#Accent Pillowcases

[handposh]

This cushion cover is a stunning piece of hand embroidery that showcases the skill and creativity of the artisan. The cover is made of a soft and smooth velvet material that is brown in color. Read more....A luxurious brown pillow with stunning gold and white. – Zari Fly

[msphine]

i’m kind of slaying in these pics if you ignore the eye boogers and the rumpled shirt neckline

[golly-missmolly]

Las Vegas Open Example of a huge minimalist open concept family room design with white walls and a media wall

[mekyrdesign]

Transform your bedroom with a stunning Peacock Pillowcase! This beautiful accessory adds a splash of color and elegance to your space, making it a perfect choice for women aged 40 to 60 who love to express their unique style. Whether you're updating your decor or looking for a thoughtful gift, this pillowcase will surely be a conversation starter. Embrace your inner decor diva! #HomeDecor #Pillowcase #PeacockDesign #InteriorStyle #ColorfulLiving

[elise-rosy-unicorn]

Living Room - Open a medium-sized living room with a formal open concept, a concrete floor, a gray floor, white walls, no fireplace, and a wall-mounted tv.

[narcoticv3nus]

Pretty When You Cry 𝜗ৎ König

Kinktober Day XXV: Crying

summary: hubby fucks you so good you cry tags/trigger warnings: 18+, f!reader, p in v, crying, degradation, praise, rough sex, dacryphilia, mean!könig, but also sweet?könig, dom!könig, sub!reader, author tries really hard at accents wc: 1.3k

MASTERLIST

König loomed over you, his hands perched on your hips, pulling you backward to meet his brutal thrusts. Your pussy was stretched painfully wide to accommodate his girth, his length spearing in and out of you at a ruthless speed. His hand found its way into your hair, pushing your cheek into your pillow. His grip tightened, his growls deepening, his balls smacking lewdly against your clit as he used you for his pleasure.

König perched his leg upwards, now kneeling behind your more diminutive form as he fucked into you at a new angle that made your vision go white with pure ecstasy.

A choked sob escaped your lips, heavy and caught in your throat, as an overwhelming pressure surged deep within your chest. Your heart raced, your chest heaving with every breath you took, and tears cascaded down your cheeks, warm and relentless.

"Ahh, you feel so good, meine Kleine..." he groaned, his voice strained and husky. He reveled in the feeling of your tightness around him, your body quivering beneath his powerful thrusts. His fingers flexed in your hair, guiding your head further into the pillow as he leaned over you, his muscular chest pressing against your back.

He paused momentarily, allowing you to adjust to the new angle, then began moving again—this time harder, faster. His hips rocked against yours, his heavy breaths hot against your neck. He could feel your tears wetting the pillowcase beneath your face, but his arousal was too great to care about any emotional turmoil you might be experiencing. He needed to claim you, to mark you as his own. His cock swelled inside you, and his tempo increased.

His hand trailed down your spine, resting at the base of your back, holding you firmly against him. His thrusts grew more forceful, almost violent in nature. He knew you could take it—he'd seen you do it before.

With every one of your sobs, König's thrusts became more powerful, his grip on your hip tightening as he continued to ravage you. His teeth sank into your shoulder, eliciting a muffled cry from your lips, the pain adding fuel to the fire of his lust.

He pulled almost completely out before slamming back into you, the impact making your whole body jolt forward. His breathing grew ragged as his orgasm loomed near, his muscles tensing with anticipation. His fingers dug into your skin as he began to pound into you mercilessly, his hips moving with a wild abandon.

He leaned close to your ear, whispering, "Vhat are you? Mine, yes?" He sought validation, needed it, as his control started to slip. He wanted to hear you admit it, to acknowledge that you belonged to him and no one else. The room was filled with the sound of flesh meeting flesh, punctuated by your cries and his harsh breaths. "Say it..." he demanded, his voice strained, as he continued his relentless assault.

König's thrusts intensified, each one hitting deep inside you, causing waves of pleasure mixed with pain that sent your senses spiraling. His teeth grazed your neck, sending shivers down your spine, as he sought to regain control of the situation. His cock throbbed inside you, his climax approaching rapidly.

"Vhat are you?" he asked again, more insistent this time. "Mine, aren't you?" He needed to hear it, to know that he had complete dominance over your being. He reached around with one hand, finding your clit and beginning to rub it roughly, ignoring any signs of protest or pain.

"Answer me!" His fingers worked furiously, pushing you closer to the edge. His breaths came in short, and staccato burst against your neck.

“M’yours!” You sobbed, crying out as he landed sharp blows to your ass, the smacks ricocheting off the walls and into your ears.

"Ja, meine Kleine..." he growled in approval, feeling his orgasm build further at your submission. His thrusts became erratic, each one more powerful than the last.

He continued to spank you, each slap echoing through the room as he drove deeper inside you. His grip on your hip tightened, leaving bruises that would bloom later. He wanted you to remember this moment—to recall who owned you every time you sat down or moved. The thought sent another surge of desire coursing through his veins.

"Scream for me..." he commanded, his voice low and guttural. His fingers circled your clit relentlessly, applying pressure until you cried out again, your body tensing beneath him. He knew you were close—he could feel how your muscles contracted around him. With one final, brutal thrust, he pushed you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

König followed suit, his release exploding with a primal roar that shook the very foundations of the building. His cock pulsed inside you, filling you with hot semen.

"Mine," he growled triumphantly as he rode out the last waves of pleasure before collapsing onto the bed beside you, his breaths heavy and labored.

König gripped your face in his rough hand, squishing your cheeks together until your lips puckered childishly. He pulled you toward him, ignoring your whimper in pain. He lowered his hand to your upper neck, controlling your head movements before leaning forward and dragging his tongue over your damp skin, collecting the salty tears into his mouth, drinking your essence with a groan of pleasure. “So pretty,”

"Shh... it's okay, meine Schatz..." he said soothingly, pulling you close and pressing a tender kiss to your temple. He didn't enjoy causing you pain—it merely served to heighten his pleasure. He wrapped his strong arms around you, holding you securely against his broad chest as your sobs subsided into quiet whimpers.

He could feel your rapid heartbeat slowing, your breathing evening out. His gaze shifted to your reddened ass, where his handprints still lingered. A sense of pride swelled within him—a reminder of his possession. He pulled the covers over you both, his cock still semi-hard inside you.

"Get some rest..." he murmured, his voice gruff with satisfaction. König stroked your hair gently, his eyes never leaving your face as you slept.

main masterlist, rules

[jpnriikicore]

── tan lines and light eyes

paring paul aron x fem!reader, word count 467, genre fluff, ( masterlist )

he leaned against the doorway of the balcony gazing at the spectacular view with the orange in the sunrise standing in only his boxers with his blond hair disheveled. ocean crashing against the shoreline. seagulls flying in the morning sky.

clothes lying on the floor from the bed to the front door. your faded rogue lipstick on the collar of his white button-up shirt that was discarded on the hardwood floor he wore last night. a diamond ring hidden in a small velvet box in his pant pocket that he wore last night and that he’s carried around since their fifth date waiting for the right moment.

you snap a photograph of him in that moment with an old fuji camera you brought along with you. you bend your knee upwards and lean your head forward to rest your chin against your knee as you admire the view of him in front of you. finally, at the realization that you indeed awake from your deep slumber. he didn’t want to wake you earlier this morning with how cute and peaceful you looked with your cheek squished up against the pillowcase and hair sprawled out. he walks over towards you tilting your head up to press a chaste kiss on your lips. he’s head dips down to press gentle kisses on the side of your neck. love marks already scattered across your neck that are going to be almost impossible to cover up. a freshly done tattoo of his number '17' on your shoulder blade.

your arm extended out for a piece of bacon on the food tray that was sent up earlier this morning. his hand follows your arm as he clasps your forearm and presses a gentle kiss on your wrist. he eyes flickering up to gaze at you as you feel him smile against your skin.

“morning, kallis." ( dear )

his accent was sleepy and thicker, as it always was in the morning, his watercolor eyes looked down at you as he lowered himself down onto the edge of the bed settling himself next to you.

“morning.”

you’re both still young and full of ambition to get to your dream. you’ve worked too damn hard to give it up now. a future red bull and mercedes driver. a secret little rendezvous that is hidden in the shadows. nobody else knows about your relationship besides your teammates.

after, finishing your piece of bacon. a giggle escaped from you as he pulled you down on top of him laying on the plush mattress. your cuddled up by his side sharing a chaste kiss. his dominant hand gently grazing her spine underneath one of his shirts. his nondominant hand tangled in your unruly hair. your head resting on his chest intently focusing on the patter of his heartbeat.

© JPNRIIKICORE, 2024

[melodramaticwolf-art]

Cozy! They deserve to be cozy and love each other without an awful traumatizing event in the way! (DO NOT TAG AS SHIP.)

Posted to my DA: https://www.deviantart.com/melodramaticwolf/art/1108711056 Drawing notes + closeups under the cut:

The pillowcases are part of a bed sheet set! I figured it would be fun to give them ocean related bed sheets and pillowcases. So the main pillows have seagulls, and the accent pillows have little waves.

Ford is paler and has darker eyebags because in my head, the little story I thought up was that he's recovering from an illness. Nothing paranormal (this time,) just a bad flu he thankfully had Stan to help him get through.

Stan has eyebags from having to consistently keep an eye on his brother, keeping him hydrated and taking care of him. Plus his own worry at seein Ford so exhausted and in pain.

Both are sporting some massive bedhead from lounging around all day. Ford for obvious reasons. Stan never strays far from his side, content to spend his day lying next to his brother, just in case he needs anything.

The pajamas! These were something I immediately had in mind when constructing the idea. I love the idea of the bros sharing clothes, whether it be a comfort item, or because one just doesn't have a clean shirt lying around. In this scenario, Stan just throws on whatever clean clothes he's able to find, since Ford is sweating through his own pretty quickly. This is how they end up sharing a set, with Stan wearing the top, and Ford ending up with the bottoms.

The top of course, has the constellation Gemini. The constellation of twins. Because I saw the opportunity to give them a cute themed set and WENT with it. Mabel sent them maybe! Who knows!

The two crowd together on the bottom bunk, it being easier on Ford when he needs to get up, and easier on Stan to help him in and out of the bottom bunk as opposed to the top. (Stan also wants to stay nearby, in case Ford has any fever dreams that careen into nightmares. Can ya blame him? He has the chance to take care of his brother, he's gonna take it by golly.)

(He wants to make up for all the times he wasn't there to help Ford, whether it be from an injury, illness, or otherwise. Now that he has the chance to, he's going to.) And of course, since its me, I gotta give them platonic affection. These two deserve it.

[mockerycrow]

Undercover II (Soap x GN!Reader)

undercover series masterlist — previous | next

Summary: After being waterboarded, your body is too exhausted and injured to handle any more. Soap and you are formally introduced outside of an interrogation setting.

[WARNINGS: medical inaccuracies, military inaccuracies, angst.]

“Any dog, you put him in the corner, no matter if they’re vicious or not, they’re going to bite back.” -Mike James.

WAKING UP AFTER such harsh injuries is weird. It’s like the world keeps trying to materialize, distant voices that aren’t too definite, textures under my fingers aren’t quite recognizable yet, not being able to tell pain or pleasure from one another.. I wake up first with sensations across my body—pain, numbness, open wounds, closed wounds—cold, hot, burning, piercing. It makes me wish maybe I did die by Makarov’s hand. Maybe then I wouldn’t have to bare the burden of everything I know, everything I did to prove I was.. loyal, to that sick, sonofabitch.

I feel incredibly heavy, sandbags instead of muscles, my throat feels like I swallowed glass—that’s almost worse than the pain I feel in the rest of my body. The next thing I hear is a faint monitor, maybe two different ones? I can’t tell. My mouth is dry so when I swallow, nothing comes down my throat, but the retraction of my muscles in my neck ache nonetheless. I cough quietly and I gain just enough energy to open my eyelids. I find myself in a.. infirmary type room. I go to move my hand over my gut but metal sliding against metal hits my ears. My unfocused gaze hovers over to my hand and I see one of my hands is handcuffed to the railing of the gurney. My heart drops into my gut as I weakly pull on the handcuffs, a quiet sigh leaving my lips.

Fuck.

My free hand rests gently on top of my gut—they had to have cut me open or some shit, because this hurts like fucking hell on Earth. I feel like my goddamn intestines are about to spill out. Or maybe it’s the aftermath of Makarov’s torture hitting me.

I look down at myself and I’m changed into a fresh hospital gown, a surprisingly high quality blanket draped across my body. My free arm has an IV in my arm and in my vein in my hand, connected to a dispenser not too far away. I look up at the hooks decorated with liquid medicine—definitely a pain killer, I don’t know about the other bags, though. Can’t read from here. My hand goes my face and I feel two tubes; an oxygen tube gently hooked into my nose and a.. I think a feeding tube? My fingers go down to my jaw and I find a bandage wrapped around my neck and jaw, my eyebrows furrowing together. Jesus. Maybe he did break my jaw. Why can’t I feel it, then? I lay my head back down onto the paper pillowcase, closing my eyes for a few seconds. So, now I have to make a plan. Did they patch me because I was about to die? They know I have a lot of valuable information, so they need me alive just enough for that stuff. Makarov’s remaining warehouses, his extensive plans, everything. Do I keep my mouth shut? Yes. I have to remain loyal to my true team, not the one who’s planning ripping populations apart, desecrating entire cities—

The nearby door opens and my eyes shoot open as my heart nearly jumps out of my chest. A doctor comes in with a nurse and they pause at the sight of me being awake. I stare back at them for a moment before the doctor smiles softly at me. “You’re finally awake. That’s good, we nearly lost ya.” His accent is a thick southern-american (U.S.) one. I don’t answer—I wish I could thank them, but I have to be Zhenya. The doctor turns to the nurse and murmurs something just out of my hearing range, the nurse nodding in return and leaving the room, leaving me alone with the doctor. He begins to approach me and my heart monitor immediately begins to spike, as if I’m in danger—because I am—I have no idea who this guy is or if he plans on torturing me, too! The doctor stops in his tracks, his voice coming out as comforting and soft, “Woah there, pal. I’m not here to harm ya, just here to check your vitals. Ask you a few questions, too.”

My hands clench into weak fists as I keep my eyes on him—wait, American??—I don’t have much time to think about that as the doctor comes over to my IV machine, glancing at the numbers before looking at me with a soft, sympathetic look. “My name is Doctor Erikson. Are you in any pain?” I hesitate to answer but I give him a subtle nod, my hand resting back over my stomach. Doctor Erikson turns to the IV machine and ups the drip dosage, glancing at me. “Alright, now I have some basic questions for you, okay, hon? You were out longer than expected, so it’s just prodecure.” I answer with another nod, keeping my eyes training on Dr. Erikson. He has dark skin with tightly curled hair, put up into a neat bun. He has square glasses resting on his big, arched nose. Dr. Erikson is clean shaven, a scar resting on his cheek—looks quite old, probably from a shaving accident when he was younger. He has big, welcoming and soft brown eyes that you don’t feel like they stare into your soul. In this line of work, we need more people like him. His eyes may be soft, but you can tell he’s seen some things. I rapidly blink in order to focus; I naturally profile people when I feel.. on edge.

Dr. Erikson presses the end of his pen and the ballpoint end pops out with a click! He looks at me, a soft subtle smile remaining on his face. “What is the year?”

“2023.”

He nods and quickly checks something off—probably a box. “Who is the President of the United States?”

“Joe Biden.”

“What’s your name?”

I stare at him for a second and my heart stops for a moment before I answer with, “Zhenya. Zhenya Antonenko.”

Dr. Erikson and I stare at each other for a moment before he checks off two more boxes. He sets aside the clipboard on a counter nearby in the room. He keeps the pen and walks over, murmuring, “Keep your head still, follow the pen with your eyes only.”

Dr. Erikson begins to move the pen left and right, tracking my eye movement as I keep my eyes trained on the pen. After he doesn’t find any eye coordination discrepancies, he sets the pen down and grabs an otoscope, putting a singular use cone on the end, clicking the ‘on’ button, the end of the cone emitting light. He comes to my left side and gently puts the cone inside of my ear, checking for a few seconds. “You’ll have some visitors in a few moments, they will inform you of your medical injuries and what procedures we took.” He murmurs softer than he was before, considering how close he is my ears. My ear tingles as he removes the otoscope, coming around to the other side of the bed to check my other ear. I don’t respond. Dr. Erikson hums as he throws away the single use cone and murmurs ‘stare straight ahead’, using the little light from the otoscope to test my pupil dilation.

Fuck. I don’t want to see them again. Not now. My hand grabs the blanket, and then there’s a firm and quick knock on the door before the door swings open.

In comes fucking Laswell, Hudson, Mutton-Chops, and Mohawk.

What in God’s name is fucking going on??

Dr. Erikson puts the otoscope away and walks over to them, glancing back at me before talking. “They’re in a delicate state, physically and mentally,” He mutters, probably thinking I can’t hear. He isn’t good at being quiet with military dudes. His own people though, sure. “Be sure to play nice.” Hudson immediately approaches my bedside and I can’t help the hot and stinging tears that threaten to spill from my tear ducts—his soothing voice instantaneously makes my worries die down for a good 10 minutes. “You’re okay now, [Name]. The mission is over. You’re in good hands.”

I choke on a sob; of relief? Of devastation? Of need? Of grief? I don’t know.

I lift my handcuffed hand ever so slightly, my voice wobbly, “Why?”

“It’s a safety precaution,” Laswell says gently, approaching the bedside that Hudson is on. Mutton-Chops and Mohawk stay by the door, quietly eyeing me. I catch Mohawk’s eyes and I can’t read his emotion which makes me feel on edge; I turn back to my familiar faces. “S.. Safety precaution?” I question, glancing between them. They give each other a look—a look of pity—before Hudson speaks up. “You’ve.. been through a lot, [Name]. More than I can imagine. Until we have you go through a psychological evaluation, we’re keeping the cuffs on you.”

Oh. So like a caged animal.

My shoulders sink and I glance at the handcuffs, joy mixing with dread. “I know it’s hard, but we’re having Soap stay with you until we can have that psychologist come for you.” Laswell murmurs, gently grabbing my hand and squeezing it? avoiding the IV and it’s tape. I nod as I glance over at the men. “What kind of name is Soap?” I mutter, earning a snort from Mutton-Chops. Hudson looks at me worriedly, his wrinkles-in-the-corner-of-his-eyes kind of worried. I look back up at Hudson and look between him and Laswell a few times, biting the inside of my cheek. “Everything?” I ask. They don’t even need more than that to know what I’m talking about. “Everything.” He confirms with a nod. I take a deep breath—which I immediately regret because now it feels like my guts are trying to spill out again owowowowow—and I must wince because Laswell grabs a pillow from a nearby table and puts it on my abdomen. “Here, hold the pillow with soft pressure. It helps that weird feeling with your stitches. Learned it from the field.” She comments, her eyes scanning me like a worried mother. I nod as a thank you and use my free arm, applying pressure across my abdomen—gentle, mind you. Oddly enough, it brings me some level of relief. “We’ve provided Soap with a recorder so we can record your statement and stories, so you don’t have to repeat everything over and over.”

I nod silently—my throat feels like shit and I have no energy to speak, so might as well save what I do have for the statements..

Hudson clears his throat and glances at Laswell, then back at me, “Laswell and I have to go for a bit, since the operation has been revealed, we have a lot of shit to do.” He says with an unsatisfied tone; like he wants to stay by my side. My heart warms a bit from that— Hudson has always taken care of his team, made me feel like I belong. I crave for him to stay near me but I bite my lip, —and then quickly releasing it from the hold my teeth had on it because I one-hundred-percent forgot that my lip was injured—and shake my head. “Go,” I start. “It’s not like I’ll be going anywhere, right?” I attempt to make a joke, and Hudson tries to offer a stale chuckle—one he only does if someone got seriously injured.. It must be bad—and he squeezes my hand gently.

They murmur me their goodbyes, taking their leave, pushing the door open and walking out. Mutton-Chops follows them close behind.

That leaves me alone with Mohawk—“So you must be Soap, then.” I state as the man starts to approach my beside, his boots thumping against the infirmary floor. He offers a boyish grin that fits him quite well and he nods, grabbing a chair and easily pulling it kind of near the bed, but not too close. The distance suggests distrust, caution. Which is understandable because he did take place in my brief torture part two..

Like a wild animal, again.

“The one and only,” He chimes, his fingers fiddling with the recorder. Soap leans back in the chair, his eyes studying me for a second. “Doc said someone should give ya th’rundown of what happened, eh?”

I nod, my fingers absentmindedly playing with the pillowcase of the pillow across my stomach. Soap hums and tilts his head, his expression turning ever so slightly sad. “You had internal bleedin’ n’ broken ribs; one of which nearly pierced ye lung. Your jaw is fractured on yer right side, they had t’put a screw in. Your stabs wounds were pretty ‘typical’ by the doc’s standards, but they did have to open you up and repair th’abdominal wall. He said you’re lucky you didn’t lose any organs.”

Lucky.

Lucky.

Lucky.

That fucking word. “I’m lucky?” I bark out with disbelief. I know I am, but that phrase makes me so angry.

I look back at Soap whose lips are pursed together; he’s sitting up from my slight outburst which makes me look back down at my lap. Soap doesn’t say anything for a moment, the faint beeps of the monitors filling that empty space. When he does speak, he switches on the recorder. “This is Sergeant John MacTavish, Callsign Soap interviewing…” He trails off, holding the recorder out between himself so it can pick up his voice, as well as mine. I take a deep breath and let it go. “[Name] [Last Name].” Soap offers a mood lifting grin as he repeats his name back to me and murmuring the date. His lip curls just enough to show some of his gums by his right canine tooth, ever so slightly. I can’t help but wonder for a moment why he suddenly is so friendly, but I already know the answer to that. When you’re in this line of work, there are friends and there are foes. There are no frenemies in this game. You are either on their side or against it. Something I can relate to.

“What division are in, and your mission?” He has a professional tone for the sake of the recording. I don’t even know this guy it seems so unlike him that it makes me wanna roll my eyes into the back of my head until they get stuck there. “I’m a sergeant of Task Force Eclipse. My Captain is Tyler Hudson, and my teammate, besides my captain is Trinity Wilson, code-name Lake. My other teammate Sasha Miranov, code-name Coal, is KIA. Richard Jensen, code-name Tendril, had committed treason and had joined the very cause I’ve been fighting against. He’s also KIA.” I pause as my heart aches. “My mission began a few years ago, I was a special ops soldier that worked with the CIA, being placed wherever I was needed. Station Chief Kate Laswell called me into a special conference room where I was met with my future colleagues…”

I pause in the doorway as my eyes scan several different unfamiliar faces, sweeping the room on instinct. I spot Laswell, General Shepherd, and an old friend, Tyler Hudson standing in front of the round table where the three strangers are sitting. “Come in,” Laswell beckons, holding a thick, vanilla folder between her fingertips. The confusion is shared between amongst me and three strangers—I shut the door behind me. Laswell leans over the table and presses a button and the glass walls of the conference room become foggy and soundproof. “Sir.” I greet General Shepherd with a kind and professional tone, taking the seat closest to Laswell. He nods towards me, his hands folded neatly in front of him. His brow is pushed forward like something is troubling him; isn’t surprising, considering his position. Laswell holds up the folder as she begins to speak. “You must be wondering why I have called you all here today. You’re here because between Captain Hudson, General Shepherd and I, you four are the best for this job. You have not been given any details up until now because this quite possibly might be the most confidential mission you will ever work on in your time of service.”

Laswell places the folder down and motions to the person furthest from me. “Everyone, this is Richard Jensen. He will be joining us from MI6, along with—the girl who is next to him—Trinity Wilson. Then there is Sasha Miranov and [Name] [Last Name] from our very own CIA.” We look between each other wearily because Laswell still hasn’t said the nature of this mission, and General Shepherd hasn’t said a word at all this entire time. We give each other silent head nods because there will be time to get acquainted later. I put my hand on the table and fingers tap nervously against the glass top. Laswell steps out of the way of the wall with both Captain Hudson and General Shepherd. Hudson hands her a small remote which she murmurs a thank you, turning to said wall. It prompts all of us to look in the same direction and she presses a button and a projector projects a light box with a symbol of a moon and sun in the middle, hints of CIA and MI6 logos as well. She looks back at us, letting out another sigh laced with stress. “Today, you are no longer with your old units. You are now in Task Force Eclipse, lead by Captain Tyler Hudson; curtesy of CIA.” My eyebrows raise for a second because of the anticipation in my bones, in my veins. Working with Hudson?

She presses another button and pops up Richard Jensen’s face and basic information; his name, his age, blood type, occupation, whatever. “Also starting today, you are no longer yourselves,” Laswell presses another button and Jensen’s information fades into Russian, quickly translating back to English. My lips part in surprise as Laswell opens the vanilla folder, going around the table, passing out different documents to everyone. “Starting today, you are living as new people, from either Russia or Ukraine. You lived and grew up in these areas and share the same ideals as our enemy—who you will be working closely with.” No fucking way. There’s absolutely no fucking way—

“We have entrusted you five to work this undercover op, to weasel your way into Makarov’s organization and take information to relay it back to us. Is that clear?” Shepherd’s tone is rough, rude, and authoritative as always. He’s leaning his hand on the table, looking between all of us. I keep glancing between my documents, briefly glancing over the information before looking back up at him. “Sir, no offense, our mission is to.. be terrorists?” Trinity speaks up, her accent cutting through the air like a knife. Her tone shows she’s absolutely baffled, traced with incredulousness. “Yes. You will have to be prepared to commit acts you never would otherwise.” He responds, holding back his snappy response from her own. I look down at my paper and see my new name, my new age—very close to my actual one—my new backstory, fuck, even passports and other official documents are displayed with my new name. “You will have to work close with the group, even find your way under Makarov’s wing. We will set up times and dates for you to relay important information back to your Captain, and to me.” Laswell’s voice is a bit quieter in volume as the heavy mood sets in the room. I tense as I borderline feel everything just.. sink. “You all have worked undercover ops before, and you all have done incredibly well. This is why we trust you with this task.”

It was no secret the CIA and MI6 trusted some of the wrong people, and some of the right people.

taglist: @glitterypirateduck @darling006 @elowynnlane @hardnutpost [If you are not tagged and you’re here, it did not let me tag you.]

[kaciidubs]

G’Morning | Bang Chan x Reader

❣ Summary: A short thing about waking up in the morning to a sleep-dazed Chris, since everyone says how cute he is when he wakes up - and his tornado hair is just adorable to think about. ❣ ❣ Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff and implied relationships. ❣ ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | She/Her pronouns ❣ ❣ Additional Tags: Reader is referred to as baby and pretty, Chan is referred to as Chris, mention of snoring ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist ❣

The dull sound of vibration dragged her from the calm sea of sleep; a deep breath filling her lungs as the world slowly settled in around her. Eventually it stopped, and she was ready to press the side of her face deeper into her pillow until it happened again - this time, the telltale sound of her morning alarm filling the air.

Groaning, she slid her hand underneath her pillow for the cursed device and blindly swiped across her phone’s screen until the alarm stopped; whether it was snoozed or turned off would be left up to mystery - it had already done its job of waking her up, anyways.

She stretched her legs, a low groan rumbling in her throat before sighing away the tension; finally blinking her eyes open to the darkened room.

It was strange how familiar she was with the tried and true layout of hotel rooms - no matter the franchise or location, the strategic design of a small nightstand beside a decorative corner chair hugging the same wall of a massive window never failed to be a staple showcase.

Her half-awake study was interrupted by an all-too-familiar snore beside her, making a tired smile tug at the corners of her lips. 

Turning her head, she was met with the sight of her sleeping boyfriend - fluffy black hair and puffy cheeks being the most of him that peeked out from underneath the white blanket. She tried not to giggle too hard at the wrinkles the pillowcase etched into his left cheek, or the slight remnants of drool at the corner of his parted lips - they were simply the signs of an overdue heavy sleep.

Though, said heavy sleep would have to be interrupted when another loud snore vibrated through him - a side effect of his nasal problem, she learned.

“Baby,” she hummed, shaking his shoulder lightly, “Chris, wake up.”

He let out a low grunt, face scrunching as he fought against the pull of his consciousness, shrinking further underneath the blanket before pulling it just below his nose - cracking one eye open and blinking dazedly at her.

“Morning, baby.” She smiled softly, tucking her arms underneath her pillow to prop her head up.

Pouty lips melted into a smile that mirrored hers, blinking open both eyes with a covered yawn, “G’mornin’ pretty-” The blanket shifted as he stretched, accidentally nudging her with his left arm before rolling onto his side to face her, “-did I wake you up?”

She shook her head, melting at his heavy morning accent while taking in the adorable look of his puffy face, “My alarm did - I woke you up in case you got stuck mid breath -  your snores were getting bad. You can go back to sleep if you’re still tired, I just wanted to check on you.”

Chris blinked up at her, and even though he had literally just woken up his eyes glittered with love and adoration that wrote symphonies.

A comfortable silence fell over them as they simply stared at each other, gazing with a softness that would put even the best memory foam mattress to shame.

“I love you.” He murmured, pulling the blanket down just enough for it to settle around his bare shoulders.

“I love you too,” she mirrored, her eyes squinting with humor, “you and your tornado hair.”

Groaning, he dug his face into his pillow, ears turning a light shade of pink, “Stop, I know I look like a mess!”

“No, no, you look like you got into a fight with a hairdryer and lost,” she brought her hand to his hair, letting her fingers run through the unruly strands, “but that doesn’t mean you look bad - it makes you look even cuter, actually.”

He hummed at her words, melting at the sensation of her gentle fingers against his scalp before lifting his head, a relaxed smile on his pink lips. “C’mere.”

It was easy for her to gravitate toward him, watching as he rolled onto his back once more and lifted the covers so that she could scoot her way over to his side; her head finding home on his shoulder as she draped her arm across his stomach and hooked her leg around his own. He wasted no time in tugging her just a bit closer, his right hand tracing non distinct shapes against her forearm as he reveled in the feeling of her warmth mingling with his.

“We’re gonna have to get up soon if we want to make the breakfast call.” Her voice was barely above a murmur, yet she didn’t show any sign of leaving his embrace.

“We can always order room service.”

She snorted out a laugh, peeking up at him through her eyelashes, “I didn’t know you wanted to vacation in Japan for the hotel food.”

“Baby,” he hummed, turning his head slightly to catch her gaze, “as long as I’m with you, I don’t care what the food is.”

Her lips pursed, eyes warm with love, “That was so cheesy.”

“You know you love it though.” Chris smirked before pressing a kiss to her forehead, settling himself back down with closed eyes.

Huffing out a short breath, she laid her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes the same as him. “Sure, but not as much as I love you.”

“Alright, but I love you even more.”

A comforting silence settled around them, not enough to lull them back to sleep, but enough to allow them to enjoy the morning with each other; snuggled up and filled with love.

❣ This was inspired purely based on the fact that Chris looks like he gets into fights in his sleep because his hair gets so wild - and the fact he's like 10% there, 90% still asleep. This man has my heart in the easiest way possible. Also, if anyone has any apps/tips on how to make better formatted picture collages please help a girl out! ❣ ❣ Any type of feedback is appreciated! Whether it be a simple like, reblog, or keyboard smash and the most essay-like comment, feel free to share your thoughts. ❣

[youling-the-ghost]

paralysed – a cliff & chip ficlet

TW: suicidal ideation When grief struck him, Cliff felt no sadness or anguish or anger, he simply felt...numb. (inspired by this edit by @i-may-be-an-emu) word count: 838

Cliff felt nothing.

Those words might feel like hyperbole, but they weren't.

Looking out the window, Cliff barely flinched as he saw a squirrel be reduced to a pile of blood and guts on the side of the road by some reckless driver. He should feel bad, he should want to rush out and cradle the squirrel in his hands and scramble to save it.

But he didn't.

He tried that once before; tried cradling her head, did everything he could to try and save her life, cried and screamed and begged. And yet here he was, sitting on the couch, the familiar weight in his lap no longer there.

Cliff took a sip of his drink. The tea had long since turned cold.

He wasn't sure when it started—last week, maybe? All he knew was that one night, he went to bed with tearstains on his pillowcase and woke up unable to cry.

His co-workers told him that it was a good thing, that he was finally moving on. Cliff tried to believe them.

"Dad?"

Cliff turned to look behind him. "Yes, Chip?"

Chip's eyes glossed over for a split second before they blinked back to normalcy and he said, "Um, I need you to drive me to school."

"Ah, yes, of course."

Chip was Marie-Claire's nickname for her darling son. For Cliff, his son was always "kiddo".

Cliff got up from his couch and looked at his son, his precious son that he once adored with his whole heart and more, his son who had Marie-Claire's eyes and Marie-Claire's smile and a hint of Marie-Claire's French accent when he talked. He felt no affection in his heart, even when he tried squeezing it dry.

Cliff grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.

The steering wheel was cool against his hands. Cliff ignited the car and let the rumbling noises ring out.

"Um, dad?" Chip's squeaky voice piped up. "Your seatbelt..."

"Oh, right."

Frankly, Cliff didn't care to do up his seatbelt.

The seatbelt secured with a quiet click.

Chip stayed quiet as the car drove forward. Normally—no, formerly—Marie-Claire would blast rock music from the speakers and Chip would giggle at the songs that he recognised and Cliff would chuckle helplessly because he knew none of the songs. BBC News muttered some burglary case from the speakers.

Neither Cliff nor Chip knew how to connect their phones to the car speakers.

How unfair the world was, Cliff thought as the car approached a red light. So many rules and regulations and standard in place, just to ensure the safety of the people. And yet, one wrong move and it all comes crumbling down.

He could die right now, Cliff mused. There was nothing stopping him from letting go of the steering wheel and stepping on the gas pedal and crashing into some undeserving house.

But he didn't.

The school was visible through the light fog now. Cliff stepped on the brakes and stopped as a line of children marched down the crosswalk. He thought back to the squirrel. It was probably long dead by now, its skin cold and its eyes lifeless and its mouth curled into the slightest hint of a smile as it used the last of its strength to whisper—

Cliff sped back up as the children all made it safely to the other side. He drove into the drop-off zone and parked. Chip stayed silent the whole time.

"Take care, kid—Chip," he said as his son stepped out of the car with a backpack that was almost twice his size.

"Bye, dad," said Chip in a strained voice. Then he was gone.

Cliff sighed and turned his head back to the road.

Should he just leave?

It would be painful, his bones would hurt, but at least it would be something. He could be with his love again, and there would be no one in this realm to love him anyway. Cliff despaired at the way his heart didn't so much as clench at the idea of ending his own life.

"Wait!"

Cliff snapped his head up. It was Chip's voice.

There Chip was rushing towards him, his backpack swaying from side to side like a squirrel's tail as he did so.

"What's up, kiddo?" Cliff didn't catch himself that time.

Chip leaned through the car window and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"I love you, dad," he said with a smile—one of those pure smiles that only a child could wear. And he was off again. Cliff watched as his son sprinted towards the main doors and was scolded by the principal for disdemeanour, and his heart clenched in affection.

He seemed to have forgotten about the one other person who loved him.

Cliff unparked the car and went on his path home. A squirrel obstructed his path, and he slowed down to let the rodent pass.

He will live. For Chip's sake, for Marie-Claire's sake, and, maybe one day, for his own sake too.

[bucknastysbabe]

i love your writings, i love reading dom!reader fics so much and your sub!viserys III fic was so😫😫😫 can you write more stuff with dom!reader/sub!viserys?

TA-DA!!! Lmk how you liked it :)

Rating: Explicit

A/N: This is a big ole AU where roberts rebellion doesn’t occur and Rhaegar took over. Henceforth Arianne marries Viserys

Tags: Open relationships, sub!Viserys III, afab sex worker reader, bi reader, implied relationship w Arianne Martell, pnv!sex, Viserys is a bottom who tries to be top and fails miserably, man tearsssss

Egotistical

Arianne’s big brown eyes stared into your own quizzical orbs. She hummed in that lilting accent of hers, “Can you make it work or no? Gods know he’s temperamental. She lounged on the bed in your room, clad in a silky dress. Your gaze studied her curvy body, distracting any thoughts.

The Dornish princess wanted you, a whore she employed, to fuck her husband. For reasons unknown. Prince Viserys was handsome but by all accounts a complete arse. You sighed, “Why do you exactly want me to seduce your husband?”

Her full lips split into a smile. “Because he needs it. I think some,” she waved her hand, “Carnal pleasure would do Vis some good.” You barked a laugh while your fingers nervously picked at the pillowcase. Cocking your head you asked, “Why can’t you do the trick?”

Arianne replied, “It’s not in my nature to dominate. I like to be fucked by big strong men and women, not do the fucking,” she leveled you with a look, “That’s what the little bitch craves. So I bring him here and you do it, yes? Plenty of coin involved.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled the olive skinned woman towards you, groaning out, “Fine.”

-

You could hear the prince’s annoyed tone down the hall. You laid naked in the bed, toying idly with your hair. Candles and incense made the room smell fragrant and herbal.

“Arianne, what is all this? I don’t fancy myself getting a pox tonight!”

The Dornish hissed back, “Just shut up and go in there, I’m tired of you bitching all the time Viserys!”

The blonde made an indignant splutter, stumbling as he was shoved in the room. Arianne’s curls bounced as she laughed, “Good luck, play nice Vis.” Viserys stared in shock at your naked frame while she slammed the door behind him. You purred, “Evening, m’lord.”

He was dressed in fine wool, emblazoned with the three headed dragon. Wide lilac eyes gazed upon you, his mouth twitching but no sound came out. You ran a hand up your body, sinking your fingers into the soft flesh of your tits. His dark brows pulled together as Viserys stuttered, “W-what is the the- the meaning of this?”

You raised a brow, elaborating, “The princess said you need a special sort of care.” His lips pulled into a frown, but you spotted the Targaryen’s cheeks flushing up nicely. He hissed, “So my dear wife set me up with a whore?” You shrugged and sat up, laughing, “Yes I suppose she did. You want me to fuck you or not, pretty princeling?”

His cheeks darkened further, nervousness flitting over Viserys pale features. He wanted it for sure, but pride was holding the indignant thing back. You cooed, “You don’t have to hide, I know what you need sweet boy.” The Prince made a soft noise, purple orbs searching your eyes. You curled a finger to beckon him over, shifting your legs open to display your wet cunt.

“Fucking seven hells, f-fine,” he grumbled.

You grinned at his sullen pout, curling your hand into his silky blonde hair as Viserys shucked off his boots next to the bed. You said, “All of it off,

good boy, yes.” He huffed and divested himself of the clothes in jerky movements, frustrated at the pace his shaky fingers were going. You held back a laugh at his demeanor, obviously the prince was not very experienced getting ordered around in bed.

You eyed his slim body as it was revealed, all pale unblemished skin. “Beautiful.” Viserys made a soft sound, putting a knee on the bed. His cock was reddened and at half mast, you wrapped your hand around it and pumped. The prince gasped and bit down on his lip in response, prick jumping. You sighed, “Pretty cock m’lord, you’re so beautiful.”

He whimpered softly, lashes fluttering as you jerked him off in slow strokes. Viserys swung his other leg up, moving forward to practically straddle you. The prince kept his eyes averted from your lustful gaze, embarrassment making pallid skin flush down to his chest. One of your hands gripped at his ass, amusedly remarking, “All that bravado is a front isn’t it? You’re shyer than a flowered maid.”

He whined, “Gods- no!” The prince pushed you back onto the bed, taking a position of power. You snorted at his pitiful attempt to take charge, letting the fool smother you with a hot kiss. Obviously Viserys was not aware of what you could do regardless of his bluster. You lapped at his lower lip, grinning at his hitched breath. Viserys voice cracked as he tried to growl, “I’m the blood of the dragon! I take what I want!”

You nodded. “Yes my prince, you are very powerful.”

You wrapped your thighs around his slim waist, goading the prince on, “Go on, take it like the dragon you are.” His lips trembled in anger, lilac eyes cast with self doubt. You thumbed at his long neck, digging the digit into his thumping pulse. His cock rubbed against your slick pussy, Viserys hips making little jerks.

He insulted you in a whiny tone, “You’re a bitch.” One of his hands groped your breast roughly, the other guided his cock inside of you. You moaned lowly at the feeling, breathlessly laughing at the prince’s mouth falling open on a whorish moan. His eyes shut tight again, hips stilling. You knew he was trying to hold off from coming.

You rubbed one of his boney shoulders, whispering into his ear, “Poor princeling, just let me take over, hm?” He whimpered lowly, cock twitching deep inside of you. Viserys panted, “I- I can’t, oh gods!” He tucked his face into the crook of your neck, trembling and overwhelmed. You took the initiative to start fucking yourself on his cock, sighing in pleasure at the stretch. He was well made, you could say that. Always the tall and skinny ones.

Viserys cried out louder this time, shivering at the feeling of your cunt sheathed around him, wet and velvety. His hands grasped at your flesh frantically. You moaned, “I’ve got you sweet Prince, feels s’good!” He began to fuck back into you in sloppy thrusts, gasping and whining pathetically.

“Fuck, gods, fuck you’re s-so wet mmm!”

You purred in excitement, he was falling apart in your arms so easily, “Just for you m’lord- hah, poor thing just needed a strong hand.” He babbled in agreement, sensitive tip rubbing against your insides. You yanked his hair to get a look at Viserys flushed face, the man whining like a bitch in heat.

You took in the beauty of his disheveled state, red and sweaty from minutes of fucking. His lips trembled and gaped from constant little noises you were milking out of the blonde. You inquired, “S’that feel good my Prince? You like how wet my pussy is for you?” He nodded miserably, purple eyes rolling around. You clenched down on his length harder, rocking your hips in a quicker pace.

He cried out and latched his mouth on your collarbone, helplessly sucking and biting at the thin skin. The angle you were at was hitting the good spot in your cunt, moans of delight echoing. You demanded in a soft voice, “Touch me dragon, let me come around you, it’ll feel like heaven.” He nodded disjointedly, long fingers circling around your swollen bud.

The prince had let go of his ego with abandon by now, consumed by your tight heat. He begged softly, “You’re s’perfect, oh don’t stop!” His lips sucked a blooming mark into your skin, fingers moving faster. You were panting now, fucking yourself faster and faster until slapping filled the room. Heat coiled in your lower belly, ready to pop.

Viserys whined at the squeeze, “Fffuck! M’gonna cum in you, oh please take it! Need it!” You bobbed your head in agreement, orgasm imminent, Viserys pretty little noises ushering you along. You snapped your hips up and grabbed the prince’s ass to sink fully inside of you— snapping that building coil. With a cry you tightened and convulsed around his cock, cunt pulsing in waves.

The prince fell apart at the sensation, babbling and breath hitching like sobs. Tears pricked his lilac eyes while you thrashed under his slim frame, moaning wantonly. He babbled, “So tight so tight so tight!” You sunk your teeth into his lower lip, Viserys spasming and emptying into you. He hiccuped and sobbed, tears rolling now. You sighed at his load filling up your pussy, still gently gliding along his twitching length.

You squeezed his ass again before sliding your palms up Viserys heaving frame, cooing soft words and praises. He sobbed and slid out, curling into your smaller frame. The prince whimpered, “Thank you- fuck- thank you.” Arianne slid through the door silently, her full lips quirking up at the state of Viserys.

You lazily smiled at her and pressed your lips to his pale hair. He nuzzled your neck, still offhandedly babbling. Arianne slid onto the bed to join the sweaty pile, cooing, “Oh, sweet Vis, she wore you out no?” He turned his reddened eyes to her and nodded wearily, pulling the Dornish into his side. You grinned, quite happy at being smothered by two royals.

“He’s a good boy, did so well,” you praised.

[mariamakeslemons]

Spooktober 2024: Day 12 Clowns

Warning: Threat of breaking and entering, mention of FNAF (I know some people are tired of the game series, it's still super popular, I'm sorry), mild description of violence and gore, mild body horror

Yes, it's Art the Clown from Terrifier. Only reason Reader lives is that Nikto ruins his fun.

You sit on the couch, watching Halloween as Sputnik lays her head on your lap, blinking big pleading eyes at you to feed her some popcorn. You huff, giving her a scratch behind the ear when the doorbell rings.

“Hup,” you grunt, gently pushing Sputnik’s head off your lap to grab the candy bowl off the high table. Making your way over to the door, you can’t help but smile as you open it.

“Trick or treat!” the gathered kids cheer, holding up plastic pumpkins and pillowcases.

“What do we have here?” you gasp, grabbing some candy for each kid, “A pirate, a witch and--”

“I’m Freddy!” the smallest kid pipes up, wearing a top hat and bear ears.

“Oh!” you gasp, as if startled, “Well excuse me, Mister Fazbear.” You give the kids their candy and send them off with a wave. Chuckling, you return to the sofa after putting the candy bowl back on the table. You settle into the couch and return your attention to the movie, never noticing the shadow that moves to the back door.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nikto had planned to surprise you by knocking on the front door. They’d even practiced saying ‘trick or treat’ with an accent, all to make you smile and laugh in delight. However, all of those plans stopped when they saw a strange man in a black and white clown suit skulking around the house. They pause and watch as the clown tiptoes cartoonishly into the backyard, pausing to shush at no one behind him. Without a thought, Nikto pulls out the sniper rifle they had brought home to tuck into the safe and raised the scope to their eye.

The clown makes a show of trying to decide what to do at the backdoor, rocking back and forth as if thinking, before snaping and raising a finger in the air before rummaging through the bloody sack he was dragging around. Nikto narrows his eye before it widens as the clown carelessly throws a decapitated head to the side, one that Nikto recognizes as the neighbor that constantly bothers you in an attempt to make you leave them. He pulls out an air pump, a piece of rebar, and some a tied kerchief rope before seeming to pull out what he planned to use. A bloody kitchen knife.

Nikto focuses on the man’s head and pulls the trigger, no thought in his head other than protecting you. The silencer works as the man’s head explodes with a pop. However, instead of falling over dead, the man’s body raises his hands and grabs at the air that was once occupied by his head. The body flails around, reaching blindly for something before grabbing the jack-o-lantern you had made before they left. He places it on his neck and nods with it. Nikto blinks, trying to make sense of what the hell was happening, as the clown seems to huff and put his hands on his hips. The clown eventually drops his fist against his palm, before clawing at the pumpkin that he made into his head.

Instead of the orange guts of the pumpkin Nikto knows should be coming out, red blood spurts out with each claw at the pumpkin. The fruit is slowly torn apart, eventually revealing the exact same head that Nikto just blew off. The clown shakes his head, dislodging the remainder of pumpkin from his head before looking up at the tree Nikto is currently in. The clown frowns and puts his fists on his hips, going so far as to shake his fist at Nikto before huffing and stomping out of the backyard. Not before regathering the items he pulled out of his bag, thankfully, but Nikto remains vigilant. They follow the clown until he disappears down the street. Clenching and unclenching their fist in time, Nikto eventually turns to the door to your home and enters, his plan gone in favor of focusing on your safety. They relax upon seeing you cuddling on the couch with Sputnik, the two of you focused on the television until Nikto enters the room. Sputnik perks up and lets out a gleeful laugh, catching your attention. When you see them, your face lights up at their arrival, and Nikto relaxes a little.

“Andre! Welcome home,” you chirp, beaming up at them. They nod and walk over to the couch, settling beside you and not flinching when you move in for a cuddle. You start to ramble about what’s occurred while they’ve been gone, and Nikto is only able to half focus on your words. They can’t relax too much, in case that clown reappears and tries to hurt you. They’d rather suffer through more torture than see you hurt.

[theloveoftoms]

one hell of a pilot - maverick x reader

summary: after a recent breakup, your long-time friend goose suggests you join him and the others at a bar off base. maverick and you forge a meaningful connection <3

a/n: hello babes, guess who's back from her far too long hiatus, this girl! I started writing this a few weeks ago, and I finally finished it. I hope you all enjoy, I know writing it was a blast! I have my poetry final today, so wish me luck lolz. have a great day :)) - xoxo mac

wordcount: 4.3k

warnings: alcohol consumption, shitty ex-boyfriend, language ;0

Today had been a rough day. Training at Top Gun had increased to a new level of difficulty. With each new assignment and flight training demanding a new level of grit and determination to accomplish. And it certainly didn’t help that your heart was still in the process of mending from the pain caused by your most recent boyfriend, well, now I suppose, ex-boyfriend. 

The day at Top Gun was finally over, and the thought of coming home to your single-unit pleased you in the moment, but you knew damn well, that the second you got back to your apartment, the dread of it all would sink in. 

So, after a shower, and a luke-warm beer that you had forgotten to put in the refrigerator, you found yourself perched on the arm of your living room couch, fiddling with the remote that never seemed to work, but probably just needed batteries. You found some shitty action movie on tv and ate a plate of strawberries as the sound of fast cars and men with Floridan accents became a comforting lull in the background.

Your night, or at least how you had planned it, would consist of, 1) the second half of this shitty movie 2) the leftover chicken quesadilla you had waiting for you in the refrigerator and 3) the cheap thriller novel that you had found at the drugstore last week. What you didn’t anticipate happening, was the doorbell ringing promptly at nine, just after you had finished your dinner.

So, you pulled yourself up from the couch, and on the way to the door, when you passed a glimpse of your reflection in the hallway mirror, you debated grabbing a cardigan or a blanket or something to cover up your sloppy look. You were wearing a navy-branded t-shirt (courtesy of your days at the academy), and pair of biker shorts that appeared to be non-existent as they hid beneath the excess material of the mens tripple-XL shirt. But the closer you got to the door, the further that thought was in your mind, and you decided, that whoever was on the other side of the door would just have to deal with your post-work image.

“y/l/n,” Goose stated confidently, a hand resting on his hip, “you busy tonight?”

Your posture relaxed when you realized who it was; the man you practically grew up with. 

You deadpanned and gestured to yourself, “does it look like I’m busy Bradshaw?”

Goose shrugged, not entirely sure how to reply to that retort of yours.

“What do you need Goose?” You asked nonchalantly, both wanting and not-wanting to get back inside to the comforts of your sofa.

“A couple of the guys and I are going to grab drinks at the Duke and I was wondering if you wanted to tag along?”

You gestured to yourself again, “Does it look like I’m fit to go to a bar Nick?”

“It looks like you need a pair of fuckin pants,” he said jokingly, which earned a slap to his bicep.

“I know things haven’t been great for you lately y/n,” Goose said, “with Brett and all.” 

Brett. Just hearing his name brought an unwanted surge of pain through your chest. Specifically, the surge of pain that you had been trying to push away for the past couple of weeks. You didn’t cry about him anymore, in the daytime that is. But at night, when you would lie in bed beneath the darkness of the moon, missing the presence of having someone to curl into, the tears would come, and they would temporarily make an impression on your pillowcase. But as you slept it off, the tears would dry, and you would wake up the next morning feeling mostly okayish.

“And I think,” Goose said, bringing you back into reality from the facade of memories that you had been reminiscing upon within your mind just then, “if you came out with us tonight, you’d have more fun than you would here,” he said, gesturing to your townhome, “spilling a tub of ice cream all over yourself while you sit alone with the lights off.”

Way harsh Goose, you thought to yourself. But he did have a point. You hadn’t been out in forever. The last time you actually went and got drinks like a proper twenty-something-year-old was with your parents when you relocated to San Diego for your position in Top Gun. And that was just at some locally owned Mexican restaurant that happened to have a bar inside. Maybe it would be good to get back out there?

You rolled your eyes, “Give me ten minutes and I’ll be ready.”

So, as Goose, your childhood best friend stood in your kitchen, washing the plate you had used to eat your chicken quesadilla, you were busy in your room getting yourself ready for the evening. You dressed yourself in a lacey black tank top that looked only slightly like lingerie, but didn’t if you wore it tucked into a pair of straight-cut jeans and wore it alongside a pair of low beige heels. As you ran a comb through your wavy hair, you couldn’t help but stare at yourself in the mirror.

Sure, it was a pretty typical outfit that other young women of your age wore when they went out for drinks, but it was cute. And it did provide you with the security of looking  just like every other woman. Thats exactly what you wanted to appear to be; just like every other woman. Brett had dumped you because you weren’t ready to settle down with him. You weren’t ready to move in, you weren’t ready for marriage, and you sure as hell weren’t ready for children. Brett wanted you to finish up Top Gun and then lie low for a while, putting your career aside. “Be realistic,” Brett had said, “This pilot shit can’t last forever. Maybe look at getting a different job, one thats more feminine?” 

Your career was very important to you. You had worked so hard to climb the latter that that is the United States Navy. Your career was the highlight of your life. It was everything you had ever worked towards. And you weren’t going to give that up. And as much as you hated to admit, the reason of your recent break-up, had been affecting your ego ever so slightly.

So tonight, as you admired your curves in the mirror, and put on some mascara, you told yourself that you were just like every other woman.

…

“This better be worth it,” you grumbled, shutting the door to Goose’s Bronco, scanning the beach-side dive bar with your eyes.

Off in the distance, the evening tangerine hue was beginning to creep up and onto the horizon, putting the day to sleep in preparation for the night. And alongside the dimming of the evening, the neon lights of the dive bar became more welcoming.

The Duke, the off-base bar that Goose had insisted you join him and the others at, was the kind of place that had charm, but only if you knew where to look for it. It was the kind of place with neon lights and drinks that were both cheap and good. It was the kind of place that people came to forget about the day they had just had. Thats what you wanted. And the aura of the loud music coming from the bar would sure help with that. 

“Trust me, y/n,” Goose reassured you, responding to your question, “it will be.”

You wanted to believe Goose, you really did. And the moment you saw the table of guys that you’ve began to come to know as your group of friends, the night already seemed better. 

“Look who made it!” Iceman said as you approached the table, making you feel welcome, “Its good to see you Cobra,” he said, calling you by your call sign.

You smiled and as you took a seat at one of the empty chairs, saying your ‘hellos’ to the other classmates that were here. And at the end of the table was no other than Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell – perhaps, your greatest competitor – sitting laxly with a beer in his hands and his regular leather jacket draped around his chair.

Damn he had nice arms.

“Evening Cobra,” he said to you, leaning back ever so slightly in a way that seemed to be slightly too confident.

“Maverick,” you offered as a form of pleasantry.

Slider, who was busy looking at the drink menu slapped it down on the counter, pointing to one item in particular. “Now this,” he said, his finger drawn to a platter of five tequila shots, “this is what we need to get things going.”

So, as soon as a one of the circulating waitresses happened to be walking by your table, she wrote down, and then brought over the collective order of your table, the night certainly got a whole lot more exciting.

“Alright,” Goose said, handing you your stalky shot glass of 100% pure tequila, complete with a rim of salt and an accompanying lime, “To good times,” he said nodding.

“Good times,” you repeated along with the others, before drawing the glass to your mouth, tasting the dryness of the salt right before proceeding to take the shot.

The warmth of the alcohol tricked down your throat as you swallowed, and you forgot just how strong shots could be. You weren’t sure if swallowing it as quickly as possible made the uncomfortable sensation better or worse, but as soon as the clear liquid was all emptied from your glass, you jammed the lime into your mouth and squinted your eyes shut as a way to combat the sensation. You weren’t the only one. It seemed everyone at your table, was just to realizing how strong Slider’s chosen shots were.

“Shit,” Goose groaned, setting his glass down on the table, “And you enjoy these Slider?”

Slider shrugged, grinning, “Its awful right now, but hey, come ten minutes, you’ll feel real great.”

Opening one of the beers on the table, you rolled your eyes Sliders comment, “It’ll take more than that,” you sarcastically groaned to Goose who was seated beside you.

“What was that y/n?” Iceman asked.

You shook your head, “Ah, it was nothing.”

“Do I hear you wanting to go for a round two?”

Now, a sensible you would have said no. But since it was Friday night, you wouldn’t have to get up early tomorrow for class. And its not like you had any other plans for the day besides catching up on some paperwork and going on your usual walk. So for once in your life, you threw caution to the wind and agreed, “You got it Ice.”

So, naturally, when your platter of shots arrived, you passed them out, handing each one of the guys their respective glasses with a smirk.

“Maverick,” you said charmingly – gee, thanks alcohol – and you tried to avoid the warm feeling in your chest when your slender fingers skimmed against Maverick’s as you handed him the glass.

“Three, two, one,” you counted down, giving yourself, and possibly the rest of your group, the mental preparation prior to that same burning sensation that would wreak havoc in your mouth prior to swallowing and quickly placing the lime in your mouth.

There was a collective groan from your table as the five shot glasses returned to their small cedar serving plank. 

You laughed, washing down the remaining remnants of the uncomfortable taste with the beer you had ordered. “I am not doing that again.”

So, for the next while, as the effects of the alcohol began to make itself present in your body, you sat at the table, just chatting and hanging out with your classmates, sharing stories from your lives before the navy. And while the five of you talked, you couldn’t help but stare at the opposite end of the table where Maverick was seated.

Sure, naturally, prior to this evening, you had realized that Maverick was attractive, but being in a relationship with someone didn’t really allow you to fully appreciate his beauty. With his dark hair, carelessly brushed in an effortlessly windswept way atop of his head, and his oceanic eyes, that in some lights appeared green, and in others, appeared to be almost blue.

Physically, he was gorgeous, but your past interactions with him intrigued you to what it would be like to know him. He had an ego, one that was strong and unaffected, but there was something about his drive, about his reach, about the passion he put into everything he did. You couldn’t help but wonder if one knew him intimately, if he would pursue them with the same passion and drive.

The thought cleared from your mind when his eyes met yours, making you look away, and ultimately force yourself to think of something other than the man that is Maverick.

You hadn’t noticed, but with the loss of your collective sobriety that each one of you can your friends had came in with, the music in the dive bar began to form a sound for itself. The radio collection, of rock, and pop, and some hard core groovy songs had elevated in loudness, so much so, that in a section of the bar a cluster of people had begun to dance among the cleared spot in the building.

“Do you guys see that?” Slider asked, his face drawn in a grin. 

You turned in your chair, studying the dancers with your eyes, then turning back to face the table, “What?” You asked.

“That blonde over there,” Slider said, “She’s giving me some serious fuck me eyes.”

Hearing those words come out of your classmates mouth nearly made you choke on your beer, you weren’t expecting that.

“Wanna join me Ice?” Slider asked, “She’s got friends.”

You rolled your eyes as the two of them as they both threw themselves out of their seats and leisurely sauntered over to the dance floor. 

“Anything to get laid,” Goose muttered jokingly when the two men began to sway to the beat of the music not quite beside, but very much near the two women. 

“You could probably meet someone out there Cobra,” Goose said, more directly to you.

You scanned the crowd again, “I’m not too sure if I want to,” you gestured to the men, “they all look like their mothers still pick out their clothes for them.”

Maverick snorted from his spot over across the table, “She’s got a point Nick.”

You turned to face Maverick and flashed him a grin, “see, someone gets me!”

Goose shook his head, trying to hide his smile before saying, “I’m going to go give Carol a call, I promised I’d call her tonight. You two try and stay out of trouble,” he said, lecturing the two of you like children.

Seemingly the moment Goose left the table, Maverick’s gaze met yours. You were usually fine with eye connate, but there was something about the way that Maverick’s enchanting green eyes were staring into your own that made you feel both nervous and calm at the same time. You weren’t too sure what to say, or what the two of you could talk about, so as a way of diverting the imminence of your conversation, you took another drink of your beer, which only provided a moment relief where you weren’t required to think of what to say.

“You dance?” He asked you, the comment coming out of nowhere.

You shook your head, “I can sort-of dance, but I don’t that often,” you told him unsure of why you chose to tell him that. “And you?” You asked him back.

Maverick shook his head grinning, “not really my thing either.”

And then from across the room you heard a voice of familiarity, and right away you knew who it belonged to. Brett. Your ex-boyfriend Brett. The man who broke your heart Brett. 

As much as you didn’t want to turn around, and face the man who had told you to take a step down from your career, your suspicions got the best of you, and as much as you didn’t wish to see him, there was some sort of burning panic in your chest that wouldn’t be fulfilled if you didn’t turn in your seat. 

There he was. Standing tall, with his sandy hair, and well sculpted physique, whispering tiny inaudible thoughts into the ear of a woman with bleach blonde hair. Your eyes met his, and suddenly you wanted to leave. You wanted a sinkhole to come up into the bar and swallow you whole. And the moment Brett flashed you a grin, one that said, this is my new woman, you jealous? You felt the desire, no, the need to get out of the bar. You weren’t ready to face all of this just yet.

But time doesn’t always work in your favour. And so the moment Brett walked over to your table, his arm linked tightly around the slender waist of the bleach blonde woman, you weren’t too sure what to do. 

Brett smiled in the kind of way that reminded you of what it was like to know him, before spewing out pleasantries and introducing the woman known as Crystal who was joined at his hip. “Its good to see you out y/n,” he said coyly, and in that moment, a ping of hatred found its way through your heart, how had you ever been with this man.

But instead of telling him off, as much as you wanted to, you smiled bluntly, your eyes revealing your true nature, “And its good to see you indulging in pleasures other than morning runs and cheap beer from the gas station.”

As Crystal gave you a dirty look, Maverick snorted before walking over to your end of the table and putting an arm around your chair, “I think its time for you to be on your way man,” he said to Brett. 

Brett shrugged, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans, “I was just coming by to say hello,” before he walked away, his hand moving down from Crystals waist circulating above her ass. Good riddance Brett!

You turned to Maverick, flashing him a gentle smile, “thanks for that Mav,” before pausing and looking to the door, “if you don’t mind, I think I just need some air.”

And without protest, you pushed yourself up from your seat, and tried to compose yourself as the night time air hit your face. You felt warm – thanks to the alcohol – but the coldness felt lovely on your skin. You felt refreshed, cleansed almost.

On the opposite side of the Duke, was the sandy beach leading up to the ocean, which now, in the dark of night, was illumined by nearby houses and buildings, and the light of the moon reflected calmly on the waters. You decided to walk onto the sand, removing your heels from your feet and letting the now-cold sand wiggle around your toes as you walked, until you found a spot within the sand to take a seat.

Gosh, the one person you didn’t want to see tonight was Brett, and surely enough, he was there. You hated that you saw him, and you hated that you weren’t quite over him yet. Naturally, things would take time, you just wanted to get through that as quick as you could.

Behind you, you heard the sound of someone clearing their throat, which made you turn, your awareness of your surroundings coming into a fuller passage.

It was Maverick, waking slowly towards you through the sand. “Mind if I sit?” He asked.

You gestured to the available ground beside yourself, “by all means, be my guest.”

You didn’t really feel like you wanted company, but then again, it was Maverick, only Maverick, and you didn’t want to turn him away after he had stood up for you back there.

And as soon as Maverick sat down beside you, the warmth and familiarity of his scent filed your way through the air, a blend of sandalwood and citrus, and cedar, and near-summer nights, you found yourself relax a bit in his presence.

For a while, the two of you just sat there beneath the moonlight in one another's company, just listening to the sound of the waves upon the shore. It was peaceful.

“So that was him?” He finally asked you. 

You nodded, turning your face ever so slightly to face him, “that was Brett, the Marine.”

Maverick nodded, “Goose told me about him,” he paused, “he seems like an ass.”

You chuckled, not too sure why, “you’re right about that.”

You weren't too sure how much of your failed relationship you wanted to share with your friend. You and Maverick weren't particularly close, but the two of you obviously cared about one another.

“I just hate,” you sighed, “I hate how when I was with him, I didn’t even realize how big of a dick he could be.”

Maverick looked over to you, as if he knew you were going to say more.

“He told me to give up my career after I’m done at Top Gun,” you said, feeling a sense of relief by telling someone else about the matter, “He wanted to get married, and have kids, and he wanted me to follow him wherever he went.”

Maverick scoffed.

“And its not that I even hate that that’s what he wanted, I hate that part of me, a very, very, small part of me, considered it. And sometimes, all I can do if worry about if I made the right decision, and walked away from him, from that life for the one Ive worked so hard for.”

Maverick shook his head, and in a more quiet tone, he turned to face you, “don't ever doubt yourself like that. Ever.”

You looked away from him, feeling some warm sensation in your chest, but when Maverick resumed to speak, you had no other choice but to turn back to face the brunette. 

“You’re a pilot,” he said, “Its in your blood, its in your veins, its who you are. And you’re damn good at it. Hell, somedays I wish I was nearly as good as you. You fly with so much precision and drive and when you're up there, I only wish I could have a fraction of whatever it is that you do, because you are just so so good at it.”

You looked back to Maverick, noticing the soften in his usual expression. His moonlight eyes were on you, and only you.

“And if you ever think you would be better off with some dick like Brett, you’re wrong, because someone who loves you, shouldn’t hold you back from your potential, they should push you, they should inspire you to do better, to be better, to become better.”

For a while, the two of you just sat in silence, absorbing the pure intimacy of one another's gaze. You hadn’t realized how cold it was beginning to get because you were too busy thinking about what Maverick had just said. You didn’t realize the trail of goosebumps that had found their way across both of your arms, the cool night time air that brushed against them. But Maverick did. 

Maverick slipped his arms out of his leather jacket, and draped it around your shoulders, a peaceful expression on his face. “Here,” he said, dawning the jacket, the very one that smelt so much like him it made you relax, “Its not super warm, but its better than nothing.”

When the warmth returned to your arms, almost the minute you gathered the material around yourself, your thoughts were finally gathered back into your head. You turned to Maverick, your knee brushing up against his faintly, but just enough that you were aware of its presence, and the way in which the faint warmth radiated through the fabric of both his jeans and yours, until you became hyperaware of its presence, and gave him a soft smile. “Thank you,” you told him.

“For the jacket,” you said, pulling the leather closer to your chest, “and for what you said. No one has ever told me that before.” You paused a moment, “it means a lot.”

Maverick’s expression softened and he looked at you contently, “its the truth,” he said softly.

You leaned into him, your head now resting on his shoulder, you felt a sense of peace, a sense of relief, you felt relaxed in Maverick’s presence. And when he leant his head, gently atop of yours, you knew that what Maverick had said was genuine.

And so, like you had initially thought, when Goose suggested the idea of going to a bar, you thought you would have maybe made one or two bad decisions, maybe choosing to kiss a man with far too much tongue, or follow him home. But what had ended up amounting from the evening was far better. You made a real connection, with someone who you would later find out, would become well worth you time. 

That was the night you had met Maverick for the second time. The night when the two of you forged a connection one that even time wouldn’t be able to take away. 

[theangelsheardyou]

Purpose! AU

Tags: major character death, depressed chuuya, hints of soukoku, hinted dissociative amnesia, decay of angels chuuya, fyodor pretty much wants chuuya to join him lol he's so whipped

I'm planning on drawing for this au too, but the quality of the pictures will be bad if I post them thru my phone. So here's my art account, posted straight from my drawing tablet, it's mostly mha art so far but I'm going to add hints of bsd in there too.

Art acc: @god-shit-girl-art

"Everything you have, and everything you've lost, I'll give it a purpose. Your past, your present, and your future, give it to me. And I will give you purpose."

Chuuya laid achingly amidst the softness around him. Linen sheets and silk pillowcases danced around him on his bed, and yet, he paid them no mind.

A heart can only take so much. But in his case, it seemed as if it had nothing left, nothing to give, nothing to own, nothing to fight for.

It had been 2 months since Dazai mysteriously died. He feels guilty for the fact that he cannot even remember how it happened. The death of his....someone....and his mind couldn't even grant him the decency to remember.

It was like that in cases of trauma. Just like the heart, the mind can only take so much before it breaks. Shattering like a mirror, some pieces will inevitably break apart, never to be seen again.

All he knows is that before he died, however he died, Dazai had used his Ability on Chuuya. And now that he was gone, so was his Ability. Chuuya no longer has the power of gravity manipulation, but for some odd reason, he wasn't mourning over it.

Whether Dazai had left him a note, a phrase, a word, or anything at all, he didn't know. It was all a part of the shattered mirror that was his mind. He couldn't even remember how he died, or if he even left him anything. Part of him wished, prayed, begged for this to all be some sort of scheme, one of Dazai's old tricks. He wasn't dead, no, this is just part of his plan. Somehow, some way he and the ADA will fix this mess, and they'll be together again. Someday, any day now.

....right?

The creak of a large wooden door could be heard from across the room, reminding Chuuya of where he was. He didn't bother getting up, or even looking in its direction. He laid there like a lifeless dog, after losing its owner.

"Nakahara Chuuya," came a voice. Deep and laced with an accent. Chuuya knew who it was, and was half-hoping to hear the sound of an ADA member, telling him to get up and that Dazai needed him for the next phase of his plan.

When Chuuya didn't reply, footsteps answered instead. The sound of hard leather soles against the expensive polished wood, it rang in his ears. He never bothered to really listen to them before.

"I have to admit, it was hard to find you," said the man, tall and slender, his shadow doing justice to his sleek and mysterious nature.

"This penthouse of yours, seems far too big for just one person. However I do believe you'd been visited many a night, correct?"

Asshole.

Did he just call Chuuya a whore?

Perhaps it was the thinly veiled insult, or how Chuuya just realized that a powerful enemy whose strength outweighed his own was now in his bedroom, but the ginger found the strength to sit back up. However slowly and groggily, with his hair a red-orange mess that framed his face and a dress shirt unbuttoned across his chest. His blue eyes seemed more grey, now that Fyodor looks at it. Were they always this dull?

"What do you want you anemic son of a bitch," Chuuya said, it wasn't a question.

Fyodor didn't answer. Instead the two stared at each other, one with eyes posing no threat and one with eyes that couldn't pose any even if it wanted to. In his mind, the Russian compared the man's blue-grey eyes to that of an empty glass. Nothing to give, nothing but potential.

"Dazai's dead." Chuuya said finally. His voice was hoarse and he could taste his thick saliva. How long had it been since he brushed his teeth or combed his hair? Was he wearing the same clothes he did that day 2 months ago? Or was it that night?

"I am aware, yes." Fyodor said, his voice and demeanor unwavering. What did this asshole want?

Chuuya looked down, facing his hands that laid aimlessly on his knees, legs folded, blankets ruffled and forgotten. There were wounds on them. Why were there wounds on them?

"However, I am not here for him."

Chuuya looked back at the dark-haired man, noticing a change in his attire. His coat that had once terrorized countless innocents in its dark tone was now white, with dark feathers around the collar. He could barely see what was inside, though.

"You look unwell." He said.

"Yeah? Great, thanks." Chuuya retorted sarcastically. "That's what I was goin' for, actually."

Fyodor chuckled at his comment, voice deep and alluring.

"You know, Chuuya, a man is only as great as his biggest weakness."

"Fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Fyodor maintained his smile, and began walking to the side of the room slowly, leather shoes rhythmically playing the wooden floor like a piano. Slow and steady, each note just like the last. Like it was leading up to something.

"It's a story of power. Lose and obtain. Give and take. Something must be lost in order for another to be found."

Fyodor took one of the floor-length curtains in one of his pale, slender hands. His illuminating lilac eyes remained focused on the redhead.

"You lost one of your biggest crutches," He said. "And in turn, one of your biggest weaknesses. Ride a bicycle with training wheels, and you'll never truly learn to ride without them."

"Wait a second," Chuuya finally gained the strength to speak again. "Are you talking about Dazai?"

Fyodor nodded, as if he was happy to hear Chuuya was on the right track.

"The man was a necessary loss. The final stepping stone to your metamorphosis. Because of him, and everyone who you've lost before, you now have the choice to become something greater."

"And what's that?" Chuuya scowled. "Another one of your chess pieces? Another pawn to your sick little game? Dazai is dead, you've won. What more could you possibly want from me?"

"Ah, you take the king away," Fyodor said, "but the queen still has all the power."

With that, his hand flew to the side, opening the curtains wide enough to see the world below it, the world outside. Cars and streetlights, people out on the town, the moon shining just as bright as before, as if nothing had changed.

"Even without your Ability, I believe you still have the potential to create more," He said, staring up into the stars.

Chuuya emerged from the darkness of his canopy bed, the first time he stood on his own two feet in ages. He walked to Fyodor's side, entranced by the light of the moon.

"Ah, how fitting for it to be a third quarter tonight." Fyodor said.

"A what?"

"A third quarter. Only half the moon is visible tonight, the other is shadowed in the dark. And yet, it's still just as beautiful, no?"

Fyodor faced Chuuya, albeit having to look down a little bit to look him in the eye.

"Everything you have, and everything you've lost, I'll give it a purpose. Join me, give me your past, your present and your future, trust it with me and I will give you a new purpose."

Fyodor stretched his hand out to Chuuya.

"Together, the moon will shine even brighter than before."

"What do you say, Chuuya Nakahara?"

[astronomyandfrogs]

𝐍𝐎 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃.

after marc and jake rock your world in the bedroom, steven is there to cherish you. [o.7k]

tw: mentioned smut, suggestive themes.

you could still feel their heavy hands on you — slapping your ass, chocking you, groping your breast. and yet, it almost passed an hour since marc or jake touched your body.

“you feeling better, love?” steven asks “things got a tad intense there”.

“m fine” you murmur thickly, your voice low from the soreness of your throat, caused by the previous clenching of the walls around their lengths and their (mostly jake’s) need to be buried in you all the way down your throat, till your gag reflex was triggered.

now, your mascara and eyeliner are running down your cheeks, direct consequence of the previous naughty hours, which evidence can be found on the black stained pillowcase.

steven is in front of you, holding a cotton disc drenched in make up remover in one of his hands. with his free hand, he locks your chin in his hold to secure your face and delicately wipes the black traces of tears from your skin.

his touch on your face is delicate and light, this fingers even hardly brush your face, so smoothly that, with your eyes closed, they feel like gentle feathers against your sensitive skin — found and precious.

the tenderness helps your muscles to relax and you doze off, shifting time to time to an awaker state (but not quite awake yet) each time steven moves around the room.

he places his hand on your hip and squeezes it lightly. in protest, you turn on the side, hiding your face between the sheets. in cold nights like this one, laying in your bed under the duvet with your lover is your favourite hobby, but it seemed like said lover had other ideas. 

“come on, love,” steven says “there’s a warm bath ready for you”.

you smile against the white pillow. since the day you met him, steven had shown many love languages, each different and each sealed your relationship’s mile stones.

one of the first times you spent the night in his apartment, you caught him sneaking out of bed to grab a book to read, to defeat his insomnia, and under your request, he started reading it out loud. you found yourself captivated in the way the words rolled from his lips, marked by his british accent, and the way he interpreted the narrative. since that day, many times you have fallen asleep lulled by his readout.

after you moved in the apartment, he also got into the habit of keeping sugar treats in the house to satisfy your sweet tooth, expectedly during your period, were your cravings for chocolate (and every other food) increased.

your favourite however are the baths. if it’s late in the evening and the sun has already dawned, he usually puts a pair of scented candle on the surfaces to create a romantic atmosphere. then, you and him sulk in the bubbly water for whole hours till your skin is rough and thick.

which is the reason why, as steven scoops you up the bed, you smile. between his arms you are still naked, while he wearing a white t-shirt and a pair of boxers.

as previously anticipated, the bathroom is enlighten only by a bunch of candles. vanilla candles, you think by the smell that inebriates you.

when he puts you down, your feet touch the cold floor and a shiver runs throw all your body. he is quick to embrace you, to share some of his warmth, while stroking his hands on your side and arms to produce heat.

“you should jump in the bath, before you catch a cold”.

“well, i sure hope i’m not taking this bath alone” you allude, and tug at his shirt. he stares at you with his big doe eyes, lost in his own thoughts — a quite common response at your flirting — and you can’t help but giggle as you lean against his chest to give him a kiss.

within the blink of an eye his shirt is gone, just like the boxers. you help each other in the tub, your legs still like jelly.

you lay on his chest and he hold your waist with one arm, while the other one is busy playing with your hair. you close your eyes, your senses intoxicated by his smell, his touch, his voice and somehow, still his taste.