#ILL BE DRESSING IN BLACK FOR THE REST OF THE MONTH

[rin-may-1103]

Just a Bite.

Master Post | Next

Danny stared out at the busy street from behind his dumpster.

or well, not his dumpster, but it might as well be his considering how many nights he's spent sitting behind it like some rabid raccoon.

Two months ago, he would have been sleeping in his own bed. His glow-in-the-dark stars vaguely lighting up his room in soft luminescent colors. The sound of Jazz snoring in her sleep just a room over, his parents still milling around in the basement.

he would have just finished fighting the box ghost and collapsed onto his bed, the sound of his home lulling him to sleep.

Oh, how things can change in a blink of an eye.

No, instead of sleeping on his bed with his cartoon ghost sheets and NASA poster covered room, he's out here in some random dirty city, sleeping behind dumpsters.

dirty, grimy, rusty dumpsters.

"did you hear?" some lady dressed in a light blue summer dress asked, turning to look at her friend as they started to walk past. "Mr. Wayne donated another lump sum to that charity." she huffed, shaking her head like she had just said the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard.

her friend stopped in the middle of the alley opening, her graying hair splaying in an ark as she twisted to face the other women. "my word! again? what the hell is that man thinking?"

the woman huffed, then smirked in amusement. "it's like he's shouting for the world to hear how desperate he is for attention. he thinks if he donates enough money to those scoudrails they'll love him or something. With how he's acting lately, it's like he wants all the street rats to barge into his home asking for money, food, and clothes."

her friend clicked her tongue in disgust, "I'd believe it. he has so many kids now, it's like he's running an orphanage. someone, anyone really, with black hair and some tragic story could walk right in and not even be noticed. they'd blend right in with the others."

"I heard it's genetic, his father was the same way before he met Martha. Bruce's blood son, Damian I believe, acts just like his father. the boy's been spotted taking stray cats and dogs inside. It wouldn't surprise me if the paper posted about him convincing his father for another sibling at some point."

the women then turned and started to walk away, their conversation slowly bleeding into the surrounding city ruckus.

Danny leaned back, resting his head against the crumbling brick behind him.

walk right in and not be noticed? wouldn't that be grand. He had heard of Mr. wayne and his gaggle of black-haired children. What were their names again? he could have sworn Sam told him before, in one of her rants about rich society.

Richard Grayson was the first, Danny remembered because Tucker had been making none stop dick jokes for a few hours. Danny didn't understand why the man would willingly go by Dick, but then again, who was he to question someone's name when he fights ghosts like Skulker and Technis on a daily basis?

Next was... Jason? Sam had mentioned there was a whole conspiracy theory of how his death was a cover-up. how all the unsolved crime community swore it was Bruce who killed the kid, that or the kid had some terminal illness that Bruce didn't want the media to know about.

thennnnnn-

Danny glanced around, trying to dig through his memories of Sam's rant. Dick: the orphaned circus act taken in the night his parents died. he's romanie? maybe, Danny wasn't too sure on that one. Jason: taken off the streets, one of his parents was out of the picture and the other one died of a drug overdose.

and then there was..... Tim! Right, Tim, the one who was Mr. Wayne's neighbor before his mother died and his dad went into a coma, then died later on. right, right. he was the known tech genius, the one who took over the company while Mr. Wayne stepped back for a while.

there were others? like, four others? Damian, the lady said he was the blood son sooo, that would imply he was the only bio kid.

who else was there? hmmmm.

well, either way, Danny's tired brain agreed with the women. someone, anyone, who looked vaguely like the other kids could walk right into the house and no one would notice.

it was a bad idea. a terrible one really. but. Danny was hungry.

he's been sleeping behind dumpsters for a few weeks now, he hadn't had anything good to eat in forever, and he was tired. (not as exhausted as he was back home, but still tired. who would have guessed he'd sleep more while homeless?)

he wasn't going to steal from people, his core wouldn't allow him to. and well, he's pretty sure Dan would have stolen already, so there was no way Danny was going to. not unless his life was at risk, and well? it wasn't right now, so no stealing.

but this? walking right into a house and blatantly taking food? right in front of them?

it wouldn't be stealing if he just flat-out didn't try to hide it. they'd be able to stop him and send him away. heck, he doubted he'd even make it past the front gate before they turned him away.

...

was he really going to do this?

...

yes, yes he was.

standing up, Danny started making his way out of the alleyway and over to the tall building with Wayne's name on it. It was a good place to start, maybe he could even find one of the kids and walk with them. or, even better, he could find Mr. Wayne and walk with him. he liked that better than following some kid around.

suddenly, a car honked right next to him, the window rolling down to reveal a tired and disheveled man behind the wheel. glancing up, Danny made eye contact with the taxi driver.

the man yawned and gestured for him to get in, already speaking before Danny could decline. "Mr. Wayne! Your father," yawn, "Father already paid for me to take you home. just hop in."

Danny blinked then glanced around, looking to see if the Wayne the man was talking about was around. nope. turning back, Danny spotted a green sticky note on the back seat.

well, alright then. guess he was getting into the taxi and doing this after all. Clockwork obviously approved if he messed with the timing of things.

Next

[yanderenightmare]

All For One

TW: nsfw, noncon, yandere, captive reader, mind deterioration

fem reader

All For One has a habit of subjugating you for his own pleasure. 

It’s a game he likes to play—quite like chess, only… you start off with a single pawn, and you don’t know any of the rules. And he’s been world champion ten years in a row. And he plays dirty.

Tonight, he’s dressed you up in a costume. Not any old Halloween costume, but a slutty one. Not a playboy bunny or a maid, nor a schoolgirl—this was worse—a sleazy rendition of your old hero uniform.

You’d barely recognized the faintly familiar design when he first laid it out on the bed for you. Silly and naïve, you thought his games of derision would end when you finally offered your submission, but that was a fool’s thought. What fun were you if not proof of his undying victory—a reminder, a trophy, a relic?

It’s beyond degrading. Tight and revealing. Less than an actual costume, it was more something one would wear in the bedroom, cosplaying for some fantasy starring an overly sexualized you. Only God knows where he’d gotten it from.

Your steel armor, once with the dignity of a knight, had instead been swapped out for a silly silver bikini—the shimmery fabric tacky and cheap, allowing your nipples to peak forth. Covering it was a top and a skirt made up of silver chains, which only further mocked the appearance of chainmail—looking more like the jewelry a stripper might wear.

He’d forgone your helmet, boots, and sword entirely. Truly, if it weren’t for the detailing of the pattern making the fabric vaguely resemble plated armor, it wouldn’t have been much different from any other set of lingerie.

And still, it’s just similar enough to make it sting.

“Look at you...” he jeers, his voice sodden with taunt—carmine stare faded and gleeful, thoroughly enjoying it. “What a sight for sore eyes.”

He stands behind you in the mirror, holding you delicately by the hips, intimately close, dressed in another one of his black suits, fully clothed in devastating contrast to you. His smile curls as he roams your ill-covered body, kissed with the flush of chagrin, leering at you in the reflection—his voice slithering right by your ear.

“Though I can’t say I remember it being quite so revealing, can you?” he jokes, running his hands up and down your waist, fiddling some with the intricacies—metal daintily clinking and clangoring. “No, there’s something else that’s different...”

You feel so humiliated, so small—as if he could hold you up by the scruff of your neck with ease. It isn’t just a feeling—you’re well aware that he most likely could.

“Why yes, of course…” he hums with delayed realization—you know he’s faking for anticipation, chittering while wrapping his thick arms around your tiny midsection, giving you a firm squeeze. “You’ve lost all muscle.”

It’s a painful truth. You don’t know how many months it’s been. Perhaps a year has passed already, maybe even more. He keeps you well aware of his triumph in the outside world, but time still eludes you.

You’d tried maintaining it in the beginning, even after he’d taken your quirk. You’d been vigilant, keeping up your workout regimens just as religiously as before. But you couldn’t pick what you ate, nor when—and he’d only feed you cake. It wasn’t long before all your hard-earned muscles had melted away like popsicle syrup off the stick, licked and lapped right up by the man holding you.

“Mmh, yes…” he murmurs gratingly while swaying you back against him, lips pressing against your ear. “And it’s left you oh-so-soft.”

His bulbous crotch slots against your upper ass, resting there as it grows fatter and warm—a sign of his enjoyment. The weight of him makes you feel all but paper-thin.

His voice rasps now. “If I were to give you your quirk back, I wager you wouldn’t even be able to use it anymore—it would sooner rip your poor limbs apart.”

It’s beyond cruel to suggest—as if disgracing your old costume wasn’t enough torment already. You bite your lip, gnaw it harshly—don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t let him see you cry.

“Isn’t that just fascinating?” He gives your earlobe a gentle bite, and the whimper in your throat springs free like prey out of hiding.

A sniffle shortly followed—along the dribble of the night’s very first tears. Your diminished spirit has made you all too prone to cry as if there’s nothing else for you to do but indulge in the small comfort it gives.

“Oh, sweetie—don’t weep over prowess long since lost. It was never enough to challenge me anyway,” he coos, as if consoling you—swaying your smaller brittle body back against his looming chest, a cage that seemed to swallow you whole.

Steering your jaw, he holds your face still before the mirror, unable to look away as the tears dribble down your sorry cheeks—he smears them further with a kiss.

“The world would chew you up as you are now, fragile like glass.” The grin curling his lips makes you resemble prey caught on a predator’s teeth—you can’t help but shiver at the sight of it. You wish he wouldn’t toy with you like food and just kill you already. “Mark my words, hero—the belly of the beast would not grant you as much comfort as I do.”

His other hand slips down to cup your mound—firmly, with a squeeze that has you curl yourself back against him as he presses two tough fingerpads into your clothed clit, rubbing it tightly enough to make your thighs shake.

“You’re better off like this,” he grunts, snickers at how your weak hands clutch the sleeve of his suit, curling the fabric in your palms until your knuckles whiten—watching the furrow further crease between your cinched brows as you try and bite back your pathetic little sounds even as more tears come tumbling down your swollen cheeks. “Mh, my pretty plaything.”

He makes you continue to look at yourself as he simply slides the panty to the side of your cunt. Encouraging you to place your hands flat against the mirror as he bends you forward, then to step back and stand atop his dress shoes.

“Don’t be shy now,” he makes sure to tell you. “You’re as light and negligible as a feather.”

He parts his feet and yours along with them, spreading your thighs enough to accommodate the fat heat he soon slides between them. Rigid and veiny, it competes with the size of your forearm—so thick that when he slaps it up against your slit, your knees buckle from the impact.

His chuckles rumble across your body like an earthquake. You only realize how much it makes you shake when he encloses your hip in his big hand, steadying you. Holding you still as he drags his engorged cockhead through your lips, catching your clit before resting on your entrance.

You’re so sore from prior nights—countless hours locked in this room with his visits the only thing keeping you company—everything has yet to forgive you for the wreckage those visits leave behind. Your sorry little puss rues and dreads another defeat now as he sinks inside the comfort of your battered walls, one unyielding inch at a time. 

You wince and tense, shoulders bracing, and yet he pushes deeper, sliding you down his shaft until you rest at the hilt of his base, kneading the tip into your gummy womb, giving it a deep kiss that bulges out from your poor belly.

The sight in the mirror is morbid, even more so than the feeling—the way he molds your insides to fit him, to cater and house his length and size. 

“Ah—just perfect, isn’t it, hero?” he purrs, chest resting heavily upon your spine while dwarfing both your hips in a firm grip, chin-stubble scraping along your neck as his voice comes out hot against your ear, “Obedience suits you so well, don’t you agree?”

Your knees buckle once he starts the heavy pace—slowly pounding into you from behind, dragging out and pushing deep in womb-robbing thrusts. You pant from the toll of it, feeling your muscles give—too tired and too broken to continue acting tough. He’s the only reason you’re left upright on your feet—keeping you standing with just his hold on your haunches. It seems like nothing to him, though it feels like the weight of the world to you.

“It’s only a shame it had to come with all these scars.” He clicks his tongue, eyes raking across your body as it takes him, resting on each mark disrupting the otherwise milk-smooth skin. “If only you’d accepted your place sooner.”

The ember burning within you is all but a piece of cooling charcoal now. You feel it diminish every day, leaving you even thinner than before.

“But then again, I quite enjoy you like this—littered with my battle scars from your toes up to your crown. It’s rather intimate, isn’t it?” he hums with a smile. “Proof of all the times I could’ve quashed you beneath my foot like a pitiful bug but decided to spare you. Teach you how to worship like the weak ought to.”

There was a time when you still humored the thought of killing him, even with your quirk taken from you. You thought, in your foolishness, that being this close to him must garner an opportunity, any, however slim, just enough for you to take advantage and finish what you vowed to end so long ago.

Now, you almost don’t care anymore. The world had moved on without you, and there was nothing more you could do about it.

You realize your promise had been as cheap as this outfit.

“The greater the fall, the sweeter the surrender, isn’t that right?” he states. “Doesn’t it feel good to finally accept your place in the world, hero?”

You can only nod your head and agree.

♡ BOKU NO HERO ACADEMIA masterlist

[dckweed]

tiktok made me do it!gf vs tf141 boys

hey y’all ❤️ sad news, i had an appointment with my ortho specialist today, and unfortunately im going to remain in my immobilizer for at least 6 weeks, im not supposed to be doing any computer typing/positioning or lifting of more than a pound when I do take it off during the next few weeks (for working it out, showering etc..), so once I get through my drafts, which are mostly just blurbs ill be on a small hiatus. my fingers are essentially stuck and we have to unstuck them during the next month or more, if that makes sense (there’s a video on my page with an explanation of exactly what happened for those that are curious).

You’ve seen the TikTok trend—girlfriends dressing in their skimpiest, barely-there outfits before “going out with the girls” just to see how their boyfriends react.

Naturally, you have to try it on your man.

…And, uh, you might not have fully thought through the consequences…but then again, do you ever?

Captain Price – "lookin’ like a wet dream..."

You take your time getting ready—black lace top barely covering your chest, a miniskirt so short it might as well not exist, and heels that add just enough height to make your legs look miles long.

When you finally step into the living room, Price is sitting on the couch, one arm draped over the back, lazily sipping his whiskey. He glances up—

And freezes.

His glass halts mid-air. His entire body goes rigid.

"Sweetheart." His voice is slow, measured, dangerously calm.

You smile sweetly. "Yes?"

"Where the fuck do you think you’re going dressed like that?"

"Girls’ night!" You twirl, the hem of your skirt lifting dangerously. "Do you like my outfit?"

Price slowly sets his glass down. "Come here."

You take a step closer, biting back a grin.

He leans forward, resting his forearms on his knees, eyes dragging down your body, taking in every scandalous inch of exposed skin.

Then, firmly: "You’re not leaving this house."

You blink. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He straightens, his entire presence shifting into something dominant, possessive. "You think I’m lettin’ you walk out that door lookin’ like a fuckin’ wet dream?"

"John—"

"No."

"It’s just—"

"No, sweetheart." His voice drops, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you into his lap before you can react. "You’re staying’ right here."

You shiver. "s’just playin’, baby."

"Mm-hmm." He kisses your throat, your jaw, the corner of your lips. "Good. Now go change, or you’re stayin’ in for a different kind of night."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick – "crime against my sanity.."

Gaz is waiting by the door, checking his phone when you step into the hallway.

"Alright, babe, I—" He glances up.

And his brain short-circuits.

"…The fuck are you wearin’?"

You bat your lashes. "My outfit!"

"That’s not an outfit, baby, that’s a crime against my fuckin’ sanity—"

He stands up so fast, his phone nearly slipping from his fingers as he scans you—slowly, thoroughly.

"Ohhh, no, no, no." He shakes his head, gripping your waist before you can slip past him. "You’re not leaving the house like that."

"Why not?" You blink innocently. "It’s just clothes."

"Baby, if you walk out like this, I’m gonna end up in prison," he mutters, hands tightening against your hips. "What the fuck is this little… little… scrap of fabric you call a top?"

You giggle. "You don’t like it?"

"Oh, I like it, alright," he groans, dragging a hand down his face, "which is exactly the fuckin’ problem..”

"Kyle, it was a prank!" You can’t hold back your laughter anymore. "I wanted to see how you’d react!"

Gaz scoffs, then grins—sharp, dangerous. "Oh, babe. You’re in for it now."

You yelp as he scoops you up, carrying you back to the bedroom. "No, no, wait—"

"Nah, sweetheart. You wanna tease me? Let’s see how long you last before you start beggin’."

(Whoops. You played yourself.)

Simon "Ghost" Riley – "You’re Fucking Joking."

Ghost is in the kitchen when you walk in, pouring himself a cup of coffee, ready to go over the safety rules for the night, including demonstrating that you know how to properly (and safely) use your safety security keychain (it has a taser!), something he kept sharp and properly charged/filled for you.

"Alright, love, you ready to—" He turns.

His mug nearly slips from his fingers.

His grip tightens around the handle, eyes dragging slowly, dangerously down your body.

Silence.

Complete.

Utter.

Fucking silence.

"What?" You feign innocence. "You don’t like it?" It was a dress in a satin, rosie pink with black lace around the breasts, which had your tits generously on display with how low it was cut, it fell to just below your ass, leaving hardly anything to the imagination. It may or may not have been part of your massive lingerie collection, a piece he hadn’t seen yet..

Ghost stares. "You’re fucking joking."*

"Nope!" You adjust the straps that are holding your scrap of fabric on your body. "I’m going out! See you later, baby!"

Before you can take one step, a hand wraps around your wrist—firm, unyielding.

Ghost tugs, pulling you flush against his chest.

"Love." His voice drops, low, gravelly. "You step outside in that, and I will have to kill someone tonight." Only because he would never blatantly tell you to change, and would instead follow you in the shadows, ensuring creeps kept to themselves..

Your breath hitches. "…It was a prank."

His fingers tighten around your waist. "Was it?"

"Mmhmm." You swallow hard. "Didn’t think you’d react this badly—"

Ghost chuckles darkly. "Oh, sweetheart." His lips ghost over your jaw. "You wanted a reaction. Now you’ve got one."

(You have never feared for your ass cheeks more in than in this moment, knowing you won’t be sitting properly tomorrow..or for the next few days probably)

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish – "a bra with attitude!"

Soap whistles as he buttons up his jacket, turning toward you. "A’right, love, ye ready to—"

He stops dead in his tracks.

His jaw drops.

"The fuck is that?"

"My outfit!" You spin, the tiny fabric lifting way too much. "Cute, right?"

"Cute? BABE, IT'S A FUCKIN’ BRA WITH ATTITUDE!"

You bite your lip. "So you do like it!"

"Lass," he grabs your waist, "I’m seconds from cancelling your plans.”

"Why?"

"BECAUSE I AM NOT LETTIN’ YOU GO OUT THERE LOOKIN’ LIKE A FUCKIN’ SIN!"

You giggle. "But, Johnny, it’s just an outfit—" You drag out his name, whining it just the way he likes, and for a moment you think it might work, you see his eyes squeeze close, his head shake and his fists tighten, that tick in his jaw gets to going too..

"NO, LASS, THAT WAS A FUCKIN’ TRAP!" His hands grip your thighs, pinning you against the wall. "Ye knew what ye were doin’, minx. Now ye gotta deal with the consequences."

Your breath catches. "Johnny, wait, it was a prank—"

"Not anymore, it ain’t, love."

(You. Played. Yourself.)

Moral of the Story:

You thought it’d be funny.

Instead?

You’re not making it to girls night.

[clockwayswrites]

Danny is a minx and I am not responsible for him.

Okay, so, you all voted and I, um, failed? We didn't get to cuddling. There should be cuddling coming? Idk, darlings, this was my third start on this and Danny took over. I've got no say in this anymore. Canon-typical violence, crude language, cross dressing, discussions of prostitution

---

“You think you can fucking play us like that?!”

The shout carried easily through the crisp fall air. Red Hood sighed and changed direction away from his safe house and towards the noise.

“—fuck you up for that! Give us our fucking money back!”

“Fuck you,” snapped back a voice that Jason had come to recognize over the last several months. Right then the words dripped in fake, but damn convincing, heavy Crime Alley drawl, but Jason knew it all the same. “If yous don’t got it, don’t bet it. If yous don’t got game, don’t play it.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t think a little girl like you gets to say how this goes,” a third voice growled.

Hood clung to the edge of the roof just long enough to drop silently into the alleyway next to the dive bar. From the quick glance sent his way he was only noticed by the damn minx, so he leaned casually back against the grimy brick wall and unholstered his gun.

“Right? Yeah! Yeah, bitch! You don’t get to say how this goes!” the first voice shouted again. The guy’s shoulders were squared up as if he was some sort of threat in his overpriced, knock off bomber jacket and ill fitting jeans.

It almost made Jason want to sigh.

Actually, fuck it, Jason gave in and sighed loudly, knowing how it sounded through the modulation of his helmet. Bomber Jacket and his buddy, I Swear This is Real Italian Leather, spun around and then cowered so quick Jason swore they gave themselves whiplash.

“So,” Jason said with every ounce of disinterest he could put in his tone, “how does this go? Because right now, I’m thinking that it’s you two who are gonna be going before I put bullets between your eyes.”

“Right, um, yes Red Hood,” Bomber Jacket cowered and grabbed desperately at his friend’s pleather jacket to pull them out of there.

“And gentleman,” Jason said, making them freeze in their steps, “next time you lose your money to a pretty lady, you leave her the fuck alone about it.”

They nodded frantically as they backed the rest of the way out of alley and then took of running.

“I think you made one of ‘em piss himself,” the minx said, looking from the alley way to Jason with those striking aqua eyes.

Jason just shrugged and holstered his gun. “Probably.”

The short, tight skirt clung to the minx’s legs, pulling up enough with the sashaying steps that Jason had to wonder how everything stayed hidden. He kept still as fingers tipped in bright pink nails walked their way up his chest to the red bat. Aqua peered up from below thick, dark lashes. “And did I hear right? You think I’m a pretty lady?”

“Hair is nice like this,” Jason said brushing a gloved finger through the black strands that just brushed the edges of the chin. “But surprised your cock isn’t hanging out of that skirt with how short it is.”

Danny let out a started laugh, resting his forehead against Jason’s chest for a moment before he patted it and backed up to a more respectable distance.

“Duct tape and body shapers works miracles.” The fake Gotham accent was gone and replaced with the faint Midwestern drawl that Danny only seemed to let out around Red Hood. “And don’t make that face, the duct tape is outside of the panties.”

“You can’t see my face,” Jason pointed out, a bit grumpily because he had been grimacing at the thought.

“I was still right though,” Danny said with a smug little smiling pulling on his cherry red lips. It was a good color on him. He leaned back against the wall and spread his legs in a way that Jason couldn’t help but follow with this gaze. “Everything is fine down there, Boss, just a little squished. Offer’s still on the table if you want to check out the good. No charge for my darlin’ knight.”

Jason snorted at the continued offer from Danny; it was practically as good as ‘bye’ between them at this point since Danny seemed to offer it every time. “I’m not going to be one of your Johns, Danny.”

“Told you no charge. Could just be two people who like sex,” he offered with a little shrug, but pushed himself off the wall to leave. No, Danny pushed himself up off the wall with a wince.

Jason was at his side in an instant. “One of those fuckers get you?”

“No, so no hunting them down,” Danny said. His voice was confident, but the way he actually leaned on Jason’s offered arm was worrying. “Just a bad John— ex John. That’s why I’m sharking pool instead of working the corner.”

As if Danny had to work an actual corner anymore. He appealed to a very specific type of client that could pay to have something pretty and convincing on their arm and still get what they wanted between the legs and in the sheets.

“You taking anything for it?” Jason asked.

Danny just shrugged. “Nah, Boss, nothing over the counter works on me really.”

“Clinic?”

Danny snorted. “As if. They can test for STDs and that’s about as much as I want a clinic near me.”

Jason resisted the urge to cuss at Danny. He got it. After all, he only trusted Leslie or Alfred really— or a family member in a pinch.

Maybe he could just bluster Danny into getting some help. “Right, come on.”

“What?” Danny asked, digging his heels (and fuck those were some heels) into the ground.

Not willing to put with that right then, Jason just swung his arm under Danny’s legs and scooped him up like he was nothing. Fuck the Johns really had to be able to throw Danny around if they wanted that sort of thing.

“Boss, Hood, what the fuck?!” Danny hissed.

“Safe fucking house is what the fuck so I can check you over.”

“Boss, if you wanted in the skirt—”

“Danny, shut the fuck up and let me make sure you’re alright, alright?” Jason asked, looking down at him.

Danny stared back with a frown. Then his sighed, like it was the biggest concession in the world to make. Finally he rested his head against Jason’s chest. “Fine, Boss, whatever you say.”

“Thank you,” Jason said, more gently than he meant to.

-

Jason had to suck in several careful breaths as he took in the wound splashed across Danny’s ribs. “No fucking John did that to you and if they did—” if they took some sort of hot poker to Danny’s side— “I’ll kill them if they did.”

[vettelshon3ybadg3r]

he doesn’t - dr3 ❤️‍🩹

“…I know you don’t need my comfort but I’d like to think I can carry some of it for you…if you want of course…” Is this how first dates usually end up? Who the fuck have I been going on dates with? Where did he spawn from?”

word count - 4.3k

summary - reader with unspecified chronic illness, general health anxiety, gentleman! Daniel, mentions of being uncomfortable around alcohol, food, prescription medication. suggestive of slight sexual tension and difficult health related conversations. fluffyyyyy.

"Girl I don't think I can do it..." you repeat on the now three hour FaceTime call to your best friend for what seems like the millionth time this evening.

"You can. And you will! You deserve this, more than anyone" she also repeats for probably also the millionth time.

You sigh and continue curling your hair.

It's your first date since your diagnosis 9 months ago, after two years of battling with debilitating symptoms, gaslighting doctors and pain medication that doesn't even scratch the surface. Not forgetting the tears, the tears cried and the hope lost that you'll ever be okay again.

You don't feel that you will ever be okay, but your friends can't stand to see you wallow in bed and accept your life passing by, and long story short that's how you matched with Daniel on some dating app they downloaded on your phone.

"Okay, my Ubers here" you shakily tell your friend through the phone, sat on your vanity. You smooth your long-sleeved black mini dress, pull at your knee high boots and adjust your bag on your shoulder.

"Do I look okay?" You ask, looking down the camera, stepping back and giving a spin.

"Breathtaking. Go get him girl" she smiles.

"I'll keep you updated" you pick up your phone, checking your lipliner in the camera.

"You have everything you need?" she checks. You know what she's referring to.

"Yep, meds...and backups..." you nod.

"Condoms?..." she smirks.

"Okay let's not get too ahead of ourselves" you laugh. you never even anticipated that being an option for tonight.

"Go on...go have some fun, you deserve it."

You hang up and take a deep breath, taking the lift from your apartment downstairs to your uber.

"Uber for y/n?"

The driver nods, you get in and take some deep breaths, taking a moment for yourself with the anxiety bubbling and the potential placebo of your body giving out on you at any point from now on.

The scenarios that play out in your head through the short drive are relentless, from him standing you up to something going seriously wrong within the blink of an eye during dinner and having to explain to Daniel...well...everything, and blowing your chance at something good happening to you for once.

It's those scenarios that scarily pass the time, and before you know it you're outside the restaurant, shakily closing the door to the uber and forgetting how this all works.

Do i go inside? Is he already inside? No i’m ten minutes early so he'll arrive any second...what if he's fifteen minutes early and already sat-

"Y/n?"

I jump and spin on my heel, there he is.

Good lord.

"Daniel hi!" You go on your tiptoes and wrap an arm around Daniel's shoulder, resting your chin on the other. He rubs his large hand over your back and his scent fills your nose, musky but floral.

God he’s tall.

"Shall we?" He gestures to the door, flashing a smile and you respond with a nod. A smile that's enough to make you forget all the scenarios and worries repeating in your head since you got out of bed this morning, well...afternoon.

He pulls your chair out for you, sitting opposite and tucking himself in.

"So! How are you?..."

There's the dreaded question. Lie.

"I'm really good! I've been really looking forward to trying this place out!" You smile and look around the low lit Italian restaurant.

"How have you been? You're home for the holidays?" You return the sentiment, picking up the jug of water to pour a glass for your drying mouth and Daniel doesn't miss the shake in your hand at its heaviness.

"Let me.." he takes the jug from you and pours you a glass, pouring himself one after. You smile as a thank you. You wait for him to question it, he doesn't.

"Yeah, yeah I'm home for Christmas and then back to it in January" he nods, taking a sip of water and kissing his teeth. You can't tell if it's awkward, you feel like he knows you're being standoffish, keeping your guard up or just simply thinks you're being a bit of a bitch.

He doesn't.

She’s breathtaking. I can’t stop looking at her lips, the sparkle of eyeshadow lighting up her eyes and how effortlessly her hair falls on her shoulders. She’s enchanting.

You also take a sip from your glass, it's like you've forgotten how to act and just copy him except you put your glass down and hold onto it, the coldness soothing your clammy palms.

"So what is it you do again...you're a racing driver?" You tilt your head, leaning forward on the table. His eyes crinkle into a smile as a chuckle escapes his lips and he nods.

God he's beautiful.

"Mhm, formula one...never heard of it?" His lip curls into a smile and you blush.

"By the sounds of it I should have..."

"No no not at all..." he shakes his head and leans back in his chair, resting his forearms on the table and tapping his fingers.

"It's not like it's the highest level you can get in motorsport or anything..." he shrugs, putting on an act of mock nonchalance and scratching the back of his neck.

You laugh, you actually laugh.

"Oh right! I'm sorry Mr. Bigshot! I suppose I better ask for your signature or something huh?" I tease.

He shakes his head, clasping his hands together under his chin and resting his elbows on the table.

"How about my phone number?"

Your heart flutters. Wow he's forward...wow.

You feel the heat creeping up your neck and onto your cheeks and look into my lap as a small laugh escapes your lips.

"Maybe..." you smile softly, before his eyes on yours grow that smile into one you haven't felt in a long time, an actual smile.

The waiter arrives, requesting our drinks order and placing the menus down in front of us. You gesture for Daniel to go first.

"Yep Uhm..." he glances at the drinks menu, before looking up at you.

"What you feeling?..."

Your heart skips and your hands go clammy.

"Oh go with whatever..." I nod and smile, he returns the expression.

"Do you have the uh...Chianti Classico? Red?...a bottle for the table please and a lasagna for me" Daniel glances up at the waiter, your eyes on his hands spread across the menu, holding it so effortlessly and his fingers dancing lightly over the print.

The waiter nods and takes note, looking at you.

"Oh could I uh...just grab a Coke Zero?" You say in a small voice, Daniel looks up at you.

"Would you like a different wine? Do you prefer white?" He opens the menu back up, worried he hadn't considered your taste.

You shake your head, not wanting to create something.

"No no! I'm okay...honestly..." I smile and nod, Daniel leans forward slightly.

"I don't mind driving you back? Or ordering you an uber or?..."

he doesn't get it, you can't expect him to...it begins.

Your throat feels tight and you wipe your palms on your dress, licking your drying lips and looking back at the waiter.

"I'll have a glass for the wine, and I'll just stick with the water on the side, oh and Uhm...the spaghetti bolognese please" I smile and nod, handing him the menu as he expressed he'll be back with our order.

As long as you drink it slowly...steady and slowly it'll be okay...it'll be okay...

Daniel looks at you, expectantly, but unsure of what exactly. You wait for him to pry, he doesn't.

"So what do you do?..." Daniel asks as the waiter returns with the wine, pouring into your glass and you stop him after just a a few glugs. Daniel accepts an actual glass of wine.

"I work in digital marketing and advertising" you leave out the details of it being remote, and part-time.

The conversation flows, the laughter bellows, your knees knock under the table and you feel fine...great actually. You try not to think about the three sips of wine you've drunk, and whether you'll have to skip your medication tonight and it comes easy because Daniel's presence doesn't leave you space to think of those things, not with that smile and almost honk of a laugh he has.

The food arrives, he's dramatic, eccentric, authentic.

"Oh wow you have to try" Daniel's eyes widen as he holds out his fork to you, with some of his meal on to try.

I glance at him, almost checking it's okay but the sparkle in his eyes with excitement to share this experience with me tells me everything I need to know. I giggle and shake my head, before scraping off the small bite from the fork with my teeth, closing my lips around the fork.

My eyes shut then widen.

"Wow..." I nod slowly, looking at my own plate.

"You definitely got the best dish...wait you’re…sorry you’re not sick or anything are you?” You hesitantly check.

He shakes his head.

“Fit and healthy…you won’t catch anything from me today…” he smiles.

That must be nice.

He gestures with his hand to give him some of your food to try, as if to test your claim.

You chuckle and shake your head. He's so easy to be around.

You gather some of your dish on your fork, holding your hand under it and moving it across the table to him, watching his lips close around it and his hand come up over his mouth.

"No way yours is so much better!" He exclaims with a laugh.

"Swap?" You offer, going to lift your plate. Daniel shakes his head.

"I can't take a beautiful girl to dinner and steal her food..." his laugh booms, it fills your chest and your ears and the blood rushes to your head and your toes and your fingertips.

"Share?" I suggest, tilting my head.

The two of you end up sharing both meals, laughing...obnoxiously, sharing stories, fingers brushing one another's on the table and by the end of the meal both leant in to the middle of the table. Like you can't breathe each other in enough. He's tantalising. He's too good to be true.

The waiter collects your plates, offering the dessert menu. You check the time on your phone.

21:30pm.

"Uhm...hmm I..."

"We'll have a glance..." Daniel smiles and nods, you appreciate him taking the pressure off as the waiter scurries away.

"No room for dessert?" Daniel pours some more wine into a glass, gesturing to yours to ask if you want some, you hold up your thumb and index finger with a small gap to suggest a little, he pours a little.

"It's just late...and...yeah I guess...yeah I'm not really a dessert girl-" you stumble and blush.

Fuck now you really look like you're trying to escape.

"Wait I...I'm sorry...I..." Daniel tilts his head at your apology.

"I have ice cream at mine? If you wanted to finish up here and maybe?..." you offered.

You didn't want Daniel to think you were trying to get out of the rest of dinner, because this was truly the best night you'd had in...well probably over a year, and typically by this time in the evening you'd taken your medication and were in bed, certainly not out on a date.

"That sounds perfect...if you're comfortable of course..." Daniel nods, you nod and smile.

"Of course."

Daniel pays the bill and you leave the restaurant, your arm linked in his and you uber back to your apartment, the second you unlock the door you remember the state you left the place in.

The blankets on the sofa, the hospital letters and documents strewn across the kitchen with prescription boxes you had been sorting.

"Oh god okay don't look!" You exclaim, going up behind Daniel to try cover his eyes with your hands.

"Okay nope too tall..." you mutter to yourself, he throws his head back and laughs, spinning around with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"It's fine..." he smiles.

"Okay..." you sigh,

"You come in here..." you drag Daniel into the living room, quickly tidying the blankets and fluffing the pillows.

"And don't move...I'll be two seconds!"

He laughs, spreading his legs and leaning back on the couch, his large hand on his thighs. You clear your throat before remembering he can see you staring, stepping off to the kitchen and trying to turn it into something that looks somewhat presentable. You grab two spoons and the three ice cream tubs from the freezer alongside the Nutella bringing them back into the living room and setting them down on the coffee table, finding Daniel observing the photos on your cabinets, tracing his slender fingers alongside your trinkets and general miscellaneous keepsakes.

"Can I get you a drink?" You blurt out, standing awkwardly. Daniel turns with that crinkly eyed smile, shaking his head.

"I'm good for now...thanks" he sits back on the couch and you join him.

"Nutella and ice cream?" He quizzes, leaning forward to grab a spoon.

"Yeah...it's kinda my comfort food..." I chuckle, unzipping my boots.

"No I love that...I like controlling the ratio..." he nods, looking over his shoulder  at you with a curl in his lip and glint in his eye.

Okay that look was definitely a moment.

He notices you struggling with your boots.

“Want me to?” He nods to your boots, holding out his hands for your foot.

You nod and lift your foot, he takes it in his hand effortlessly and the weight lifted is heavenly.

“Mmm..” you involuntarily groan, your cheeks reddening.

Daniel turns to look at you with a smirk, his large hands still resting on your calf and knee.

“Long day on your feet?”

“Could say that..” you smile, as his fingertips move to the zip on your inner thigh and your breath hitches at the contact. He moves the zip down slowly, tenderly, you can’t take your eyes off his gaze on your leg, his attentiveness making your stomach flutter. He places the boot on the floor and gestures to your other leg, which you lift and sigh at the relief, he lets out a small chuckle.

Daniel rests his hands on your legs, as if to not let you put them back on the floor but not consciously, like he wants you to rest on him.

The two of you share ice cream, more stories, more laughter. Daniel’s fingertips trace up your legs, not teasingly, gently. Rubbing the skin softly relieving tension you didn’t know you had.

“Can I just have a second?”

Daniel nods, you get up and head to the kitchen, popping out your medication for the evening and pouring a glass of water.

As you put the tablets on your tongue Daniel walks in with the tubs of ice cream, all in one hand…god his hands were huge.

“Oh…sorry I…”

I shake my head and swallow the tablets, turning around.

“No no…sorry…I just…”

“I just uh…the ice cream was melting and uh…yeah”

I nod and take them from him, bending and putting them in the freezer, Daniel glances across the counter to your container of medication.

I turn back and smile.

“Shall we go back through?”

The two of you head back to the living room, you’re keen to forget the awkward encounter, you know he wants to ask, but the answer will make him wish he never questioned it at all.

You sit back down next to Daniel, your legs curled up and your hand rubs your feet, those boots really did a number on you.

He notices, gesturing with his hand to take your feet.

“Want me to?”

You blush.

“Give me a foot massage?” You ask jokingly. He nods, seriously.

“If you want…those boots didn’t look the comfiest…beautiful…but not exactly comfy” he chuckles. You drape your legs over his lap.

“You think they’re beautiful…” you snicker.

“You’re…beautiful I mean…” he looks over at you.

God he’s smooth.

You smile and shake your head, watching as his nimble hands relieve the tension from your feet.

“Mmm…” you nod, closing your eyes.

“Good?” You can hear the smile on his lips.

“Oh yeah…”

It’s quiet for a while, comfortable. you didn’t think on your first date in 9 months you’d be being given a foot massage on your couch at a measly 10pm…but here you are…and you didn’t expect to feel so…normal about it.

“So uhm…” he begins.

Oh no.

“What was Uhm…” Daniel gestures with his thumb to the kitchen.

“I mean…like are you feeling okay?” He continues.

Great…and you spoke too soon because it’s about to go all wrong.

I shake my head, as if to brush it off.

“It’s nothing…just some meds I have to take every now and again…”

“Are you sure…I mean I completely understand if you don’t wanna talk about it…but I…look I really like you, and I wanna get to know you”

You take the jump and open up. About your symptoms, your diagnosis and your daily life. Explaining how tonight was quite a big night for your journey with your health, as it’s the biggest thing you’ve done for yourself in a while. How you didn’t want to tell him at the table about your situation with alcohol and medication and the complications of mixing the two.

“Fuck I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to…pressure you or anything”

You shake your head, putting your hand on his arm which was still tracing on your leg.

“No…no please don’t be sorry…you can’t have known it’s okay…”

You continue with your story a little, leaving out the not so glamorous parts of the 2am breakdowns because nothing is cutting the pain, or the calling your best friend because you can’t get to the bathroom by yourself.

He listens intently, his eyes never leaving your lips as you ramble on, and his hands continuing their soft tracing of touches on your legs.

You take a breath, satisfied with how much you’ve shared, until it feels like too much.

“I’m sorry…I-“

“No” he cuts you off.

“I mean…don’t be sorry…thank-you…” he continues.

“Thank-you?” You chuckle.

He nods, scoffing slightly.

“Yeah…I mean that shits…that shits heavy…you didn’t have to trust me with all that…yet you did. All of that and you’re still accommodating to letting people in…it’s…yeah you’re impressive” he nods.

“I wouldn’t say impressive…”

“It is…maybe it’s my own ignorance or…I dunno…but if you hadn’t mentioned anything I wouldn’t have suspected a thing. I mean you go to hell and back daily…yet you still, show up, and smile…and laugh…” Daniel drapes a hand over the back of the couch.

“I’m sure you’ve been told before, and it might not mean much anymore when it seems like you’re fighting a losing battle…but you’re strong…like fuck…I couldn’t…” he shakes his head.

“Well unfortunately this shit just creeps up on you…whether you can or not…you don’t get a say…”

He nods.

“You’re right…sorry I…”

“No no…you don’t need to…comfort me…I’m not trying to be standoffish…it’s just…”

“No I get it…I mean no sorry I don’t get it…I understand the principle of what you’re suggesting…nothing I can say will make it better you’ll still wake up tomorrow and do it all again…”

Okay pinch me…he gets it?

I lean my head on his arm that’s draped behind me on the couch. Smiling at him. He smiles back.

“Your profile doesn’t do you justice you know that?”

He chuckles.

“No?” He raises an eyebrow. You shake your head.

“You’re gorgeous…” you almost whisper. He scoffs and looks into his lap. He looks back at you, his hand lifting and his fingertips tousling with the hair at the back of your head.

“C’mere” you whisper, gesturing for him to come closer. His hand moves up your leg, moving it to the side as he moves between your legs. Your hand finds the back of his head and you pull his face to yours as your lips meet, pulling him down onto the couch with you. His hand holds himself up by your head, as the other continues to move up your hip and waist, really holding you, his thumb rubbing over every curve and bone.

The kisses become breathless and heavy, your fingers tightening in his curls as your other hand grips his jaw, your noses knocking and his forehead on yours as he pulls away for air.

“All that medical talk like foreplay for you ey?” He breathlessly chuckles. You giggle, before dreading the next expected development.

“Daniel I…”

“Not tonight…I know…” he nods warmly.

“I’m sorry I…I just-”

“Shh shh shh…” he squeezes your hip, looking down at your plump lips and tucking some strand of hair behind your ear. you stare at his warm doe eyes and pink cheeks.

“Just this…this is okay…you’re more than enough like this…”

You nod.

God he makes it impossible not to take him right here.

“Is that okay?…can I?…” he looks back down at your lips, taking your chin between his thumb and index finger, you nod.

You and Daniel spend some time like this, your lips on each others like teenagers, not testing the waters for something more but instead completely satisfied with it being just this for tonight.

It comes to Daniel leaving, he’s at your front door, flushed cheeked and bearing a shit eating grin.

You lean against the doorframe as he stands in the hallway.

“I had a really…really good time tonight…I really needed it…” I smiled.

Daniel stood with his hands in his pockets, nodding.

“Me too…I really like you…i…yeah so if you wanna uh…maybe do something again another time?”

“I’d love to…really…” you nod.

“You’re choosing this time…theme park or movie night here…time and place I’ll be there” he smiles.

You nod, with a smile you know looks cheesy and giddy, but you don’t care. You’re happy.

“Can I…get that number then? Or signature…I’m sure I can show it around…” you joke, he laughs, well…bellows, scratching the back of his neck.

“Oh I uh…I wrote my number on the post it in your kitchen earlier…I was worried you wouldn’t wanna see me again so I thought when you didn’t call I could just tell myself you didn’t see the note”

You laugh and step forward, grabbing him by the shirt and pulling him into you.

“Believe me I don’t want it to end here…” I look up through my eyelashes at him, his hands finding my waist and gripping tightly.

“Mm” he hums.

I tiptoe up and press a chaste kiss to his lips.

He nods.

“Yeah…yeah don’t let it end here please…”he chuckles after his almost needy admission.

The two of you part ways, and you get ready for bed giddy, thinking of him and his gentle hands on your feet and calves but their harshness and neediness on your hips. The sound of his laugh and the taste of his lips tainted in your memory. The smell of him lingering in your apartment.

You send a quick text to your best friend.

“He’s perfect. Deets tomorrow xoxo”

She responds with a simple, “EEEK! Get it girl!” You laugh.

Sleep claims your body instantly as your head hits the pillow, for once you’re not dreading waking up…for once.

It’s just gone 11am, you’ve been laying in bed for around an hour, just recuperating from last night when your doorbell goes, you’re not expecting a delivery.

You grunt as you push yourself up out of bed, padding barefoot and in an oversized T-shirt to the front door, unlocking and peering through the gap.

“Hello?”

“Morning…”

“Daniel?” I pull the door open further in shock, to reveal a hoodie, shorts and snapback clad Daniel, holding a brown paper bag and some coffees.

“I brought some food…ease you into today after last night? I can leave it with you or?…”

I shake my head.

“What?…I’m…what?” I chuckle out of shock.

“Sorry…I just…I just thought with how much last night must have been for you…I could bring you food so it’s one less thing for you to think about…I know you don’t need my comfort but I’d like to think I can carry some of it for you…if you want of course…”

Is this how first dates usually end up? Who the fuck have I been going on dates with? Where did he spawn from?

You grab the food from him and place it on the counter, grabbing the pocket of his hoodie and dragging him inside, shutting the door behind him.

“Woah I-”

Daniel looks down at you, grinning, as your body’s pressed against his.

“We could always pick up where we left off last night?…or just…have breakfast…” you shrug teasingly.

Daniel kicks off his shoes with a grin, bending down and pulling you over his shoulder.

“This okay?”

You squeal a “yes”, laughter ringing through your apartment as Daniel stands and carries you over his shoulder to your bedroom…actual laughter.

“We definitely have some unfinished business” he grins.

[4vanaa]

WHILE YOU WERE SLEEPING, rafe cameron, 19

summary: y/n left the outer banks years ago, determined to build a life far from the memories of her childhood love, rafe cameron. now a botanist, she's moved on-though a quiet part of her still clings to the past. when an event brings her back to OBX, she's forced to confront the one person she never truly forgot.

cw: none | masterlist | 18 | 20 |

rafeupdates 3h

liked by rafefan, weekndlover, and 25,670 others

rafeupdates Rafe Cameron spotted out with friends tonight in the Outer Banks before his sister’s wedding! He was seen laughing and talking with the group, but fans couldn’t help but notice one mystery girl who had his attention all night. 👀 Who is she??

view all comments

carter_bby WHO is the girl in the black dress bc Rafe was looking at her like she hung the moon

rafeszn nahhh this gotta be the girl he’s always singing about… he’s back home, the lyrics always mention ‘small town’ and ‘should’ve never left’ 👀

rafecameronwifey y’all I’m sick. physically unwell.

user not me abt to deep dive through his following. we will FIND HER.

brooklyn24 lmao let me know what you find bc I need answers.

kildarefan someone in the group tagged a girl on their story but her acc is PRIVATE. this might be her 😭

obsessedoverrafe he better not be soft-launching someone right now bc I’ll actually cry.

carolinagirlxo I’m gonna hold off my jealousy until we have real proof but it’s NOT looking good for us 😭

rafeswife the way he’s staring at her in EVERY clip… like sir blink twice if ur okay

user24 um. y’all. the girl literally has a boyfriend 😭 there’s a pic in someone’s story where a guy has his arm around her.

camrafe WAIT and in another one they’re literally kissing wtf. Rafe why u staring like that 😭

basketballbaby NOOOO NOT UNREQUITED FEELINGS I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY

allthingsrafe no bc imagine being her bf and seeing rafe cameron looking at ur girl like that… I’d simply walk into the ocean.

xorafe wait. didn’t he say in that interview last year that he was in love with a girl who had a boyfriend??? and we all thought he was joking??

xoangelkiss LMFAO NOT RAFE LIVING HIS OWN LYRICS. THIS IS A FANFIC.

abelfan the way we should’ve KNOWN bc he makes music w the weeknd… of COURSE he’s gonna be messy 😭

rafeupdates2.0 hold on bc people are saying her bf isn’t even all that… let’s be so serious.

camwife imagine having rafe cameron writing songs abt u and u still picking some random dude. could never be me

user idk y’all I saw the bf and he’s actually kinda fine, like I lowkey get it 😭

user yeah he’s cuteee I’d be loyal too tbh

angelrafe her man is cute but rafe being obsessed with her is kinda eating… like the plot is juicing rn.

rafesgf watch her be an old family friend or something and we’re all losing our minds for nothing 💀

a/n: ngl i think it’s safer for this story, that i don’t write/update bc the only thing in my head is angst angst. i’m sorry it’s taken almost a month for this chapter but i’m like basically finished drafting the rest of the story so.. i originally wanted to end the story on valentine’s day but yk ill say it’ll be done by the end of the month!!

🏷️: @xoxo-ada @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @sleepiibunniiii @urbrunettebombshell @sideboobrry11 @acidfeens @marleymarleymarleymarley @hadids-world @ursogorgeous13 @louxmcl @cyberkitty1 @pogueprincesa @drewrry @the-oracle-at-delphinitely-not

[trishmishtree]

The more time I spend sewing my own clothes, the more I've come to accept that I have a stupidly short waist, and no commercial pattern, modern or historical reproduction, ever fits me right (except, like, empire waist dresses)... so say hello to the 1890s inspired waistcoat that I self-drafted using a modern princess seam bodice patten!

It took a mockup or two, but I think it got me there faster than a commercial pattern would have, since the base princess seam pattern already fit me (traced off an existing modern dress I own). Besides, a lot of the components are already there, including those curvy front darts, which is what you get if you take a princess bodice pattern and tape together the front and side-front pieces from the shoulder down to the apex of the bust but then leave the rest of the seam open like a dart. (We're not going to talk about the fit of the back because I still need to do a swayback adjustment to my bodice block. Someday I will make a matching puffy-sleeved Eton jacket to wear over it and then we'll never need to see this wrinkly ill-fitting back again. )

The design of the waistcoat is based on the Truly Victorian and Black Snail 1890s waistcoat patterns. I don't buy TV patterns, ever (owing to some racist comments the owner made and then doubled down on a few years ago about the Costume College "silk road" theme), and Black Snail has a habit of automatically factoring 2 inches of waist reduction into the final garment (which really doesn't work with my skeletal structure and inability to reduce my waist, and only added to my fears of trying to fit that pattern to my stupid short torso).

I'm wearing the skirt and waistcoat over my Elphaba shirtdress from last month and the period-appropriate underpinnings (chemise, c0rset, hip padding, and petticoat--oh, and I made sleeve supports to keep those puffed shirt sleeves from collapsing). I also added extra stays inside the waistcoat to give it more structure so it can also be worn without a c0rset (my waist measures the same with or without one anyway) or over modern clothes if I ever wanted to do that.

There's also a little welt pocket on the left side for a pocket watch and chain. The pocket was a last minute addition, and it kind of shows. If I had been planning ahead, I would've moved the dart placement more medially to give the pocket more room to exist and not be shoved so far to the side. I'll have to make a note on my pattern to fix that for next time.

Entire thing is 100% hand sewn because my machine is still on the fritz. This is only my second attempt at tailoring, but I'm pretty happy with how everything turned out.

[vryfmi]

book!l&co character lineup

finally finished extended version of my L&Co designs, based on their book descriptions! it took months, but im happy with the results

ID of designs + thumbnail-sketch under the cut

[image ID: two digital drawings of characters from Lockwood and Co books, done in semi-realistic style, black lineart and plain colour against grey background.

image 1: from left to right there are full body drawings of George Cubbins, Anthony Lockwood and Lucy Carlyle. George is standing facing left, slouching, he's looking at the viewer with indifferent expression. he's fat, light-skinned and has medium length fair hair. George's wearing round glasses, red t-shirt, baggy jeans, unzipped grey hoodie and sneakers. he has a grey sport bag in right hand and a black messenger bag across left shoulder. next to him there's Lockwood, he's standing half turned to right, he's facing the viewer with a gentle smile. Lockwood is paler than George, almost a head taller and slim with short, slightly wavy, black hair. he's wearing a grey three piece suit with white shirt underneath, as well as smart black shoes and a purple tie. on top of it is a black greatcoat. Lockwood stands with one hand in pocket and another resting on rapier's grip. the sword is in its scabbard attached to Lockwood's belt. furthest on the right is Lucy, she's standing half turned to right, head facing left with a curious look directed at the viewer. her skin is light and her hair is warm brown, slightly uneven and spiky with middle parting. she has a wide frame and is the same height as George. Lucy's wearing a baggy orange sweater, plaid grey skirt, black leggings and tall dark-brown work boots with iron patches. she's holding onto a strap of her rucksack that is on her right shoulder. there's also a belt on top of the sweater which holds her rapier.

image 2: from left to right there are full body drawings of Flo Bones, human version of the skull, Quill Kipps and Holly Munro. Flo is standing half turned to left, facing towards the viewer with a smirk. she's light-skinned with long dirty-blonde hair, and her face has smudges of mud all over. compared to previous pictures, she's almost as tall as Lockwood, but not quite. Flo is wearing long blue puffer jacket on top of her darker clothes that resemble one of fisherman's with mudded thigh-high rainboots. she stands with one hand in jacket pocket, one raising a brim of straw hat with a knife. said hat has a fishing hook stuck on its brim and two lavender stems attached to hat band. next to her is the skull in his human form. he stands half turned to right, slouching, hands in pockets, with head thrown back with a wide smirk across his face. skull is very thin and not really tall, he is tanned and freckled with spiky dark hair. skull is wearing ill-fitting clothes: a white old-timey shirt that is slightly too big and grey trousers that are too small and short. he stands barefoot. third from the left is Quill Kipps, he stand half turned to right, crossing his arms, head facing left with a look of annoyance. Kipps is short and slim, he has ruddy and freckled skin and short ginger hair. Kipps is wearing a grey leather jacket with Fittes logo on it as well as two medals, tight black jeans and chelsea boots. his rapier scabbard has a baldric type of belt. rapier itself has green gems on a hilt. finally, there's Holly Munro, she's standing half turned to left, head facing right with a gentle smile. she's pretty tall and slim with deep rich black skin tone and black shoulder length curls. Holly's wearing a white short lantern sleeve shirt with a blue dress with a cloth belt wrapped around and tied into a bow at the back, as well as low heel shoes. she has a light-blue scarf wrapped around her head. Holly also has white small earrings and beige nail paint. all of the characters have artist’s watermark at the lower right side of them./end ID]

bonus sketch

[miguelhugger2099]

Snowfall

Summary: You, the Goddess of Life, visit the God of Death in the forest during a snowstorm. Next Miguel x Fem!Reader, Proofread but I was half-asleep, Fluff, A smidge of angst, Word Count: 1,458 This song is what caused this fic to form in my brain.

A blizzard had made its way to the village, its cold and harsh winds slamming against wooden cabins and tiny snowflakes that only piled up into mountains by the hour.

However, by his lonesome, stood a man in the forest. A forest that had once been flourishing with soft green grass, and a gentle blue lake in the middle with the sun's warm rays peeking through the leaves of the giant pine trees.

His black coat and black shawl around his head was a stark contrast to the pure white snow on the ground and in the sky. But it matched perfectly with the splatter of blood that tainted said purity.

He bent down, kneeling before the creature that had spilled blood: a baby deer wounded by its ribs. It was shot for food by hunters right before the blizzard hit, leaving them to abandon the animal.

The fawn wheezed softly, its beady black eyes staring up at the man. It weakly twitched, its hind legs failing to push itself up. The baby had squirmed the closer the man approached it with a gentle hand. Despite the cold weather, the man never shivered when a particular gust of wind blew through the branches, making his shawl slip off his head.

He gently caressed its head, rubbing his thumb comfortingly under its eye. He felt an ache for the poor baby, lost and alone in the bitter cold.

The baby had bleated softly, perhaps a cry to its mother before falling limp–marking the end of its life. His frown deepened, flinching his hand back to his chest and standing up again. The soul of the animal ripped itself from the confinements of mortality, stretching its limbs. He watched it flail around in small hops, before staring at him for a moment, its nose twitching and scurrying away to the afterlife.

He then turned his head down to glare at the dead body until a kind voice interrupted him.

“I apologize for the intrusion, Miguel.” He turned around with his eyes widening slightly. He saw you stand a few feet away from him, your usual soft smile on your face. Quietly, he whispered your name.

You wore a white cloak over a warm thick white cotton dress–he assumed with many layers underneath– and a crown made of branches atop of your head. You seamlessly fit into the background of the snow with your outfit. Your hair was the same, perfect as ever, free and let down from any hairstyle. The cold had gotten to you, snowflakes on your eyelashes and you held yourself close to keep a bit of warmth.

You approached him, the crunch of the snow underneath following you. When you met with him face to face, you gingerly reached over to place his shawl back over his head to protect him from the cold even though you both knew he didn't really need it.

“You shouldn't be here.” Miguel worried, fussing over you as he held you by your forearms. “You're supposed to be resting.”

Every year for a few weeks, you would take the time to sleep after a couple of months caring for Mother Earth. Miguel, the God of Death, offered to help you by taking care of Mother Earth while you slept. So instead of flourishing crops, warm sun and bright scenery, Miguel's cold hands left trees dying, more opportunities for illness, and an even bigger chance of death–the season many humans know as winter.

“I wanted to see you.” You smiled at him which made Miguel scoff at your ridiculousness. He took off his shawl and placed it around you to keep you warmer. Miguel stopped you before you could protest.

“You and I both know that I wear these just so the mortals don't ask questions,” He grumbled, successfully wrapping the fabric in a snug manner. Since you were the Goddess of Life, you were more used to the warmth of the sun shining down on you and the blood pumping through your veins and to your beating heart. For Miguel, all he knows is the coldest feeling there is, so a storm like this could never harm him. You stared up at him with adoration before yawning. Miguel pointed it out. “I knew it. Go back to bed.”

Despite his warning you slip past him to stare at the deer that had fallen into Miguel's care. Your eyes glazed over its body, resting a moment longer on the gunshot wound that was still seeping red into the plush snow, the blizzard slowly covering its body in a white blanket.

He stands behind you as you bend down on your knees to kneel beside the deer, nervously awaiting your reaction. “You tried saving its life, didn't you?” You asked, never turning away from the animal. You began petting it gently as if it were still alive.

Miguel frowned, looking off to the side. “I was putting it out of its misery.” You huffed a small laugh through your nose and got up again on your feet. You turned to him again and reached up to cup his cheek. He melted into your hand, the only source of warmth he could ever get the chance to feel. His eyes softened down at you.

“Thank you.” You whispered. Miguel's face hardened again but he did not stray from your palm.

“For what? For killing your creations?”

You sighed. No matter how many times you've had this conversation with him, he always seemed to put himself down. “You don't kill, Miguel.” You assure him.

“My life's work is to kill. It's my duty.” He retaliated, his eyes glancing at the fawn before looking back down at you.

“You think lowly of yourself.” You slip your hand down to his chest. “Your work is beautiful.”

“There's no beauty in death, my lady.” Miguel placed his hand over yours on his chest. You don't feel a heartbeat drumming inside. “It's grotesque and heartless.”

You scrunch your nose, not believing a word he's said. “And who has told you this? The mortals?” You ask. His jaw clenches.

“They adore you and not me.” He says.

“Are you saying you're jealous, my lord?”

“I'm saying what is true,” He says firmly, not wanting to amuse your upcoming antics. “You are beauty. You are perfection. You are divine,” He cups your cheek and you shiver from the coolness of his fingers.

“Look around you. Mortals are struggling to stay warm, to find food and shelter. I've caused this. They…they curse my name,” He comes closer to you, tilting your head up to meet his ruby eyes. “I fear you shine too brightly, my lady.” Your breath hitches as you look up at him. You shake, not knowing if it's from the puff of wind passing by or your heart stuttering in your chest when he inches closer.

“What are you saying, Miguel?” You whisper.

His eyes dart to your lips, stopping the urge to kiss you. “I want to shine with you. But I'm not worthy. Not with the acts I've done. Not with the blood I've spilled alongside mortals and destroying your works of art.”

“Miguel,” Your heart speeds up, quick to calm the self destructive thoughts he's producing.

“My life has no meaning without you. What good is appreciating life if there is no death? You make living precious. You make it sacred. And when the time comes, you make it merciful,” Your other hand comes up to his hair, running your cold fingertips through his strands. “That is your true nature. Whatever humans do to abuse your power is not a part of you.”

Miguel leans his forehead against you, closing his eyes. You mirror his actions, pressing against him and simply feeling him. His hands move around you, bringing you closer by the waist. The wind passes by with a high pitched whistle. “So…warm.” He breathes out softly.

He pulls away from you, bending at the waist to pick up your hand and kiss your knuckles. You feel your cheeks heat up while he looks up at you through his eyelashes. “You must be tired, mi reina. I'll take you home.”

Miguel reaches down to pick you up bridal style. You wrapped your arms around his neck and nuzzled closer to him despite his freezing exterior. You feel him hold you tightly to his chest protectively as he walks out of the forest to bring you home.

The fawn's dead body lies underneath a pile of snow now, hidden from the world. Its remains will seep into the ground, nurturing the future plants that will grow in its place once the winter is gone and spring returns– the cycle of life and death– an eternal harmony.

A/N: man i fucking love anything to do with gods and goddesses. i might make this a mini series of just snippets of their relationship but ahhhh i dunno if anyone will even like this tbh. i did have fun writing it though

[hayw1res]

stubborn princess and the silent knight.. !

a/n: ive been writing this for a month like guys life has been… life okay. ill do the kinktober list….. maybe soon . this isnt proofread and its kinda fast paced? idk guyys

warnings: drinking , kissing , “secret identity” , nothing 18+ yet folks

pairing: knight! megumi x princess! reader

you hated it, oh how you hated your father - the king, your mother - the queen, you even hated the maids and various servants who called upon you to serve your every beck and call. you hated it all, but you loved looking from your terrance down to the knights in training, the boy with jet black hair and a scowl on his perfect face.. oh how you loved to think of him while you swooned over the side of the balcony, clutching your chest in hopes he didnt see you staring so intently. the way he sparred with almost little effort put into the fight, the way his sword always glistened from his upkeep, the way hed wipe the sweat from his brow, but constantly ask to continue fighting.

oh everything about him was just so dreamy.. you'd write in your diary about him. about your fantasies.. about how you wished to be together one day - for him to teach you the way of the sword and for you to tend to his wounds when he ever gotten hurt.. you ached for just a sentence to fall from his pretty lips, just for one day call you his own.. to call you his princess.

your fantasy cut short when your father called you down for supper, he wasn't a bad man, he was no tyrant.. but you fell victim to his expectations. you were nearing 20 , unmarried and still unwilling to court- your parents started to grow impatient..almost everyday a new prince from a "far away kingdom" would trot his was to your throne to ask your hand in marriage, each answer stayed the same... a big fat no.

"my dear.. the prince of homsworth would make a fine husband would he not?

your father spoke, it broke you from your daydream.

"father, i dont need to wed yet.. besides wouldn't you rather i fall in love? have a man swoop me off my feet rather than settle for the next prince up.." you muttered the last part to yourself, your mother clearing her throat after you

"me and your father courted young- we didnt know it then but we were in love.. how shall you know love if you never experience it-" she went on and on, during about responsibility and what a good princess should act like... this talk again, always on and on about how a princess shall act - how a princess shall talk - how she shall dress.. all of it went through one ear and out the other.

supper always went this way, they argue and dispute about your unwillingness to marry, you tell them no and finish dinner, then you run away to your room and rest the night away.. you were used to this song and dance already- you lived the same day over and over again without fail.. it was tiresome. just as you were about to place your napkin on the table and push your chair away to excuse yourself, your father stopped you.

"ive arranged something, darling.. an escort. we are worried about you" he says kindly as he motions for one if the knights to step forward, dawned in nothing but chainmail and metallic clothing, the knight bows to you.

"he. is your personal knight. for your safety and for my own concern of you... sneaking out at night." the king adds on, your mother nodding in agreement. sneaking out? how dare they assume you of such low standard.. you may hate the constant reminder but - you still were a princess.. the future ruler of this kingdom.

"id never. you say with a scoff, standing up to excuse yourself, forgetting you now be followed by silent footsteps. they followed you from the grand hall, to the corridor, to the entrance of your bedroom. you huff and turn around, the idea of the knight following you everywhere both annoyed and excited you.. yes you hated the idea of not being able to sneak out anymore— but a knight? Your knight, that did anything you’d ask him to..

You sat and pondered at the door, awkwardly asking him if he were to follow you to your bedroom or stay out here- and much to your surprise the silent man turned to stand guard at your large double doors. You couldn’t help but think..when did he rest? when did he eat? when did he have time to do.. anything? so many questions remained unanswered as your infatuation grew- mixed with the curiosity of who was under that mask.. you hoped it was the boy with the jet black hair.

“well.. goodnight” you spoke quietly , receiving only a nod in return.

that started you nightly routine for months.

each and everyday he would follow you around, do small tasks you asked of him, and everynight he would stand guard outside your doors. you wondered if he enjoyed this or secretly hated you.. you wondered if you were even kind enough to him for him to enjoy his job.

“oh well..” you whisper to yourself at night as you covered your body with the thick blankets given to you from the maidens.. winter was coming fast.

the next morning you received notice that your knight would be gone for the day, apparently he was leading some other younger recruits in training, so you had a replacement ! he was much more.. talkative than what youre used to. you thought it was fun, speaking to him almost all day.

his name was yuji , he apparently been training here for years and is on the same rank as your knight which you learn is named megumi.

“megumi has always been like that, quiet i mean.. its not because he hates you he just takes a while opening up!” yuji heard all about it, he wanted you guys to be buddies. especially because he wanted to secretly also be buddies with the princess, but that was besides the point.

“im sure if you keep being kind to him, eventually he will start talking —maybe talk about his interests ! i think its just fighting though.. occasionally ill see him writing in a little journal too!” yuji exclaimed excitedly , you nod.. maybe that’s exactly what you’ll do.

the next few days went by quickly, you and yuji became a bit closer and your father started to slowly stop asking you about marriage since every single time you just ignore him or say “no” . today was the day megumi came back from training , unfortunately that meant yuji went back to his usual schedule but that didnt mean you couldn’t visit him!

megumi was stoic as always, standing beside you as you walked down the halls of your castle.. you sigh as you turn to look at him.. he still had that damn helmet on.

“I heard from Yuji that your name is Megumi.. is that true?” You ask , a basket in your arm as you prepared to go to the garden

megumi could only hum, at least you got that out of him..

“right.. you know my name of course. i didnt take yuji to be such a talker, i thought all you knights were strong silent types”

before you could reach for the door he already opened it for you, leading out to the large greenhouse you kept.. you smile and walk ahead of him.

the sun was bright today, though it was approaching winter it seemed the winds were lower .. a moderate temperature. you walked into the greenhouse and started to tend to your plants, picking off a few you wanted to add to the pots around the castle

“so.. do you do anything other than this?” you ask, trying to get the silent man to open up. he stays silent for a while.

“.. i enjoy sparring” he says finally, the deep rumble in his voice almost makes you crumble. you giggle at the answer.. of course he would enjoy something like that.

“right.. i see you guys usually from my balcony. it seems a bit harsh.. but i get it for practice” you continue picking flowers until the basket is full, turning back to the knight

“its a wonderful day outside.. shame we have to stay indoors and miss the festival.” you catch him off guard, a princess such as yourself being interested in the commoners dance? he and yuji participated often, mainly because yuji enjoyed them most of all.. megumi only went to make sure yuji didnt do anything stupid. the knight let out a hum, a noise that almost startled you.

“sounds like you don’t believe me.. didnt father tell you why you are hired in the first place..?” You chuckle, picking up the basket of flowers .. he knew of the mischief you got up to at night.. he knew you would sneak out your bedroom window in a gown to fit in while you danced and drank with the common folk. he knew this all because you intrigued him.. from the moment he seen you watching his training on the balcony.

“.. yes” he said simply, following behind you back to your room as the sun began to set. you were surprised he said anything.. his deep but smooth voice almost made you melt

“i know you leave the castle often.. you come back smelling of booze but you look- happy almost..” he continued until you both reached the doors to your room.

“then..?” you turn to him, expecting him to just shut you down and make you go to bed.. but something about his demeanor today.

“then.. i hope you dont get hurt” he says under his breath, almost a silent way of telling you to enjoy yourself, of course he would be watching you all night anyways. he always did when you went out.. always.

the night progressed as usual, you went to your room and he guarded your door..except tonight was the night of the festival. at a shivering 2 am you dressed in a black gown and climbed out your bedroom window to join in on the festival! there was dancing and singing, chanting of prayers, drinks being passed about every which way, this is what you were missing being stuck in that godawful castle all your life, and now that you were older you were able to enjoy them to the fullest in secret.

you danced, you sang and you drank until you felt your body lighten and you never felt better. you couldn’t help but feel a pair of eyes lingering on you that night.. more than usual at least. you stumble and make your way to the path that lead to a hidden entrance to the castle, one close to your room. you heave as small breaths leave your body.

footsteps trail behind you and you freeze, usually you never had an issue with people following you home or drunkards stumbling on the path, almost always finding a way to slip away undetected. you start to speed up as much as your heels would allow on the rough terrain. you almost fall until a pair of arms catch you, fear washes over you for a second before you hear him.

“Are you alright..” His soft voice hit your ears and you sigh .. that voice again

“Fine…Fine now.” The adrenaline washed over you knowing it was just megumi, his hands felt soft.. you turned to look at him finally, but he wore a mask. go figure i guess.

“I guess.. we go home now?” You say , almost as if you were inviting him- like you don’t live together practically. You begin your walk he was silent for a while, just following you while you make your way to the castle.. going on and on about the festival as if you hadn’t experienced the same things. He didnt care though, he didnt care that you talked so much about your day because he wanted to hear it from your perspective.

The night was young , once you two made it back to the castle and your room..it was like your conversation made time go by faster.. talking to- or rather at him was refreshing. Even if he was just behind a mask.

“Want to just.. come sit inside?”

“..Okay..”

How did those few words end up with the two of you in a dark room, making out like a couple of teenagers? You couldnt tell.. you complimented his mask, almost got him to take it off.. he convinced you maybe its better to turn the lights off and you.. believed him.

Now the two of you sit on your bed, hands roaming eachothers bodies in a hot , steamy , messy makeout session.. tongues clashing in a battle for dominance you were slowly losing. You didnt even care that he were your knight.. you didnt care about anything other than how he felt right about now.

that feeling didnt last forever.. soon the gasping of air filled the area , you wanted more, needed it..

but your eyes shut gently .. you feel sleep taking you away and by the time you wake hes gone..

“ugh.. my head hurts..”

[dontbelasagnax]

OMG CAN I DO A PROMPT FOR THE KISS ROULETTE???

No pressure BUT I number 35. Kiss against a wall would make me go FERAL.

Bonus points if it's in some hidden corner and they're trying to sneak away after a hard won battle because the codywan brain rot has GOT ME. I CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING BUT THEM

Please pretend like you sent this ask recently and I haven't been sitting on it for months waiting for my eggs to hatch @why-cant-turtles-fly 😂 As requested, here is codywan kissing against a wall... though it's actually a pillar (oops). I was inspired by this artwork I did!

Pairing: CC-22224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2,330

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Tenderness, Making Out, Introspection, and by that I mean Obi-Wan is mentally ill and thinks too much, Implied Sexual Content, POV Obi-Wan Kenobi

Summary:

    "Missing something?" Cody wiggles a certain lightsaber in his hand as he closes the distance of only a couple meters.

    "More than one thing, it seems," Obi-Wan replies.

    [ OR: Obi-Wan and Cody steal away some precious time after a victorious battle which of course results in a makeout session against a pillar. ]

(fic under the cut if you wish to read here on tumblr)

This morning Obi-Wan finds himself in the ruins of a long ago abandoned castle, high in the mountainous region of Bestoon's northernmost continent. However difficult the altitude makes it to breathe unassisted, it's worth it for the view. There isn't much he loves looking at more than a sunrise in the clouds.

The sunrise after a well earned victory in battle has become one of Obi-Wan's favorite moments to find peace these last few months or... has it been years? Time has melted together through this dreary drudge of a war.

He's watched this sky transition from dusky purples splashed with rays of golden sunlight to a pale blue canvas with clouds shadowed with purples leaning grey and highlights of soft pinks and yellows.

"Sir," a very familiar voice calls from behind. 

Obi-Wan turns towards the voice. 

'Ah,' Obi-Wan thinks, a smile already beginning to emerge on his features, 'my dearest commander.'

The light of the sky washes Cody in diffused golds and pinks. He is delightfully dressed down, forgoing his armour from the waist up. The tight, ribbed fabric does his physique all the favors the way it clings. A stray curl drops onto his forehead. The lighting does wonders for his complexion. It's as if he's glowing.

Yes, Cody bathed in the light of a new day is the most breathtaking, glorious view of them all.

"Missing something?" Cody wiggles a certain lightsaber in his hand as he closes the distance of only a couple meters. 

"More than one thing, it seems," Obi-Wan replies as he takes the lightsaber held out to him. The metal is heated from the rare touch of Cody's bare hand. Energy thrums from the kyber, a slow pulse that nearly sparkles, sending the residual heat of skin and life up Obi-Wan's arm, straight to his ever beating heart. 

So helpful his kyber crystal is, giving fuel to the flame of his infatuation that, once a slow burn, is steadily alight.

Cody leans back against the pillar, looks at him with those warm, big brown eyes of his and oh…

Obi-Wan steps into Cody's space.

Cody's sharp inhale and the way his hand comes up to touch Obi-Wan's belly is exactly what he wanted. 

Obi-Wan rests his arm beside Cody's head on the stone, bringing his face close enough to just feel Cody's breath on the whiskers of his beard.

Thick, black lashes fluttering downwards then back up. The want in those gorgeous eyes is magnetizing.

Obeying Cody's gravitational pull, Obi-Wan kisses him. The catch of their lips slow and tender, just a hint of saliva and suction, loving the warm nudge of Cody's nose against his cheek, and the bloom of Cody's Force presence like flowers turning to the morning sun. 

"Well done," Obi-Wan murmurs as he pulls away, chasing the wounded noise Cody makes with a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Your performance was stellar today, as always. Always."

Obi-Wan clips his lightsaber to his belt and cups his darling's jaw with his newly freed hand. He sighs into the meeting of their lips. The soft warm comfort of Cody's mouth is offset by the rigidity of his armour below the waist. It’s as accurate a representation of Cody’s true self as it gets: compassionate and sweet while still deadly and unwieldy.

Though, as much as Obi-Wan adores this version of Cody—so delectable in only his codpiece, cuisse, and greaves—he’d selfishly prefer him stripped even further. 

Alas, he's getting ahead of himself.

Cody's arms curl around him, hands clenching in his tabards. Their lips make smacking noises with the separation of each slow, deliberate kiss.

It's with a bittersweet ache in his chest that Obi-Wan cherishes these moments for he never knows what the next day will bring. The reality of war is that any second of any day he could lose Cody and he'll never know another day painted warm and vibrant by Cody's dry humor and barely-there smiles, the rare times when Obi-Wan can make him really laugh and hear joy spring from his soul, the quiet steady companionship of his presence, and the compassion he shows his brothers. One day he'll never know another kiss, another pleasure coated sigh of his own name, or feel the needy way Cody curves his entire body into Obi-Wan’s to get what he wants. 

It is possible that Obi-Wan would be the one to go first but… he knows deep down, and has accepted it with peace, that he's meant for infinite sadness. 

He already nearly lost him that first time- the time Cody first kissed him.

However long Cody is willing to share these hidden pockets of love with him, he will cherish every second they have together.

He emphasizes this thought with a purposeful tug and suck of Cody’s bottom lip before pulling away to breathe. The thinner air at this altitude has them panting against each other, lips grazing slightly, a sensitive tingly, ticklish tease.

Cody rubs their noses together, as if trying to grasp any sort of intimacy he can while recovering his breath.

Obi-Wan’s heart squeezes painfully.

Never let it be said lest Cody try to kill him in his sleep… but Cody is not just a sweet, sweet man but adorable.

 Natural as the mist of cloudy mornings, Obi-Wan kisses him again. 

Everything about this is intentional. From the way he slowly draws their mouths together again and again, pace languid and savoring, to the way they've chosen each other- chosen to find these moments to do nothing but love. It's not a choice, really, that they will choose duty over each other if that's what it comes to. That's simply the reality of their existences. Those priorities will never change, not with how the war has molded them into thinking. 

No, the choosing is in the love. 

He does love Cody and perhaps always will. It's not been said. Nor does he know with absolute certainty that Cody feels the same.

Cody's presence in the Force has always been a bit of a comfort for Obi-Wan since they met. Through all the uncertainty and pain in the galaxy, Cody is sturdy and shines. He's not certain when Cody’s signature began emanating a warmth that curls into his chest and makes him feel at home. It could be that with time and the development of Obi-Wan's own feelings, every aspect of Cody became beyond endearing.

Or… it could be the manifestation of Cody's own feelings for Obi-Wan.

He's not certain. And he's very well not going to ask.

It doesn't matter. It doesn't.

Still, he catches quick moments sometimes out the corner of his eye where Cody looks at him with an impossibly soft look on his face and Obi-Wan thinks, 'Maybe-’

Really. It doesn't matter. 

He has Cody so readily in the cradle of his arms, drinking up every milliliter of affection bestowed upon him.

And, well, his train of thought falls to the wayside when Cody moans into his mouth and tries to drag him even closer between the v of his legs. 

He's not sure exactly what he’s done to make Cody react so positively but he goes with the motion as heat burns deep in his abdomen.

He teases at Cody's lips with his tongue and realizes his fault when Cody instantly opens his mouth and deepens the kiss. The inside of Cody's mouth is hot and wet and his tongue- licking all those spots that make Obi-Wan shudder into him. 

Not that it's not lovely—because it is, really—but this is not how he intended things to go. 

Cody's insistent against him, pressing for more, hotter, faster, harder.

With difficulty, Obi-Wan pulls away, dodging Cody's attempts to meld their mouths together. 

“Cody, dearheart,” he says, out of breath, thumb gently stroking the skin by the corner of Cody's mouth, “you don't need to devour me.”

Cody doesn't quite pout but it's a near thing. The way his eyes are glued to Obi-Wan's lips make tooka-eyes impossible. “Remains to be seen.”

Obi-Wan huffs a laugh and kisses his cheek. “Please, my-” he catches himself almost saying ‘love’, “dear. Just for now. Let me treat you softly.”

Cody considers this solemnly. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

He nods.

Obi-Wan smiles. “Good man.”

The bob of Cody's throat at his words is gratifying. 

He closes his eyes and leans back in to capture Cody's lips for a few slow, lingering kisses. 

“That’s it. Easy goes,” Obi-Wan murmurs between kisses. Cody melts underneath him, pliant and accepting. 

He'll take every rare opportune moment to treat Cody like the indulgence he is– truly savor him. Hot plush lips between his own, a smooth glide aided by saliva. Slow and steady. Discovering how electric and titillating the simplicity is. Just Cody's warm body against his own. Cody's lips. Cody's sighs. Cody…

He's the sweetest of luxuries. And he should be cherished accordingly. 

Obi-Wan plants a path of kisses up Cody's cheek, right to the end of his brow, following the raised skin of his facial scar.

He's wondered if anyone else has gotten to love Cody like he has or if he's the only one to ply him with tender affection. He's wondered if, in a kinder universe, Cody would be left free of the scars Obi-Wan has gotten to know so intimately. If there were a universe as such, would Obi-Wan be given the chance to love Cody all over again or if another is destined for him- someone closer to his age and able to devote their life to ensuring his happiness.

He's tied himself into knots over this. The hypotheticals. 

He loves Cody. He loves him easily, unhurried and unconditionally. He loves him with every breath he shares loving the Jedi Order—his family—and this wonderous Force-filled world they live in. 

It's just that. He does not love Cody more than the order, more than his faith and his family. Cody is a part of his life. Whatever comes next, may it be death or freedom or- well, Force knows what, Obi-Wan hopes Cody remains a constant. Selfishly. More than a little lovesick. He wants Cody in his life. But he will accept whatever comes their way, as it is the will of the Force. 

 And if that means-

“Where'd’ya keep going?” asks Cody, big brown eyes of his gazing into Obi-Wan's soulfully. A deep brown that melts into a warm, rich amber. Beautiful.

“Nowhere of consequence.” He rubs his nose along Cody’s cheek. Breathes him in. 

“You sure?”

Obi-Wan drags his lips down Cody's jaw, smiling to himself and settling in once Cody shudders and angles his head out of the way.

“Absolutely certain,” Obi-Wan murmurs against his pulse point then kisses that very same spot.

A sigh from Cody is just the encouragement Obi-Wan needs to continue on. 

It's a gift having Cody so sensitive and wanting under him. An entirely different side of his commander than the stern, regal demeanor their troopers see day in and out. 

He kisses and sucks and nips the column of Cody's neck, delighting in the small, pleased noises he draws from Cody with every pass of his mouth over salty skin. 

He only leaves a couple of marks by the time Cody tugs him upwards. He's not too dismayed to leave the warm crook of his love’s neck because the expression on Cody's face is nothing short of wanton, absolutely debauched. 

Cody’s lips are still plump and kiss bitten. 

Obi-Wan can't resist. He traces the pad of his thumb across Cody's bottom lip. Breath shakes onto skin and Cody's mouth closes around the digit, suctioning him in hot, wet heat. 

He draws in a sharp breath.

His gaze darts to Cody’s eyes where he meets pupils blown wide with desire. Cody stares unflinchingly, daring and, oh… 

Cody has bewitched him, utterly and completely. Try as he might to retain composure, Cody is his undoing in these moments. The fragile strings of his heart (and… other parts of his anatomy…) pulled taut and ready to spring forward.

He wanted to keep it slow and soft, but Cody knows just how to arm him into an arrow ready to spring forth.

He pops his thumb from Cody's mouth and fixes his mouth and lips there instead, letting him know just how affected he is. He tastes Cody’s own desire echoed back to him in his moans and tongue and the needy press of his body that Obi-Wan keeps caged to the pillar. The fists that grab at his tunic and hair to try and get him even closer.

The high altitude forces them apart to breathe sooner than either of them would like but they don't go far, nuzzling noses and panting against one another's lips. 

“We’d better take this back to The Negotiator,” Cody says quietly, still out of breath.

Obi-Wan nods his agreement, sure that if they stay here a minute longer he'll be on his knees.

Hand in hand, they hurry away and the sunrise grows only brighter, pink tones making way for the brilliance of the full sun. Clouds drift with the breeze and all is as it will be.

[serejae]

WE CANT BE FRIENDS | 23. SO FOR NOW ITS ONLY ME

(written + smau at the end)

prev | next

pairing : myungjae x fem!reader | genre : angst fluff | w.c 1309

a/n: cause if one day u wake up and find that ur missing me and ur heart starts to wonder where on this earth i could be thinking maybe you'd come back here to the place that we'd meet and you'll see me waiting for u on he corner of the street (if u understand kiss me).

10 things i hate about you + the notebook references

wrote this while i was sick so if u hate u hate sick ppl | @onedoornet

mstl

taglist @lilriswife4life @cherrytaesan @tubatu-lovie @woonsbot @guiltysungho @taylorluvation @kage-yaa @lionhanie @dearly-somber @nicholasluvbot @nujeskz @unhakki @lblossom21 @kirbyyluvs @seunghancore @nctrawberries @i03jae @icewons @miidorei @hanbinniesmango @dongminz @helpsplease @sol3chu @letwiiparkjay @woorcve @brachioswrld

riwoo and taesan laid on jaehyuns bed watching him spin on his chair

“i dont know what to do…do i just give up?? she already has jeong-“

“gosh please dont say his name.” taesan grumbled

“i cant stand hearing him one more time without seeinf his feet in my face.” taesan looked up at the ceiling. riwoo sat up looking at jaehyun

“sorry, but theres no point in chasing after yn anymore” jaehyun put his head in his hands

“what do you mean theres no point? you did all this work just to end up back at no where?” riwoo stood up and walked towards jaehyun

“maybe this was just some dumb lesson that this will be a mistake ill have to live with for the rest of my life”

riwoo saw the tears start to form in jaehyuns eyes and sighed

“jaehyun do like yn or not?”

jaehyun nodded

“and was she worth all this trouble?”

“she is but jaehyun-“

“STOP IT!” taesan yelled

“jeong jaehyun” riwoo started

“STOP” they both looked over at the black haired boy sprawled out on the bed

“he isnt half the man you are and he certainly isnt the man for yn. go.

go get your girl.”

jaehyun jumped to his feet and ran out the house

“is he gonna run to her house…?” taesan propped himself up

“love is love taesan”

-

the whole day moved in slow motion. between your thoughts on the date tonight, to the night with jaehyun. suddenly the clock fast forward and now it was 6:30. you were already ready, but not dressed as you were currently walking back and forth debating on going to the bathroom and washing your face and just going to bed and canceling the date.

just then the doorbell rings, mentally cursing yourself, the clock reads 6:37. why was jeong jaehyun so early? making your way to the door you peer it open slightly

"give me 5-"

"yn."

myung jaehyun stood out there and he seemed stressed, widening your door he walked in.

closing the door behind you, you stared at his back as he turned away.

"i knew you were debating on going on the date, yn...

go on the date.

go on the date with him"

you stayed silent and jaehyun turned around to you, walking up to you he grabbed your hand into his.

"do you miss me?" he asked staring into your eyes hoping for a clear answer

"i'm not sure how i feel...

i feel like that i like you but i dont know jaehyun"

he nodded and smiled slightly

"go with him"

"but you didnt-" you said eyebrows furrowed not wanting to betray jaehyun as he didn't go on his date

"i knew what i wanted yn, i wanted you, it's always been you. go on the date and if tomorrow, one day, one month, one year

fuck, just anytime if you even feel it in your bones that you miss me, come back to the place where we met and I'll be there. you don't have to know what you want. you don't have to feel like you want to forgive me or a relationship, but as long as you want me I'll be there for you to come back to. i'm not going anywhere

I'll wait as long as i need until you want me again."

the bell rang making you look over at the clock, 7:01. you turn back to jaehyun and see him nod. running back to your room you quickly get dressed and grab your things.

"i'll leave after you, i promise to lock your door"

smiling at him you open the door away from myung jaehyun.

-

it wasn't that the date was unenjoyable, it wasn't for you. jeong jaehyun didn't prioritize you. he didn't prioritize your opinions, feelings, or wants. he constantly talked about himself, his goodlooks, his trophies, his life, he just wasn't who you saw yourself waking up to every day. tapping the glass cup that was in front of you you ignored everything he said

while he was talking you heard something from the other table that made you dilute whatever jeong had to say.

"i think we should end things"

"what? are you serious?! after everything we've worked through and done together? youre just gonna throw it away?"

"its not that its just me. i just think this relationship will distract me from my job"

"hey...i'll be there for you, through the good and the bad. we never know until we try."

"i have no doubt youre going to be there for me, your that kind of person and that's why i love you, but I'm scared I'm going to hurt you."

"and you think ending things won't hurt me? even if its on good terms it might as well end on bad terms...

can you live without me?"

you see the other person shake their head

"then if you break up with me you're going to miss me either way. and come back, so why make it harder for yourself and mess up now when you don't even know? maybe we can work through it, i want this to be something that makes our relationship stronger, not harder.

cause thats what love is

and i love you, so much."

"yn?" jeong jaehyun asked

"yeah?" you said being knocked out of lalaland

"did you even listen to me talk about the history of football?"

"i- uh....

i need to go."

good thing you hadnt ordered anything yet because you took off running ignoring your name being called from jeong, you knew you had one place to go and one place to be

home

"wow shes a fast runner" jeong jaehyun said as he watched you run

-

"can you get out of my house"

woonhak groaned for the 47th time as jaehyun paced back and forth in his living room as he edited the new clips.

"so you told yn to go on the date with the other jaehyun and then you ran here just to walk around ?” woonhak asked resting his head on the couch pillow and staring at jaehyun peeking from the window

"i'm waiting for some...one" he said as he fixed the blinds trying to find the perfect angle "why are your blinds so stiff?" jaehyun complained

"i never open my blinds" woonhak shruged "so why are you waiting for yn at MY house?"

jaehyun looked over at woonak and spoke "we met here, when you introduced her to me that day."

"okay so why do you have to meet her here NOW?"

"you dont get true love do you?"

"i dont get maniacs"

"if she changes her mind this is the first place she will go-"

thats when woonhaks door gets banged on

jaehyun runs to the door and opens it, you jump to wrap your arms around him to which he wraps his arms around you

"can you live without me?" you asked as you look up at jaehyun

he shook his head

"good, cause i want you. and we're going to have to work though this together if you want me too...

i want this whole breakup thing to make our relationship stronger, i want us to last and I'm willing to fight for us because i want you and me to be the ideal image for romance, even during times when it gets hard for us. i just need you to not leave when it does..."

he nodded and smiled a bit

"i wont leave you anymore...

have you been listening to my music?" jaehyun called you out recognizing the lyrics

you let out a laugh "way to ruin the moment but maybe..."

"perfect."

you both turn to see woonhak filming with his phone

"oh i'm so passing this class!

okay i'm serious get out, both of you. also lock the door on your way out."

[twistedheartsclub]

Fit To Be Chosen male X Female Reader .4

CW: Grooming, age gap, forced marriage, emotional manipulation, obsessive behavior, psychological distress

The day after the rain and the kiss, the house was still. The sky hung low, heavy with unshed clouds, and the halls of Carroway Manor carried the muted hush of a family trying to pretend nothing had happened.

Y/N sat curled on a chaise near the hearth in the drawing room—her embroidery untouched in her lap, her eyes unfocused on the fire. A book lay beside her unopened. The same passage had haunted her for days: “There is no imprisonment so cruel as that which wears the disguise of affection.”

Isadora entered with a soft knock, hand resting gently on the curve of her five-month belly. Her dress was robin’s egg blue, her posture still elegant despite the new weight. She closed the door behind her, then crossed the room with a knowing look.

“Everyone says you’ve been unwell,” Isadora murmured, sitting beside her. “That you caught something in the rain.”

Y/N offered a small smile. “Perhaps I did. Something I can’t quite name.”

Isadora reached for her hand and held it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Y/N hesitated, her voice low. “What does one call it, Isa… when the man you are to marry frightens you, but when he looks at you, part of you forgets why you’re angry?”

Isadora didn’t speak at first. Her eyes moved, calculating.

“Fright is not love,” she said gently. “But sometimes… fright disguises itself as fascination. I remember my own wedding night—I didn’t know if I was terrified, or simply unprepared.”

Y/N gave a quiet, bitter laugh. “No, I’m quite prepared. It’s just that—”

Her voice faltered.

“I know what he is, and still I dream of him. Or maybe of the idea of him—what he could be if he weren’t so… so very him.”

She expected Isadora to scold her for such confusion. Instead, her sister-in-law gave her hand a squeeze.

“Then learn him. Know what kind of man he is when he thinks no one is watching.”

Later that day, Y/N arranged to be seen in the library—not reading, not hiding, but present, as though she were merely indulging in thought.

And of course… Hawthorne arrived.

He entered silently, gloved hands folded behind his back, dressed in grey and black as always. He looked less like a man and more like a portrait—tall, still, dangerous.

“I was told you’ve been ill,” he said.

“I was told you kissed me in the rain,” she replied, not looking up.

A long pause followed.

“I had assumed,” he murmured, “that you had recovered your sharp tongue.”

She closed her book. “I’ve recovered something, at least.”

He approached slowly, and she let him. Her fingers twitched in her lap. When he came to stand beside her, his shadow spilled across her like ink.

“You look lovely today,” he said quietly.

“Thank you,” she replied. “I dress well for my captors.”

He chuckled—low and warm, but his eyes flashed with something darker.

“I prefer the term husband.”

“That role requires affection, I believe.”

“Then you must teach me.”

She looked up, startled.

He bent slightly, lowering his voice. “I know I’ve frightened you. I do not apologize for loving you… but I will apologize for forgetting you are not yet mine.”

The word “yet” curled around her spine like a snake.

“I should like to… court you properly,” he added, almost stiffly, as though the phrase pained him. “With your father’s permission, of course. But also yours.”

Her lips parted in confusion. “You’ve already won.”

“I don’t want a victory,” he said. “I want devotion.”

His gaze softened—for a moment. Just long enough to unsettle her.

“Would you walk with me tomorrow?” he asked. “Chaperoned, if you like.”

She nodded slowly, still unsure.

“Good,” he said.

Before he turned to go, he added, “You ask yourself if you could ever love me, I see it in your eyes.”

She blinked.

He smiled faintly. “You will.”

Y/N paced her room after dinner, biting the edge of her thumbnail. On the table lay the two letters he had written her this week—elegant, carefully phrased, too warm to ignore, too sharp to believe.

In one, he’d praised her wit. In another, he’d written: “I think of your lips and wonder if your silence is punishment or invitation.”

She’d hidden that one under her mattress.

She didn’t want him.

But she wanted…

something.

And she would use his want against him.

If she had to survive this—if she had to marry him—she would become what he desired most: the woman he loved, feared, and worshipped.

And then, she would destroy him.

With a soft breath, Y/N whispered aloud into the candlelight: “If you want a willing bride, Your Grace… then let me become one you will regret ever touching.”

.

The day was soft and grey, as though the sky itself had pressed pause on the season. A low mist clung to the garden hedgerows, the scent of damp lavender rising with every step. Y/N walked with Hawthorne down the graveled path that wound through the orchard, her arm looped through his, gloved hands resting lightly.

She wore pale green muslin, the shade chosen by her mother for its “fresh, feminine delicacy.” Her hair was pinned in soft coils at the nape of her neck, a pearl pin tucked just behind her ear. She looked sweet. Innocent. Composed.

But beneath that, her thoughts twisted like the ivy curling around the trellises nearby.

She smiled when she needed to. Laughed at something he said, just enough to encourage him. He was speaking about land taxes and horses and some pending import laws, but she only half listened. Instead, she studied the way his brow furrowed when he thought, the careful way he avoided stepping too close—until he didn’t.

“Thank you for walking with me,” he said after a silence.

“I should be thanking you,” she replied smoothly. “I was beginning to think I might forget what fresh air feels like.”

His lips twitched at that. “The Carroway house does have a way of… echoing.”

Y/N smiled. “Especially when all five of my siblings are in it at once.”

He chuckled lowly, and she sensed the warmth of approval. She tilted her head just slightly.

“May I ask you something of a personal nature?”

“You may.”

“You spoke of your sister once—Margaretta, was it?”

His step slowed. “Yes.”

“She’s grown, isn’t she? Older than me?”

“Twenty-two.”

Y/N nodded softly. “That’s a fine age. Is she—does she live with you at Raventon?”

“No,” he replied, eyes fixed ahead. “She lives in the north. At our mother’s childhood estate. I visit her when I can.”

Y/N studied his face. Something cold had crept into his tone. The careful mask of control he wore slipped, just for a breath, enough to reveal something more—hurt.

“She must be very dear to you,” she said gently.

“She is,” he said after a pause. “She’s… quiet. Steady. She rides. Reads too much, I’m told by the governesses. Writes letters she never sends.”

“She sounds quite brilliant,” Y/N said with real warmth. “Do you miss her?”

His mouth tightened. “Yes.”

The word was quiet. Raw. It caught her off guard.

Y/N lowered her voice. “I would very much like to meet her.”

His gaze flicked toward her, sharply, almost suspicious.

“Why?”

She smiled gently, a real one this time.

“Because if I am to become a part of your life, it would be my honor to know the woman who already lives in your heart.”

For a long moment, he didn’t speak. His eyes narrowed faintly, as though trying to see through her sweetness. And for the first time since their engagement was announced, he looked… uncertain.

Then: “I shall bring her to town.”

“Would she wish to come?”

“She will,” he said firmly. “She is very proper. She will wish to meet my bride.”

“I think I might like her very much,” Y/N said softly. “I promise to be kind.”

He gave a small nod. “She needs kindness. We both did. Once.”

They came to a stop by the white marble bench under the arch of tangled roses. The chaperone paused behind them, pretending not to listen.

“You’re very different today,” he said.

“Am I?”

“You’re… gentler.”

“I’m trying to be kind, Your Grace. I know how much you value obedience.”

He smiled faintly, his eyes dancing.

“I value sincerity more.”

“Do you?” she asked.

“I do,” he murmured. “Especially from you.”

And for a single breath, she felt that if she said anything—anything—he would believe it. She could craft him into whatever man she needed, and he would bend himself to match.

The power terrified her.

And thrilled her.

They turned to walk back, and his hand brushed hers again—deliberately this time. He didn’t look at her. But she felt the question in his touch.

She let her fingers graze his once… then withdraw.

Let him wonder.

Let him want.

The parlor was bright with filtered afternoon light, the tall lace-curtained windows casting soft shadows across the polished wood floors. Tea had been poured, cakes arranged neatly on porcelain platters, and every chair was filled with a woman of importance in Y/N’s life.

Her sisters reclined gracefully near the hearth, fanning themselves and offering idle observations. A cousin giggled as she tasted a sugared biscuit. Isadora, ever luminous in her condition, sat with a hand on her belly, listening patiently. The air was thick with talk of color schemes, seating arrangements, and—of course—babies.

Y/N stood on a platform before the full-length mirror, arms gently outstretched, while Madame Cheval, one of London’s most feared and famed seamstresses, bustled around her like a storm in silk.

“Still, still,” Madame murmured, frowning as she tugged a swath of embroidered ivory into place. “You twitch, my lady, and the bodice will never lie as it should.”

“I’m trying,” Y/N replied gently, her voice thin.

“Try harder. Your waist refuses to be tamed.”

Another pin. A prick of her ribs. She flinched.

From her chair, her mother sipped tea and dabbed delicately at the corner of her eye with a lace handkerchief. “Oh, do look at her,” she sniffled. “My youngest. My baby bird, nearly a bride.”

Y/N forced a smile, but her lips trembled with effort. Her fingers clutched the folds of the dress beneath the silk overlay, knuckles white.

“She’ll make a fine wife,” one of the older women said, nodding sagely. “Such a gentle face. And quiet—that’s the mark of a good girl.”

“She’s always been obedient,” her mother added with watery pride. “Even as a child, never caused a fuss. Unlike the others.”

The others—her sisters—laughed politely at the jest.

Y/N wanted to scream.

“She’ll give him children by spring,” someone mused.

“Hopefully boys,” another added.

Isadora looked up from her tea and caught Y/N’s eyes. Her smile was soft, but her gaze sharp with understanding.

“She’ll make a fine mother,” Isadora said, but her tone was lower. More measured. “When she’s ready.”

Her mother dabbed again. “You know, I used to dream of this day. I always said—‘my little dove will fly straight into the arms of a great man.’ And now—oh, I hardly dare believe it—The Duke of Raventon! Hawthorne Vale! A man of honor. Position. And he so clearly adores her.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. Whether from shame or heat or fear, she could not say.

She stared at her reflection, the dress still unfinished but already suffocating. Layers of satin and embroidered tulle clung to her like a cage of beauty.

A veil of pearls had been discussed.

A train long enough to fill a ballroom.

She felt as though she were being costumed for her own execution.

Her mother stood and came closer, laying a trembling hand on her shoulder. “You look beautiful, darling. Just like I dreamed. Like your sister did, like I did. Every girl dreams of this day.”

But Y/N wasn’t dreaming.

She was awake, painfully so.

Madame Cheval stepped back, admiring her own work. “He will be pleased,” she said simply.

And with that, the room filled with laughter again. Tea was poured. A name card was discussed. The organist had been secured. The bishop would officiate.

The date had been set.

Two weeks.

Fourteen days.

And then Y/N would be his.

She stood, still half-pinned into the gown, and tried not to cry.

Tried not to scream.

Tried not to run.

Because to do so would be to disappoint them. All of them. The mother who cried. The sisters who laughed. The friends who smiled and envied.

But most of all…

It would mean disappointing the man who had already taken so much—and would now take everything.

The morning passed quietly, sunlight breaking through the last of the grey clouds, casting pale golden beams through the east-facing windows of the breakfast room. Y/N had taken her tea alone, choosing to remain quiet even as her mother chattered about napkin colors and flower garlands.

She’d just risen to take her usual walk—intending to escape the planning and ceremony talk—when a knock at the door interrupted her exit.

A footman approached, clearing his throat politely. “A letter, my lady. Delivered by hand. The seal bears the Raventon crest.”

Y/N’s breath caught for reasons she could not explain.

She took it delicately, breaking the wax with her thumb. Her eyes scanned the fine, looping script.

Dearest Lady Y/N,

I am most honored to have received your kind invitation, and I must say I am quite excited to meet the lady who has so thoroughly captured my brother’s usually impenetrable attention. I’ve heard much about you already—your kindness, your spirit, your poise.

I shall be arriving to town on the morrow and would be greatly pleased to make your acquaintance properly.

Yours sincerely, Margaretta Vale

Y/N read the words twice. Then once more.

She wasn’t sure what stirred within her—relief? Curiosity? A strange sense of gratitude?

She tucked the letter inside her book, laced her gloves, and made her way to town.

The square was buzzing with the usual market day chatter—bakers with soft loaves beneath linen cloth, children darting through with sticky fingers and wild grins, vendors calling their wares. At the fountain in the center, where ivy crept up the stone and the water sparkled bright under the sun, Y/N’s friends awaited.

“Lady Y/N!” one of them called, waving.

Y/N joined them, threading her arms into theirs as they took their usual place seated along the edge of the basin, where the low splash of water dulled the noise around them.

“You’re glowing today,” said Anne, the sharper of the two, fanning herself lazily. “Is it wedding joy at last, or are you hiding something delicious?”

Y/N smiled, coy but genuine. “Neither. Though I did receive a letter this morning.”

“From him?” they asked in unison.

“No.” She laughed, pulling it from her book. “From his sister. Margaretta.”

“Oh!” Clara’s eyes widened. “The mysterious one? The one tucked away in the north? Is it true she’s never even been presented?”

“She’s twenty-two,” Y/N said, “and already more dignified than most of us will ever be. She’s arriving tomorrow.”

“Did you invite her?” Anne asked.

“I did. I thought… if I’m to marry into his family, I should know the ones he loves.”

The girls shared a look—Clara more approving, Anne more intrigued.

“You’re playing the part well,” Anne said with a sly grin. “You may win this game yet.”

Y/N glanced down at the water, letting her smile fade just enough.

“Or lose it beautifully,” she murmured.

The conversation drifted for a while—mention of dresses and how someone’s cousin had been spotted riding with a footman—but then Clara nudged Y/N sharply with her elbow.

“Are we not going to speak of the kiss?”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Anne’s eyes narrowed like a cat’s. “The kiss. In the rain. The one you refused to write about in your last letter.”

“Oh,” Y/N exhaled, heat rising to her cheeks.

Clara clapped. “There was a kiss!”

“I—” Y/N began, flustered, glancing around. “Not here—”

“Oh, absolutely here,” Anne grinned. “We’re by a fountain. The gods demand romance.”

“It wasn’t…” Y/N trailed off, eyes lowering. “It wasn’t supposed to happen. He found me. I’d run off. I—I was upset, and he appeared, and—”

“And?” Clara prompted breathlessly.

“It was raining,” she admitted, brushing her fingers along the stone edge. “I was soaked and furious and crying. And he was angry too. He shouted at me for being foolish. And then…”

“Then he kissed you,” Anne finished. “Like some dreadful gothic novel.”

Y/N let out a helpless laugh, cheeks burning. “Yes.”

Clara squealed, clutching her arm. “And?”

“And what?” Y/N groaned.

“Was it awful?”

Y/N paused. Her voice softened.

“It was... wrong. And terrifying. And yet... I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

Her friends were silent for a moment, watching her carefully.

Anne’s smile faded just a touch. “Be careful, Y/N.”

“I know.”

Clara linked arms with her again. “Well, if you must marry a brooding duke, at least let him be a good kisser.”

Y/N chuckled, but her heart beat wildly in her chest. Because yes—he had been. And she hated herself for remembering the taste of rain and the heat of his hands on her waist.

But tomorrow she would meet Margaretta.

And perhaps—perhaps—the girl he loved could teach her something about surviving a man like Hawthorne Vale.

When Y/N mentioned to her mother that the Duke’s sister would be arriving within the day, the older woman paused mid-sip of her morning tea, her brows lifting.

“Margaretta Vale?” she asked, voice light but eyes sharp.

“Yes,” Y/N replied. “She’s written me. I thought it proper we become acquainted.”

Her mother smiled, but Y/N saw the way her gaze flicked toward the hallway—calculating.

“A Vale girl, hm?” she said. “Well. If she is anything like her brother, she’ll be most difficult to impress—but I do wonder…” Her voice lowered thoughtfully. “Your brother, William, has been dreadfully unattached for far too long. Perhaps—”

“No,” Y/N said at once, too quickly. “No matchmaking. Please.”

Her mother gave a mild, amused laugh. “Don’t be dramatic, darling. If the Duke is to be your husband, it is only natural to think of… alliances.”

Y/N said nothing more. But she felt the familiar tightness in her throat that came whenever her life was bartered in the name of family duty.

That night, she went to bed early—her body sore from another dress fitting, her spirit wearied from too many voices calling her lovely, obedient, ready.

By noon the next day, a dark carriage with the Raventon crest arrived at her family’s estate. A footman assisted her in, and she rode in silence through the quiet, fog-laced countryside.

The Duke’s home was larger than she remembered, more severe than beautiful. Its stone arches and ivy-strangled walls seemed to watch her approach like a quiet sentinel. Yet, as the doors were opened and she stepped inside—

Warmth.

A light, unfiltered and honest.

“Lady Y/N!” came a voice from the marble steps.

And there she was.

Margaretta Vale.

The woman who descended the stair was tall, slender, and radiant in the most unexpected way. Her hair was the same shade as Hawthorne’s, dark as black ink, but her eyes were soft blue, like periwinkle petals caught in a breeze. She wore a gown of deep wine red and smiled with such open affection that Y/N felt her shoulders loosen at once.

“I’ve been waiting eagerly,” Margaretta said, offering both hands. “You’re even lovelier than I imagined.”

Y/N flushed and curtsied. “You’re too kind. I—I’ve been quite looking forward to meeting you.”

“You must be famished. I had Cook prepare something. You’ll forgive me for not waiting for my brother. He’s out riding. He’ll likely sulk when he hears he missed your arrival.”

Y/N smiled at that, surprised by the gentle teasing in her tone.

Margaretta led her through the sunlit halls, past elegant tapestries and somber portraits. The home still held its gothic edges, but it felt... softened now.

They entered a sitting room dressed in muted pastels, the windows open to a blooming garden, and a late luncheon spread laid delicately across the table—roast pheasant, fresh berries, soft bread still warm.

As they ate, the girls spoke easily. Y/N found herself laughing—laughing—at stories of misbehaved ponies and a governess who fainted at the sight of a snake. For the first time in what felt like months, she was at ease.

Until, over dessert, the tone shifted.

“I used to hide in that window seat,” Margaretta said quietly, nodding toward the curved alcove behind them. “When I was little. When Father was in one of his... moods.”

Y/N’s fork slowed. She looked at her new companion—Margaretta’s smile had faltered.

“He was not a kind man,” she said after a moment. “Especially not to Hawthorne.”

Y/N reached out without thinking, laying her hand atop Margaretta’s.

The woman looked down at the touch—and tears trembled in her lashes.

“I remember once,” she said, voice low, “when I was seven, he struck me for dropping a glass. My brother—he was sixteen, I think—he stepped in front of me. Took the rest. Without flinching.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

“He told me after,” Margaretta whispered, “that some men are born with fists instead of hearts. And that he would never become one of them.”

Her voice cracked.

And then, as though realizing too much had been said, Margaretta pulled her hand away gently and sat back. Her posture straightened. Her tone lightened.

“But it’s all quite behind us now. He... he tries his best. I know he can be cold, but he loves fiercely.”

Y/N nodded slowly. “Yes,” she murmured. “I can see that.”

“I know he frightens you,” Margaretta added, almost too quietly. “But he has been alone for so long. He does not know how to be anything but... relentless.”

Y/N swallowed hard.

They sat in silence for a few beats, the only sound the chirping birds from the open window.

Then Margaretta smiled again, this time with a practiced grace. “Come. Let me show you the garden. The white roses are blooming early this year.”

Y/N stood, following.

And though her hand still tingled where Margaretta’s had clutched it, her mind was full of something else:

A boy, just sixteen, shielding his sister with his back.

And the man that boy had become—

A man she could neither love nor forgive…

But perhaps, for a moment, she could begin to understand.

The garden had taken on the golden hue of late afternoon, the light softening as it danced through the boughs of wisteria and warm ivy. The air was fragrant with roses and sweet alyssum, and laughter floated like songbirds between the hedges.

Y/N had not laughed so freely in weeks.

She sat beside Margaretta on a stone bench near the flowering trellis, her bonnet long forgotten, her gloves tucked neatly in her lap. Margaretta had just mimicked a bishop’s pompous toast from some dreadful supper, and Y/N was breathless with laughter, wiping the corner of her eye.

“You’ll have to stop,” she gasped. “You’ll make me utterly unpresentable—”

“Nonsense,” Margaretta teased. “Your cheeks are lovely with color. My brother’s stone heart may even crack at the sight.”

“Doubtful,” Y/N murmured, smiling despite herself.

They were still giggling when the voice came from behind them.

“I had not realized I was being so thoroughly mocked.”

Y/N’s head turned, and she rose instinctively, smoothing her skirts. There he stood: Hawthorne Vale, the Duke of Raventon, framed by the low arch of vine and light.

He looked like something carved from shadow and sunlight. His dark riding coat, brushed with flecks of trail dust, made the ivory of his shirt even whiter; his collar unfastened at the throat gave him a touch too much ease for a nobleman. But his eyes—grey like a storm preparing—were fixed on her alone.

Margaretta stood as well, a touch sheepish. “You’re back sooner than I thought.”

“I rode quickly,” Hawthorne said, his gaze still not breaking from Y/N. “I was… eager to return.”

Margaretta’s eyes sparkled, but she said nothing. “Well, I shall let you two walk. The white roses won’t stop blooming without me.”

She excused herself with the grace of a duchess, slipping down the path and disappearing behind a veil of lilacs.

And then they were alone.

The breeze shifted. Y/N pressed her hands together, aware—too aware—of the heat in her face.

Hawthorne stepped forward, his voice lower now. “You look happy.”

“I was,” she answered, too honestly.

He smiled faintly. “That was unkind.”

Y/N blushed. “Forgive me. I only meant…”

“That I darken your joy?” he supplied smoothly. “You’ve made that clear before.”

She faltered. “That’s not what I meant.”

His eyes softened, but only slightly. He walked past her, toward the nearest patch of blooming roses, and brushed a thumb gently over one of the petals.

“You and Margaretta seem well-matched,” he said, turning back. “She’s rarely so cheerful. I thank you for that.”

“She’s… wonderful,” Y/N said, stepping nearer. “Not like you at all.”

He tilted his head. “No?”

“No,” she whispered. “She’s… warm.”

His mouth curved. “And I am not?”

“You’re...” Y/N hesitated. “Something else entirely.”

There was a pause. A long one.

He stepped forward—slowly, deliberately—and reached for her hand. She did not pull away. His touch was careful, fingers warm and strong as they closed around hers.

“I very much wish to kiss you in this very moment,” Hawthorne said, voice hushed, dangerous in how sincere it sounded. “May I?”

Y/N’s breath caught. Her body, traitorous and trembling, tilted slightly toward him.

She was supposed to hate him.

She was supposed to ruin him.

She was supposed to lie, manipulate, and win.

And yet—

Her lips parted. Her gaze fell to his mouth. Her hand did not move from his.

But then—

She pulled back, only a fraction, but enough.

“No,” she said. “Not today.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then—

“Very well.”

He lifted her hand instead, turned it gently in his, and kissed her knuckles.

The touch burned.

He looked up at her as he held it there, his eyes unreadable.

“I am a patient man, my lady. But not forever.”

And with that, he released her hand and turned, beginning the walk back toward the house without another word.

Y/N stared at her palm like it had been branded.

Her heart raced—not from fear. Or not only from fear.

There would be no undoing this.

And now—she feared—there would be no turning back.

The sun filtered softly through the tall windows of the east tea room, catching the delicate gold filigree on the porcelain cups and dancing across the fine cream linen set out for the afternoon. The gentle clink of silver spoons echoed faintly beneath the whisper of lace-curtained breezes, and the scent of early roses from the garden drifted in like a silent invitation to forget all troubles.

Y/N sat on the settee nearest the window, her book propped lazily in her lap, though her eyes had not moved across the page in several minutes.

“Lady Whistledown would call me flighty,” she muttered beneath her breath.

A sigh escaped her lips as she leaned her head against the window frame. The silk of her morning gown creased softly beneath her arms, and the light warmed the side of her face. She blinked at the words on the page: “He leaned in, voice thick with longing...” and promptly snapped the book shut.

Her fingers twitched against the worn cover.

It had been two days since she last saw him.

Two days since Hawthorne Vale, the Duke of Raventon, had kissed the back of her hand like it belonged to him. Since he had told her plainly—without hesitation—that he wanted to kiss her. As though such things were so simple. As though the ache in her chest was a natural reaction.

She hated that he was handsome.

She hated more that he knew it.

And she hated—most of all—that she now waited for the next letter as though it were a balm to some part of her she had never noticed was sore.

“Distracted again,” came a voice.

Y/N turned and saw her mother sweeping into the room, her rings clinking lightly against the arm of the nearest chair.

“I’ve had the cook begin preparing duck confit for tomorrow,” she announced with a small clap of satisfaction. “We shall serve lavender cakes and lemon cordial after, of course. You’ve done well to invite her, my dear. A proper friendship with Lady Margaretta will secure your place quite comfortably.”

“I didn’t invite her to be strategic,” Y/N said, though her voice lacked force.

“No,” her mother agreed, taking a sip of her tea, “but strategy never hurts.”

Y/N offered a tight smile and excused herself not long after, her book still clutched to her chest.

Upstairs in her room, she stood by the writing desk where a small vase of violets had been set beside the Duke’s last letter.

She hadn’t reread it since that night.

She wouldn’t.

Her thoughts turned instead to tomorrow—lunch with Margaretta, polite conversation, tea and laughter—and maybe, just maybe, a moment alone where she could ask what she truly wanted to know:

Why does he look at me like that? Why me, out of every woman he could have?

She had wanted to forget him today.

But the scent of tea roses… the feel of sunlight on her wrist… even the page in her romance novel—all of it brought his voice back. That deep, patient voice that lived somewhere behind her ears now. That voice that said:

“I am a patient man, my lady. But not forever.”

Y/N pressed her hand to her chest, furious that her heart betrayed her with every beat.

Laughter echoed lightly across the terrace where the young women had settled after luncheon. A linen parasol cast cool shade upon them, and the lingering scent of thyme-roasted duck mingled with the breeze. Birds chattered in the hedges, and the distant sound of the estate fountain murmured like a secret too shy to speak aloud.

Margaretta reclined with languid grace on a tufted settee, her fingers idly twirling a fan, though the day was not warm enough to require it. Y/N sat opposite her, cross-legged on a soft cushion, a half-eaten lavender cake on her plate and pink in her cheeks from wine and conversation.

“I used to imagine,” Y/N was saying, “that I’d go to the continent. Italy, perhaps. Or France. I would take my sister and we would wear dark veils and pretend to be widows with a dark past. The sort of women men fear and envy.”

Margaretta laughed—genuinely and richly. “Scandalous!”

“Oh, terribly so,” Y/N grinned. “We’d take lovers and then send them away with only poetry and a single glove.”

Margaretta waved her fan. “And your family would perish of shame.”

“One could only hope,” Y/N said dryly, sipping her cordial.

But the humor ebbed when Margaretta’s fan fell still in her lap.

Her smile remained, but it turned pensive, folded in thought. She looked out toward the garden hedges, where a cluster of roses leaned heavy with bloom.

“I must tell you something,” Margaretta said at last.

Y/N straightened slightly. “Of course.”

“My brother…” Margaretta hesitated, then met her eyes. “Hawthorne. I believe he truly loves you.”

Y/N stilled. The breeze tickled her curls, but she didn’t move.

“I—” she began, but Margaretta raised a hand.

“I know what you wish to say,” the duke’s sister continued. “You feel coerced. Trapped. And perhaps, yes, you are. But not by love. Not even by Hawthorne. We are trapped by birth. By duty. You and I… we are daughters, not heirs. Pretty baubles meant to be placed beside men who carry swords or titles.”

“That doesn’t make it right,” Y/N said, voice tight. “He—he touches me like I belong to him. He kisses me without asking, speaks as though I’ve already said yes. I’m not his.”

“No, darling,” Margaretta said gently. “You are his obsession. That is… worse.”

Y/N flinched. Her mouth opened to protest—but she found none worthy.

“You don’t have to excuse him,” Margaretta added quickly. “But you do have to understand him. He has only ever loved once before. And she married another. He lost her, and I fear… he swore never to lose again.”

Y/N looked away. “It’s not my burden.”

“No,” Margaretta said, quietly. “But it has become your future.”

Silence stretched long between them, until the weight of it nearly drove Y/N to tears.

“I don’t even get to choose,” she whispered.

“No woman does,” Margaretta said with sudden fierceness. “Choice is a myth we tell ourselves to sleep at night. My brother speaks of ‘letting’ me marry, as though my life belongs on a ledger. I am two-and-twenty, and I’ve never spent a night beyond walls without permission. My freedom is a fantasy stitched between embroidery hoops.”

Y/N looked at her then—really looked—and saw not a noblewoman, not a duke’s sister, but a girl not so different from herself. Caged. Clever. Bitter with sweetness.

“I shall convince him,” Y/N said suddenly. “You’ll come live with us. Once we are married, I’ll insist upon it.”

Margaretta blinked. “Truly?”

“You shall live freely in my house. We will read every forbidden book and drink French wine and write ghastly poetry.”

A smile bloomed on Margaretta’s face—one of hope, fragile and fluttering.

“And you,” Y/N added, reaching across the tea tray, “will give me your wisdom. I’ll need it.”

Margaretta took her hand, squeezing tightly. “Then I’ll give it freely. And should you ever wish to poison my brother, I know several apothecaries in Bath who will not ask questions.”

Y/N burst into a surprised laugh.

But as the laughter faded, both girls sat still, hands joined, a silent pact forged beneath the soft light of a sun that had never once asked them what they wanted.

The week of the wedding dawned with clear skies and frantic hearts.

The manor was alive with the rustle of silks and the clatter of polished shoes across marble floors. Servants moved like whispers down the corridors, their arms full of linens, glassware, ribbons, and flowers. Musicians were booked, carriages confirmed, menus finalized. And amid it all, Lady Vale—Y/N’s mother—was a storm of lace, pins, and pressed lips.

“Do not forget to have the parlour curtains pressed,” she snapped at a maid. “And see that the lemon tarts are made without the cursed rosemary this time—I shan’t have guests thinking us provincial.”

She turned to her youngest daughter, her eyes bright with the kind of tearful urgency only mothers possess when they are sending a child away.

“You’re to be a duchess,” she said for the fourth time that morning. “You must stand tall. Smile graciously. Be still when spoken to, and pleasant when silent. There is no greater joy for a woman than to be chosen.”

Y/N merely nodded, her fingers twisted in the folds of her skirt. Her engagement ring felt cold on her hand.

She was tired.

Not the sort of tired that sleep could cure, but a bone-deep weariness from pretending. She smiled when required, agreed when spoken to, sat politely while women discussed her future as though it were embroidery thread being passed around.

Every evening, she was fitted—again and again—into her gown. The finest French seamstress her mother could afford had arrived the week prior, and now her fingers were like claws, always tugging at fabric, measuring, shaping Y/N into someone worthy of display.

"You have such a delicate frame," the woman would mutter with a pin in her teeth. "You'll float, not walk."

But Y/N did not wish to float. She did not wish to be graceful or demure. She wished to run—barefoot through mud, if it would keep her free.

Hawthorne had written her three letters since the last time they spoke. All handwritten. Each sealed with his crest and his strange, steady affection. The first spoke of a garden he hoped to build in her honor. The second of a painting he’d once seen that reminded him of her smile. The third… the third she had not finished. It sat unopened beneath her pillow.

He had visited the estate only once that week—to speak with her father in the study. Y/N had watched from the top of the stair, clutching the rail like a lifeline as their voices hummed below. When he left, she did not go to him. And he did not call her down.

Her heart should’ve leapt to see him.

But instead… it had clenched.

On Thursday morning, three days before the wedding, Y/N stood in her chamber window with a cup of tea gone cold in her hands. The bustle of carriages arriving outside meant guests had begun to trickle in. She could hear Isadora in the next room, laughing softly with a cousin. Her sisters had taken to practicing their curtsies in the mirror. Even Margaretta was set to arrive later that afternoon.

And still, Y/N felt hollow.

She tried to be happy.

She reminded herself of the good: he had been respectful—lately. His sister adored her. He was well-read, generous, and above all… consistent.

But joy did not come.

As she stared out at the budding fields beyond the garden, she whispered aloud—

“Why do I feel like I’m burying myself instead of marrying?”

She didn’t cry. She was past crying. There was only stillness now. A soft, aching quiet.

The wedding was in three days.

And all she could think of was whether she’d ever feel like herself again.

@cutelittlesugarfairy @lilyalone @alebrasil0101 @amanduhh1998 @bananaasfordewin @rachfart @hopingtoclearmedschool

[visitmycoffin]

ADAM REQUEST. i've been thinking about what it would be like to spend holiday's with him. could you write about that ? like watching christmas movies , baking food , eating halloween treats together. stuff like that :)

Adam Stanheight — Holiday Headcannons

(Please don't steal my writing! Takes place before the bathroom trap. Reblogs and likes are encouraged ♡)

Warnings: romantic gestures - gore mention - cursing - Slight vomit mention - slight NSFW mention - Alcohol mention

SFW, GN romantic headcannons

HALLOWEEN

• Has always preferred Halloween over any holiday. Enjoys the scares and the stupid horror movies with the main characters that seem to have an IQ less than 10.

• Drags you to every thrift store in town to try and find anything Halloween related. A shirt with Ghostface on it? Bought. A tiny chain that says 'Childs Play?' Bought. A hat, one he knows he'll never wear, that has Micheal Myers with a knife? Bought. And he only acts like this in October.

• Likes snuggling up under the blankets with you just so you guys can watch horror movies, no matter how bad or good. He commentates on the stupidity of the characters in the movie you guys chose.

• Favorite horror villain is Michael Myers. He gets angry when people say that he's 'overrated.'

• Definitely perfers slasher films over others. Can't really do gore. Those movies make him pretty ill to the stomach. Just doesn't like seeing someone get sawed in half while their intestines fall out.

• Tries his best to decorate the apartment for Halloween, but can't do much since money is tight. He perfers when you make different cut out banners to hang on the walls or shit like that.

• Makes obnoxious comments during the movies you guys watch. Can't keep his mouth shut for a moment.

• At least once he'll have a nightmare during the month and then literally won't sleep for the rest of the night like a child. He gets angry when you try to comfort him, claiming that he 'doesn't need that bullshit.'

• On Halloween night, you two obviously dress up. He takes photoshoots of you guys in your outfits, you two are always matching, and then hangs them up in his darkroom every year. That night, you two eat a ton of Halloween candy, meaning one of you two end up vomiting from the amout of sugar you consumed.

CHRISTMAS

• Depsite trying his hardest, will never ever be able to bake Christmas cookies without your help. They'll always end up being some sort of burnt, black blob or so undercooked you can taste each raw ingredient.

• Favorite Christmas movie is The Santa Clause.

• Absolutely despises the cold. Yet, if you beg hard enough, he will go out in the snow with you and throw snowballs. After a snowball fight, he likes to tackle you to the ground and kiss you all over in a way to warm you up.

• Really likes hot chocolate. Will do anything you ask as long as he gets a mug full of hot chocolate after.

• Goes to the mall with you, if money isn't tight, and buys you two ugly Christmas sweaters to wear on Christmas morning.

• Not too good at gift giving. Maybe he'll throw some perfume / cologne into a box along with a cute little glass trinket of your favorite animal. Something small and stupid that means a lot.

• All he wants for Christmas is a box of cigarettes ♡

• Will watch Christmas movies with you, but probably won't pay much attention. As figured, he'd probably talk through the whole thing.

• Christmas morning, he wakes up around 9-10 A.M. and opens the gifts you two got each other. There's not a lot, but it's still special to him, even if he's not the gift kind of guy.

• If having a bad day, he'd perfer to stay inside with you. Maybe have a nice, hot bath with you with a little Christmas bath bomb. Something corny like that.

• After building gingerbread houses with you, he will slam his fist into his in order to break it so he can just lick the icing off of the gingerbread pieces.

EASTER

• Used to be utterly terrified of the Easter bunny when he wa younger.

• He honestly doesn't do much for this holiday other than hide little plastic eggs around the apartment for you to find.

(Sorry for the shortness of this one 😭)

VALENTINES DAY

• Showers you with affection all day.

• When you wake up in the morning, he's not in bed. A note lies on the bedside table that reads, 'Went out to get some groceries for us today. Your coffee is already made for you.' The note makes you aware that he will be the most loving guy he can be all day today.

• Leaves kisses all over your cheeks, neck, collarbone, etc. All day.

• Asks to shower alongside you. Nothing happens behind the shower curtain besides soft kisses and hugs as you two wash each other's bodies and hair.

• At around dinnertime, you guys sit in his living room, talking and cuddling while watching some dumb romance movie. He hands you a small book. Inside lies a bunch of photo collages between you two, thus being your Valentines gift.

• Takes you out to your favorite bar after dinner and gets you two drunk off your favorite alcohol.

• Once home, he brings you to bed, lathering you in kisses and soft love bites.

• (NSFW) Asks you if you two can have sex that night. If so, he makes sure it's all slow and sensual, unless suggested otherwise. Still, marking you as his with tiny kisses and hickies.

• Aftercare includes him holding your head against his chest and whispering how much he is in love with you. Gently plays with your hair, peppering kisses over your jaw and lips.

———

Hope this was good! Sorry for it not being too long. My first ever headcannon / fic on tumblr so I hope I did well. More requests would be appreciated. Ty for reading ♡

[emrysmerlinambrose]

Ok but Ashki Simon's mom (I have decided her name is Yocheved) setting up Simon with an Orthodox masc reader. (Reference of an Orthodox wedding). No use of y/n.

She isn't surprised when little Simon comes out to her nor when he tearfully begs her not to tell anyone. When he's an adult he always says he's too busy for relationships, that his job comes first. In actuality he's still that scared little boy desperately trying to hide.

When his dad gets terminally ill it just gets that much easier for him. Yocheved can finally be free from him and Simon can finally have weight off of him that he forgot was even there.

Once he finally kicks the bucket and Shiva (the first week of mourning) is up Yocheved starts asking Simon about marriage. After Sheloshim (the first 30 days of mourning) are over she starts asking around about possible arrangements with various match makers. She can't set anything up until the full mourning period is over but that doesn't stop her from looking. Once the full year is over is when Simon starts getting set up with various guys. The queer Orthodox pool is quite small, especially in England, but that doesn't stop his mom.

You weren't the first attempt at a match from him, you were however the first that interested him. A good proper Orthodox boy. He could tell that you went to a yeshiva at some point and the uniform was one of the nicer clothes you owned. From the nice clean, pressed, and perfectly tailored white button down to the pristine black slacks.

You were younger than him, which was to be expected he is getting matched quite old with the military. The two of you hit it off quite fast. You had no issue with the fact that he was off the derech or in the military, and he had no issue that you wanted to pursue secular school as a man. It was easy. Neither of you had ever flown like this with anyone else.

One date turned to two, two to three, three to four, four to everyone asking when you were going to get engaged already. You popped the question before he could.

And then he got deployed before you could get married. He wasn't around to see the judgement of you two having such a long engagement (though a month seems like nothing to any goy). If he knew you think some people would suddenly go missing.

He comes back a bit battered. A few cuts here and minor bullet wound there but nothing he hasn't had before. You couldn't be more happy that you were gay and didn't have to worry about negiah. Hugging him tight when he first gets back, skimming your hands over him checking his injuries, holding his masked jaw in your hands telling him how much you worried.

The first time you see his full unmasked face was on your wedding day. He brought up the veiling ceremony, when you see each other for the first time before the wedding and the veil the bride. He wanted you to see him and then put his mask back on in an adapted version. Something personal.

Like all Orthodox weddings it's a massive and joyous event. There is music and dancing and people just being silly (a literal requirement for wedding guests). There are people neither of you have met there but it doesn't matter.

You meet the rest of the 141, it's super easy to spot them as they stand out like a sore thumb in their dress uniforms amongst the sea of black pants, white button downs, and black jackets (especially Soap in his gorgeous kilt). They can't grasp how Ghost of all people got such a soft husband. Or how he got married first (everyone thought it would be Kyle). They stare at how sweet he's being with you, their hardened Lieutenant long gone, replaced by a loving and doting husband. This isn't Ghost, this is Simon.

[mangosrar]

never say never.

matt sturniolo x fem reader.

warnings: smut. angst idk????

an: not proof read. more parts coming soon 😛😛😛

"matt have you seen my car keys" she hollered at him as she scurried around the kitchen.

"where are you going?" he asked as he peaked his head aoundd the door.

"i have to go home" she tilted her head and watched as he walked over to her, wrapping his arms around her waist, resting his hands on the small of her back, pulling her close.

"you dont have to go home, just move in with me" he brought his face closer to hers as her hands fiddled with the buttons on his dress shirt that was now creased and exposing his chest.

"i cant matt you know this, i need my studio" she told him.

"ill build you a studio here, hell id build you a whole art gallery if it meant i got to live with you doll" he moved his face to her cheek and planted a soft kiss there.

7 months ago.

just as she was bending down to press a display sticker to one of the signs, she felt a hard slap to her ass, spinning around she was met with violet smirking, leaned back against nathan. the two of them looked picturesque together. she wore a shimmery champagne dress while he wore a black suit.

"you look great rue" violet gushed.

"thanks vee" she wore a white dress tonight. it was a little more showy than she wouldve liked, low cut and short, but she had bought it last minute and didnt have time to change her mind. violet loved it, of course, she lived for dressing sexy.

"you did all this rory?" nate asked. gesturing to the room around them as he spoke. the place was heaving, every single piece of art in there was either already sold, or bring inquired for, thr room was decorated 'diligently' as her boss byron described. never once had that man complimented her so she was taking whatever she could get.

"yeah, worked my little ass of and byron wont let me display one piece of my art in here" she huffed out a breath rolling her eyes.

"Douch bag knows yours would sell for more than hes ever made" violet uttered.

she didnt even get the chance to reply before one of the artists was tapping on her shoulder making her spin around. "someone would like to make an offer on one of my pieces downstairs."

"oh yes of course" she turned back around. "drink, mingle, have fun. ill find you guys in a bit"

after an hour of running up and down the stairs, about half the pieces were sold and the place was completely packed. the smell of liquor wafted through the air, mixing with the loud conversations.

"hey rory" voilet called from across the crowd. she gently made her way through the sea of people muttering soft 'excuse me's to everyone. when she finally made it to violet she had a wicked smile on her face that made her suspiciously squint her eyes.

"what?" she asked apprehensively.

"nate has a friend here that he wants you to meet. voilets words were saturated with intent, but rory couldnt place it. she tugged on her arm, walking them across the room.

she could see the back of nate, standing and talking to someone. as he turned to face them she saw who she was talking to.

the man was taller than nathan, and more built. his stare was intense. shockingly blue eyes and a strong stubbled jaw. he had dark hair that fanned out around his head perfectly. he wore a flawlessly tailored suit, designer by the looks of it. she could see tattoos peaking out from under his sleeves onto his hands, gripping a hilariously small looking glass.

"sorry to pull you away from your fun, but this is my childhood best friend, matthew sturniolo" nate reached over, patting his friend on the back. "matt this is aroura jovans" he introduced her by her full name, keeping it formal for the time being.

matt stared cooly down at her, extending his hand. "nice to meet you aroura"

despite hating the sound of her full name, hearing it on matts tongue made her swoon. she had never seen a man so handsome in her entire life.

finding her head, rory reached out, placing her hand over his, the size difference was stark and it made his cock jump. "nice to meet you too Matthew" she replied looking up at him. "you can call me rory"

he had picked up on the colour of her cheeks when they touched. this bookish little sweetheart was the last thing he expected to find when nate invited him here. to say he was intrigued was an understatement.

now.

he continued his trail of kissed down her neck. her hands came up to tug on his hair, earning a hum from matt.

"stay here with me" he muttered as he sucked dark circles into her skin. she sighed and leaned her head back, giving him better access. she wanted to give in so bad, she wanted to let him have his way with her right now.

"i cant matt, i have things to do" her chest was rising and falling at a rapid pace as she desperately tried to keep it together, but matts groping hands and his mouth were proving to be a real challenge.

"let me take care of you baby" and before she could even protest. he had hiked her up onto the kitchen counter and shoved his hand into her panties, his lip between his teeth, eyes watching her face intensely. his fingers traced up her folds making him let out a low groan as he left light circles on her clit, pulling a shaky whine from rorys mouth.

"look at that honey, youre soaked" she couldnt help but whine at his words. his fingers quickened and his touch became firmer, prompting her head to lull back as she gripped one hand on his shoulder and the other smacked down onto the counter behind her. her hips started rocking in rhythm with his hand. he knew just how to work her.

"it would be so mean of me to leave you like this doll" his voice was patronizing and cocky. matt once again brought his mouth to her neck and licked a stripe up her throat, pulling a lewd moan from her.

"dont stop matt ngh- pl-" and before she could even finish her sentence, he cut her off by yanking his hand away from her and plopping his fingers into his mouth.

she stared at him wide eyed, mouth hanging open and the feeling of her approaching high fizzling out.

matt gripped her hips and pulled her off the counter, standing her back on her own, now shaky legs before reaching into his back pocket and pulling out her keys. he placed them in her hand before pressing a firm kiss to her lips.

"have a great day baby ill see you for dinner" and with that he was off, sauntering back off into his office.

matt returning to a normal life once he met aroura never seemed like anything out of the ordinary, business was well, he was going to dinner parties, he had fake manners, all prepared for a complete disregard for his past life. he wondered if the straw would ever come and he would return to his late affairs, then again he wondered if that straw had already been pulled. he knew he couldnt hide from himself much longer. his biggest enemy was the man he saw in the mirror. he was filtered with anger and disgust for himself. each day, in and out, he knew what rory didnt. surely the truth would come out, it was just a matter of when. every time his phone rang and her face came up he was sure this was it, thinking of some excuse or lie he could tell before answering and of course each time he was wrong, after a few months of him fighting with himself he gave up. realising there was no way she would ever find out. but never say never.

taglist: @christinarowie332 @biimpanicking @soursturniolo @freshlovehacker @urmyslxt @kitaysworld @kvtie444 @mattsd0ll @flowerxbunnie @itsjennarose @lovingsturniolo @mattslolita @chrisenthusiast

also if i forgot u from my taglist or u wanna be added lmk!!!!