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eowynstwin · 2 months ago

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Blackbird, Fly - Three

Cowboy Gaz x mail order bride—only, not his. After exchanging letters for half a year with ranching man Hans König, you finally travel out west to marry him. - You wonder if this is how lambs feel, when shorn for the first time. - content warning for marital rape after the second break. - ao3

“Come,” says Hans, tugging on your arm, “let’s get you ready for the ceremony.”

Your husband-to-be leads you up the porch steps and into the house, long legs carrying him ahead so fast you must practically jog to keep up with him. You stumble when you enter the house—the interior is fantastically well-appointed, with papered walls and carved wood furniture, framed photos hanging beside paintings, pressed flowers, hunting trophies, rifles and knives and old farm equipment. The floor beneath your feet is polished and smooth, spread over in places with thick, fringed rugs. You don’t see much more of it after your initial impression; Hans pulls you along at a clip.

Even such a brief glimpse, though, proves your long-held assumptions about Hans and his livelihood; his family has done well for itself, over the years. The kitchen, dining room, and sitting room are all separate from each other, and the manor’s first floor alone is larger than the small farmhouse you grew up in. Your family always made an effort to present a comfortable, clean home, but it seems downright drab in memory now in comparison to this.

There’s a bit of a bustle going on as Hans tugs you along—you hear movement in the kitchen, punctuated by the clang of dishes moving to and fro. A rough voice grinds out something short, and a couple of cowboys emerge with covered dishes that they set on the dining table before they return back into the fray. In the sitting room, an older woman with short, sandy brown hair sits at a desk, spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She glances up at you, betrays no interest, and then ignores you.

“You’ll meet everyone at the ceremony,” Hans says. He directs you up the stairs. “Right now you need something nice to wear.”

“O-oh,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirt as you climb the steps. The fabric, purchased at a discount after you’d saved pennies and nickels for months, suddenly feels thin and insubstantial between your fingers.

Hans brings you into the main bedroom, equally well-designed with molded wood paneling and brass lanterns on the walls, where he goes to a chest at the foot of the massive bed four-poster bed. Everything you’ve seen so far in this house is much finer than what even the most well-to-do farmers back home could display; you used to imagine that wealth like this could only be within the reach of select few businessmen on the east coast. You never imagined you’d have the chance to marry into it.

“I think this should suit you,” says Hans, turning to you with a stack of clothing in one hand.

You take it from him when he proffers it—a skirt, blouse, and jacket, you find. The fabric is silky in your hands, glossy and cool to the touch and very fine. You shake out the skirt; yards of bustled fabric tumble open to reveal pleated gathers, elegant bows, and velvet trim. The paired jacket is much the same, with pearl buttons down the front, and the accompanying blouse is a weave of tight, delicate lace.

Your earlier fears are soundly confirmed; you are in no way dressed for a wedding to Hans König. Gaz had only been trying to be kind; being here, now, seeing the kind of splendor Hans lived with every day, no one could make the mistake that you could measure up on your own.

“Thank you, Hans,” you say, face warming with embarrassment.

“Think nothing of it,” says Hans, looking you up and down expectantly. “Go on.”

You blink. “Ex—excuse me?”

Hans raises his brows as if it should be obvious. “Why, let’s see you in it, dear girl.”

You blanch. Surely he isn’t suggesting…“But—well, Hans, we aren’t—we haven’t—”

“My dear, I’ve already promised to marry you. Why would I go to such expense on a wedding merely to fool you into showing me your underthings?”

You drop your gaze to the floor, cheeks burning. “It’s not proper.”

“Bah,” says Hans. He takes the clothes back from you, tosses them onto the bed, and brings his hands to the buttons down your front. “It’s not like I won’t see this again in a few hours.”

You are rooted to the spot. He unbuttons your dress with an alacrity that startles you; in a few short moments, he makes an opening wide enough to slip over your shoulders, and unceremoniously he pushes the collar open and lets the dress drop to the floor.

You blink several times. You wonder if this is how lambs feel, when shorn for the first time; do they feel suddenly like they’ve been skinned? Does the air suddenly feel much closer, more real than it had before? You remember shearing season on a neighbor’s farm, the angular planes of shortened fleece cropped close to twitching flesh. The sheep had looked unfinished after the deed was done—like wooden figurines only partly whittled.

When you look to Hans’ face, you find him gazing at the tight space where your chemise tucks into the line of your corset. Then, as if in a dream, he reaches out with one huge hand and cups the mound of one breast.

The air vacates your lungs. It’s the first time a man has ever touched you this way.

When young ladies of a certain age gather to socialize, matters of discussion inevitably tend toward the prurient. Your peers delighted in sharing the wealth of erotic experience they’d accrued; trysts in larders, late graveyard meetings, dizzying accounts of hands and mouths in places that sent shame pumping hot and curious through your veins. You lived vicariously through their adventures; opportunities for your own, with three older brothers and a protective father, were nonexistent.

The embarrassing fact is that in matters of your marital duties, you received no practical education.

The one time your mother, a modest woman, saw fit to tutor you, she’d taken you out to the small enclosure in which the family goats were kept. The animals were useful for milk and occasionally meat, so there was always a breeding pair at hand. This occasion, they served the additional use of instruction; the male was rutting.

Your mother had made you watch as the billy mounted the nanny, and shoved its little goat prick into her hindquarters. The billy seemed mindless with want, ferocious, gyrating its hips uncomfortably, which the nanny took with what seemed like resigned patience, if it was paying attention at all. Once the billy finished, it dismounted, chewed its cud a little bit, and walked off. The nanny seemed unperturbed, rather detached from the whole thing, and similarly continued with whatever it had been doing before.

“It’s about like that,” said your mother, unable to look you in the eye.

So you have little knowledge of the matter.

And you have no idea what to do now, as your husband-to-be fondles you and stares down at you with what seems like only idle interest. Hans’ thumb brushes over the space where your nipple would be, hot even through layers of cotton and whalebone. The fine hairs on your arms raise, standing straight up.

What are you supposed to do now? Touch him back? Your stomach turns over at the thought. Even if you wanted to, you have no idea how. Hans is touching you so casually, as if you’ve been his wife for years, but you are as poor in wifely instinct as you are in everything else.

“Lovely,” he says, eyes locked on the place where your chest is rapidly rising and falling.

You inhale shakily. This is fine. He wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t—of course it’s all right, you’re to be married within the hour. It’s only your breast, and only his hand, and it’s over your clothes. It’s fine.

“May—” your voice comes out dry. You clear your throat. “May I dress now, Hans?”

He smiles. You note that he has a thin-lipped smile, and his eyes do not crinkle at the corners. “Of course.”

When the guests have all arrived, when the world around you is bathed in the orange-gold light of the setting sun, and when the mandolin plays the bridal chorus, you join Hans König under an archway of lupine and Indian paintbrush. Evening gives way to night as the last day of your old life comes to a close, ending as you say the words that until now you’ve only whispered in the night at your bedside.

For better—for worse—as long as you both shall live. Over and over again, until your tongue recognized the shape of them like the Lord’s Prayer. As if practicing them enough would speed the hour to you all the sooner in which their vow became real.

Hans kisses you for the second time, and then together, arm in arm, you turn to face the congregation’s applause.

Stars begin peeking white faces through the dimming sky as the band strikes up a tune, and as the reception commences, you must shake hands with the whole county. The priest John MacTavish insists upon introducing himself first—a younger man, with vivid blue eyes and an unusual haircut, gives his congratulations in a husky Scottish brogue entirely inappropriate for a man of the cloth. He’s followed by the sheriff, Simon Riley, who practically chases him off—another tall man, near to your husband’s height, and twice as broad. Curiously, he wears a bandanna across the lower half of his face. His greeting to you is gruff, short—polite in a way that seems unnatural for him.

Next is a slightly older woman, splendidly dressed in lace-trimmed taffeta. She comes over to kiss your cheeks in the French style. Hans ducks his head as she smiles at you; you can’t help but feel similar trepidation. She is terribly striking, with delicate creases on either side of her mouth and a mysterious twinkle in her eye.

“The hotel in town is my establishment,” she tells you. “The bath house, as well.”

“Oh,” you say, “how lovely.”

Her smile quirks at the corners; she looks at Hans, then back to you, and softly chucks your chin. “You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you, darling?”

“Yes, Madame, thank you,” your husband says quickly as your face sets to blazing. “I believe others would like to speak to us, as well, if you don’t mind.”

She gives you another enigmatic smile, tightens the light chiffon wrap around her shoulders, and leaves you to the banker and his wife, who both eagerly step up to talk your ear off.

Farmers, other ranchers, ramblers and gamblers and trappers; it seems everyone in the state has come to pay you their respects, and they all want to meet you at the exact same time. The rough voice you heard in the kitchen manifests itself in the form of a burly man with mutton chops, who introduces himself as John Price the saloon owner. A young woman with an unsmiling face named Ms. Boucher tells you your first purchase at her dry goods store will be discounted by five percent, as a welcome gift from her to you. She punctuates the statement with a narrow-eyed look at your husband, but you have no time to wonder at it before the next guests capture your attention.

A whole line of Hans’ cowboys, headed by the woman you saw working at the writing desk when you arrived, form up to tell you their names and pledge you their loyalty, still dressed in their wrangling leathers but bathed and combed and polished for the occasion nonetheless. The woman introduces herself as Kate Laswell, the foreman.

“I took care of the accounting after Anna passed,” Laswell says to you. “Tomorrow I’ll go through the books with you. It’ll be your job from now on.”

“Now, Kate, you shouldn’t discuss business at my wedding,” says Hans, politely, but somewhat terse. “And besides, that would be far too much for my new bride.”

“Hans, I told you,” you say earnestly, referencing a summer letter, “I want to be a part of things.”

He smiles genially at you—but the expression seems tight. “Of course, dear.”

“Tomorrow,” Kate says to you. Curiously, she looks you up and down. Then, “You’ll need to see the tailor, as well, I think.”

Her words are not said unkindly, but they shame you anyway, reminding you just how poorly matched as yet you are to this life. When you’d put the dress on earlier, it had been immediately clear to you that it was not made to your measurements, but you hadn’t thought it would be so obvious to anyone else. Only Hans’ cowboys proceeding to introduce themselves saves you from having to respond.

One is conspicuously absent.

Unexpectedly, it hurts. Even though it shouldn’t. Gaz had only driven you here, after all. You’ve known him less than a day. It shouldn’t disappoint you, as you keep your eyes on the moving line, that he does not come forward, but it does.

In between meeting the county folk, you manage to get a few bites of the wedding feast—prime rib, lamb chowder, baked fish, seasoned potatoes, collard greens, fried tomatoes, sourdough biscuits, and three different fruit cobblers still somehow steaming from the oven. You and Hans cut the bride’s cake, an impressive sheet of angel food and ivory buttercream that he must have procured at outrageous cost; you are not embarrassed to wolf it down in front of Hans’ guests. It’s the sweetest, softest thing you’ve ever eaten, more delicate than you ever could have imagined any food could be.

As the sky darkens overhead, the faint cloud of the milky way coalesces in the light of the waxing moon, and the band takes up a lively jig as the wedding party sallies forth to the clearing to dance arm in arm. Your husband whirls you along with them, arm around your waist, and then you’re dancing, too, and the familiar two-step lifts your flagging spirits as the cool night air runs quick, soft fingers across your burning cheeks.

So what if some cowboy hadn’t made it to your wedding? You’re dancing with your husband, after months of longing for him; everything and everyone else is inconsequential laid up against this triumph.

Faces blur in the lamplight the night falls indigo around you, and as the music changes Hans twirls you into a new set of arms in a jaunt that has everyone exchanging partners. They hold you only briefly before the music changes again, and off you bounce to another, the world spinning around you faster and faster, jubilant and surreal, and then another—

Suddenly you are in Kyle Garrick’s arms.

He catches you like lassoing a runaway horse, taking your momentum into the pillar of his body as he winds you in close. One of his hands spreads warm across your back, fingers spanning what feels like the entire breadth of your waist. His other cradles your own in his palm, long fingers folded around it like an envelope. You fit against him easily, perfectly, like a couple illustrated in a storybook.

“Mr. Garrick,” you gasp.

“Mrs. König,” he says.

Suddenly you realize you’re out of breath. You take deep gulps of air, and Gaz’s scent permeates your lungs. Lavender soap and bay rum, polished leather, sweet hay. The soft, dense curls of his hair are combed and parted a little, and the short stubble he’d greeted you with on the train platform is tonsured down flush to his jaw.

He leans in closer to you, hovers his lips near to one ear. “You changed your dress.”

He doesn’t keep pace with the other dancers, or swing you around in time with the music; he lets the world slow around you both, the music falling away as he brings the pace of your heart down with soft line of his mouth and the steady, still look in his dark eyes. His hand on your back radiates so much warmth that it cuts through the evening chill just beginning to set in, as if his palm is directly against your naked skin.

You smile meekly. “It wasn’t appropriate for a wedding.”

His dark brows pull together; his hands tighten their purchase on you. You watch him avert his eyes from you, take a great breath in through flared nostrils.

“Mr. Garrick,” you say, feeling too honest, “do you disapprove of me?”

He snaps his gaze back to you. “Why would you think that?”

You swallow. “You don’t seem very pleased, whenever we talk, is all.”

Suddenly Gaz smiles—lets out a short, sharp laugh that bares his even teeth, shows the points of his canines. “That’s not your fault. I promise you.”

“Then what is it?”

He gazes at you. Lamplight casts the angles of his face in shadow, deepens the darkness of his eyes. His shoulder is solid beneath where your hand rests, shaped hard by a life on the range; you could lay the entirety of your weight against him, you think, and he wouldn’t even sway with holding you up. There’s something very present about Kyle Garrick. Something real. It draws you in like the earth draws the moon into its orbit.

“Do you really want this?” he asks you.

You blink. “Of course I do.”

“You hardly know him.”

“I’ve known him for half a year, Mr. Garrick,” you say, somewhat unsure how much explanation you owe this cowboy. After all, you’d vowed to earn his trust, as his employer’s new wife. “I know you might have some reservations about me. I understand, really.”

“No,” says Gaz immediately, dark brows low and serious over his eyes. “Not about you.”

“Mrs. König!” an accented voice calls.

Immediately the world speeds up around you again, music crashing back into your ears, wedding guests spinning and leaping around you, and you turn to see your husband standing at the edge of the clearing.

The dancing comes to a halt at the sound of his voice; Hans outstretches one hand toward you.

“I believe it is time for us to retire,” he says.

Gaz’s hands tighten on you again. You feel the eyes of the other dancers on the two of you, tight lines of attention between you and them.

You have felt it all evening, really—the undercurrent lining every conversation, the askance looks tossed at you and your husband when no one thought you’d notice. The pervading sense of some drama playing out just outside of your comprehension.

You turn to look back at Gaz. His mouth is pressed into a hard line. The wells of his eyes are ink-dark, opaque, eclipsed by something of a shape beyond your knowing. He says nothing as he holds your gaze, only watches you with an expectation so stoic, so resigned, that you feel almost guilty for releasing him.

He lets you go as if his grasp wasn’t even tight in the first place. You turn away from him, from the stone-hard expression on his face, and go to slide your fingers into your husband’s waiting hand.

Wolf-whistles populate the night air as he smiles approvingly, nods, and leads you away. Short bursts of knowing applause behind you draw your shoulders tight together.

“Ignore them,” says Hans, tucking your hand into the crook of his arm. “They’re just fools.”

You look back over your shoulder. Gaz still stands amid the dancers, a wide berth around him. His eyes have not left you; they pierce you in the night, sharp even as the distance between you grows.

You have only one other point of reference, aside from your mother’s tutelage, for how the end of this evening might go. A topaz glimmering in the folds of your memory.

Years ago, before the shine had worn off as it usually does with older siblings, you’d worshiped your oldest brother like he was Jesus Christ returned. You’d trailed after him like a newborn pup, dogging his every step, hoping your devotion would earn you even the smallest scraps of his affection. You’d watched his comings and goings like you could divine the mysteries of God from the merest angle of his movements.

One night, far past the time when everyone should be asleep, he’d slipped out of the small three-room house your family shared. You knew, because you slept closest to the door, and by then could recognize him by the rhythm of his footsteps. Like any nosy little sibling, you’d followed him out once you were sure he couldn’t hear you behind him.

He’d made his creeping way toward the barn, his path and yours lit only by a waxing moon. You remember, sneaking along after him, noticing a dim glow emanating from the cracks in the hayloft door, and guessed that your brother had realized he’d forgotten to snuff a lantern before going to bed—and now he was going to put it out, rather than leave a hay fire to chance.

He went inside. You were about to follow (no sibling, however divine, was exempt from a good ribbing, and nearly burning down the barn was excellent blackmail fodder)—when you heard another voice.

A female voice. Soft, and sweet, and welcoming.

Very little preamble separated that revelation from the next, and what you heard in the following moments rooted you there in place; movement. Rustling. For the span of a few heartbeats, nothing except for the crickets in the fields—and then, like the moon rising on a cloudless night—a growing chorus, voices high and low, moaning together in staccato.

You’d stood there, frozen absolutely solid, as it went on. The high voice lifted higher, and higher, carried on frantic, rapid breaths, until it cut off with a shriek that muffled so fast you knew your brother had covered the girl’s mouth.

Then—quiet, shared laughter.

So you know a little more than what the goats taught you.

Hans leads you back inside the house, where the lanterns have been turned to low, orange specks of light. You fix your eyes on the nape of his neck ahead of you as the two of you climb the stairs, making your way back to the master bedroom. The cacophony of the wedding celebration is far away; he opens the door, draws you inside, and shuts it behind him.

You stand in the middle of the room, looking at him. This whole evening has felt like a dream, but as you gaze at your husband, you suddenly feel like you’re waking up. You have not been alone with Hans since you met him, not really, and you realize he hasn’t felt quite real to you because of it. You almost feel as if you can see him, for the first time, see the words that have made him up in your memory coalesce into the flesh-and-blood man standing before you.

This is him. This is Hans. This is the man you love.

Softly, you approach him. Reach up with two hands to take his face in them; press your lips, shyly, unpracticed, to his.

“Hans,” you say, more softly than you have ever said anyone’s name in your life, looking into the pale blue of his eyes.

He gazes down at you. “Let’s get undressed,” he says.

It’s the moment you expected, but it daunts you nonetheless. You nod, step away from your husband, and he sets to the task—he shucks his coat, dropping it on the floor, and unhooks his suspenders. Swiftly you turn away from him when he begins unbuttoning his shirt, face blazing—of course, you’ve seen men undress before, you have three brothers, but this—this—

The reality of what you are about to do douses you all at once, soaking you to the bone. When you bring your hands up to the buttons of your bodice, they are trembling; you can barely get the tiny pearls between your fingers to undo them. You hear more clothes land on the floor behind you as you struggle, and then nothing. Stillness.

His eyes are heavy on your back. He is silent as you finally get the jacket off, and the blouse along with it; he is silent as you push the skirt down over your hips, the garment piling on the floor.

Your whole body is shaking by the time you’re down only to your chemise, shivering like a foal on new legs as you bare your shoulders. You close your eyes. There’s no need to be afraid as you shuffle the garment down your back. It’s only your husband behind you, looking at you as you bare your buttocks, as you step out of the split shorts, as the cool night air caresses your naked belly.

“That’s enough,” Hans says behind you when your hands go to the ties on your stockings.

You go still.

“Get on the bed, now.”

You focus on your breathing. Long breaths, in and out, as you crawl belly-first onto the mattress, which sinks luxuriously under your weight, softer than any bed you’ve lain on in your life. Suddenly, before you have time to adjust, the mattress sinks even more under you, and an envelope of heat and weight looms over you, pressing hard onto you, bare skin and the smell of sweat and the sound of another person’s breathing over you invading your senses.

Then there’s something blunt nudging at the entrance of your sex. A hand on your hip, gripping tight. The blunt thing circles briefly, parting your folds, and then is pressing into you. Pressing in somewhere tight, somewhere that doesn’t want to open to let it in. You hold your breath. It presses harder, fighting the resistance, and then finally gets past it, just a half inch or so—and suddenly it hurts.

“Hans,” you whisper.

He hasn’t seem to have heard you. He pushes harder, just a bit further. There’s another wall of resistance, this one needling and far more solid. You gasp sharply at the dryness of it, the way his member seems to want to push your own folds up into you as it tries to get in, shoving, bludgeoning, and then, mercifully, Hans pulls away.

It’s on the tip of your tongue to suggest that maybe the two of you try this later. Clearly there is something about you that’s not ready for it—but then his hand is between your legs, smearing something slippery around, and just briefly he touches something that pulses with interest. You jolt as little sparks of pleasure dance through you but quickly burn out, and then, the blunt head of his cock is back, pushing in, much faster, much smoother, huge and hard—

Suddenly it is sharp inside you, razor sharp, paralyzing. You shriek in pain, tears welling acidic in your eyes, shocked, betrayed, and he keeps coming, an endless length of him forcing inside, making room where there is none, going somewhere it clearly must not belong—and then he groans, loud and guttural, and begins to pull out.

You don’t have enough time to mistake this for the end of it. He pulls out halfway and then rams back in, slamming against your body, punching what must be the very limit of the space he can make for himself in your body. Pain roars to life around his cock, radiating outward, a ripping and shredding that grows as he forces himself into you again, and then again, and then it’s happening for real, he’s begins thrusting so fast it knocks the breath from your lungs, slapping his hips against your backside as he grunts and groans behind you like a dumb animal. He batters some nexus of agony that sends you screaming, shrieking with every jerk of his hips, tears streaming down your face as you grip the blanket in clawed fingers.

“Please, Hans, stop, please!”you wail. “Stop, stop, stop—”

His hand grips back of your head, turning your face downward—pressing it against the bed, muffling your mouth and nose and eyes into the blanket—

He jerks against you as agony writes itself into your bone marrow. Your hands circle in on themselves so tightly you feel your fingernails bite into your palms. Any memory of laughter you ever had abandons you.

Then, suddenly, mercifully, he’s forcing himself into you as deeply as he can, groaning loud, and something warm blooms in you, squelches out warm and sticky as he pulls in and out a few more times. He stills then from his furious rutting, hanging over you, panting.

Then he pulls out. Your husband lets you go and rolls over, breathing hard on the bed. You lay absolutely dead still, shaking violently, every muscle in your body tensed up painfully tight.

“Hans,” you whimper, “Hans.”

“Mm-hm,” he hums.

“Hans.” Every nerve is vibrating with pain. “Hans, that hurt.”

There is a long silence after. So long, you start to believe that he won’t say anything; that perhaps, even, he’s fallen asleep, and your words have dropped like flies from the air between you before they reached him.

But he hasn’t fallen asleep. Your husband shuffles off the bed, lifts the linen, and shuffles back into it. The lantern light is dim in the bedroom, but light enough that you can see the nonplussed expression on his face.

“Anna got used to it,” he says finally, eyes closing. “You will too.”

And he turns on his side and says no more to you.

You lay there aching. When you drag your fingers through the slick mess between your thighs, streaks of red intermingle with the clear and the white.

Suddenly you want this day to be over. You want to close your eyes and dream that it never happened—or maybe, if you go to sleep, you’ll awaken to find that it was all a dream after all, and you’re still home, your mother cooking just outside the bedroom door. Slowly, you inch off the bed, finding the floor with your stockinged feet, and go to douse the lanterns.

The room is cold and silvery without their light. Darkness gathers in the corners, around the weak glow of moonlight failing to fully penetrate the curtains over the window. You gingerly swipe the cloth from a nearby washbasin between your legs, cleaning up the remnants of your husband’s pleasure, and then, with nowhere else to go, you return to the empty side of the bed and crawl stiffly under the covers.

He does not stir as you settle in beside him. You lay your head on the pillow next to his and fold your hands over your stomach.

Outside and far away, you think you can hear the band still merrily playing. The darkness deepens, and deepens, until you can’t tell where it ends and you begin.

#gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz x you #gaz x y/n #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz x reader #kyle gaz x you #gaz cod #gaz call of duty #cod x reader #cod x you #cod x y/n #cod fanfic #blackbird fly #mwritesgaz #madi writes #sorry this was gnarly #also if this is like. weird. in my defense i wrote most of it while sick with covid #side note when writing that first scene i suddenly viscerally understood what the dark romance girlies (gn) were all about

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newtonsheffield · 1 month ago

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I just think that little Neddy wanting to get fitted for a tux to match his Daddy’s to wear for his Granny Violet’s birthday party would be very cute.

Like imagine Kate watching Neddy slowly gravitate towards things very similar to ones that she knows Anthony has. It’s simple at first. It’s a pair of sneakers, a sweater that’s the same colour as the one Anthony had on that weekend. And Kate actually finds it very sweet, that Neddy’s mirroring his father so closely.

“Can i dress up like Daddy for the party?”

Kate hummed, kissing the top of his head, “You don’t have to. But you can if you want.”

“Like exactly the same?”

Anthony ruffled his son’s hair, “How about we pick it out together, Neddy?”

It’s very cute, that Neddy doesn’t want Kate to see.

“It’s a surprise Amma.”

Even Anthony won’t let her peek as he puts the two suit bags in the wardrobe.

“You can see tomorrow.” He told her while Kate groaned. “He wants to surprise you.”

“Did you at least take photos of how cute he looked getting fitted?”

“Obviously I did. Come on now, you know me.”

It’s the cutest thing she’s ever seen actually. Watching Anthony help their son into a tiny tuxedo with a velvet jacket, watching Anthony tie a tiny bow tie around Neddy’s neck while Neddy stands there proudly smiling at her, his hair nearly slicked.

“Do we look good Amma?” He finally asks standing beside Anthony with a proud grin, a tiny little version of his father.

“Oh baby, you look so good. So Handsome.” He even has a flower pinned to him and a Pocket square to match her dress. Just like Anthony.

“I look like Daddy.”

“Well, you always look like Daddy.”

“Will everyone think we look good?”

“Everyone will think you look amazing.”

It’s all anyone can talk about, actually when they arrive at the party. Anthony’s sister Daphne letting out a little squeak when she caught sight of him and Anthony dancing together, her hand gripping Kate’s arm.

“Oh my god. He’s so tiny and adorable.”

“I am very biased as his mother but he is a very adorable little baby.”

“Look at his little bow tie.”

“I know.” Kate groaned, “Anthony said he stamped his foot when the tailor suggested a clip on one.”

“Stop it!”

“Fuck! I didn’t think a tiny version of Anthony would be so cute. What’s happened to me this year?!”

“We make cute babies, it’s true.”

#surprise neddy au #kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton

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zahraaziza · 1 year ago

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hey lovely i wanted to request masc ellie x a hyper femme reader like me 💋

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: thank you anon, this is such a cute request! this may be short cause i am on writers block, but still enjoy reading!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒. explicit sexual content. 𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢.

—୨♡୧ now playing 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 (𝐥𝐨𝐥𝐨 𝐳𝐨𝐮𝐚𝐢)

as opposites attract, at least they do to ellie…

εїз masc!ellie making you sit pretty, whilst she kneels to slip on your shoes, planting a tender kiss to your knee followed by a faint pat to the planes of your thighs, inferring to you that you're good to go

εїз masc!ellie leaving small pecks along your poor little finger once a perfectly manicured nail snaps off, gingerly brushing the pout off your soft lips with the pad of her thumb, before uttering a soft spoken promise that "we’ll get it fixed, baby"

εїз masc!ellie impatiently waiting on her lovely baby to climb into the passenger seat of her car, all giddy, flashing a new fresh set of shimmery nails at her, whose face never misses to light up like a billboard, too goddamn cute to be fair

εїз masc!ellie nuzzling the flat of her palm between those supple thighs of her very own passenger princess, fingertips nonchalantly riding up just below the hem of your skirt, faintly drawing shapes along your silky serene skin

εїз masc!ellie toying with the ribbon you so delicately wrapped around your hair, the tiny milky colored pearls glued to your nails or that sparkly pendant of the necklace, she just lovingly clipped to the back of your neck, instantly turning into mush at the sight of your puckered lips and eyebrows knitting together, "shh, it's alright, baby, i'll fix you back up"

εїз masc!ellie having you sit at her feet, all sweet and pliable, resting your cheek against her knee, dreamily gazing up at her with those eyes of yours shining with cherries and wine for no one but her, whilst she tenderly pats the back of your head, "what a sweet little thing you are for me, aren't you?"

εїз masc!ellie studying your features in awe, as you meticulously accentuated them in shades of rosy make-up, letting her train of thought wander off to what a shame it would be to see it all smudged, running down that prettily fucked out face, once she gets to have you all to herself

εїз masc!ellie snapping polaroids of you all dolled up, in her favorite pieces of lingerie, and exposed under her enticed fingertips, hiding your bashfully flushed cheeks, which she'll keep tucked away inside her wallet or phone case

εїз masc!ellie gently slipping the embroidered velour of your light dolly stockings up your legs, littering lukewarm, wet kisses along what the material is bound to engulf, lightly brushing your velvet clad skin with the tip of her nose, savoring your irresistible floral scent

εїз masc!ellie tangling her velvety tongue with yours, tying cherry knots in the cup of your mouth, dragging out each and every kiss, desiring to earn what felt like a lingering taste of your delectable raspberry flavored lip gloss

εїз masc!ellie taking her sweet time to trail kisses above the delicate little bow gracing the waistband of those lace panties, meshing her most beloved softer parts of yours to a present only for her very fine hands to unwrap, before fucking you stupid against the sheets

εїз masc!ellie whispering sweet nothings into the shell of your ear as she tends to your drooling princess parts, doting praises dripping off of her freckled lips like honey, sliding her glistening fingers deeper and there go your candied mewls like music to her ears, "that's right, baby, keep feeling good for me, just like that"

༺♡︎༻𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: @scarstarlet @millersaurora @anchoeritic @ellabsprincess @seraqhites @cowgirlcherrie @abbyskitty @destielcore @elliessknife @dropsofs4turn @milllersfae @cherriesxinthespring @dixonsdolls @digit4lslut @porcelainbambi @angvlita @kissesskittens @fxiryverse @elliesbelle @starologist @kokomos @xioriae @machetegirl109 @abbys-wife @lightpinkprincess444 @hazywazysmind @winfleurs @elliephobic @lias-writings @lonelyfooryouonly @beforeimdeceased @angel4abby @hehatesmati

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶⠀୨♡୧⠀︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

#ellie williams #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams x reader #ellie the last of us #ellie williams smut #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams drabble #the last of us #tlou #[♡ᵎ] 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬

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604to647 · 11 months ago

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Birthday Present

1.3K / Javier Pena x fem!reader

Summary: Someone leaves you a birthday present on your desk.

Warnings: Angst, pining and yearning, but also some hurt, allusion to past relationship, allusions to smut, allusions to infidelity (possible/perceived? left ambiguous on purpose), reader is described as having hair that can be adorned with accessories, set in the Escobar seasons of Narcos (but which one/when is up to you), reader works at the embassy (my h/c is in Treasury because I only know how to write Finance girlies, but it's not important)

A/N: I've had a Javi P story swirling in my head for a long time, long before I even conceptualized Safest with You; but I'm fully committed to SwY right now, and don't think I have it in me to write another multi-chapter fic at the same time. So here is just a little angsty one shot of these two dummies; maybe one day I'll revisit and write the longer story for them that they deserve.

Multiple hands usher you to the office breakroom, where everyone from Treasury and several people from other embassy departments are waiting with a cake adorned with lit candles. Someone dims the lights and the crowd starts singing “Happy Birthday” to you as you smile and welcome their kind attention. After the candles are blown out and cake slices dispensed, you give your thanks after some small talk and leave most of the crowd to enjoy their midafternoon break. Making your way back to your desk carrying the paper plate with your generous slice of cake, you’re surprised to see a small black velvet box with a red bow sitting on top of your files. Momentarily confused, you have to think back to remember that it certainly hadn’t been there when you left for the break room earlier. You pick up the box and find it to be quite light; as you turn it over in your hands, you look around to see who it might be from. Unfortunately, most people are either still having cake or just returning to their desks as you have, so there's no one who would have been around to see who left it.

You sit down and open the box; inside, resting on the soft black fabric, are two matching metal hair clips, each with a small, delicate looking silver bird adorning its end. They’re beautiful and subtle, definitely something that would have caught your eye at an antique store – these were not purchased at any of the local souvenir stores near the embassy, that was for sure. Your knee jerk reaction is to think they’re from Javier. Among his many names of endearment for you, his favourite had been to call you his pretty bird.

But you weren’t his pretty bird anymore. No, you hold up one of the hand-crafted clips in your hand to admire it, these weren’t from Javi. He had no reason to give you a gift with such sentiment.

Not when he hadn’t spoken a word to you in the two months since he had broken your heart; not even a word that night you had silently pieced together the scene in his apartment with the beautiful half naked woman on his couch and him standing in the living room shirtless, his pants unbuttoned. You had apologized for interrupting before leaving your key to his apartment on the kitchen counter, then crying, made your way upstairs to ask the Murphys if you could use their phone to call a car.

You had felt so stupid. It was entirely your fault for letting Javi break your heart. You had heard all the whispered warnings around the office of Agent Javier Pena’s philandering ways; some shared as jovial gossip, but also some more bitter testimonials. But that hadn’t been the man who had helped translate your clumsy Spanish with the Columbian embassy staff. Or the one who had gently threaded his fingers through yours when unwinding from stressful days over long, lazy dinners. And it hadn’t been the man who had been too shy to cross the threshold of your apartment until you practically yanked him in and let him pull orgasm after orgasm from you until you nearly forgot your own name. So you had ignored the murmurs about his reputation, allowing what had to be hubris to think it wouldn’t apply to you. And you had fallen in love with Javier Pena. You fell head over heels for the puppy eyed, baritone voiced gruff who cared more deeply about his work and the innocent people of Columbia than anyone knew; who had a tender heart that hurt every time Escobar’s violence touched lives that he, Javi, could not save. With his words and his gentle and not so gentle touches, Javier had made you believe he had fallen in love with you too. In the end, it must have simply been another weapon in his arsenal of charm to keep his bed occupied and his roster of rotating paramours never ending. You had fallen for it, thinking you had somehow been special, when of course, you weren’t. Stupid.

No, Javi had no reason to think of you on your birthday. The gift wasn’t from him. But this certainty comes with another realization close on its heels: that despite everything, a small part of you wished it was.

---

Javi had waited patiently the entire day, peeking out the door of the DEA office he shared with Steve, down the hall to the big windows of the Treasury department to watch for when you would leave your desk. All day long, people came by to wish you happy birthday, and you had smiled sweetly at everyone and thanked them for their felicitations.

Never once did you look down the hall in his direction, but it had been months since you had done so. It used to be a secret ritual between the two of you; when the DEA would rush down this same hallway for a raid or mission, you would lock eyes with him and mouth words of encouragement, a simple “Be careful” or “Come back”, and him countering “Always” with a cocky smirk, but eyes filled with adoration. And he had kept that promise every time, always returning to you and proving his devotion over and over with his words, his hands, his mouth, his cock. Worshipping you, really. His pretty bird. The most perfect creature to have ever stepped foot in the US Embassy; sweet, smart, a force to be reckoned with, but most of all, kind, and by some miracle, you saw those same qualities in him. You made him feel like a better man that he was, and loved him for all that he strived to be. He had never wanted to be separated from you.

Now he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times you had addressed him directly in the last two months: once in a meeting and once while crossing paths in the Ambassador’s office - a polite nod followed by, “Agent.”

Agent.

As if you didn’t know his name.

As if you hadn’t cried it out over and over while writhing in pleasure beneath him.

As if you hadn’t whispered it following the three sweetest words he ever heard from you.

I love you, Javier.

I love you more, pretty bird.

And now it was “Agent”. Now you hated him. But he still loved you so, so much.

So he had waited until your entire department had left for birthday cake before slipping into the vacated room and leaving your present on your desk. He had seen the hair clips in the window of a little Columbian antique store while on a recon mission in a village outside of Bogota; thinking of you immediately when he saw them and how perfect they would look in your soft hair. He had bought them that day, but the box had been sitting in his desk ever since, waiting for a way to make it into your hands where it belonged.

He knew he couldn’t give them to you directly, he was still unable to face you; he had already seen devastation and hurt replace what used to be love and admiration in your eyes the night he didn't stop you from leaving his apartment, allowing you to think he had cheated on you. He was too much of a coward to face those same eyes now and what he might see: disappointment, hate. Impatiently, he hovers in the safety of his office doorway, waiting for you to discover your gift. When you do, he watches your face go from surprise, to thoughtful confusion, to delight as you admire the hair clips. Your eyes seem bright and a little bit sad as you examine the little bird decorating the barrette in the light. He breathes a little sigh of relief when you ultimately smile and put the dainty accessory away, slipping the gift box into your purse.

Javier hopes you love your present. He wishes he could help you attach the hair clips to your hair, but contents himself with knowing that when you wear them, you will be carrying his love with you, even if you don’t know it.

#javier peña #javier pena fanfiction #javier pena fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #narcos #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction #javier pena x reader #javier pena x you #javier pena x f!reader #no y/n #angst #mutual pining

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hrrtshape · 6 days ago

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trends i started in my FAME DR ✶

⋆ jewellery-on-shoes obsession — attaching pearl anklets and rhinestones to stilettos becomes the iiiiiit-girl move. suddenly, brands are releasing $2k “shoelry” collections.

⋆ oversized sunglasses indoors — paparazzi caught me wearing them inside a dimly lit museum, and now it’s the cool thing to do. everyone’s ignoring practicality.

⋆ “baroque chic” accessories — gold brooches, ornate headpieces, and rococo-inspired earrings. people laugh at first, then they’re hunting for dupes on etsy.

⋆ mixing perfumes for a “signature scent” — casually mentioning in an interview that i layer two perfumes, and suddenly the beauty world is obsessed with custom scents and “the secret blend.” especially, which ones do iiiiiiiiii layer ?

⋆ cigarette pants and ballet flats — revived audrey hepburn energy with sleek cigarette pants and bow-adorned ballet flats. now everyone BETTER b ditching chunky sneakers for a dainty, parisian silhouette.

⋆ satin ribbon hair ties — those messy buns? always secured with a satin ribbon. it's romantic, elegant, and everyone’s diy-ing their own version with scraps from fabric stores.

⋆ mini vintage cameras as accessories — spotted on red carpets with tiny vintage camera. everyone assumed it was just an accessory until they found out it was actually used for candids. now polaroid and leica are back in demand.

⋆ “rockstar girlfriend” necklaces — thin silver chains layered with random charms (keys, hearts, vintage lockets) defined my signature look. pinterest boards were FILLED with dupes.

⋆ sheer socks with kitten heels — socks with heels? made it happen. especially sheer ones with lace details. fashion mags said "unexpectedly elegant."

⋆ satin headscarves as neck ties — tied printed satin scarves around the neck instead of my head. accessory of the year ♡

⋆ “micro-birkin" bags — yes, i actually used a micro-sized birkin bag that couldn’t hold anything practical. kar-jenner cult influencers followed suit, proving luxury > logic.

⋆ linen dresses in winter — wore a billowing cream linen dress with a structured coat and knee-high boots during a snowstorm in prague. people said i’d freeze !!! style first.

⋆ canvas tote bags as luxury accessories —casually swapped my kelly or dior bag for an oversized tote. sustainable totes became THE eco-luxury flex.

⋆ single pearl necklaces — instead of chunky chains, simplicity was revived—a single oversized pearl strung on a dainty silver chain.

⋆ sewn-in hair ribbons — debuted loose curls with tiny silk ribbons sewn throughout my hair for my cinderella film premiere. every hairstylist tried to replicate the weird fairy-core vibe.

⋆ pencil skirts with unexpected flats — forget heels—pair a sleek pencil skirt with mary janes and ankle socks. suddenly, workwear got a quirky, feminine up-up-and-i-mean-upgrade.

⋆ bow-adorned outerwear — tailored trench coats or wool coats with oversized bow details at the back became my true winter staple. paris streets were flooded with DIY versions within weeks. as they should.

⋆ hair accessories in low buns — spotted leaving a café with a low bun secured by a pearl comb instead of a boring clip. elegant, effortless, and SO yours truly.

⋆ long coats dragging the floor — maxi coats with theeeeee most dramatic trailing hemlines became my signature. bonus point if its a (faux) fur.

⋆ tiny velvet pillbox hats — short-lived, mostly because i was dating thé jack schlossberg at the time (it’s a….long story). think '60s jackie kennedy vibes but glamorous. paired with a fitted vivienne westwood blazer dress, and suddenly bridal shops started stocking mini hats.

⋆ silk slip dresses over blouses — layering floral or neutral-toned silk slip dresses over thin long-sleeved blouses or turtlenecks. theeeeee ultimate 'modern renaissance muse' energy.

⋆ ‘golden age' red lipstick — a universally flattering deep, vintage red lipstick marketed as “golden hour in a tube.” suddenly, it’s the only lip colour anyone wants.

⋆ stacked anklets — while everyone was layering bracelets, i made dainty anklets—pearls, gold chains, and charms—the next IT obsession.

⋆ ribbon chokers — “oh, but it was already—“ SHUSH.reviving this forgotten romantic accessory but in luxurious satin or velvet, perfect for layering with those "rockstar girlfriend" necklaces.

⋆ tapestry bags as clutches — carrying an ornate mini tapestry purse to an event. everyone scrambles to find vintage needlepoint bags as if their lives depend on it. my impact, guys……

⋆ brocade boots — brocade boots in gold or ruby tones paired with flowing linen dresses that look like they came from the 60s. insta inspo central.

⋆ watercolour manicures — nails painted like soft watercolour gradients in muted tones—dreamy, romantic, and oh-so delicate. hailey bieber…move over. to the side, a bit more.

⋆ crystal-studded ribbons — attaching mini crystals to ribbons in my hair, creating a celestial effect.

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ozarkthedog · 7 months ago

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Happy birthday Ozzie, and congratulations on your follower milestone!!! You beautiful bean, I'm so glad this hellsite put us in each others' paths.

📝 For location-based smut prompt, Tim Rockford and dealer's choice of

public -8 inside one muses’s office. OR public 9 - inside a third party’s office they shouldn’t have access to.

Just need this man to get freaky with me in an office setting is what I'm saying because look at him:

😭 i’m thankful everyday that we’ve gotten so close! here’s my token of gratitude. 😘💙

18+ mdni. Tim Rockford x f!reader. oral sex (fem receiving). public but private setting — office. special guest.

This is so wrong.

It was bad enough that Tim was your superior and that you'd been sneaking around for the last month, fucking each other whenever he had a few moments of free time, but using a random co-worker's office? That was flat out stupid.

Tim drops to his knees in the small room, making quick work of your skirt and hooking one of your legs over his leather holster encased shoulder.

He breathes in deep as he presses the lower half of his jaw against your panty clad mound. "Been thinkin' about this sweet pussy all day." He holds your weary gaze as he slots the thin material to the side and latches his lips around your clit.

Your fingers card through his hair, tugging just so to make him groan into your slick heat. His tongue dances along your slit, dipping between your folds, earning him soft hisses and mewls from your gasping lips.

This is sure to blow up in your faces, but as Tim slides two thick fingers into your dripping core and rubs expertly against your slick walls, you couldn't care less.

"Shit- you're fuckin' soaked." Tim groans as your velvet walls mold to the shape of his girthy digits.

Your spine bows against the corkboard nailed to the wall; it's pinned with a precise diary of information: crime scene photos, newspaper clippings, and various stake-out notes. The small plastic tac heads dig into your skin as Tim sucks your clit into his mouth and vibrates the little button with a deep groan.

Your chest heaves under your blouse as the pleasure steadily mounts. Your hips move on their own, grinding against Tim's stubble and tongue. Brute hands circle your hips, keeping you safe and balanced as your peak draws closer.

He leans back on his heels and stares up at you. His cheeks are flushed a desert pink, and his lips glisten under the dim light as he works you closer and closer to the edge.

"Come on my tongue. Wanna taste you." Tim husks before diving back into your cunt with a feral energy you'd only come to know since being with him.

Your eyes flutter closed as the pleasure envelopes you, drowning all your senses. Had your eyes been open, you would've seen the shadowy figure slink through the door just as you were starting to come.

A heavy wave of arousal coats Tim's tongue as he pushes it further into your drenched hole. He grunts at your taste, greedily drinking you down and licking every creamy drop from your swollen cunt as you bite back the wanton moans that threaten to slip from your lips.

Tremors rake your body as you catch your breath and come back into your body. The foreign, bitter smell of smoke perks your senses. Your heart slams into your throat as a red ember glows from a dark corner of the room.

"You put on quite a show, Gatita." A deep voice praises from the black abyss.

Tim moves lightning fast, spinning on the spot and shielding your body from the unknown figure.

Javier Pena steps into the light. Your co-worker and whose office you now had the pleasure of corrupting.

He stalks toward his desk with a glint in his eye, pinning you and Tim to the floor as he retrieves a folder that's left on top of a mess of papers.

The men exchange silent words while Javier takes a long drag from his cigarette. Tim relaxes, his broad shoulders slightly sagging once he realizes the threat is neutralized. Javier smirked at your wide eyes while he exhaled a lungful of smoke toward the ceiling.

"You should lock the door next time," Javier suggests as he moves to leave. He hesitates, hand perched on the shiny, brass knob before looking over his shoulder. "Unless you're looking for a third person to join."

Ozzie’s 11k birthday sleepover

#ozzie 11k birthday #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford #tim rockford x you #javier pena #pedro pascal

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foxgirlknot · 1 month ago

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kinktober 2024 day 12: fancy dress // power struggle (frostleaf/red/cutter) (ao3)

"cutter."

Cutter jumped just slightly as Red emerged from the shadows beside where they were leaning against the wall of the hallway.

"Oh! Hi, Red."

Red fidgeted beside them, looking extremely uncomfortable. Her typical red coat had been exchanged for a thick gray suit, neatly tailored to her frame with exacting precision. She had a deep red shirt underneath, with a strange rounded collar, the top button undone as she tugged it away from her neck.

"I like your suit."

"mmm." Red rolled her shoulders noncommittally. "doesn't feel right. cutter looks better in it."

"Really?" Cutter looked down at their own suit, dark red-brown, sitting tight across their shoulders, with a plain black shirt and a bright red tie around their neck. "I don't think I'm pulling it off."

"cutter shouldn't pull clothes off. clothes need to stay on."

"No, Red, it's just an expression."

"ah." Red nodded. "like reaching branches."

Before Cutter could respond, the door across the hall opened, and Frostleaf was there, wearing a long elegant dress of rich purple, cascading down growing lighter and lighter until it pooled at her feet as pure white. Her hair was done up behind her head, and her face shone with lavender eyeshadow and lipstick.

"Hey. You two look very handsome."

"I -- Thanks, Leaf, you look -- wow. You're beautiful."

Cutter winced inwardly, but Frostleaf's ears flicked back as she turned, showing off the back of the dress that dipped well below her shoulder blades. "Thank you. I got Adelaide to help with my hair."

"frostleaf looks very pretty."

"Thank you, Red."

Cutter glanced sideways at Red, who was suddenly standing very straight at attention, a slight blush rising in her cheeks.

"Now, let me grab the last accessories for you two, and then we can head down."

Frostleaf ducked back inside her room, and Cutter and Red met each other's gaze.

"Do you have any idea what --"

Red shook her head, just as Frostleaf emerged, unseen heels clicking on the floor. She was carrying two lengths of thin black leather, ending in bright silver clips, and matching collars lined with deep red velvet. "Cutter, come here please."

"Wait, Leaf -- "

"Now."

Her voice was tinged with cold in the way that made it clear refusal was not an option, and Cutter carefully stepped across the hall, watching as Frostleaf reached up, chilled fingers brushing against their throat as she began to undo their tie.

"Leaf?"

Frostleaf worked Cutter's tie free of their neck, tucking it away in the small bag at her hip, reaching up again with her collar and threading it through their shirt collar. "Did I not mention this part?"

"No! Only that Closure was organizing a ball, and that we'd have to dress nice."

"Ah. Well." Frostleaf clipped the leash onto the collar. "I assumed you knew what kind of events Closure puts on. Red?"

Red obediently stepped forward, bowing her head as Frostleaf slipped the collar around her neck, buttoning her shirt around it.

"There we go." Frostleaf took a step back, holding both leashes loose in her hand, admiring her handiwork. "Now. Shall we go dancing?"

#foxkinktober #my fics #ive had this image in my head (or something similar anyway) for -- no joke -- years at this point #and it wasnt enough to get a full fic out of but i think it fits thia format perfectly #arknights

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yulogica · 3 months ago

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Some designs based off sweets and a secondary theme.

Pride

Cotton Candy Apple | Pomosexual (hehe pomme.) | owned by NiarBytes

Blue Velvet Oreo Cheesecake | Mascic | owned by SpiketheWolf

Ube Pandan Layer Cake | Genderqueer | owned by Ghostlytea

Sanrio

Bad badtz maru ice cream cake | owned by Zombie-Pilot

• Chocolate cookie freckles, gloves and boots meant to look like eyes, pendant and belt meant to look like the beak. Ice cream jacket fluff frosted (frosting-ed lol) hair tips.

• I like how badtz maru's head looks kinda like a black fireball. The xo earring because badtz maru's character symbols tend to be XO. Crosses on pants to evoke more x and eye marking to evoke more Os

• Aimed for a delinquent vibe

Pochacco soda float | owned by Ghostlytea

• Ears and tail attached by the cookie spines from the bottom of which the soda wells up like a dewdrop.

• Ice cream hair. White Chocolate flower. Cookie hairclip

• Pawpads feel like jellies and would taste like soda gummies

• Aimed for a sleepy casual guy.

My melody strawberry shortcake | owned by rubesty

• Whipped cream hair and trim on clothing.

• Flowers made of icing

Hangyodon Crepe | owned by NiarBytes

• Marshmallow hair. Cookie pendants/clips. Crepe and whipped cream like fluffy towels.

• Aimed for beachy guy

• The neck and abdomen marks act like gills.

Hello kitty chocolate opera cake | owned by AstronomyWitch

• Aimed for a cute princess vibe

• Ears, hair, and tail of cream w/ powdered sugar. Part of the hair is made of flat sheets of chocolate that's gold on the inside. Chocolate squares on bows

#gijinka #sweet #cute #kawaii #humanization #sanrio #dessert #kenonomimi #cake #hello kitty #hangyodon #my melody #pochacco #bad badtz maru #art #digital art #chibi #chibi art

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ceexb · 1 year ago

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Special gift

Pairing: Afab reader x Miguel O’Hara

Summary: You and Miguel settled down and decided to have a baby and Ever since you gave birth you couldn’t stop feeling self-conscious about your new mom body. Hours after putting your daughter down for bed Miguel called you into the bedroom for a surprise. You had ideas on what to expect.

Words:568

Drabble

Warnings: Suggestive, insecurities, Well-established relationship.

Miggy-Blue you-pink

Just a week ago, standing in the bathroom, he kissed your hand and told you that you deserved the world. You just let out a shy laugh and took your eyes off him, glancing quickly towards the mirror before peering back at him.Gazing at your reflection in the mirror, a grimace formed on your face. You look bloated. You sigh quietly, rolling your eyes. 'The after-effects of giving birth to our daughter, huh”? you mumble with a dry, sarcastic laugh.

A week later, a cozy, raining night. You kiss your daughter goodnight and walk into the bedroom with your nightly cup of wine, intent on washing away your stress against the rain.Miguel is smiling and giggling as he sits on the bed with a velvet box, pretty red bow wrapped snugly around it. ''What's this? you ask, your tone lighthearted and amused as you tuck the hair behind your ears.'”Just a little something special for mi diosa..' he grins. And your heart melts.

With no further questions asked, you tug at the shiny ribbon tie, opening the box to find a card from a high-end brand. Inside is a two-piece set of purple lingerie.The lingerie nightgown is tailored and trimmed perfectly to your size. It features mesh fabric, the intricate pattern of detailed flowers and black trims scattered along the bra straps and panties. The bra strap features a piercing golden round clip on both sides, and the bottoms are lined with black trims. You can't wait to try it on

The cherry on top was a black bow at the center. You lifted the set in awe of its beauty before hugging Miguel and kissing him.

“Mi Vida, (my life) are you gonna put it on ?”

Miguel caresses your shoulder, his head pressing in to leave tiny kisses in the crevice of your neck. 'I bought it just for you..to feel sexier,' he whispers, ''Try it on..please?"Miguel finds you to be beautiful, regardless of what you wear or don't wear. The lace against your skin, the way the delicate fabric hugs your curves.. Miguel's love is unconditional, and his words bring a soft smile to your lips.

Seeing you feeling insecure about your figure breaks his heart. He sees you every day, tending to your daughter, and him, you are the most beautiful woman in the world. "Honestamente, ni siquiera necesitas eso".(honestly you don't even need that)

You slipped off your pajamas, slid on the bottoms and top then adjusted the straps. “you look beautiful” he said As you did so, Miguel reached out to grab what was his, kissing all over you, clasping at any and every inch of skin that's within his reach. He is devoted to you, drinking in the sight of your body. He is yours alone.

You pull away, blushing as you try your best to be mindful and keep the sound to a minimum. In consideration for your daughter down the hall, waking her is like disturbing a beast.”Miguel, you're going to wake her up!”

He kisses your shoulder again, his lips traveling over the soft skin of your neck. 'No creo que pueda contenerme a mí mismo,' (I don't think I can contain myself) he murmurs lightly, and you can feel the heat of his breath against your neck. A sensation that sends shivers of desire up and down your spine.

“You just don't understand,huh?”

“You don’t understand how gorgeous you are.”

“I don’t think anyone with eyes and a brain would be able to keep their volume “at a minimum” with you around.”

#black fanfic writer #black writers #fanfic #therealcees blog #atsv fanfiction #atsv miguel #miguel x reader

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r0binxx11 · 2 years ago

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Attack on Titan Girl Headcanons !! <3

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1. What music music/artists would they listen to

Mikasa Ackerman: Mikasa would listen to Deftones definitely. I could also see her listening to calming love music as well. I think she would listen to Mascara or Sextape a lot by Deftones. She would also listen to Mitski a lot. Some songs she would like are ‘I Bet on Loosing Dogs’ or ‘I Want You’. She would also like some BLACKPINK or New Jeans!

Sasha Braus: I feel like Sasha would listen to anything really. Hyperpop and calm music. Maybe some 100geccs or Alex G and Vacations. A song i can see her listening to is ‘Until I Found You’ by Stephen Sanchez, idk why i just do. I can also see her listening to the ‘Changes’ album by Vacations.

Hange Zoe: Hange would listen to ABBA or just older rock music! I see her listening to ABBA’s ‘Voulez-Vous’ album. Hange could also be listening to Beach House or Mamamoo! One song i see her with is ‘HIP’ by Mamamoo. Hange wouldn’t be afraid to blast her music either!

Historia Reiss: I think Historia would listen to Taylor Swift. She would mostly listen to her pop rather than the country. I feel like she would have ‘1989’ as her favorite album as well. Another artist i see that fits her is Lana Del Ray. She would listen to ‘Ultraviolence’ album a lot.

Ymir: Ymir would be listening to Arctic Monkeys or some metal. I feel like she would really like listening to the ‘AM’ album. As for metal i don’t know why but i feel like she’d listen to Korn and Deftones. Ymir would also listen to anything as long as it’s not Country.

Annie Leonhart: Annie would listen to My Bloody Valentine or Yot Club or maybe even t.A.T.u. I feel like she’d definitely have this sort of music style like Alternative/Indie and she would generally like anything in that genre.

Pieck Finger: I can see Pieck listening to TV Girl. She would sing along to the songs a lot especially songs from the ‘Who Really Cares’ album. Pieck’s favorite genre is Indie Pop for sure. I also see her listening to Red Velvet.

Yelena: Yelena would listen to The Neighborhood or Crystal Castles. I could see her liking ‘Reflections’ by the Neighborhood and then ‘Suffocation’ or ‘Vanished’ by crystal castles. And then of COURSE i see her listening to ‘Babooshkaa’ by Kate Bush i mean that’s literally her anthem.

2. What style of clothing would they wear

Mikasa Ackerman: I know in the AU at the end of the manga shows her goth but apart of me sees her wearing grunge clothes or something like that. A specific outfit Mikasa would wear is baggy low waisted jeans with a grunge design on it and a studded belt and pocket chain, long sleeve stripped crop top with a v-neck and 2-3 necklaces. I can see her with black small hoop earrings with a spike hanging. I can see her with worn black vans as well.

Sasha Braus: Sasha would wear a sort of lazyish style. I see her with a white undershirt with a pop culture t-shirt over it and baggy ripped black jeans with regular worn converse. Sasha when she needs to get formal or fancy, i feel like she’d pull it off perfectly.

Hange Zoe: Hange would wear a little bit formal but not too much. Just a white button up that is buttoned to look like a v-neck, nice dress pants and blouse with a golden neck chain. Her shoes would just be comfortable black closed heels or flats! I can also see her wearing an expensive branded belt.

Historia Reiss: Historia would dress sort of white-girlish but i can also see her rocking the Lana Del Ray core. I see her wearing a pastel pink or blue crop top with bell bottom white jeans and berkinstocks. She would wear bandanas hair clips too! I also see her with a medium white dress and little bows in her hair.

Ymir: Ymir would either wear oversized clothes or tight clothes. For oversized, I can see an oversized black or white band or branded t-shirt with tan corduroys and vans high tops. For tight, Ymir would wear a dark small fitting t-shirt with tight ripped jeans and a big red or gray jacket with doc-martens. I don’t see her wearing jewelry except maybe rings.

Annie Leonhart: Annie would wear sweatshirts all the time with a jacket over it occasionally. I can see her with either regular nike shorts or just mid fitting jeans. I can also see cargo pants with all those buckles. I don’t see her wearing jewelry maybe just a bracelet or two. For shoes i see her wearing black worn boots.

Pieck Finger: Pieck would wear a lot of regular black tank tops with black bell bottom leggings and a jacket. I see her wearing beanies sometimes and black dresses. I can see her wearing colorblock star sneakers and/or wedged black heels.

Yelena: Yelena wouldn’t be too far off from her outfit she wears in the anime/manga. I can see a button up that’s buttoned to make a v-neck and rolled sleeves with black dress pants and dress shoes. She would have a Gucci belt and very nice rings as well. I can see her with suspenders or a black suit jacket. Again not too far off from the anime/show but i think that’s what she would wear.

3. How they would confess to you

Mikasa Ackerman: Mikasa would be very nervous and simply tell you when she feels the time is right. She would say something like “y/n, I have a crush on you” or something up front like that in a nervous tone.

Sasha Braus: Sasha would also be really nervous. I feel like she’d get red and just say it as it is. She would have it all planned out and she would pick a spot and have basically a script but she wouldn’t end up following through with the script and she’d let it out.

Hange Zoe: Hange would have it planned out as well. She would do it somewhere memorable like somewhere pretty or just somewhere you guys enjoy. She would look at you in the eyes trying to mask the nervousness and then just say it with confidence.

Historia Reiss: Historia doesnt like to confess first but if she really feels like she does she will. She would either get really nervous and do it over text or do it at the end of a hangout or something like that. She would look at the ground and kind of blush and say “I like you.” or something along the lines of that.

Ymir: Ymir would also just outright say it with confidence. Ymir would tell you exactly how she feels and more. She would do it in a private area and be very passionate when she tells you.

Annie Leonhart: Annie would blush a ton and give a montone voice when she tells you she likes you. Her anxious self would be very visible as well and adorable. She would do it at the end of a hangout as well.

Pieck Finger: I have a feeling for Pieck she would just say it when the time was right. She’d be a little anxious but not too much. She would smile and look at you and tell you how she feels.

Yelena: Yelena would say it super confidently and do it when you two are alone at one’s house. She wouldn’t show any signs of being nervous and she would keep good eye contact while confessing.

4. How they would react if somebody hurt you emotionally/verbally

Mikasa Ackerman: Mikasa would be enraged because all she wants is to protect you and nothing more. She would get involved immediately and make sure whatever happens doesn’t happen again. She would reassure you that it’ll be okay and it won’t happen again.

Sasha Braus: Sasha would try to figure it out calmly and after would try to cheer you up and make you smile/laugh. She would really be calm about it and be very good at cheering you up and helping you forget what happened.

Hange Zoe: Hange would be calm when you told her at first but then deal with it immediately. She would be very stern about it and also professional. She would try and help you afterwards by being by your side and doing whatever you needed in the moment.

Historia Reiss:

Ymir: Ymir would be pretty similar to Mikasa. She would make a couple threats and get furious. Even after she was done dealing with it it would piss her off for awhile. Ymir wouldn’t want anybody hurting you.

Annie Leonhart: Annie would stare at them and talk very sternly and try to intimidate the person. She wouldn’t know how to comfort you well but she would make an effort to and try to reassure you.

Pieck Finger: Pieck would be mad but she would try not to show it. She would try to defuse the situation and make peace. Afterwards she would try to cheer you up and a lot a lot of cuddling!

Yelena: Yelena would be very scary to the person who did it. She would make it clear that she isn’t playing around. She’s so tall that she would probably already intimidate the person. She would quickly tell them off though and make sure it never happens again. Afterwards, with a smile she would reassure you that it’s all gonna be better now.

5. Where they would take you on the first date

Mikasa Ackerman: Mikasa would go to an art museum. She would enjoy how peaceful it is and loved to analyze art. I feel like she wouldn’t handhold as much as first but eventually warm up to it. When the date is over you two would go get ice cream or a sweet treat.

Sasha Braus: Of course Sasha would go out to dinner. You two would go to a local place with a bunch of meat. After the date she would wanna go walk around a town by the sunset! She would love to hold your hand and by the end of the date she would give you a peck on the cheek.

Hange Zoe: Hange would take you out to go bowling or maybe an arcade or roller blading. It would have to be something fun and active. Afterwards she would take you home and make sure you got in okay. She would give you and hug at the end as well.

Historia Reiss: Historia would do a picnic date. She would bring some fruits and desserts such as strawberries, cherries, blueberries, watermelon etc., She would choose a pretty location in a park or maybe a clearing in the forest. Historia would put her head on your shoulder and hold hands a lot too. She loves the way your hand fits into hers.

Ymir: Ymir would probably take you to a theme park or something along the lines of that. She loves the thrills and she would of course hold your hand and make sure you felt comfortable at all times. When the date is over she would make sure you enjoyed yourself.

Annie Leonhart: Annie’s first date would be very chill. I can see her wanting a movie night at your house or hers. She would let you pick the movie and she would set up a fold out couch with blankets and pillows. She would love to cuddle a bunch.

Pieck Finger: Pieck would wanna go somewhere traditional like a Café. She would get a hot coffee and maybe a pastry with that. She would initiate all of the conversations and make sure to not make the date boring at any time.

Yelena: Yelena would either take you to a nice place to eat like a fancy restaurant or an expensive shopping mall. She would pay for the food and buy you a couple things at the mall. She would hold the bags for you and your hand at the same time. She would take you home and wait at the house until you got inside. Yelena would hug you at the end of the date and give a kiss if comfortable.

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Thank you so much for reading!!

Let me know any other suggestions if you have any! ^.^

#attack on titan #aot headcanons #mikasa ackerman #sasha braus #historia reiss #ymir fritz #hange zoë #annie leonhart #pieck finger #yelena aot #headcanons #anime #manga #aot imagines

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