done good.”
Instantly, you grin. Folding your arms, remaining leaning against the side of the kitchen counter as you almost let a ‘yeah?’ escape, that you instead trade for: “You sound surprised.”
“You did imply you were hopeless.”
Shrugging, you watch him stand tall, fingers itching under the front of his hat as he leans against the wall.
“I am still hopeless.”
Shaking his head, he does nothing but grin—gifting you one full of warmth and sunshine. “I think you’ve just not had someone to show you, that’s all.”
“That going to be you?”
His tongue slides into his cheek, giving a half-shrug as he moves closer, pausing at the side of your kitchen counter. “If you want.”
“You don’t mind that I might have Pinterest boards?”
Chewing his cheek, he smirks as broad and as wide as his shoulders—as though it is difficult to contain. “You definitely have them. Wouldn’t believe you if you said you didn’t?”
Heat warms your cheek, and remains there—burning and pulsing as you avert your eyes briefly. “Maybe I have them.”
His laugh escapes quickly, almost loudly, booming and echoing like before. And you want him to do it again, needing to, as soon as it dies down to flood from him and land against the walls again.
But, instead, you take a large mouthful, placing the mug down. "Shall I show you my dream?"
Heading to show him the spare room, the one that you’re hoping to make into an office, his work boots sound out, echoing around the stripped-back hallway and bare flooring.
There's a comfortable quiet you don’t wish to allow to shift when you head down the hallway, beginning to explain. Hands moving, gesturing, sporadically glancing over your shoulder as he follows—finding his eyes don’t fall to the open boxes, but remain firmly on you.
It isn’t until you step inside the open doorway and he pauses at the do you (on command) continue talking. Slowly pointing to where you think you’d want things. Listing, nose-scrunching as you say how nice it would be to have floor-to-ceiling shelving, an armchair—a desk with space for work. A plant here, maybe one there.
How you want to move from your kitchen counter to in here for work—maybe put up a piece of art here, some nice curtains there. A real desk chair that’ll support your back.
You only stop when you look back and find him resting his forearm on the doorway, not looking anywhere around the room, just at you.
And it makes you pause. Mesmerised, by the way he rolls the pads of his fingers against his thumb, his forearm flexing and how the end of his t-shirt has slightly risen due to his leans. It undoes you, making you forget what room you're even standing in as your brain melts and you become rendered completely, fucking useless.
The spell doesn’t break until his arm drops, fingers push his hat up, eyes warming as he takes the space in. “You want to work near the window?”
Nodding, you move to the side, allowing him space, watching him as he takes his eyes off you, moves into the room and stares around. He sweeps his gaze, brows furrowing occasionally before he stops close to the window.
Sliding the pencil from the top of his ear, he pulls a pad of paper from his pocket. Jotting things down, sketching—eyes zig-zagging across the wall as he tries to mark whatever his thought is down. Mouth moving, occasionally hearing him working out numbers, before the sound is muffled by a scratch of the pencil.
You’re in awe. Just observing. Making no sense of what it is he’s drawing. Least of all what he’s thinking. But gosh, is he handsome when he does it.
More so, when that soft smile creeps back over his face at you watching him, and you worry (briefly) whether you’ve said it out loud.
“You’d have a nice view if your desk was here.”
“Got a nice one right now.”
Snorting, Frankie rolls his eyes, the corner of his mouth ticking up into his cheek. “How much do you hate yourself for saying that?”
“Only a smidge,” you say, finger and thumb close together.
Holding his stare, you find the softness of his smile has spread to his eyes, and you can't help but roll your eyes. "Fine. Maybe a little more than a smidge," you amend, your own smile mirroring his.
His laughter fills the room once again, and you can't help but join in. The two of you standing there, and all you want to do is pinch yourself. Not sure how this could be real; how he could be, how all of this could be. How the grin on your face is really there and he’s really here—
“I’m thinking,” he begins. Voice clearing, eyes looking around. “We could build you a floor-to-ceiling set of shelves here like you want—maybe add some cupboards. Could be a nice backdrop if you’re sitting there. Can have it pre-built, or I can help you measure it, build it? Probably need—“
You should be listening. Maybe even making notes.
Not flicking your eyes to his lips, watching the way his face furrows or his lip curls in between listing things.
“How?"
"How, what?"
Swallowing, you exhale. "Did you get so good at that?”
His lips slide into his cheek. “At what?”
Tilting your head, you purse your lip, drop your arm from his shoulder, gesturing, finding the words. “I just watched you like—measure, with your head. I think I heard your brain... calculating?”
He pauses, mouth remaining open, a twinkle shimmering in his eye as he scratches at the curls hanging under his hat. “Oh, I… um. I used to fly. I was in the U.S. Army. Delta Force—guess I got good at measuring, doing calculations in my head, had to, you know?”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Is that… that why you don't like to sit still either?”
Rolling his lips, he tucks the back behind his ear, nodding, a sheepish smile adorning his face.
“Well,” you say, “You’re good at it.”
Swallowing, he licks his lips, gaze not leaving you. “You not wanting to ask anything?”
“Should I?”
Shrugging, he licks his lip. Dragging it along slowly. “Some would.”
You shake your head, meeting his gaze. “I’m not some, am I?”
He considers it, your answer. Turns it over.
But his response isn’t verbal; it’s a gentle tug on the belt loop on your jeans, pulling you close. Out of instinct, your arm drapes over his shoulder. Silently thankful for the outfit choice, for choosing a nice top and jeans. Especially as you stand staring at him, eyes taking him in as he does the same.
Your heart pounds loudly in this definitive pause. A chance provided to cast your eyes away, to ask him what else he's thinking.
But that’s not what you want—not what you need.
Not as you close the small gap. Not as you watch his stare, all heavy and scorching, and how it drops to your lips, following a similar path you had taken on his face only a second prior.
Kiss me, you think.
But you realise as his lips slide into one cheek, dimple deepening, that the words had flowed out instead. Stretched out, laid a red carpet from yours to his.
And it’s inescapable, the pull you feel when your mouth marries itself to his, when your palm remains flush with his cheek, being greeted by the tickling of the wiry hairs on his jaw.
When he licks into your mouth, you’re gone—thrown off course and falling freely, all willingly, not wanting to ever land and not at all in fear of the descent as you grip him for stability. Neither of you stop when his hat falls from atop his head, landing with a crack on the floor.
Because it might be odd to have missed a mouth before, but you have.
Suddenly feeling all is right now it’s back against yours, where you write a story against his lips and taste the words he wishes to say in return. The room is empty, quiet—no backdrop this time compared to the street before—and so you can’t mask your whimpers, and you can’t mistake the sound of him groaning when you move him back so his back meets the walls.
Distantly aware of his hands gripping your waist, keeping you close, mouth chasing yours as you begin to grin, begin to feel him mirroring it.
And then he stops.
Pulls back.
A look on his face that’s unreadable and scrunched.
“I…”
Shame fires inside of you, like a key in an ignition, roaring itself to life. “I’m so sorry, Frankie—I thought, I mean—“
His hand comes around your wrist, stopping you, halting you in your desired path to move from him. “Stop, baby. Please.”
Baby.
It's there again. But this time, fully spoken, not held back.
“I just… I just want to do this right, is all. I’m… fuck, I’m here to help you. Meant to be a professional. Don’t… I don’t want you to think I tricked you into letting me in so I could… you know.”
Heat rises, billowing out across your cheek and neck. “I don’t… I don’t think that.”
“No?”
Shaking your head, you smile. “No.”
His chest fills before he lets out a loud exhale, thumb slowly drawing a circle on your wrist. “Good. ‘Cause…” he shakes his head as he bites his lower lip. “I want to take you out for dinner.” Index joining his thumb, both doing a pattern, as he whispers your name, forcing your eyes to meet his. “I want to treat you right. I… I don’t want to have come from work and—you know?”
Nodding you move a little closer, palm sliding over his cheek. “I know.”
He grins, sliding his palm down flush with yours, before he loops his fingers in between yours. “Good.”
“Good,” you whisper.
Tightening your hold on his, almost swinging it.
“Think you should kiss me again, though.”
Laughing, his eyes crinkle, dimple appearing briefly—but then he does.
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Thank you for helping me move and assess the stability of my dresser.
No problem, glad to be of help.
I had a really nice time with you, Frankie.
How much did it pain you that you couldn’t work that into tease?
I’m wounded, bleeding out as we speak.
You need me to come back? Hold your hand.
Not sure that’s all I’d want you to do if you came back.
Not sure I’d keep my word about doing this right if I did either.
Because I’m an incredible kisser?
Because I didn’t want to leave you at all.
Wish you hadn’t, honestly.
Don’t tell me this, I’ll get back in my truck and come back.
Oh, the dreadfulness if you did.
Did you just use the word dreadfulness?
I did, and I stand by it.
What you doing on Friday at 7pm?
What do you want me to be doing on Friday at 7pm?
I want you to be sat opposite me at a place in town, candle in the middle.
Guess I can move things around to play footsie.
I’m eternally grateful.
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NEXT CHAPTER ->
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xwritingdixonx · 5 months
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To Rot With You | Daryl Dixon |
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Masterlist
Summary: The reader and Daryl take a stroll through the forests, contemplating what it truly means to die. And to do it together. (Purely written based on the Hozier song, In A Week.)
Warnings: mention of death, no use of y/n (yay)
Word Count: aprox. 1.5k
Era: hinted at Alexandria, established relationship
Song Recommendations: In a Week - Hozier
A/n: This is pretty simple and short but hopefully still enjoyable!
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The morning air was fresh, chilly, and slightly damp from the rain that fell throughout the night.
The morning was early. It is too early for any creature to crawl from its sleep and begin withering its way around the forest. Or perhaps it was too wet for any creature to begin their everyday lives, still hiding in the safety and warmth of their enclosures. Or perhaps they were bathing in the fuller ponds and slurping from puddles. Or maybe, they were like you. Drudging through the forest in search of their first meal, the pads of their feet slick with mud.
The moist soil squelched beneath your steps. Wet bits of green grass stuck themselves to the textures of your boots. A layer of mud painted itself to the sole of your shoe, lodging itself into whatever print had been carved there.
Though you didn't own a calendar and probably would never again, you could feel it in the air that Winter was ending and Spring was blossoming. The mornings were still chilly but always sunny, the warmth coming in the later hours of the day. And the rain was frequent but it did not bother you. It softened the frozen ground and plumped the trees and flowers so they could grow full of life and beauty. It provided drinking water and filled the natural water resources with even more water.
Daryl, however, was always bothered. He complained about not having seen a rabbit or a deer on your morning hunt. You poked at him and told him they were still resting like you should be. He complained when he slipped in the mud. And he complained even more when he saw a fox saying, that's the reason we ain't finding no rabbits not because they're gettin' some extra shut-eye.
But he never complained about you. Not a word slipped his lips when you distracted him by holding his hand or standing too close. What was wrong about enjoying the presence of your partner? He had woken you up so early to drag you along, he might as well enjoy you.
When it came time to rest, you set up just on the treeline of a wide field. Wild with uncut grass, weeds, and flowers. The both of you sat on a fallen tree, attempting to avoid the wet ground that would surely ruin your clothes. Daryl had particularly picked this spot to keep an eye on anything wandering into the field for a nibble at the grass.
The sounds of the woods fell upon your ears as silence settled. A slight wind disturbed the greenery. Bending the tall grass, making it dance with the wildflowers. It moved the freshly grown leaves on the branches of the trees, flowing around like hair in the wind. The birds chirped their morning songs and the squirrels scattered from one tree to the next. You liked to joke and say they were hiding from Daryl. And truthfully, you couldn't blame them. You also had no desire to be shot with an arrow, skinned, and then thrown on a grill or tossed into a soup.
"Ya alright?" Daryl broke you from your daydreams, his voice gentle and smooth. You turned to catch his gaze, replying with a gentle, “Yeah.” Followed by a reassuring smile. His hand reached for yours, pulling it to rest in his own. You were already at peace in the sounds and scenes of nature but his touch calmed you in places you didn't even know were tense. Every moment you were able to bask in the love you felt for him, you cherished.
Waking up beside him, falling asleep beside him, showering with him. There was nothing you wanted to do without him by your side. And that included death. You had thought about it...many times. How could you not in a world like this? Death was always right around the corner; peeking, creeping, and waiting. You and Daryl had had your fair share of scares over the years and those thoughts haunted your mind every time. How could you go on without him? How could you fight every day if the thing you're fighting to go home to, is no longer there?
Daryl had the same gloomy thoughts. Losing you was, as clique as it sounds, his worst nightmare. He ran from the thoughts as much as his legs would let him but eventually his legs wore out and it caught up to him in the worst of times. When you got hurt, even the smallest scratch sent him tumbling down. He’d grasp onto you, repeating the same words again and again; Are ya okay? Can I do anythin’? M’sorry. But the gloomiest time came at night after you'd fallen asleep, leaving him alone to succumb to the dreading feeling that was always chasing him. He’d lay beside you, watching your gentle features finally be at ease and always making sure your chest rose and fell with gentle breaths.
“We should just stay here.” You didn’t turn to look at Daryl when you spoke but he looked at you, admiring your silhouette as you looked off. “What do ya mean?” Daryl answered. He wasn’t entirely sure if you were actually talking to him or if the thoughts in your mind were just slipping from your lips. “We come to sit here all the time and no matter the weather, it’s always just…” Your words trailed off as your mind searched for the word to describe the scene before you.
“Perfect?”
An airy laugh came from your chest at Daryl’s word choice. You turned to him then. With your hand still in his, you brought it to your lips and planted a kiss. Almost as a way to say, thank you for the effort. “Comforting. But yes, also perfect.” In your mind it was warmth when it was cold, it was a breath of fresh air in a world of rotting corpses, it was the hope of a future in a world of early death. But he was right…in simple words it was perfect.
“We can build a little house-”
“We?”
With only one word his tone was thick with sarcastic disbelief. You playfully rolled your eyes and gave his hand a squeeze. With your free hand, you pointed to a random spot in the clearing as you rephrased your previous sentence. “You could build me a little house right there.” Daryl liked the sound of that better. A house he was to build, with his hands, just for you to live in. “We’ll fill it with all our things, steal some furniture from home, and scavenge the rest…We can build a fence around so we’re safe.” Your words were a daydreamy gleam and you were far from finished. “We’ll light fires in the Winter to stay warm and open the windows in Spring…” This was obviously a daydream you had put quite a bit of thought into, one you’d laid up at night pondering about, and Daryl would not rob himself of the indulgence of your words.
"I'll start a garden and you’ll hunt. We’ll always have full tummies,” You looked away from the sky to meet his equally blue eyes, “And even fuller hearts.” Your gentle smile rested upon your face and your eyes were filled with the longing of a home that only existed in your whimsical daydreams. Though it did not exist and there was a possibility it never would, Daryl felt himself melting into this world of what-ifs. Daryl had never associated the words home and love together before. But…what if it could exist? What if he could build a home. A home just for him. A home of comfort…a home where he could just simply love and not be afraid.
“W’bout everyone back home?” He questioned, “They’ll never find us.” You responded quickly. Daryl shook his head and scoffed, “Nah, they’d find us in less than a week.” Daryl’s ears perked up at the sound of your soft laughter. “Yeah, yeah they would.” Daryl’s eyes never left you, even when you turned your head to look around the wooded area. He could practically see the way you were editing your story. “Fine, we’ll uh-” Motioning behind you, you continued, “We’ll clear a path through the woods all the way to the road. So they can always come visit.”
Then, as you looked at him, the dread crept upon you. Wrapping its clawed mangled hands around your perfect bubble. “And when we go…we’ll go together.” This caught Daryl by surprise. The fate he so deeply feared was no longer chasing him. It was sitting on that tree with him…and in the form of the words that came from your tongue. “C’mom..don’t talk ‘bout that.” He tried to defer but you would not let him. Whether you went from a bite, from a bullet, from a freak accident, or if you were lucky enough to go naturally, it was and always will be the inevitable truth of fate. “Once we’ve lived in our home long enough and full of love, we can lay in the grass and go.”
Everyone went back to the earth anyway, right? You had no desire to be thrown in a hole and covered in damp cold dirt. If you had to decay, you wanted to be on the soft grass, under the sun, even under the rain. You wanted the wildflowers to eventually grow through the cracks of your skeleton, just as you had seen done with other animal carcasses. You’d let the bugs find shelter in your bones and you’d let the foxes nibble at you. Maybe it would stop them from eating all of Daryl’s rabbits.
“I mean it…I don’t wanna go alone. Never mind how it takes me, I just wanna go with you.” The hope that your eyes once shined was now overshadowed by the tears that formed in your waterline. Daryl swallowed the lump that formed in the back of his throat. “C’mere.” He opened his arms to you, providing you the comfort you desperately needed.
Now with your rambling seemingly done and your body against his, Daryl thought.
“Alright.” Was all he said. Though it wasn’t a typical alright, it was serious. You pulled yourself up from his chest and looked to him with a cocked eyebrow, “Alright?” You questioned. “Yeah.” His demeanor confused you, seconds ago you were spewing words of fantasy, words of love and death, but now he seemed a little too serious on the matter. “What do you mean?”
“Means I wanna do it.” He spoke with his face close to yours, eyes locking into your own, so so close. “Imma build ya a home. Might take a little bit but I promise I will.” With his promise, you closed the sliver of space between you. You had kissed him many times before but there was a new feeling to the gentle urgency his lips met yours with. You could feel the fear of fate melting away in the softness of his kisses and you felt the desire for a peaceful future replace it. And that peaceful future tugged at your lips and ran its fingers through Daryl’s hair.
But most of all there was now a promise. A promise that you’d build together, love together, be full together, and eventually…you’d rot together.
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rodolfoparras · 5 months
Note
Woke up and thought: I need TF141+Rudy to be my princesses!! But then my brain went to Price as my princess!! (I tend to be one of those people who is kind of like mom friend, but also guard dog??? Protective as hell but absolutely remembers small details about you and somehow just knows your emotional state??? So I guess my brain was like: GIVE THEM THE PRINCESS TREATMENT!! ☠️🤧)
He’s older and has always been this gruff masculine man. Every partner he’s had has always been his princess, and while he did love it, something in him tugged and tugged until he realized it was wanting and jealousy.
So of course when you join and despite the profession you’re in, you’re so kind. Not in the sweet bbg way, but in the “I will take care of and protect you no matter what” sir yes sir way. And it throws him for a loop!
But he sees the positive affect, how around base the tension the TF used to carry despite being safe is ebbing away. And that tug of want absolutely starts to burn inside of him.
You’re not even this hulking beast of a man, but something about you just screams safety and protection. And the way you take care of them all, has a wave of heat flashing through him. The way you subtly check on Ghost because anything too overt feels patronizing to him, the way you make sure Soap can calm his anger properly and give him you to vent to, making sure Gaz is truly alright after a difficult choice and making sure he feels settled. But the way you check on him is just… more.
Hand at the small of his back, to let him know you’re there. Somehow you figured out physical touch grounds him. Giving him water and even bringing him food when he’s been too focused on paperwork. Somehow noticing all his little quirks and tells, and always being there when he needs it despite the fact he can do this by himself. Hell you’re the only one to figure out that he gets hangry… well more so grumpy hungry and always get him his favorite.
So of course he has to ask, granted he’s nervous but he does. And somehow it just leads to you giving him the full blown princess treatment he’s always wanted. Hell, that pool of arousal in his gut becomes ever so present when you actually call him princess! (Not forcible feminization, just princess title ☺️)
Idk I just want Price to be my princess, Gaz to be my princess, Soap to be my princess, Ghost to be my princess, and Rudy to be my princess. 🤧🤧 I want to love and dote on those idiots so much!
(If anything made you uncomfortable pls let me know! I will apologize! <33)
🐻‍❄️-
Hear me out sugar..
1.
It first started when you bought a new bucket hat for him. He’d jokingly complained that one more rough landing to the ground and his bucket hat would fall apart.
You had stepped up offered to buy him a new, being fully serious about it too
He had accepted the offer, even jokingly said he’d buy the most expensive one to make a whole in you wallet
But he found himself frozen in place when you picked out the most high end store for outdoor clothes.
He didn’t even know what to say when you walked ahead of him over to where the hats were displayed, searching high and low for the perfect bucket hat.
You hadn’t even asked for his size but instead put different types of hats on him, standing so close he could feel your knees knocking together, calloused fingers grazing his skin as you felt the material under your fingertips, feeling heat creep his cheeks as your eyes stayed glued to him.
For the first time he feels an unfamiliar sort of feeling bubbling up inside of him.
2.
Undercover missions were his least favorite type of missions. It involved a lot of play and pretended and visiting place he usually wouldn’t be in, like a bar full of people half his age, drunk out of their minds and barely able to stand upright.
Price enjoyed a pint or two but this was way too much for his taste, had a grimace painting his face, something you quickly noticed.
“Not a fan?” You say, chuckling at the man’s obvious distaste.
“Never been” Price responds, carefully weaving his way through the floor of dancing bodies, with you following swift behind.
“How about I buy you a drink?” You don’t even turn to him to see the look on his face, already signaling for the bartender.
You hadn’t turned around to ask him his prefered drink already knowing it by heart for whatever reason, and once again he finds himself frozen in place, from utter confusion.
The bar was full of people but somehow you had managed to snag a chair for him, signaling for him to take a seat while you’d be left standing and once again he found himself speechless but sat downin anyway. As he takes a sip of his drink he notices your eyes on him.
“Good?” You ask, carefully gauging his face and once again he feels heat creep up his ears neck and cheeks, only managing a nod to your question.
“I’m just going to the bathroom real quick,” you say with a sheepish smile on your face and maybe he’d chid you for picking the worst moments to do your needs but he couldn’t focus on anything else but your hand on his elbow, your hot breath caressing his face and the way your cologne assaulted his senses as you leaned into him.
All he can do is nod in response before he continues to sip his drink, praying the liquor will keep him from saying something stupid.
It’s only been a couple of minutes that you’ve been gone before someone’s approaching him and attempting at making small talk.
Although he politely answers the stranger’s questions, it’s visible that Price is uncomfortable, shoulders rigid, smile forced and fingers fiddling with a napkin forgotten at the bar.
Suddenly there’s an arm around his waist, and he stiffens further before your cologne hits his sense and he feels himself relax in your embrace.
He doesn’t know what you had said to the other man all he could focus on is the warm palm on his back, fingers tattically brushing against the silver of his skin peeking through the shirt he’s wearing. But whatever you had said made the stranger nod his head, glass raising in the air before he walks away.
“Thank you” Price says, turning to you with a soft smile on his face
“Just doing my duty captain” you say with a smile on your face as you pull your hand away from his waist.
Another unfamiliar feeling bubbles up in his gut, this one he doesn’t like so much.
3. He once again finds himself in a bar, this time by his own choice, a place he’d picked to celebrate a successful mission.
He’d maybe had one two or three too many drinks when the world had started to spin around him, and someone, maybe soap? Maybe ghost? Had asked you to take him home.
Maybe if he’d been in his right mind he’d turn red at the fact that you were seeing him in such state, maybe if he’d been in his right mind he’d be able to feel the jolts coursing through his body from where your skin touched his. Maybe if he’d been in his right mind he realized how close you were to him, as you slung an arm around his waist, easily supporting him with your weight before taking him back to base.
Next thing he knows he’s waking up in his own room, a bit more sober than before, two bottles of water laying on his nightstand along with painkillers.
There’s even a washcloth on his bed and somehow he’s managed to strip himself down to his boxer and undershirt.
However before he could try decipher how he’d manage to do that in his drunken state, he hears his bathroom door squeak open and immediately flies out of bed, grabbing the first thing in his hand to defend himself which just happens to be-
"Painkillers? Really captain? I’d never guess that would be your weapon of choice”
There’s a brief moment of confusion, before it’s replaced with relazation and only then is he able to respond to your comment “oh piss of” he grunts out, throwing the bottle to the ground before he sits back down in his bed, hand clutching his throbbing head.
He hears you chuckle in response before the bed dips beside him.
“Here” you say, handing him the bottle he’d just thrown away.
He looks between the bottle and your face, heat creeping up his own face before he takes the pills in his hand.
Before he can even ask, you hand him a bottle of water and he does his best to ignore the jolts coursing through his fingertips as your hands briefly touch.
“Thanks” he says before he throws back the pills, swallowing them down with the water you gave him, and only then does he notice how thirst he is, quickly emptying the bottle in a matter of seconds.
“Want more?” You say, offering another bottle laying on the nightstand.
“No” he grunts out before he turns to look at you. “What are you doing here?” He says before he abruptly cuts himself off “I mean this is my room- not that you’re not allowed I mean-“ he continues to run his mouth only ever shutting up once he hears you laugh.
“It’s okay” you say waving away his worries “you got drunk and I helped you get back home, you wouldn’t let me leave though” his eyes widen at that, mouth ready to run again before you’re waving off his words with the flick of your hand “i helped you get in bed and by the time I brought you water and pain killers you had passed out, I kind of made a mess of the bathroom looking for painkillers so I thought I should fix that before I left “ you say with a sheepish look on your face.
It’s only now he realizes that you’ve been the one to strip the clothes off of him, you’ve seen every scar every mark he’d kept hidden under his clothing and once again he feels heat creeping up his cheeks.
He shouldn’t be this comfortable being touched by a stranger while unconscious but you aren’t a stranger and you’d only ever touched him with care and consideration like now as your hand is hovering over his in case he doesn’t want you touching him.
“If I made you feel uncomfortable-“
“No!” He says a bit too hasty before he corrects himself “I mean it’s alright, thank you for taking care of me”
It seems like that’s all you need to hear for the worry to trickle out of your bones, shoulders slumping and hand caressing his own.
“Alright, good” you say with a soft smile on your face hand resting atop of his own before you pull away “well it’s late and I need to go to bed or else you won’t see me bright and early in the morning” you say as you get up.
Although you probably meant the training sessions you were supposed to have in the morning he couldn’t help the unfamiliar feeling from bubbling up inside, maybe he should call it familiar since he’s felt it a couple of times now.
“Sleep well captain” you say sending him a playful salute before walking through the door.
And as the door shuts close Price realizes one thing.
He’s fucked.
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sweetracha · 11 months
Text
Choose a Flavor
There are two versions of this story based on the experience you want to have. Will you be a good girl or a brat?
Flavor Selected: Good Girl
Sugar Content: Spicy Sweet (SMUT!)
Allergy Warning: Hard Dom Chan, Titles (Master and Daddy), Pet Names (Bunny, Baby, Good Girl, Princess, etc.), Praise, Overstim, Sweet Mean Dom, Dumb is used, Illusions to aftercare.
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The room you stood in was silent. Not a single sound rang out. So quiet in fact, you could hear the thoughts blaring through your head. Your heart was drumming an unsteady beat in your ears and your breath danced along. Was this nervous or excited? Both you decided, it was both.
After a few failed relations and some more than disappointing hookups, you decided maybe love and lust wasn’t for you. Having to share your kinks and fantasies over and over again was tiring. No one seemed to understand what you wanted, no what you NEEDED out of a relationship. Giving up was the best option. That was until a friend ranted about her failure of a date.
“He was sweet when I met him! And super attractive don’t get me wrong! But something seemed off. We went back to his place and we were hanging out in his bed watching a movie. I thought maybe something would happen so I wanted to freshen up. I left for the restroom and when I came back I must have picked the wrong door because when I opened it…” Your friend trailed off. 
“What did you see?” You asked both out of curiosity and protectiveness. If this man did anything to hurt her you would make sure he would pay.
“Um well” her cheeks went bright red. “Remember that movie we jokingly watched back in college? The one about…you know…sex?”
“Yeah…50 shades of gray? It was a terrible representation of that lifestyle, but go on”
“Well… it was like that”
That's when it hit you. This man had a playroom. A full-on playroom dedicated to BDSM. you could finally have someone in your life to share details with. A friend that would actually understand you. You consoled your friend however, she needed you more right now. She admitted that she didn’t want to break his heart so you told her you'd do it on her behalf, all you needed was his number.
You set up a public meeting with the guy you now knew as Christopher. The two of you were to meet at a little cafe in the middle of town. While your friend described him to you, you weren’t exactly sure what he looked like. So when an incredibly handsome man walked up to your table, you were startled.
“y/n?” he asked and god was his voice intoxicating.
“Yeah–that's me! You must be Christopher” you replied with a much shakier voice than you would have liked. Chris took a seat across from you.
He was fidgeting the whole conversation, worried he actually hurt your friend. You explained to him since you were little girls she had always been scared of the taboo. This eased his tight expressions. However, the more you talked the more he picked up on. Your friend was not into the scene…but you never said anything about yourself.
“Sorry if this is out of the blue Y/N, but how do you know so much about this lifestyle? I mean you know much more than any book or movie would teach you” He said with a soft and caring tone but a cocky smirk on his lips. I
“I um- well I have looked into it” was a terrible lie, and he could tell.
“Honey, it's okay if you are an adorable little sub” He tested the waters, hoping to not scare you off. To be honest the thought of having a sub as gorgeous as you scared him a bit. When he saw the blush crawl up your skin and paint your face, he knew you had to be his. 
Here you are now standing in his playroom. It was perfect, everything you could have dreamed of and more. You had seen it once before when you were going over consent contracts. Chris wanted to make sure you felt comfortable in this space. He made love to you in the black silk bed that sat on the middle wall. He was so sweet, soft, and sensual in those moments. You wondered how he could ever be a dom.
Trying to drown out your busy mind you took in the sights. Christopher, or Bang Chan as you learned was his dom persona, had an eye for detail. The room was decorated with leather and silk, reminding you of the silk piece he had you wear tonight. Red lights colored the corners tastefully. Paddles and other impact gear were organized along the walls. Ropes were twisted neatly on the bedframe. A wand and some other toys were charging on the black wood nightstand. Finally, you took in the scent of the room. Sharp whiskey and leather filled your senses, a perfect match to Chan’s cologne. Being so lost in the art of it all, you didn’t hear the door close or footsteps behind you.
“Hello little bunny” Chris welcomed as he slide up behind you, gently wrapping a hand around your throat. “Are you ready to play little one?” you nodded in response.
“Words honey, don’t be a brat now” his grip tightened. 
“Yes Master” you meekly replied
“Good girl, here is how tonight is going to go. Every question I ask will be responded to verbally, Every order I give will be followed, and every word I say will be heard. Do this little bunny and Daddy will reward you greatly. If you fail to listen to me, however, you will be punished” His hand around your neck pulled you in close as he leaned into your ear and whispered “Hard”.
Tonight you were left with two choices. Be the good girl your dom wants you to be or have your fun and be a brat. Rewards or punishments were the ultimate questions. 
You picked to be a good girl tonight
Chan spun you around so you were facing him, it didn’t matter if he had a shorter stature. Right now he towered over you. Leather-gloved hands came up to fix your pretty white bunny ears on top of your head. Christopher cooed at how innocent you looked in the dark space. He was going to have fun with you. Those same rough leather hands tilted your chin up to stare into his intense eyes.
“What are your safe words bunny?” 
“Green for good, yellow for slow down, and red for stop” You had to admit he stole your breath away. He was terrifying yet comforting at the same time as he hummed in approval.
“What is my name doll?
“Daddy or Master” 
“Good bunny, such a good girl for daddy huh sweetie? Let's start now, how does that sound to you”
“Please Daddy” fuck, you were going to be the death of him.
Christopher laid you down on the black silk sheets. He leaned in to capture your lips in a soft kiss. His big lips pillowed onto yours. You were getting lost in the false comfort of it all until he bit your bottom lip harshly and pulled back. The moan that left you was forever engraved in his mind. After his stunt he went back to kissing you but with more passion and fire. His tongue delved into your mouth and easily took dominance. It wasn't long before kisses trailed down your jaw and onto your neck. He explored you until one spot, just under your ear, made you moan louder than any before. He latched on. With intent to mark what was his, Chris sucked and bit that section all while you sang out in pleasure. When he pulled back, he was satisfied with the deepening purple bruise left behind.
His next stop was your breasts. After removing the white silk babydoll gown, he took a second to admire your body.
“Fucking gorgeous bunny” as he would have put it
He kissed, twisted, and sucked each nipple while you whined and wiggled.
“Stay still baby, you were doing so good” The praise was like electricity to your skin. You needed him to see you as his good girl. So as best as you could you stayed still.
Finally, he made his way down to where you needed him most. Your panties were soaked from his previous exploration and from the look on his face, he approved. 
“So wet honey, all for me?” He knew the answer but wanted to see that embarrassed blush again from the cafe.
“Yes Daddy, wet for you,” you said so quietly you almost thought he didn’t hear.
“Good girl, that must be so uncomfortable bunny. Let Master help you with that okay? Dumb little bunnies like you need all the help you can get” He cooed before driving right in. He gave you no time to adjust to the new feeling. Pleasure overtook your body and you began to shake. Chan took this as an opportunity to slide in two fingers and scissor you open. 
“So sensitive little bunny, whatever am I going to do with you?”
“Fuck me please” you cried out so loud you were sure the neighborhood heard
“Cum first, then daddy will fuck you” 
With that he went back in, eating you like a man starved. His fingers picked up the pace, hitting the spot that made you melt over and over again. It was all becoming so much. A familiar knot formed in your stomach and before you could say anything it snapped. You came with a loud moan and shook uncontrollably. No man, woman, or person had ever made you feel like that. Christopher rode out your high with you. Once he knew you were okay he sat on the bed and pulled you into his lap, he just needed to hold you for a second.
“How did that feel little bunny?” he asked while petting down your crazed hair
“So good master” your speech incredibly slurred
“Color baby?”
“Green daddy, so fucking green” you panted, and with that, he tossed you on the bed.
He removed his painfully hard cock from his black dress pants. The tip was bright red and leaking. The size still scared you even if you had taken it before. But you trusted Chan, you knew he wouldn’t hurt you more than you wanted. He placed you in a mating press and slowly entered your soaking entrance. You couldn't help the long drawn-out moans that left you both. Once he was finally seated in you he waited. 
“Beg for it princess, beg for your master to fuck you”
“Please master please fuck me” You whined
“Oh come on now, you can do better than that. Yeah? Be a good little bunny and fucking beg” The glint in his eye and the smile on his face was terrifying in the best way possible.
“Please Daddy please fuck your little bunny! Only you can fuck me. God please just use me. I need it Master, you own my pleasure” Before you could go on he rammed into you.
He set a hard and steady pace. It was clear he knew the difference between fast sex and hard sex. Your eyes couldn’t help but roll back into your head. He knew by how you were clenching around him that you were close.
“Cum” is all he said and you exploded into ecstasy. Unlike before however, he didn't stop.
Instead, his gloved hand captured your wrists and pinned them above you. With his strength, there was no freeing yourself. His other hand reached behind you to grab something. You were about the question him until you heard a humming come to life. The black wand was placed onto your overly sensitive clit. You practically screamed.
“Cant! Sensitive” were the only two words you could create.
“What did I say, princess? What master gives you, you take. I know you can handle this because you are just my dumb little bunny who only wants pleasure from her master. So. Fucking. Take. It” Those last few words were punctuated with incredibly hard thrusts. 
Soon enough another orgasm rockets through you. This time however you clenched down so hard on Chris that he almost lost it right there. He no longer cared about your pleasure and needed to released. Like an animal, he pounded into you, wand long forgotten on the stained sheets until he snapped. He filled you to the brim with his cum and cursed as he pumped the rest of it into you. He pulled back and watched it leak from your fragile frame. You were the most amazing site to see. To him, you were the 8th wonder of the world.
“So good little bunny, so good” He whispered to you as he began to clean you off.
“Thank you Daddy” your voice croaked
“Shhhhh not now little one, I'm just Christopher right now bun” 
“Channie?” you slightly sat up with a sweet questioning expression on your face. He was going to marry you someday.
“Yes princess, Channie is here. Let's get you into a bath baby girl.”
Change Flavor?
719 notes · View notes
blingblong55 · 1 year
Note
✨Hello✨ I would like some Headcannons of 141 + könig with a gen z reader who's on the older side (like, 20-25) at first they were besties with soap, but then they became good friends with everyone. They are one of the very few people who can bother the shit out of ghost and live to tell the tale. All of 141 and könig have had their nails painted/makeup done by reader, and once a week AT LEAST, reader and the 141 + könig have a ✨ s p a d a y ✨ face mask, manicures, pedicures, you name it and the reader, 141 + könig have probably done it. Reader is also ver affectionate. Their name can be whatever you want it to be. Have a good day/night, eat, drink water, and don't overwork yourself or I'll find you and hit you with a steel frying pan. Love ya 😁
I love the way you show your love for me!!
Material Girl- 141+König
Not a proper hc...I think (idk my brain isn't braining rn)
Gn!reader! Smut at the end so warning!!
It's been forever since you arrived at base. 141, mainly Ghost nicknamed you rooks, short for rookie, also short like you. "Sergeant rooks, get over here." "rooks you sure 'bout this?" "Hey rooks, wanna hang out" god did it exhaust you, but it was all banter. Nothing more.
Soap soon after you had arrived at base became your best friend, only friend in the eye of others. He knew almost everything of the tiny rookie that had become his friend. Price didn't get it at first. How someone so smart as you had befriended his Scott soldier. But soon after seeing you and him explode different things around base he understood, "not about the level of knowledge but by how dumb they both are." It took 5 months for them all to be open to you.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
"ghost...ghost...heeeeyyyyy ghooossstttt" you whispered yelled (does that make sense? hope it does)
"yes rooks?" His voice hinting at his frustration.
You jumped from behind and made him jump. "Just wanting to see if you were still alive" "3 laps around base, go"
----
And after much fight, he got used to you. Always making extra coffee for the days he knew you'd be around the most. He felt like a teacher with you and soap around. "If you do that, don't ya think it'll explode" then he saw your wheels turn. "that'll be awesome!"
----
"fuck off Janet. im not goin to your fucking baby shower?"
"Who the fucks is that sergeant?"
Man did you annoy him with quotes from tiktok, but he loved how every time you would laugh at literal dark jokes, others would consider a sigh of a mental illness. "Die bitch...dieeee!!" You said as he killed a spider. He soon chased you with it. And as always you cried a little.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
When the team found you stressed after a mission, they asked soap what a day off in your life looked like. "They better thank us for this." Price sighed as he, ghost and König prepared the common room to seem like a comfy living space.
"Ghost, you're next..what color would you like?" you looked up at him, annoyance leaked from his eyes. "Black..all black" You look around your kit, "I have glittery black? will that work?" your curious eyes starring at his, "fine" he responded. Gaz took pictures and sent them to the group chat, the same one he left because of your stupid daily memes.
"This is worse than torture."
"Do you or do you not feel bonita?" you smiled as you carefully painted his nails. He hesitated, "I feel bonita" . "Wonderful because you look Bonita!" you squealed, your hands cheerfully in the air.
Then it was König's turn, "nails or makeup mister?" you kindly asked. "pick makeup, their skin care routine after the removal makes your skin so smooth." gaz said as he caressed his own face. "Makeup, but just do my eyes please, ja?" You understood why his request was so odd, but you complied. Once you did his eyes: "gosh you look prettier than me, König!" he blushed at your comment. "Lift your mask, and I'll do your lips, want to see how pretty this shade will look on my pretty boy." you made way as he lifted his mask, "Pretty, pretty lips" his smile giving him away.
"Price?" "m'fine with the nails, thanks"
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
It was a Wednesday night, that you and the team designated for spa days. You bought them those soft hair bands with different shapes and colors. Ghost and König agreed on wearing surgical masks just for this activity. All of the tough soldiers reclined on sofas as you went around and applied face masks and cucumber for aesthetics. ----
Soap enjoyed how your hands would massage his hair. It was something you had mentioned, when he applied black war paint on his hair and you gasped. "If you want hair masks just ask Johnny! don't gotta kill me with this!" you exclaimed on the field.
----
They all had robes on, you even ordered those foot massager machines for them. And when you were done with their masks, you would lay on the floor with pillows around. You read, and sprayed the room with different aromas. Sometimes when you felt hippie enough you would walk around with incense.
----
It was the only time you went around taking pictures, they soon found out because you accidentally airdropped one to Gaz, who made it his profile on the group chat.
----
"it smells horrible" ghost would say, "shh im cleansing you honey" your calm voice making him more scared, what if you accidentally lit him on fire, something that soap had done to gaz when he too felt like a hippie.
"thank you hase (bunny)" König would always keep you close when this whole thing was happening, his excuse was that your body heat was comfortable to him, in reality, he just needed an excuse to have you near.
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
It was a routine that you had created with them. For Ghost and König, you always spent the nights with either of them, you would stay up and wait until they needed you. Hugs from these two were the best. Soldiers stared and they would give them 'the' look. (you comment on this..I kill what you love)
"König it's time for hugs!" you jumped and he catched you, your head on his chest, "You are kind mein König," you used that only when he needed to be brought back after a tough mission.
----
Soap and you had physical touch as love language, so showing him your affection was easy. You'd give his hands a squeeze or rubbed his shoulders and this man would just stand there, taking all the affection you could give. Sometimes it was him who would hug you so tight, you thought you might pass out.
"too much love" you would remind him. "m'sorry, felt like giving it all today" he would chuckle.
----
Price was different, this man needed affection when having smoke competitions.
"learned this one on tiktok," you inhaled and perfect circle flew around. "S'good, getting better." He would stare in amusement as the circle of smoke disappeared. But at times he did need a hug. So when the day needed a little snuggle, he would approach you. "Feeling a little cold today, you?" and you would just hug him tight. "Do you feel my love?" you smiled as your face was deep in his man boobs (man am I a whore for man boobs..so squishy and shit)
----
Gaz needed affection in fun ways. So every morning you would send him memes, or tease him about something. "S'not funny." "My uncle broke his neck tap-dancing once." and back to giggles it was. At times since you and him were somewhat the same age, you'd send tiktoks to one another.
"Gaz can you serve" He would pose and you'd laugh, "no like serve your country" and he'd salute. "Fucks sake was that." ghost would whisper to Price. "Maybe if we don't move, they won't notice us."
✧・゚: *✧・゚:* *:・゚✧*:・゚✧
(please tell me this is what you meant when you said "done it" cuz if not,,,them im putting myself on blast here)
NSWF(kinda) MINORS DNI!!!
MANHANDLED im telling you!!!
These man were starving for some sex. So when the opportunity rose, you as a decent person, homie hopped. (I would too, so no shame here)
It first started with Ghost, then König. Then the two men with you(yes..threesome bc we only live once). Soap would probably find the three of you fucking. It would be on accident though. He was walking around base when he heard you scream, and when he opened the door you were in between the two big men.
After a week of witnessing the naked horrors of his superior and friends he would talk to you. "I was tempted." you confessed. "Mind doing me next?" he bluntly said. "I mean, would you be up for it?" "Now? or later?" he looked at you, soon later it was you and him and the same room he had caught you in.
Then like a good father and son, price and gaz shared you. And I mean SHARED. You didn't hesitate, mainly because you had a thing for gaz since the beginning, but price was more of a fantasy that turned real.
It took a little bit of convincing, and a lot of drinking and smoking (green plant activities ) to be in the presence on them all.
Gang bang? anyone? Anyways, it was a sworn secret that was called a one time thing. But after the 3rd time of the one time thing it was just a team building exercise for sure. (monthly so you would be able to walk properly)However after every mission Ghost and König would fuck the anger off of their system. Price understood why you wouldn't be able to make it to some training days, those were also the days he had fun with "excuse or not you better pay your debt"
tags: @g4y-gr3ml1n
REQUEST ARE OPEN!!
A/N: please tell me you understood why the title is that?
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krnzysh · 1 year
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PRIDE OF A SCRIBE !
SUMMARY You stood there, under the rain, soaking wet, and face to face with the same man whose pride you loathed with every fiber of your being. Yet how come he stood there, eyes so soft for you?
CHARACTER Al-Haitham x gn!reader
WARNINGS major spoilers for pride and prejudice (I used the same dialogue for the confession heaurhisauf)!, OOC alhaitham (I based him off of Mr. darcy’s personality cus why not), arguing, angst no comfort, gender neutral reader, just angst<3, oneshot only. lmk if I missed any!
WORD COUNT 1229 
PICTURE CRED Alhaitham's character demo
[💬] LOVE, AIKA I recently rewatched pride and prejudice heisdh and I wanted to write a little come home offering for Alhaitham so uhm yeah🧍 he just fits Mr. Darcy so well ahuehuehue (I actually have another idea for Mr. Bingley ehehsihd lmk if you want it hehehe)
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Your idiocy is something you are not proud of. Now because of your decision, you stood there soaking wet, from head to toe.
It was a sunny morning, with no signs of a dark sky, or the feeling of cold droplets of water on your skin that fell from the heavens.
But here you were, running. Desperately seeking shelter from the harsh wind and the heavy downfall of the rain.
Moments before, you were just sitting in the House of Daena where you were reading on scrolls for your research. You were far too engrossed that you didn’t notice the abundance of scholars who left before the downcast of the rain.
As you think back, you make a mental note on making sure that you are more aware of your surroundings.
Exhaustion enveloped your body as soon as you leaned on the wall for support. ‘I need to get home’. Was the only thought that occupied your head.
But before you could stand once more, a certain figure caught your line of sight. 
As the figure grew larger and larger, and as a presence drew nearer, there the grand scribe of the Akademiya stood in all his glory.
He was the last person you wanted to see. Especially in this state of yours.
You wanted to avoid him as much as possible, “Alhaitham... What are you-”
“Y/n, please.” He cut your inquiry off, his voice bled and beseech you to listen to him, his eyes scanning you, earnestly trying to make you stay and hear him out.
Deciding to hear him out, you stood in silence, breaking eye contact with the scribe. What could he be thinking? 
Noticing your silent response, he took this as a sign to keep talking. Finally, tell you what he was keeping deep in his heart.
He began to speak, in a manner you most certainly never expected him in. His voice was filled with adoration and he spoke as if he cherished and loved you.
“Y/n, I have struggled in vain and I can no longer bear it.” He started, eyes locked on you. You saw how he badly wanted to hold you, yet he refrained from doing so.
You stare at him, awaiting his next words. Your ears perked and were ready to hear every last syllable that came from his mouth.
 “These past months have been a torment, I repeatedly came to the House of Daena to see you…” He admits. Alhaitham stopped for a moment before continuing. 
“I have fought against my better judgment, my family's expectations, the inferiority of your birth by rank and circumstance. All these things I am willing to put aside and ask you to end my agony.” He continued, albeit faster and his demeanor never faltered.
But you? You were confused. Oh so confused.
What was he saying? End his agony? You couldn’t understand. And with confusion in your eyes and in your voice, you questioned him;
“I don’t understand…” You didn’t understand. After he insulted your ranking and your position after he said all those words and after he asked you to end his agony.
‘Just what is this scribe pertaining to?’ You ask yourself
Sensing the confusion, Alhaitham, spoke, with more honesty and love.
“I love you.” He finally confessed, stopping for a second before continuing, “Most ardently. Please do me the honor of accepting my hand.”
The shock was painted all over your face. Eyes blew wide, mouth agape. Your head still hasn’t registered his words.
Alhaitham, the grand scribe of the Akademiya, the prideful man he is, confessed his feelings, to you…?
You had no feelings for the man, atleast that is what your mind wanted to believe.
Minutes felt like hours, the long cruciating silence that took over you both was silent enough that only the pitter-patter of the rain can be heard.
“Sir scribe, I appreciate the struggle you have been through, and I am very sorry to have caused you pain. Believe me, it was unconsciously done.” You finally replied to him after what seemed like ages.
Alhaitham whose face never changed still maintained that poker face, replied to your statement. With a curt “Is that your reply?”
The cold and monotone voice spoke through the never-ending sploshes of water
He maintained eye contact with you as you answer his question.
“Yes, sir scribe.”
“Are you… are you laughing at me?”
“No.”
“Are you rejecting me?”
You so badly wanted to let out a scoff, he still couldn’t let his pride now, even at this moment. Can he?
“I'm sure that the feelings which, as you've told me have hindered your regard, will help you in overcoming it.” You told him, blatantly rejecting him.
“Might I ask why, with so little endeavor at civility, I am thus repulsed?” He further inquired.
The irony. You thought that maybe he could’ve let his pride lower, even just for this moment. But no, he’s just that prideful, isn’t he?
“And I might as well enquire why, with so evident a design of insulting me, you chose to tell me that you liked me against your better judgment.”
“So this is your opinion of me. Thank you for explaining so fully. Perhaps these offenses might have been overlooked had not your pride been hurt by my honesty…”
Looking him in the eye, your rage grew, more and more so. 
“My… pride?”
You questioned him, is this how he treats the person he cherishes and adores?
“...in admitting scruples about our relationship. Could you expect me to rejoice in the inferiority of your circumstances?”
Oh, he just added fuel to the raging fire that you desperately tried to tame.
You knew of your status, you were well aware you were not born into an influential family nor were you raised with so much money. But for him to insult you and rub it into your face? 
Hurt, you reply to him “And those are the words of THE GRAND SCRIBE.”  emphasizing his title.
“From the first moment, I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain for the feelings of others made me realize that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.”
No, you know it yourself, you don’t hate him, you don’t loathe him. You adore him. So much so that you just wanted to embrace him and make him yours.
But what he said just hurt you, so much. 
You both stood there, eyes filled with rage, but if you look closer, you can see how hurt you were.
Alhaitham wanted to hold you. He wanted to cherish you, to give you all the love that you deserve. But he had to mess up, maybe Kaveh was right.
You saw how he wanted to reach out to you, but he stopped himself.
You saw how he wanted to wipe your tears away and apologize, he wanted to comfort you.
“I… apologize for taking so much of your time. Please stay safe, Y/n” 
He finally spoke up, breaking eye contact with you. Turning around to leave.
He gave you one last glance before finally, leaving you and your thoughts alone.
Too much thought ran throughout your head, still not fully understanding the situation. Still in confusion.
But you had one question for yourself. Did you really, not love him?
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© aiikalvr, 2023 — do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my works without prior permission and/or confirmation on any platform!
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melatonin-melanin · 4 months
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menhera as a movement and how it can connect to race
most members of the menhera subculture tend to have one goal in mind, and it's to be able to improve their mental health one way or another. for those unaware, menhera is a mental health movement originating in japan, where the term was originally defined as "someone who seeks mental well being." you can learn more about it here.
a large aspect of the menhera subculture is creating art in order to vent your struggles. this art is expressed most commonly through mediums such as fashion, painting, and music. any topics are acceptable to create vent art from, and often there will be motifs related to the author's trauma. however, over time, menhera has been watered down to containing mainly medical motifs in creations, as opposed to the original intention of being an outlet for a vast majority of issues that people may struggle with. of course, this doesn't mean that people no longer use it to vent; there are still many active members of the community, at least overseas.
you might be thinking, "that's nice to learn about, but what does this have to do with race? isn't this about mental health?"
well, your race can directly impact your mental health in multiple ways. when it comes to race, it's important to keep in mind that it's not just the color of your skin. race, as it is defined in society, is also your hair texture, facial structure, culture, and traditions. race is ultimately a social category, as it is fluctuating throughout history and is solely determined by people in power. think about it: for those growing up in the U.S., did you ever have to fill out forms for mandated tests? do you recall that, as time went on, more and more racial categories were added as options to check off when asked for your race?
with all of these factors taken into account, it's no wonder that race can affect mental health. whether it's from racial discrimination in multiple communities and institutions, cultural-specific struggles, or trying to find one's own place inside and outside of race-based communities, any and all of these issues can be mentally draining and have someone questioning their self-worth. added to all of this, it can be more difficult for someone to receive help for these troubles when they're not surrounded with people who understand. not every person of color is going to understand what a person with a mental illness goes through, and not every person with a mental illness is going to understand what a person of color goes through, either. depending on the people around them, a person of color struggling with mental illness may feel much more hesitant about reaching out to others because of this.
menhera as a movement was created in order for people to express all kinds of feelings without needing any particular label for what they're struggling with. it lets you wear your heart on your sleeve, and embrace aspects of yourself that you have trouble accepting. you can be beautiful, despite everything. you can be beautiful despite having traits that you've felt so insecure about for the longest time, whether it be skin color, hair type, face shape, cultural significances; none of that makes you any lesser, regardless of what you may feel or what others may have told you. my own race has tied into many of my experiences with my self-image, and my struggle with that view is part of why i identify with the menhera subculture. for anyone reading this who feels similarly, this is sort of my way of saying that you aren't alone!
i feel that, although the medical association is most likely here to stay, the majority of the menhera community can also work beyond only acknowledging certain facets of mental illness. this isn't only referring to the acknowledgment of racial issues, but other intersecting traits that affect people's experiences with mental illness. gender, class, physical disability, orientation; all of these undoubtedly influence each individual's views on mental health, and the community should strive to be more open towards all of these different experiences no matter how messy or uncomfortable they get. after all, the purpose of menhera is to tell ourselves that we're pretty, cute, handsome, gorgeous, and all of those kinds of adjectives despite how our troubles make us feel!
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skyeslittlecorner · 2 months
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Tails for all! - Gehenna edition
Other parts: Kings | Tartaros | Hades | Avisos | Nilfheim | Abaddon | Paradise Lost
Sitri
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In Ars Goetia he is related to leopards, so let's keep it that way! A white spotted tail, fluffy, mid-calf length. Equal thickness, only the end is a little fluffier.
The fur is white and silky, but when held up to the light it has blue reflections, just like his hair. 
The nobles of Gehenna thought he was a kitten, and he hated it. Leraye tried to shove catnip up his nose. Also, because they spend a lot of time together, Satan has learned to wag his tail like a cat from him.
He uses it for balancing, have you seen his heels? Exactly. 
This.
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Sensitiveness 9/10. Have you ever tried holding a cat by its tail? He's usually calm, but pull on him and he'll completely lose his cool. And you lose your hand.
Not suitable for sex, but best for cuddling. He will tickle you if you are naughty. Also, extremely warm. He will wrap it around your cold hands to warm them.
Belial
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A beautiful man with a beautiful tail. Do you remember Toothless from How to train a dragon? Similar tail, except the fins are a little smaller.
Not necessarily scales, more like smooth, hard skin. Homogeneous, only when you touch it you feel small bumps.
Like Beelzebub, he can pull a needle from the tip of his tail. Sometimes, when he's bored, he takes vinyl records and a record player and tries to use this sting like a record player needle.
It works great in the water while swimming.
He had Jjyu on his tail for a while, but the little demon made a lot of enemies behind his back (literally).
Sensitiveness 5/10. He will talk to you with his tail if he can't talk to you with his mouth. He will wrap it around your ankle or stroke your cheek. You would create your own secret love language of gestures. And, it's perfect for grinding.
Paimon
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Long, strong tail, with a flowy hair like an irish setter.  It looks beautiful, but it is strong enough to break a rib.
It's blonde at the base, but the closer it gets to the end, the more it turns pink. Nobody knows if it's natural or dyed.
A lot of colorful pins and hairbands are attached to it, the back is braided. Smells sweet, as if he washed it with bubblegum shampoo.
He loves using his tail instead of a tripod or hand for selfies.
Sometimes, when fighting arm in arm with Leraye and surrounded by enemies, they can stand with their backs to each other and intertwine with their tails. Just to protect their backs. 
Sensitiveness 4/10. He will stab you with his tail to taunt you or wrap around your waist so you can't escape. And he’d love you to brush it.
Leraye
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We all know he's a puppy, so of course he'll get a kangaroo tail. Maybe not exactly, but similar in strength and agility. Longer than his legs, thick at the base like a thigh. Very short bristles, similar to Paimon, blond at the base, the further away, the darker.
When he wanted to get a piercing on his tail, he finally learned not to do it with a gun. Sitri had to help him anyway again, because he can't turn around that much.
His piercing is three spikes, smaller than his horn, on his back, a hand's distance from each other and from the base. Of course, he has teddy bears there.
His shooting position is incomprehensible to others because he leans on his tail to aim better.
He treats that tail like a chair. If his legs were as strong, he would have no problem running.
Sensitiveness 4/10. He likes it when you scratch him, especially in the opposite direction to the bristles. He'll wag that big tail like a dog.
Zagan
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He is depicted as a griffin-winged bull. Let his tail be long and silver, with a white ponytail at the end. Similar to a lion's, but much larger.
If he wanted to, he can use his ponytail as a brush, but it is difficult to remove the paint from the long fur.
The silver fur is a little longer on the bottom. Compared to ponytail, it is more slippery.
Paimon really wanted to dye it, and Zagan didn't have the heart to refuse, so for half a year he wore a pink ponytail at the end. (That's why he knows how hard it is to wash it off.) Interestingly, the angels fled even more at the sight of him. It is known that the cuter the demon, the more dangerous it is.
He has a protective pattern painted on the back of his tail, near the base, just like on his talismans. He repaints it every morning, it's his little ritual.
Sensitiveness 5/10. He likes petting the underside of the tail the most, where he has longer, soft fur.
Astaroth
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Let's go crazy, shall we? There is no more snake demon than him. We know that demons are shapeshifters, and I feel like he would gladly trade his legs for a snake tail. 
Its strands may be a good ten meters long, but no one has been brave enough to measure it. Black scales with a white belly.
He has no tail in his human form, he would feel too uncomfortable with so many limbs. 
From him came the legends not only about Santa Claus, but also about the nagas, i.e. snake-like deities.
Elegant and distinguished and lazy. Like Belial, he likes to swim, especially at noon when the sun warms his scales. You can use him like a mattress or a pontoon.
Sensitiveness 2/10 back, 10/10 belly.  Especially where the human body turns into a snake one. You know what I'm getting at. Along with the tail, of course, come fangs and poison. Don't try to kiss him and don't let it bite you. He'd tangle you in his embrace and wouldn't let you go.
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noctumbra · 2 years
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       𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐲-𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫: 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤 
summary ─ tied up, nowhere to run, he lets himself drown.
pairing ─ dilf!pornstar!bucky barnes x reader
warnings ─ oral sex (m receiving), light rimming, light bondage, teasing, lipstik testing lol, lingerie, a loving usage of word ‘whore’ 
a/n ─ this is a part of take my breath universe. you don’t need to read them in order to understand this, but it would be nice if you do.
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James was sitting in front of you on a chair.
His hands were tied behind him, making his arms muscles bulge and tattoos look menacing. His hair was down and sweaty. His bare chest was glowing with sweat under the lights. His thighs looked thicker than ever; the light layer of hair was matted and stuck to his skin with the heat of his body.
He was gloriously naked and looked sexy as hell.
All at your mercy.
All for you to use.  
You were in a lingerie that he bought you for Valentine’s Day. It was red, lacey and with leather straps. You had matching heels on your feet and a lipstick. Your plan was simple: Testing the at what level this lipstick was waterproof. And the only way to test was to put your mouth on him.
James was aware of your plans. You could see him slightly trembling with anticipation. You grinned.
You walked up to him and put your hands on his thick thighs, digging your nails into the meat and muscle there. Then, you leaned forward and kissed him chastely on the lips. He sighed into the kiss softly. You peppered kisses on his cheeks, nose, forehead, eyes and jaw. You nipped the small dimple on his chin, and then moved to kiss his neck. You bit on his pulse, closed your lips and sucked until you were sure there was a small hickey forming. James gasped under you.
Pulling back, you kissed his collarbones and Adam’s apple. You made your way to his pecs, or tits because holy shit, he had a good pair of racks, and sucked a nipple into your mouth. He groaned. His hips thrusted up on instinct as he threw head back a bit at the unexpected pleasure he felt. You grinned. You kissed his other nipple and ran your nails over his ribs. You nosed along his happy trail, sticking your tongue out to lick the length of it until you made it to his cock.
It was hard as nails already. His balls were full and ready burst. The tip of his cock was angry red, precome leaking out of it like it was a broken faucet. Your mouth watered at the sight. You grasped his balls and rolled them in your palm gently. James moaned.
“God,” he hissed when your thumb pressed on his perinium. His legs widened its stance. You chuckled.
“You’re such a whore for me, James,” you purred. He moaned again.
“Fuck yeah, I am,” he snarled. You smirked at him. You wrapped your free hand around the base of his cock and squeezed. His breath hitched. Leaning forward, you took the tip of his cock in your mouth and sucked, cheeks hollowing and tongue licking his slit continuously. James gasped, moaned and thrusted lightly into your mouth. His chest was heaving, head thrown back fully as he let himself drown in the pleasure.
You slowly inched down, taking more of him in your mouth, and swallowed. James cried out. Your lips curled slightly as you started moving your head up and down, squeezing his balls rhythmically, and let your saliva smear everywhere.
James was a moaning, gasping and cursing mess beneath you. You loved it.
You pulled back for oxygen after a short while and saw the ring of red at the base of his cock. You smirked. James was looking down at you with wide eyes and heaving chest. He let out a soft whimper when he saw your lipstick painted the base of his dick to red.
“Wanna see where else I can paint red?” You asked him.
“Yes, please, oh shit, please,” he begged. He lifted his legs up in the air and gave you the needed space to work out. You peppered bites all over his inner thighs and ran your tongue exactly once over his hole. James let out a loud and long whine. “More, please, more.”
Moaning slightly, you gave him what he asked for so nicely. Licking, slurping, kissing and fucking his hole with your tongue, soon, you left a layer of red there, too. You slipped a finger in and placed a final kiss there before pulling back and looking at him.
“Shall we move forward?” You asked. He nodded.
Your plans for tonight have changed but only slightly. The pleasure it included, however, had increased at a great amount.
None of you were complaining.
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charnelhouse · 2 years
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Any morsel of a drabble of my love, Hades Din?
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A/N: Hades!Din Djarin x Persephone!Reader. Based off these two pieces (1 and 2). Mentions of hair. Smut. Pretty sure the concept of Persephone being a fertility goddess is all from Lore Olympus.
Hades is in a mood when he returns from battle. There have been continuous wars due to the splintering factions between titans and gods. For once, she is grateful to be in the Underworld. Hecate has told her of the chaos above ground. The humans who have become collateral damage. Earthquakes and great fires and tidal waves. Helios has missed numerous dawns. Crops have died. Famine. Plague.
Persephone had asked if she could help and Hades had forbidden it. “I won’t have you up there,” he growled - his voice achingly cold through his helm. “You’re a fertility goddess. You’d be taken from me the second I let you out.”
“But - my mother -”
“She’s fine,” he interrupted. “She would agree with me when it comes to your safety."
That had been it. The argument had fizzled out almost instantly under the frigid bark of his tone. She barely saw him anymore since the Underworld was shuddering under the explosion of new death. The Styx was overflowing. The water shimmered with wave after wave of silver coins. Entire villages were being wiped out and it was nearly impossible for Hades to manage both his duty and his commitment to the war effort. It was up to Hecate and his other servants to handle the rest. They were drowning in work, while also desperately trying not to invoke Hades's wrath. They did not want to piss him off more than he already was.
Persephone hadn't been sure what to do - how could she offer anything when she was a fertility goddess? Her powers were useless when it came to the dead.
She startles when the ceiling above her trembles. He's home. Dust and rock shower the floor, crack against the great stone table where another cold dinner awaits. She doubts Hades will eat tonight. He never stays.
When he storms into the dining room, she turns to greet him. His cape is soaked in ichor - sparkling like gold paint under the low blue flames that eternally burn from the torches against the walls. His helmet and cuirass are just as splattered. He has never looked larger to Persephone.
“Hades,” she murmurs and he stops. He whirls around to face her, seemingly taken aback at her presence. 
“Kore,” he replies. He shifts in place before he glances down at himself - just realizing that he is coated in blood and other things. His helmet tilts back. “Are you well?” 
She nods, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. “Will you eat?”
He shakes his head. “I don’t - I don’t have time tonight.” It's the same answer as before and, still, she does not know how to reply. She cannot ask him about the war because it’s apparent that he doesn’t want to corrupt her with the violence of it. 
“I understand,” she finally offers.
He looks at her again and, despite the helmet, she can read him. He wants to say something else. He lifts his hand before tucking it back against him. “I’m sorry,” he exhales before brushing past her, his boots heavy on the stone floor.
***
She’s nervous tonight. She has covered an entire room with aconite - the bell-like purple-blue flowers are as poisonous as they are lovely. Hecate had offered to take them above - to use them in the fight, which pleases Persephone - makes her feel less useless. 
She chews on her lower lip as she listens for Hades. He’d gone to his room an hour ago and had not yet left it. She’d been plotting, winding clay-red anemones in her hair, twining ivy around her wrists as she grows clover for her bumblebees. 
Hades had gifted her a box from Helios. A tiny pocket of sun that she uses to fill her rooms with light and warmth. It feeds her plants and flowers. It feeds her skin, nurturing her blood and soothing the anxiety that has embedded itself deep within her. 
She could have kissed him for the box. Of course, his helmet wouldn’t allow that, but she did hug him fiercely, which caused him to stutter and rush off to his room much to Hecate’s amusement. 
Why did he leave?
Because he’s terribly affected by you. 
And she was by him, but she'd never say that. Not out loud.
Persephone counts to a hundred - a thousand. Hades’s room remains silent and  
Just go. Just knock. 
Perhaps - it is foolish of her to do it. Perhaps, she cannot forget the time that he had pleasured her so well, she’d soaked him. He’d saved her life. It was only fair that she return the favor in some small way. She wants to give him something, ease his stress. 
She smooths her lavender gown and goes to him.
***
“Persephone?” he greets her - surprised. 
“Can - can I come in?”
He hesitates for a moment, his helmet still and sharp and pointed at her. The Beskar burns bright - even against the shadows that envelope the room behind him. The light is gloomy here - blue-gray like the ghosts that churn and sway in the Styx. He finally steps back, opening the door wider for her.
She’d never been in here before and it’s much more luxurious than she had initially pictured it. The bed looks soft. There are dark curtains the color of midnight. There’s limestone columns. There are woven tapestries full of old legends - full of his stories and other gods. He cocks his head as he watches her take it all in. 
“Is it not how you pictured it?”
“Not at all,” she confirms, unable to look away from tapestry depicting the three fates. It’s nearly lifelike. Their horrific faces flicker and grin, following her as she moves. She’s certain it was woven by an immortal.  
“Athena,” he tells her as if he knew the question was on her tongue.
Persephone finds that surprising. “I didn’t know she was…” She’s uncertain what word to even use. “I didn’t know she was your friend?” She finishes lamely. 
Hades chuckles and it’s deep and rough. It feel as if it rasps across her cheek though he is feet away from her. “Athena is smart enough to make allies with the gods she knows hold the power.”
She’d call him out for his arrogance, but he’s not wrong. His voice is completely sincere. Maybe a little wry at Athena’s strategy, but sincere all the same. It’s just a fact. Zeus had made a mistake taking Olympus when the Underworld carried the riches. It was an unspoken truth that Hades exceeded him in power.
"I'd hope she was smart enough," she quips. Athena had blessed her as a baby - her grey-green eyes the color of a storm-tossed sea. Brilliant. Endless.
They settle into a comfortable silence as she studies the other tapestries - the scrolls that smell of the woods. She missed the woods. She missed the air itself.
Hades clears his throat. “Did you need something?”
She blinks at him. Her plan had completely flitted from her mind the second she’d stepped into his room.  Yes. Yes. I did need something.
“I-,” Her eyes rake down his massive form - her tongue cottony with a nervousness she didn’t think she was capable of. His armor shines. The ichor washed away. Sweat collects along her brow - across her palms. Her heart picks up and Hades suddenly advances on her.
“What’s the matter?” His helmet tilts down to search her body, her face. “Your heart is beating so quickly.”
She swallows. “I-I wanted to do something for you - to - to ease your stress.”
He freezes and she can almost read his confusion through the steel of his helmet. She rests her palms on his chest - the cuirass shockingly cold, but she doesn't flinch. “I wanted to help you like you helped me all those months ago.”
It’s true that they had circled around each other ever since. The war had begun not a week later and there just hadn’t been time to talk about the fact that he had touched her the way he had.
He is silent for a few minutes before he grips her wrists gently. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I want to.”
He audibly inhales - perhaps, shocked that she should want him - instigate this tryst. She had missed the pleasure he had given her. She had gone night after night thinking of it, the place between her legs echoing raw and open and in need of him. She felt empty - painfully empty. She'd fuck herself on her own fingers and it still isn’t enough. 
“I-I don’t reveal my face,” he reminds, sounding almost regretful. “It’s - it’s a rule.” She nods. She’d known this though it frustrates her not to see him. She was certain he was handsome. She had glimpsed it in flashes when he’d licked his fingers after they’d been inside her - when he’d carried her and she could peek beneath his helmet. 
“Then turn out the lights,” she smiles.
***
Oh…oh 
In the dark, he is not what she expected. He is blood-hot. She can feel him - the strong build of his muscles - the solid weight of his chest as it crushes her own. He tastes her between her legs - his mouth latched to her cunt - warm and wet and unforgiving as it laps and suckles. He plays her like a lyre, plucking at the peak of her sex - curling his fingers deep.
When she kisses him, she savors herself. The salt of it - the lush secret of fruit or blooming flowers. “Spring,” he remarks in awe as he rocks against her. “You taste like Spring.”
He is gentle as a tamed cat - though a panther would be more apt. He purrs as she slips her lips across his jaw - his beard - the vulnerable line of his throat. Her fingertips trace the scars that wrap around his muscular shoulders – the surface of his broad chest. “Did it hurt?” she asks.
“Extremely,” he replies before crushing their mouths together, his fingers knotted in her hair until it stings. He parts her thighs wider, hitching her leg up over his hip. She can feel how searing hot his cock is - how large and thick and heavy as it bobs against her. 
“Are you sure?” He is sawing his hips, the length of him parting her folds in the act of a fuck. It nudges against the bead of her clit and she arches, digging her knees into his tapered waist. 
“Please,” she begs and the next time he draws his hips back, he snaps forwards, breaching her in one slow stroke. Her nails bite into his shoulders, her head tipping back as his tongue muffles the gasp from her lips. He makes a low, feral noise that vibrates through his frame as he fists a hand into her hair to hold her still. He nips her earlobe, his voice indulgent and ragged. “Good girl,” he coaxes as he pulls back again before driving forward, sliding into her until he’s fully seated. 
She cries out, reinforcing her grip on him. It’s too much. The pressure. The way her cunt flowers around his shaft - stretching and spreading as he makes room for himself. He peppers kisses across her face, sneaks a hand between them to rub her clit until she begins to grow wetter. His thrusts are slow and deliberate. She grows feverish at the sound of him entering her - the lewd slap of flesh and the liquid-suck of her taking his cock to the hilt again and again. 
She longs to see his face and perhaps he senses this because the hand between her legs disappears to snatch her wrist. He forces her hand palm up - spreading her fingers and guiding them to his cheeks - the hump of his nose - the furrow of his brow. She can feel how the tangle of his features are wrecked with pleasure. She can’t get enough - exploring every part of him with her fingertips. She savors his thick, curling hair. His scratchy beard. She massages the line of his jaw and his cheekbones and his firm neck.
“Kore,” he murmurs and it’s so full of adoration that she breaks against him. She clings to the muscles at the backs of his arms - their hips rolling together - their rhythm in sync. She doesn’t want him to leave her again. Pleasure swirls in her belly - her sex bears down upon him - tightening to a knot as she clenches around the fat of his cock. 
She can feel it inside her - growing big, twitching and pulsing. It shapes her cunt - her core - the depth of her womb. It brands her - making her his (as if she already wasn't - as if she could deny it). He kisses her face - her temple - he drops his face into the damp flesh of her throat where he licks and bites. He’s shuddering - body heaving above her own as he pins her down with the last few thrusts he can offer.
“Let go, my king,” she entreats, holding Hades against her. He groans - fucking into her so hard the bed creaks - his powers turning the shadows blue and pale. There is the soft brush of flames - the sigh of the dead. He whispers her name as he fills her - as he unloads all the weight he's been carrying for weeks or months or eons. He slips down her body once more, wedging himself between her thighs to drink from her. He speaks of worship. He speaks of her altar and his offerings and gifts and fealty.
When she reaches down to fist his hair, she feels the satin-plush of flowers threaded through his curls.
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beechersnope · 9 months
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7 maxiel 😮‍💨
7. Wet/Messy (from this list)
Max’s face is wet, but not from the rain.
They’d told Daniel’s parents they were going “camping”. It was more or less just an excuse to set up a tent on the edge of the property with a nest of blankets and pillows so they could fuck each other silly all weekend without worrying if any of Daniel’s extended family might hear.
They aren’t in the tent now, having gone down to the lake with every intention of actually spending the afternoon swimming, but as with many things, they’d gotten sidetracked.
So Max’s face is wet; but that’s because she’s been on her knees in the dirt for the last hour, the red clay turning to sludge as the rain comes down in steady sheets. Her eyelashes are damp with a mixture of rainwater and tears, but the slickness around her mouth is all from Daniel.
He’s been fucking into the back of her throat slowly, steadily, keeping himself just on the edge of orgasm so he can savor the smooth glide of her mouth around his cock. Saliva pours out from the corners of her lips and down her throat, creating rivulets over her bare skin where the rain doesn’t penetrate, like oil and water.
“Get on your back,” Daniel rumbles, wrapping a hand around the base of his cock as he slowly withdraws from Max’s mouth, lingering just long enough to feel the reverberation of the gasping cough she releases as he pulls out.
Max goes, seemingly uncaring that her white t-shirt—some graphic tee for tourists she’d bought at the airport—is going to be permanently stained orange. She won’t be able to wear it again, but Daniel suspects she might try anyway, just to see if she can get a reaction out of him when she does, unable to look at her without thinking of this very moment.
The clay makes a wet, sucking sound as Max lies down in the mud, and Daniel can’t help but let out a small, quiet groan at the way it reminds him of how Max’s cunt sounds when he’s fingered her through so many orgasms there’s barely any friction left, just wetness around his fingers, sucking him in.
Daniel gets a hand around her throat with his left hand, not applying any real pressure, just holding her in place as he strips his cock with his right. “Make yourself come,” he tells her.
Max slides her shorts halfway down her thighs, just enough to allow herself some room to get both hands between her legs, one holding herself open, tugging gently at her labia, dipping the tips of her fingers inside, to press underneath her clit as she uses the other to rub furiously over it. She lets out an unsatisfied whine after the first few strokes and then lifts her hand back up to her own mouth, shoving her fingers in deep until they’re just as wet as Daniel’s cock. She lowers her hand back down to her pussy, and it’s impossible now to tell if the sounds Daniel is hearing are from her body shifting in the mud or her fingers working over her clit, her cunt clenching frantically, desperate for more.
Daniel wants to give it to her, but he can’t. So he watches, alternating between her pussy and her face, taut with frenzied need, his hand working over his cock with enough speed it almost hurts.
Daniel comes before she does, thick and heavy over her open mouth, splattering against her cheeks, painting the faint freckle on her upper lip. He feels Max’s throat moving under his hand, swallowing whatever had spilled into her throat. He’s too sensitive, too close to the tail end of his orgasm, but he shoves his cock back into her mouth anyway and lets her clean him up with her tongue until he can’t take anymore.
Max comes like that, her thighs tensing, breath juddering out through flared nostrils, and Daniel can feel her moaning even though he can’t hear it.
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milksuu · 1 year
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Coffee & Unicorn Tears
Pairings: Tyler Galpin x fem!reader
Content/Warnings: None
Contains: Fluff & Magic
Summary: A certain barista burns his hand, and you're there to mend it.
a/n: I just started this series and I'm in love! I'm wondering if I should write a second part?
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“I’ll take that one, please.”
Beneath a round glass display, your small finger pointed to a cookie with a shape unlike any other in the assortment. It wasn't the usual round baked treat, with chocolate pieces or walnuts. This one was different, this one was special. Shaped like a hoofed fairytale creature, it was decorated in edible paint; with a white chocolate base, and sugar crystals sprinkled to top it. 
The boy behind the counter followed the length of your finger. His lips quirked in a peculiar way, as if finding amusement in your choice.
“You mean, our unicorn cookie special?” 
Your cheeks grew warm, despite the autumn months. You felt his gaze travel your features, from the tip of your chin, past your lips and nose, to rest at the peak of your forehead. You brushed at your bangs, hoping to veil the ornate piece protruding from your head. No matter how clever you thought you were, nothing you did was ever good enough to hide the eye-sore of a horn. 
“Nevermore, I’m guessing.” He started, handing you the baked good. "Tyler, by the way."
"I'm Y/N," you nodded meekly.
“Funny. You don’t look like the rest of ‘em.”
You dipped your chin, fiddling with your fingers and thumbs. “That’s because I’m the last of my kind.”
“Sounds…rough,” he tried to phrase it delicately. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to bring up an uncomfortable topic.”
“That’s alright. You wouldn’t be the first,” you said, presenting a sweet smile. “If it’s not too much trouble, could I also have a medium latte?”
He gave a curled pinch to his lips, ringing up the order. Attending the coffee machine, there was a hissing noise and a bursting plume of frothed steam. A yelp of pain cursed the air. Your eyes blinked over the scene, watching as he waved a blistered hand in the air. 
“You’re hurt,” you gasped.
“Yeah, well, it happens a lot. Shit—that stings.” He sucked on his teeth. “Just need to run it under cold water for a bit.”
“Let me help you.” You urged, pressing forward over the counter. “Although, I-I can't use my magic in front of a cafe full of people.”
You could tell he wanted to deny you, however, the earnest of your sentiments seemed to persuade his ego enough. With a defeated sigh, he paced along the counter, urging you to follow. You did, passing a door into the back of the shop. Entering the stock room, you were surrounded by rows of wooden racks, each filled with bags of coffee. The smell of dark roast wafted from floor to ceiling. Finding a suitable spot, he leaned against a shelf.
You drew close, but kept your eyes on the fabric of his apron. “Can I?”
“Um, sure,” he said with a shrug. “Do what you need to do.”
Taking his wounded hand in yours, you raised it to your flushed face. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to succumb to a world of heartfelt just behind them. Conjuring the beat and squeeze of your chest, sparkling tears surfaced at the rims of your lashes. Like fine pearls, they gilded down the roundness of your cheeks. He winced, feeling the iridescent drops splash against his bubbling skin. Beneath his gaze, the skin began to smooth over, washing away the sting of redness that once pervaded.
He felt his mouth dry, staring in disbelief. “That’s kind of amazing.”
“Unicorn tears have special healing properties,” you sniffled, wiping away the dense syrup clinging to your blushing cheeks. “I don't like to use it much. It’s so embarrassing to cry in front of others.”
“I can't blame you for feeling that way,” Tyler paused, thinking of more to say. “How did you make yourself cry on command?”
“Strong emotions,” you replied with a steady breath. “Sad or happy, it doesn’t matter.”
“Then, what about now? What kind of emotion were you feeling?”
“Happiness.” You pressed the bagged treat to your chest. “Today, you’ve given me something better than sweets—a feeling as if, maybe, I’m not the last of anything.”
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Really? Over a cookie?”
“I’m easy to please,” you returned with a giggle.
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cluz1babe · 1 month
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“Drāmagon Issa Laesi Naejot Tolvȳn Bona Daor Tolvȳn Issa Prūmia.”
(‘Open My Eyes to Everything that Closes My Heart.’)
(Limited use of Y/N)
PLOT :
You were a Belaerys, with the Blood of Old Valyria in your veins, future Queen of Sothoryos. Up until eight years before the Dance of Dragons, everyone thought the Belaerys family was gone after the Doom. You were well-respected by everyone except most of the Greens. Despite that, you were officially given a seat on the new High Council. The Hand, Otto Hightower, was trying to bring more countries to their aid, but his excuse was to bring peace between countries. Planning to wed you to Daeron, the Small Council of the Greens are shocked when Aemond refuses to offer you Daeron in order to take you for himself.
TAKES PLACE BETWEEN 129-133 AC
THIS IS YOU
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This is for an Aemond fic I’m writing. It will not have the AFAB reader (she/her) referred to as “Y/N” often. If you want me to make her look like you, lmk what you look like through asks or replies. I can do very fair to very dark skin tone. I can maybe make her 30lbs more than the generic version I chose. ☹️ I just chose her look as a generic base.
Excerpts:
“You had been wearing a hood and mask to protect your face while flying, but you had removed it. You were getting off of your dragon when he finally approached.”
“Your dragon was named Molcajete. She was black with dark purple markings. She was at least 20% bigger than Vhagar.”
“Your eyes were lined with an enchanted coal (to keep your eyes clear of debris) and they were an exquisite shade of purple with flecks of gold. They sparkled in the afternoon sunlight like so many stars in the night sky. He thought he was in love with you already.”
Notes & Trigger Warnings under the cut.
NOTES
I am 90% sure I am neurodivergent because I miss a lot of social cues (among 9/10 other things that can diagnose someone as ND), if my writing seems stiff, please lmk.
Guys, this is very Alys-coded, but I didn’t even know about Alys Rivers (because I have not yet read the book, I just did a lot of show watching and reading of Westeros Wiki) until I practically finished writing. Also, any time you see a picture of a dragon I made, please note the software doesn’t actually have dragons, so I had to make velociraptors with bird wings. 😢 Sorry, but it’s very sad for me.
Also, this is very AU, but still in whatever fake medieval time period this is based on. However, things are very slow and don’t only take place within two years for certain plot things to work. It starts shortly before Lucerys’ death, which will take place at some point during the story.
I try to make as many visuals as possible, as I’m that type of person. For my ridiculously expansive “country/continent” of Sothoryos, I got really bored and for some reason painted major bodies of water in the islands. I know Sothoryos is inspired by Africa, but I am Hispanic (Aztec) and wanted to give it a hispanic flair. Some of the Islands and cities are made up names, but others are named Nahuatl things.
I do not speak Nahuatl or High Valyrian (well), but I did look up words for things from multiple sources. I know words might be out of order because verbs are supposed to go last in High Valyrian.
Very Canon-Divergent, mostly because I don’t want the dragons to die. I’m changing Aemond’s characterization a little bit, but with a reason - LOVE. I also am not good at writing the proper way they speak on the show. I have re-read 50 times, so I’m sorry if I messed up somewhere, but I tried. BTW, if you’d be interested in being a beta reader, lmk.
I’m going to try my hardest not to specify reader’s color, but I kind of imagine myself (obviously) and I might accidentally write something referring to light skin. If I do something like that, please lmk. I don’t want to exclude anyone. I would like to write gender neutral, but that’s really hard for me because I’m AFAB and cis and I don’t want to upset anyone by not understanding that struggle.
BACK TO STORY MASTERLIST
TRIGGER WARNINGS
TW FULL STORY :
Talk of Abortion, Emotionally Abusive Relationships (Aegon x Everyone), Alcohol, Amputation, Blood, Bullying(?), Childbirth, Death, Drugs, Fire, Hallucinations, Incest, Marriage, Miscarriage/Stillbirth, Misogyny, Murder, Pregnancy, Profanity, Sexism, Slut Shaming(?), Smut, Violence, War, P in V, Sex, Fingering, F in A, Assplay, Prostate Massage, some would say Dubious Consent (but you enjoy it and agree to it), No Cheating, MDNI, 18+
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hopelessdelusional · 10 months
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.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
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The world looked like a painting.
The sky was a beautiful blue, with white fluffy clouds scattered throughout the blue. The trees were swaying because of the breeze, and the flowers were more colorful than you remembered. The streets were full of people passing by, but it wasn’t anything you weren’t used to. Downtown Los Angeles was never known for having good weather, yet here it was, a beautiful sunny day that didn’t feel like an actual heat wave. For once you were enjoying the walk throughout the city you live in, even though you were running just a little bit late. Everything in you wanted to run back home and grab your camera in order to fully capture this beautiful day, but you knew Katsuki would throw a fit if you decided to be even later than you already were. When working with him, he would always be in a pissy mood if you were even a minute late, because apparently to him being late is punishable by death. It’s just one of his quirks, you suppose.
Picking up the pace, you checked your phone maps to make sure that you were close, and you were. The cafe had an outside seating option, and to your surprise Katsuki had a table ready for both of you outside. He was sipping on what you guessed was a water because the health nut refused to drink any soda (another quirk of his). He was in green cargo pants and a simple white t-shirt that read “Los Angeles.” You wondered if he had any non-basic clothing in his closet. He had to right? When modeling you have to wear a lot of crazy outfits.
“You’re late.”
The blond stated, putting his glass down and you made a quick note of his hands. It made you realizing that his hands around a cold glass makes you want to know that body like it’s yours. His eyes never left your body when you put your tote down on the empty chair next to you, and you pulled out your journal. You sat down and shot him a smile, before the waiter came over and you ordered a water and Latte (with extra sugar and oat milk, of course).
“Hello to you too sunshine. Oh! Speaking of…”
You looked up at your surroundings and started scribbling furiously in your journal. Your mind was racing with all sorts of ideas and thoughts, looking up every once in a while to make sure you didn’t leave a single detail out.
When you were satisfied with your work, you looked back up at Katsuki who was fixated onto you. You smiled sheepishly as the blond cocked an eyebrow at you with an amused smile.
“Sorry,” You fixed your hair, feeling a little squeamish under Katsuki’s intense eye contact.
“What’s all that about?”
He crossed his arms, leaning back looking absolutely magnificent. You were always in awe of how easily he can look attractive, just sitting there with bagging clothes on in the middle of the day. He honestly looks the best you’ve ever seen him.
Whenever people find out you’re a professional photographer, they always ask you if the model is as beautiful in real life as they are in the photos. The answer is always varied, but if someone came up to you and asked you about Katsuki, you would say he’s even more beautiful. He looked like a prince.
The sun made his eyes and hair brighten up, and you took note of the colors of the flowers that were behind him. You didn’t expect those colors to compliment his skin tone as much as they did, which made you regret not experimenting with different colors more.
“Inspiration strikes when we least expect it.”
You finally allowed yourself to relax, looking at Katsuki’s curious face. You didn’t want to tell him the whole reason as to why you got the journal in the first place.
When recovering in the hospital, you were often taken to the garden that they had just installed. As soon as you set your eyes on it you wanted nothing more than to take pictures and be able to make a whole shoot based on it. When your friends visited, you often made jokes of wanting to take pictures in order to analyze the settings that were around you. Soon enough they surprised you with a journal where you could do that and more. You remember being in that garden for hours, sitting in your wheelchair and writing down paragraphs of notes. Your nurse was a little taken aback, but Izuku calmly explained you were just a photography nerd.
“Whenever I see something that is worth taking a picture of, instead of actually taking a picture I write down the surroundings and explain them. There, I like to explain the colors and what emotion they could display. It’s all notes down to which colors are next to each other, all the way to the colors that are far away from each other. When I’m done I go back later and add actual pictures or I color on the pages to really bring it to life.”
As you talked, Katsuki slowly uncrossed his arms, leaning in closer as he got more interested in what you were saying. Or so you hoped he was interested in what you were saying.
“I also go ahead and write it as if it’s already a set, so if i had these colors I would already know what to do. I write props and costumes, the whole thing.”
You smiled Katsuki, who now had his head resting in his hand. A small smile appeared on his face.
“So what does your journal say about today?”
Rolling your eyes, you handed Katsuki the journal. He hesitated to grab it, to which you just shook the book in his face.
“Go to the bookmark, but if you really want to be stunned go to page 57.”
Katsuki was digging through the journal before you finished your sentence. He scammed through the pages, mumbling about how bad your handwriting is. He quickly shuffled to the page you instructed him to go to, and when his eyes landed on his he immediately looked back up at you. You just smirked, having to hold back your giggles at his one risen eyebrow before he fell back into the book.
“It’s me.”
It was very amusing to see him so interested in your notes, he kept flipping the pages to see all the ideas and drawings you had for him. You recall there were at least ten pages of your work, as you kept adding pages during the shoot.
“I can’t tell if this is impressive or nerdy as shit.”
Katsuki handed you the book back, and you put it back in your bag before facing him again.
“Well you seem to be interested so obviously it’s impressive.”
Conversation after that was easy, as it always is between you too. The waiter came by with your drinks and you put in your orders. After that the afternoon went smoothly, and the food was too good to be true. You were stuffing mouth fulls of your food, enjoying every bite as Katsuki laughed at your delight. (that rhymed!!)
“Oh yeah I forgot to tell you but Eijirou and Mina are official. Took the idiots long enough.”
He said it so causally, but the news startled you so much you started to choke on your food. Katsuki, who was now suddenly worried grabbed your hand in concern.
However, because of the sudden touch you jolted again. Thankfully though, this time you were finally able to recover.
Taking a breath you looked up at Katsuki with furrowed eyebrows.
“Warn a guy before you drop a bomb like that Kats!”
“I didn’t think you were gonna die if I told you about the stupid couple.”
His hand was still on yours. His hand was still on yours. You couldn’t not feel that new warmth on your hand, but you were too nervous to pull away. You ignored the new feeling and continued.
“Katsuki, they’ve been in love since high school. Of course that news is gonna kill me!”
The food was finished soon, and Katsuki insisted on paying the check and walking you home. It was starting to feel more and more like a date, and you had to push down the part of you that actually liked it. Fuck this. Relationships were gross and you couldn’t do it.
“Call you later?”
Katsuki asked when you were stopped at your front door of your apartment. You told him you couldn’t invite him in, coming up with some fake reason. But you knew the real reason. You knew you couldn’t invite him in because if you kept looking into his dreamy eyes, you would end up kissing the lights out of him.
“Yeah! Kyouka actually said she wanted to talk to me about something so I’ll call you after that.”
You were starting to get a little antsy, not wanting your nosy neighbors to peek out of their doors and ask you about him later. Katsuki, on the other hand, looked more comfortable than normal. He was really enjoying himself, and you couldn’t tell if that gave you butterflies out of excitement or nervousness.
“Oh? Tell me how that goes.”
You smiled at him, and you found yourself looking at him longer than you intended. Suddenly you took your key out and started to shove it in the key hole.
“Well that was fun! I’m gonna make sure to tell Ochako that the place is good. Talk to you later right?”
“Yeah.”
With the way he was standing there, not to mention the sudden awkwardness between you too, you did what you wanted to do the least. Your hands left the doorknob and you quickly threw your arms around his neck and hugged him. His hands wrapped around your back quickly, but you didn’t want the hug to last long so you separated your bodies just as you felt him get comfortable.
Shooting him a smile, you opened the door and walked into your apartment.
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“Hey Kats great news dude.”
You were getting dinner ready, and as soon as the blond picked up you put your phone on speaker and set it up ready to talk.
“I’m guessing the call went well?”
You shuffled for different spices for your chicken, preheating your oven afterwards.
“Yeah! She told me that she’s actually opening for the summer festival again right?”
“Mhm.”
You sprinkled on an assortment of seasonings onto the chicken, making a mental note of the other things you needed to prepare in order to finish the dish.
“I’m actually cooking right now, we’re having Kyouka and Momo over for dinner in celebration. It’s actually a surprise that Momo was able to come at all, she’s the hardest to make plans with.”
“Not even Todoroki?”
You got out a pot and set it on the stove, before swiftly running to the fridge and getting all the ingredients out.
You discovered your love for cooking and baking when you were back from the hospital. You already knew that you had the capability of cooking or baking, having done that all throughout your childhood. Not to mention when you and Hitoshi were broke college kids who didn’t want to spend all their money on Wendy’s and Taco Bell every night. You remember when the pain kept you up at night, instead of suffering in your bed you would get up and bake until the pain went away. You started cooking a lot more when you were bored alone at the house while Hitoshi was at work. The rent was getting more and more expensive, and with only one of you working it was hard to keep it paid along with other needs. Thankfully, Shoto stepped in full swing and always helped pay rent, even Iida and Momo cashing in some money. You always appreciated how generous your friends were but a part of you felt bad, so as a way to pay them back you would cook meals for them and send them sweet treats. You often showed up at their jobs with lunch or even dinner if it was a late night. Hitoshi was always well fed, which made his parents Hizashi and Aizawa like you even more.
“Sho is always ready to dip work, to the point where we tend to leave him out of things so he can actually go to work.”
You laughed to yourself, remembering the time that he took the whole day off so he could “get ready” for the road trip you a and your friends had. It wasn’t even that long of a trip, and yet he took the opportunity to take the entire day off. Which, by the way, put back his magazine being released (it pissed a lot of people off).
The trip itself was unlike any trip you’ve ever been on. Now that was a story worth telling, but maybe later. You didn’t know how Katsuki would react to you, Hitoshi, Izuku and Shoto getting arrested in Arizona.
“Yeah that makes sense. So what’s the actual big news? Because I know damn well it’s not Jirou preforming for that festival for the fiftieth fucking time.”
You could practically hear the eye roll over the phone, but decided to not point it out to him. You were beaming, too excited not to let him know.
“Well, she said they needed a professional photographer to capture the whole day, especially all the performers. And Kyouka being the amazing friend she is, put me down as the photographer! I’ve been emailing back and forth with the director of the entire thing and it looks like a lot but Kats, I gotta tell you, the check is worth it.”
You heard him chuckle at your last line, before responding.
“That’s fucking awesome y/n, I’m glad you took it because there’s no way in hell I would let you pass up an opportunity like that.”
You smiled softly for a moment, stopping your hard work and staring at the phone. You started to imagine that he was there, looking at you with that shimmer in his eyes. But in a totally platonic way, of course.
“It also gives me an excuse to go to the festival, especially because last year I got sick and my publicist has been on my ass about going this year.”
You snapped out of your stare, realizing that you completely forgot to answer Katsuki. Fuck. You really needed to get a grip.
“I’ll be running around but I’m sure I’ll find time to talk to you.”
“You better, or else I’m gonna hunt you down.”
Now you were extremely grateful he wasn’t there with you, because the blush that formed on your face was criminal. You hated the way he said that and you hated the fact that you liked it.
Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye you saw your best friend emerge from his room. He had his basketball shorts on and giant hoodie, signifying that he most likely had a headache. Being friends (and roommates) for so long, you two were able to tell what was happening to the other just by a glance. It was also incredibly frustrating when you are able to be read like a book like that, but you guess it’s just the sacrifices that come with having a best friend.
“God that smells good.”
Hitoshi walked into the kitchen, and made his way to the fridge where he could find a drink. You heard shuffling before he finally walked out of the kitchen.
“Creamy herb chicken, low carb and gluten free!”
Hitoshi snorted and cracked open the Dr. Pepper he found in the fridge.
“You sound like a mom.”
“Like you would know what a mom sounds like?”
You didn’t have the honor of seeing Hitoshi react to that comment, because you had to put the chicken in the oven and start the sauce.
“Okay I’m gonna take that as a sign to go now. I actually got plans with the idiots tonight so.”
You closed the oven door and rushed to your phone, taking it off speaker phone and putting it to your ear. The two of you said your quick goodbyes and hung up. When you set your phone down and looked up Hitoshi was looking at you.
“Don’t say it or I swear to god I will kick you out and have you living on the fucking streets.”
You watched as he got up, not threatened by the wooden spoon you were waving at him.
“I’m not gonna say anything,” he shrugged, coming into the kitchen and leaning his hip on the counter. He simply looked at you, one eyebrow raised.
You huffed, before turning around to the man and starting the sauce.
“So low carb you say?”
“Shut up.”
.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
today was a fairytale
for the people who didn’t see, THE ENTIRE FIRST HALF OF THIS EPISODE JUST DISAPPEARED OUT OF THIN FUCKING AIR. NOT IN MY PHONE AND NOT ANYWHERE IN RECENTLY DELETED. i literally HURT just remembering it, and kept getting deja vu when writing this, that was awful
but anyways that’s why this is late and it pisses me off so bad my fucking ocd is going crazy rn i’m gonna rip all my hair out
anyways please enjoy this happiness bc it won’t be like this for long!
fun facts! ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
- yn was late bc she was at Izuku’s place and lost track of time😭😭 if she was at her place she would not have walked
- LA sounds like hell so i tried to romanticize it😍😍
- bkg as the most basic and boring closet of clothes ever and you cannot change my mind
- the nurses almost did a psych exam bc of how hyperfizated yn was when it came to that damn notebook
- and for those who are wondering it’s just a black leather notebook
- cute little fact in the end of the notebook it has all of her friend’s signatures with little hearts and funny/loving messages (sobs)
- sometimes Hitoshi would also be up and help yn bake and would literally eat half of the batter
- the way that Hitoshi would wake up and see like a whole ass cake in the fridge is SUCH a funny scene to image 😭😭😭😭
- yn literally would come into momo’s office unannounced and momo never complained bc she loved the free food!
- (as did iida, and they would often sit and talk for an hour about all sorts of things. he’s so silly like that)
- and sho would literally STOP the shoots and make everyone take five whenever yn showed up with food. ESPECIALLY soba. he’s such a slut for soba
- i can reveal the bakusquad nickname backgrounds if someone asks….
- i think this is the shortest amount of writing i’ve done for this series 🤯🤯🤯
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zombiedumbie · 6 months
Text
00. THE BOY
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'Wolf brought another strange kid home' masterlist.
'onnanoko' means 'girl'.
based on Law's light novel, fluff, mentions of loss of memories, 1st person pov, mentions of blood.
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Wolf brought another strange kid home.
I thought as I saw the old man enter the house with a boy in his arms.
I found it amusing, after all, it's not like he did this often, and in fact, I was one of those children. The very first, however, with no memory of who I was; unlike the others who had a name and a past.
The boy was the second. Wolf laid him down on one of the old bedrooms; he had deep dark circles under his eyes and light, but noticeable, white spots on his skin; he was skinny, had scraped knees, and dried blood on his clothes.
He didn't seem much older than me, maybe a year or two at most, which was already frightening because, you know, boys were definitely scary.
He wore patched-up clothes and seemed to own the white hat with black dots that rested beside him, as his hair appeared marked by the accessory. His leather shoes looked worn, perhaps from too much walking; I wondered what had happened to him before Wolf found him.
Wolf gave me a cloth and a bucket of warm water and asked me to at least clean his face, and when he woke up, he'd give him new clothes for a bath. I tried to do it carefully not to wake him, but when he moved, I bolted out of the room like a frightened deer running from Wolf when we go hunting.
I sat on the couch looking frightened after stumbling down the wooden staircase, almost as if I had been caught doing something wrong.
"Onnanoko", Wolf called me after a while; that's what he used to call me since I didn't have a name. He told me he wouldn't give me a name because he wasn't my father.
"I think the kid woke up, get some soup for me, yeah?" He asked, preparing a tray. I had to climb onto one of the chairs to reach the pot safely without spilling it on me. I handed him a deep plate of hot soup, which he placed on the wooden tray. I watched him leave the small kitchen to go upstairs, wanting to see the boy again, but my extreme fear of new people kept me in the kitchen.
I silently observed the orderly chaos of the old man's house. Wolf seemed to have a slight problem with hoarding things; his entire house was full of scattered items, like old radios on the floor, appliance remnants, crowded shelves, bottles of magic liquids, plants that, despite him not watering them, seemed to survive amid the chaos; even the stairs had books leaning against the corners. I didn't know what color most of the walls were since they were covered with paintings.
All surfaces were cluttered with knick-knacks, but those we needed to use always had a reserved space. I couldn't lie, in the first few days, it all seemed overwhelming, and I felt a bit suffocated, but as time passed, the house became more comforting than stifling.
I couldn't blame him; he was an inventor, his mind must work too fast to even care about taking care of all this.
I nestled into an empty space on the cold countertop while watching the snow flurry against the back door when I heard a crash from upstairs, like something had fallen on the floor.
I ran, afraid that the old man had hurt himself, or worse, the boy had hurt him. I climbed the cluttered stairs so quickly that the wood didn't have time to creak beneath my feet, a courage I didn't even recognize in myself. I pushed open the white door of one of the old rooms; Wolf was sitting there, seemingly sampling the soup, while the boy looked at him with wide, fearful eyes.
"Now you know there's no poison. It's okay; I'm not your enemy. I'm not on the 'justice' side either, but I'm not the kind of scum that would ambush a kid", Wolf spoke. Neither of them seemed to have noticed my presence.
It was only when Wolf handed the soup to the boy that I saw the gleam of the scalpel in his hand, but after sipping the broth, he put down the blade and started eating. And then, he began to cry as if his life had been saved in that moment.
"Damn… it's so good. So good!" He said, not pausing to stop talking and shove more food into his mouth. Wolf chuckled at the boy's reaction.
"I'll give you a few seconds", Wolf practically teased him. I sighed in relief, apparently everything was fine.
I stealthily left the room, but then I heard him call me a few minutes later. "Onnanoko!"
Shit, had he seen me? "I know you're there, bring some of those clothes", he grumbled. What does this old man think I am? His maid? But I did it anyway, I did it, after all, "give and take." The boy was no longer in the room when I placed the clothes on the bed; I rushed outside without saying a word to Wolf.
I returned to my room and left them to talk; Wolf would probably make the same deal with him as he did with me, so he wouldn't need my presence for that. I was also scared to talk to the boy, after all, he had a scalpel! Was he thinking of hurting us? But Wolf was strong; he wouldn't let the boy harm the old man, so I would be safe. As a precaution, I wedged a chair under the doorknob of my room.
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