#but it would look bomb over a dark lipstick

[ishikawayukis]

got a lip oil from tocobo and i am truly obsessed it looks so gooooood

[charliemwrites]

…. So Mister(s) steal your girl, huh?

Content: Unhappy Relationship, (Brief) Gaslighting, Sad Reader

Bombshells, you always thought, were supposed to making a whistling sound before landing. A high pitched warning of impending doom. Too late to escape the incoming devastation, but at least it wouldn’t come out of nowhere. There’d be some time to brace, for all the good it would do.

Maybe you watched too many movies.

Three months. That’s how long you got to enjoy the bliss of engagement before the world began to fall around you.

Your fiance came home and sat you down, his hand around yours. You thought he was breaking it off for some reason. What he did instead was worse.

In the aftermath you can only remember snippets of the one-sided conversation. Like tinnitus, an awful running in your ears left over from a dropped bomb.

Things like,

Still young, I want to explore…

How will I know you’re my forever unless I know what’s out there?

Last bit of freedom before being tied down…

If you love me and our relationship…

You love your fiance and your relationship. You don’t want to lose it just because you’re selfish. He’s still coming home to you, after all. You’re the one with the ring and all the plans for the future. So what if he wants to… explore? He’s even offering the same to you.

An open relationship, he calls it, like it’s some innovative idea.

You’ve heard of them before, never had much interest. Still don’t, honestly, but it was that or the desolution of 4 years.

You insisted on a long engagement. Your fiance promises that you two can revisit the open relationship when you’re married.

Within a week of agreeing, he’s leaves for the weekend. He doesn’t tell you where he’s going, who he’s meeting. He comes back Sunday evening smelling like someone else’s perfume with a hickey on his collarbone. When you refuse any advances, he sighs and says he “understands that this is a transition” and goes to shower.

It’s like that for six months. Weekends without him. Sometimes sending him off Friday morning and not seeing him until Monday evening. Lipstick on his collars, strange perfume invading the laundry. You start doing his clothes separately.

Six months. You spend months suffering in silence, sniffling through Saturdays and drifting through Sundays. Adjusting meal plans to cook for one.

The last straw is when you try to make plans on a holiday. You and your fiance haven’t done on a proper date in months. You want to go out, have all his attention on you, not shared with his phone.

“Ooh, sorry dear, I’ve already got plans with Malorie. Rain check, yeah? We’ll do something next week.”

You decide to go out anyway, sick of feeling sorry for yourself. Nothing fancy, just a bit of self care. You buy yourself a cute new outfit, put on a bit more makeup than usual, do your hair. Find an interesting little late night book shop. They serve wine and food and have comfy booths for people to read or talk or play board games.

The perfect place to be out but alone.

You’re debating the merits of a romance novel when a voice comes from your left.

“Love that one.”

You blink, glance up. Find a handsome man with eyes simultaneously so dark and so warm. Coals, you think. There’s a cheeky little quirk to his mouth as he nods at the novel.

“It’s good if you like will-they, won’t-they.”

You hum. “I’m more in the market for something… easier? If that makes sense.”

He hums, gives you a solemn look. “It does. Here, you might like this then.”

He plucks a book off the shelf and offers it for inspection. You feel awkward reading it the summary thoroughly, especially when you can feel his eyes on you. But you skim it, it looks promising, and a hot guy just suggested it, so…

“Read a lot of romance?” you ask curiously.

He ducks his head a bit, endearingly shy. “A bit, yeah. Call me hopeless.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, but can’t help saying. “I think it’s just romantic.”

His eyes light up. “Yeah? And what kind of books d’you usually like?”

Before you know it, you’re talking thrillers and horror novels with him. Recommending your favorite spooky novel and then following up that you always read a comedy afterwards as a palette cleanser.

You end up touring each other around the shop, talking books and authors and genres. Yet you’re somehow surprised when he asks if you’d like to sit with him. But you agree, a little thrill in your stomach that you haven’t felt since… a while.

You each buy a stack of books, then claim a booth and proceed to read none of them. He tells you his name is Kyle, that he’s in the military but on leave right now, stocking up on entertainment for flights or long spans of hurrying up and waiting.

You’ve never met a military guy before, and you trip over your curiosity. Trying not to pry but interested in what he does. He’s polite and patient, admitting there are a lot of things he can’t tell you but he’ll answer. You don’t stay on the subject long, figuring the last thing he wants to talk about it work.

He gets you back in the department of uncomfortable topics when he notices the ring on your finger. You’re quick to explain the situation, hot with shame all over again, eyes stinging despite yourself.

Instead of mocking you or just getting up and walking away, Kyle sits back looking flabbergasted.

“That’s fucking mental,” he says, “excuse me for saying.”

You burst into laughter. Haven’t told anyone any of this out of embarrassment, but hearing someone on your side is… good.

“I thought so too, but… he’s happy,” you admit.

Kyle frowns. “What about you?”

You blink, can’t look him in the eye. You know the answer but make a show of thinking about it.

“I’d… like to be again. This — the open relationship thing — seems to be working for him. So… maybe it’ll work for me too?” You shrug. “Worth a try.”

Kyle reaches across the table, a big warm hand enveloping yours. There are callouses you’re not expecting. Tantalizingly different.

“Would you like to try it with me?” he asks. “Don’t have to put a label on it or anything. But my schedule is a bit… it’s hard to keep up a traditional relationship, you know? But I like you, and I think your fiance is a knob.”

You snort, but flip your hand around, thumb brushing over his.

“Yeah…” you muse, and after saying it, a surge of confidence infuses you. “Yeah, I’d like to try this with you.”

His smile is absolutely brilliant. You won’t admit — not even to yourself for a long time — but you fall in love a little right then and there.

Next

Masterlist

[burningstar-light]

If I may, could I request HCs for Charlie, Cherri, Velvette, Rosie, Millie, & Verosika with their tendencies for giving lipstick kisses? How often, how many at a time, intentional or unintentional, etc.

(If all 6 are too many for one request, feel free to choose the ones you like most for this one)

Characters: Cherri, Velvette, Rosie and Verosika

Character category: Sinners, The vee's and Helluva citizens

Rating: Sfw 16+

Warnings: Kisses, pda

I will only write Charlie and Millie as a poly with their respective partners, if you wish to see this please send in another ask. <3 I hope you enjoy.

Cherri:

You never really know what's going to happen with Cherri around, she is explosive just as the bombs she loves so much.

She'll pull you into a hungry kiss, her dark red lipstick smearing all over your mouth, he laughs loudly as she pulls away.

Anytime she has a little alcohol in her system prepare to be covered in lipstick stains.

After she's down kissing your lips, she presses a few rough kisses to your face, your nose and cheeks get stained with her red colour.

It is 100% intentional, she loves seeing you covered in her cherry red marks.

Velvette:

The backbone of the Vee's hmm

She favors black, you look so nice with her dark kisses all over you.

She pulls you into one of the dressing rooms of her studio, her kisses are teasing and light.

She pepper's kisses all over you face and throat, her hands are on your hips, grinning against your skin at every smudge of lipstick she leaves on you.

She leaves 10-15 kisses to your skin every time, oh its intentional alright.

She wants to leave you weak in the knees after she's done, she'll swagger away, her hips swaying as she walks, leaving you slumped and sticky in the dressing room.

Rosie:

Intentional? Never, as much as she loves you, she would not feel right leaving you covered with her lipstick.

I believe that Rosie, despite her name favors a nice deep plum red colour.

As she is serving you a cup of tea, she will press a soft kiss to your cheek, she gasps softly and blushes a little as she realizes she left a smudge of lipstick on you cheek.

She will gently wipe away the kiss with a handkerchief.

If you ask her to leave more kisses on you, she will do so without a complaint, she'll press soft kisses to your cheeks and temples.

Verosika:

Verosika, our darling popstar succubus.

Prepare to be smothered in kisses, covered in sticky lipstick stains.

She will kiss you like she needs you to breathe, her mouth on yours leaving you breathless and your lips bruised.

She leaves kisses and bites all over your face, neck and chest, anywhere she can reach.

She will cover you in kisses all over you, no matter where you are or who you are around.

She will sit you on her lap or she she will have you sitting on her lap, her mouth will be smearing lipstick on your skin.

She will leave as many as you will let her, Her tail curls around you holding you close as she kisses you.

[ronearoundblindly]

https://www.tiktok.com/@yeuyeutp/video/7417104012320754977?_t=8pwVPUhpxbq&_r=1

I thought this is so cute! Which Cevans characters are letting you swatch your makeup on them? I can already tell with characters like Lloyd, he’s gonna be like ‘fuck that shit’ 😭😂 Ransom is gonna whine like he always does for sure ‘Why are you putting this sparkly shit on me 😡🤬’

Link here. Sorry this took so long, but I finally got the inspiration to answer this one while sifting through asks! Warning for an f-bomb or two. No, it was not avoidable. We shall call this the "Black Friday Shopping Edition" of Who Would...

James Mace

Honestly finds it all useless and dumb. Thinks you're beautiful without all this sh*t on your face. Abhors glitter and will riot if you get it on him at any time. Rants about all the plastic packaging and how it's bad for the environment.

Curtis Everett

He cannot believe the prices. Curtis is incapable of walking around the store without pointing out this $25 thing that's--turns tube over--"POINT FIVE FLUID OUNCES?! Honey, just no."

You strategically stand in front of the $45 products while nudging him out of the store. Come back alone or with a friend. Curtis is not your man for this.

Jimmy Dobyne

Fucking no. Not for the same reasons as Mace and Curtis though. Jimmy thinks you look magnificent when you do your makeup (he doesn't prefer it, mind, but he appreciates the final result) but has zero interest in knowing how the sausage is made. You go shop. You take your time in the bathroom or at the mirror. He isn't there for those stages.

Johnny Storm

Antsy. Fiddles around testing out the skin and haircare stuff for men. Bit obsessed with colognes. Needs to know you're opinion on what suits him. He will let you swatch on his hand and arm but will not necessary stay put while you make your decisions. Possibly spends more money than you sometimes. Definitely tries new products more than you do, not really searching for his favorite or the best, just like new and is a product whore.

Jake Jensen

Jake, my beloved, is fascinated by the various textures and tries to spot the super subtle color differences. He's always genuine about which things he prefers--hates sticky textures--and wants you to feel as lovely as he finds you all the time. Jake will even clean up his arm then start over to swatch your top choices beside each other, remembering which brand and colors they were. He is wildly amused by the names of lipsticks and nail polishes specifically. He kinda wants that job.

Lloyd Hansen

Loudly announces what will make you look whorish, the asshole. Everything is described as looking nice while you cry from how good he's fucking you or looking hot smeared on your face and his dick. Doesn't give a shit about price or whatever; he's not paying for it.

Ari Levinson

He's distracted but around. Follows you casually. Will answer questions and give his opinion when prompted. Has too much hair to swatch on him though. Will randomly put his arm around your shoulders, kiss your temple, and say "whatever you want." Insists on paying, even if his eyes bug-out momentarily.

Ransom Drysdale

You are correct: he will not allow sparkly shit on his person. In fact, he's too bored to stick around when it's not him shopping. Ran is extremely vocal and particular about what looks great on you and what's meh. Refuses to let you buy the meh things. I will say, he is deeply appreciative of the final result. Loves when you are all dolled up and beaming happy. Doesn't show it really, but he's smug as hell with you on his arm looking so fine...

Andy Barber

He has opinions, but he is not a palette. Andy throws a wary glance your way when he notices the prices or that there are several of the same type of product in your basket. There are very rare instances where he's goofy and in the mood to be playful with you, so Andy has been known to put a vivid or dark shade of lipstick on himself when you're turned away and then play it off until you notice. He thinks it's utterly hilarious to smear it on you with kisses in those moment. Adorable jerk...

Steve Rogers

Everything is a palette, and all the colors remind him of some sort of art. I mean, this guy thinks you are art. Steve can't help but imagine what you're thinking of wearing with the makeup, he knows complimentary colors and shading, and he's the best of most worlds in this scenario.

Bucky Barnes

Buck gets an enormous kick out of this, really leans into his preening, theatrical side. Swatch all over him, he doesn't care. Bucky also will gently help you apply makeup, cupping your chin in his hand while gliding that lip gloss you're interested over your bottom lip. He mimics pressing and pouting so you spread it around. I mean...I don't know how this guy makes everything both loving and sensual but goddamn do I believe he does.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Who Would... Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

[bits-and-babs]

Read them one by one and I came back with the one who screams Joel Miller the most to me. ☁️ + Joel Miller (pre or post outbreak is your call) + "There's no way I'm gonna let you wear that in public." "Why not?" "Cause it would be a shame to rip off such nice material in front of so many people."

"𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐧𝐨 𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐈'𝐦 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜." || "𝐖𝐡𝐲 𝐧𝐨𝐭?" || "𝐂𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐢𝐩 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐨𝐩𝐥𝐞."

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+. pre-outbreak (slightly out of character(?))Joel! Dry Humping, filthy talk, a hint of degradation

joel masterlist | main masterlist | follower celebration | taglist |

Delicately tracing your lip line with the bullet of your crimson lipstick, you paint the curves of your mouth a brilliant, bright red. The rest of your makeup litters the marble bathroom side, mascara tubes and bottles of perfume strewn around like a bomb has gone off. 

Dragging Joel to a fancy meal for your first anniversary together seemed like a perfect excuse to wear your fancy new slip dress. The silk hugs your body so effortlessly, gleaming under the harsh bathroom lights. The price tag had been hefty, and your eyes stung once you saw the amount plummet out of your bank account, but the way it looks on you makes it priceless. 

“There's no way I'm gonna let you wear that in public.”

Joel leans against the wooden frame of the bathroom door, dress-shirt clad arms crossed over his chest as he drags his eyes over your frame. You watch him in the mirror with a wicked smile, finishing up your lip paint. 

“Why not?” 

Pushing himself lazily from the door, Joel traces his hand up the outside of your thigh, pulling up the hem of the dress skirt to expose your scandalous panties that you’d worn specifically for this scenario - crotchless. 

Joel’s eyes flick up to catch yours in your reflection. Something dangerous glints through his pupils, adrenaline surging through you. 

“‘Cause it would be a shame to rip off such nice material in front of so many people.”

He suddenly shoves you, forcing you to drop your lipstick onto the counter and stop yourself by holding your body up against the mirror. Joel flips your skirt off, manhandling your hips so your pussy presses up against his half hard cock in his slacks. 

“So I won’t,” he muses, watching your eyes roll back and lashes flutter in the reflection. “You’re gonna ruin these trousers, and then you’re gonna clean them with your tongue. D’you hear?” 

“W-With you wearing them?” You stumble over your cheeky question as you rock your hips back onto him, no doubt smearing creamy slick against the black fabric. Joel groans, reaching forward to stuff your mouth full of his fingers. The red lipstick smears across your cheek, and his dark eyes watch your indecent display in the mirror. 

“Filthy slut.”

[darkenedroses-world]

Smudged Wings and Smoky Kisses — Smii7y x Reader

f!reader, makeup session, domestic chaos, goth!reader, fluff, request🦋

The soft glow of the vanity lights illuminated the room as you carefully arranged your makeup brushes, each tool like a weapon in your arsenal of goth glam. Jaren leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a curious smile tugging at his lips. “You know, I think I’d rock the whole goth vibe,” he teased, his eyes glinting with mischief. You raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Is that so?” “Absolutely,” he said, stepping closer. “But I also think I’d look better if you did my makeup. Fair trade: you let me do yours first.” You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You want to do my makeup? Do you even know what half of this stuff is for?” “Of course I do,” he said confidently, grabbing a random brush. “This one’s for… uh… painting your soul?” You snorted, swatting his hand away. “Fine, Jaren. But if you mess this up, I’m making you walk around like that all day.” “Deal.” He plopped down on the stool, his grin widening as he pulled you to sit on his lap. “Now, stay still. My artistic genius is about to shine.”

You watched with thinly veiled amusement as Jaren squinted at your eyeliner, his tongue peeking out in concentration. The liquid liner trembled in his grasp as he leaned closer, trying to draw a precise wing. “Hold still,” he mumbled, his brow furrowed. “I am still,” you teased. “You’re the one shaking like you’re diffusing a bomb.” “Hey, this is important!” he shot back, a laugh escaping him as he accidentally drew a small smudge. “Oops. Uh, I can fix that.” By the time he finished, your eyeliner wings were more like swoops, and your lipstick had smudged into what he called “a vampy, messy chic look.” “You look… goth as hell,” he declared proudly, handing you a mirror. You bit your lip to keep from laughing. “Goth raccoon, maybe.” “Hey!” he protested, pulling you back onto his lap. “Be nice. Now it’s your turn to make me beautiful.” Jaren sat obediently in the chair, his arms resting on his thighs as he watched you gather your tools. “Go easy on me,” he said, feigning nervousness.

“No promises,” you replied with a mischievous grin. “Close your eyes.” You started with foundation, blending it carefully over his skin. Jaren wrinkled his nose at the feeling, muttering something about “weird sponges.” When you reached for the eyeliner, he flinched dramatically. “Stop moving, you baby,” you chided, holding his chin steady. “This is scary!” he whined, though his lips curled into a smile. “I don’t know how you do this every day.” After a few minutes of intense focus, you stepped back to admire your work. Jaren now sported perfectly winged eyeliner, dark smoky eyeshadow, and a deep plum lipstick. “You look like you belong in a metal band,” you said, laughing as you handed him the mirror. Jaren’s eyes widened as he took in his reflection. “Holy shit. I look awesome.” “You’re welcome,” you said, crossing your arms smugly. He turned to you, his expression softening. “You know, you make this look effortless. But now I see how much work it is. You’re amazing.” A blush crept up your cheeks.

“It’s just makeup, Jaren.” “It’s not just makeup,” he said, pulling you closer. “It’s you. And you’re perfect.” The rest of the evening was spent laughing and taking pictures of Jaren’s goth transformation. At one point, he even grabbed a leather jacket and posed dramatically for the camera. “You know,” he said later, wiping off the makeup but leaving the eyeliner, “I kinda like this look. Might keep it for a stream and turn on face cam.” “Oh, the internet would love that,” you teased. Jaren grinned, pulling you into his lap again. “As long as you’re there to fix it, I’m down.” And just like that, your quiet night turned into another chaotic adventure, full of laughter, love, and a newfound appreciation for each other’s world.

[birdiewrites78]

Dangerous Desires: Chapter One

This is Chapter One of a multipart series. The story includes violence inspired by Criminal Minds and touches on sensitive topics such as domestic violence, racism, and misogyny. If any of these topics make you uncomfortable, please refrain from reading. This chapter only briefly mentions racism, and each chapter will have specific warnings. Thank you for reading, and feel free to provide any feedback through my inbox.

This Chapter is dedicated to Isis because without her I would have never had the courage to finish writing. 

August 1, 2005, 6:03 am, Woodbridge, Virginia 

Natalie was out on what was shaping out to be the hottest day of the year; she would much rather be in bed trying to forget her nightmares or even in the living room that had air conditioning watching South Park Reruns. But dogs don't care about your feelings; they only want to go outside. So Natalie was watching over her small Yorkie, and as she used the bathroom, the sun was coming out in the distance. Once Bella was finished, the pair walked back to their townhouse. The small dog was clearly in a good mood, wagging her tail and sticking her dog out; the same couldn't be said for Natalie. Today was her first day at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. She wasn't a profiler or anything important like that; she was just the media liaison who was tasked with making sure that more people joined the BAU because many agents were lost six months ago in the bombings.

Natalie mindlessly walked, occasionally checking around her to make sure she wasn't being followed. As she was about to reach her townhouse, something drew her attention. She must have missed it earlier as the sun hadn't fully risen, but she could see it now that her neighbor had grown tulips. The pink blubs had fully matured and were undoubtedly beautiful. It had been a long time since she had seen tulips, and her day got a little better.

The rest of her morning consisted of changing into her work outfit, which was a white button-up with a white t-shirt underneath. Her pants were black slacks and a black suit jacket. Natalie searched through the jewelry box to find her pearls. Natalie didn't grow up rich; she was far from it, but her mother saved up to give Natalie pearls as a gift when she turned eighteen. Natalie blinked away the tears in her eyes and put on the matching earrings and necklace set. The rest of Bella’s morning consisted of getting Bella food and making herself some coffee and toast. After finishing up her breakfast, Natalie went to the powder room to check her appearance. She entered the small bathroom and averted her attention to the mirror. Natalie had inherited her father's darker skin and often had to hear negative comments about her complexion, so she became good at pretending that the comments did not bother her.

She studied her reflection, looking for any glaring flaws in it. She just saw her soft, doe-like, dark brown eyes, which were covered in dark brown eyeshadow. She made sure to check that her false lashes were on properly, next to her thin, arched brows, scanning for any extra hairs that were out of place. She checked her lipstick next; her lips were in the shape of a cupid's bow, and the lipstick color was a combination of blush pink in the center with a dark brown lining her lips. She smoothed down her long, pin-straight hair and made sure that none of her tracks were showing. The final thing she did was adjust her pink broach, which was in the shape of a ribbon.

The commute to work was dull. Natalie didn't bother to turn on the radio; she just listened to the sounds of the outside world. She slowly watched her surroundings change from the dense greenery to the industrial compound of the FBI’s headquarters. After going through security and getting her badge, Natalie made her way to the elevator. She was nervous but she couldn't let that show, she took a deep breath and started to pretend. She strutted into the hallway from the elevator, her So Kates making a small click on the white carpet floor with every step she took. Her steps were graceful but purposeful; she exuded confidence everywhere that she went. Her eyes were drawn to the receptionist's table, and she continued walking up to it, stepping carefully on the now-light beige carpeted floors. There was an older black woman with short black hair working the desk; she had smiled lines edged into her face; there were also semi-recently dark circles under her eyes. The receptionist looked up at the woman coming towards her, smiling brightly at her.

“Can I help you, dear?” The receptionist questioned the young woman.

Natalie  took a deep breath before she started, "Hello, ma'am, I'm here to see Agent Hotchner.”

The receptionist turned to her computer, and the younger woman presumed to have confirmed that Agent Hotchner had scheduled meetings.

Looking up from the computer screen, the receptionist asked, “What's your name?"

Natalie always dreaded this question because of the temptation to say the wrong name.

She cleared her throat and continued, “Natalie, Natalie Price, Miss, I am the new media liaison."

The woman smiled at Natalie and chimed, "Yes, Ms. Price, welcome to the behavioral analysis department; I’ll show you over to your desk, and Diane is just fine."

Natalie often felt that she had a resting frown, which often made her appear unfriendly, so she tried to smile frequently to overcome this barrier.

Natalie spoke up as Diane started getting up. ''Thank you, Diane. I'm excited to be here, and you can just call me Natalie.”

Diane grinned at Natalie's words; she fully stood up and ushed for Natalie to follow her. Natalie grabbed her light pink rolling bag and walked behind Diane through the large office. The thing that stood out to her was just how empty the office was despite this; the office was beautiful and definitely, the nicest Natalie had ever seen. It was covered in floor-to-ceiling windows, surrounded by metal desks with wooden tops. The walls that didn't have windows displayed old certificates and awards that the BAU won.

The agents that were there had piles of documents on top of their desks mixed in with empty coffee mugs. Except for the clicking of keyboards, the sound of pens writing on the paper, and the turning of pages of reports, the office was silent. Natalie noticed how the walls were a mixture of concrete and dark blue paint; there was an intricate pattern on the ceiling, with overhead beams that stuck out from the ceiling.

When Natalie finally reached her desk, what drew her attention next were the stairs with an attached metal railing. There was an imposing room on the second floor that was also covered in large windows. Natalie couldn't look into the windows, though, because of the large blinds covering it. Diane spoke again, which made Natalie slap out of her thoughts.

“Here is your desk, honey; once you get settled, just go up to the conference room up those stairs, and to the left, you’ll meet the team along with Agent Hotchner there.”

Natalie looked at her desk; it was the same as all of the others except for the fruit sitting on top of it. Natalie froze when she saw a note attached to it, and she felt panic surge through her.

Diane must have noticed Natalie's unease because she spoke again: 'You're not allergic to fruit, are you? Oh boy, I’ll get this cleared away. Sorry about that, dear.”

Natalie visibly relaxed at the revelation; she told herself that just to try to relax, he wouldn't find her again.

Natalie began to speak before Diane left. “No, I’m not; I just am not the best with surprises, but thank you, Diane; it's lovely.”

Natalie finished, trying her best to smile back at Diane. She knew she probably came off weird, but if Diane was thinking that her face didn't give it away,

“Well, I’m glad you like it. I should probably get back to the desk. Let me know if you need anything else, dear.” Diane concluded as she started to walk away.

“Wait, Diane, I just have one more question: whose office is that?” She asked while pointing to the large office on the second floor.

"Oh, that's Agent Hotchner’s office. He is finishing a call, but he will meet you in the conference room.” Diane replied.

“Oh, thank you,” Natalie responded, watching as Diane made her way back to her desk.

Natalie sat on her swivel chair and started to unpack her rolling bag. She made a mental note to get Diane a gift card as a thank you, maybe for a spa. She took out of her rolling bag what she needed most: her black Fendi spy bag, her silver laptop, and her planner with a pink pen attached. She reached inside her Fendi to pull out her silver compact. She opened it and looked at her reflection. She took one last look, smiled at herself, satisfied enough with her appearance, and shut her compact, putting it back in her purse. She moved her rolling back under her desk, then gathered up the things she put out on her desk, putting them under her right arm. She walked to the stairs, holding onto the railing, and took a deep breath before proceeding up them.

She walked to the left, just as Diane told her, and opened the first door that she saw. Unlike the rest of the office, this room didn't have windows in it. Natalie mumbled to herself a small mantra before she opened the door: “Don't let anyone make you feel inferior; you deserve to be here.” She opened the door and was greeted by a room filled with six people sitting around a circular table. They immediately looked up at her, in confusion, and said, “Hello, I'm Natalie Price, the new media liaison for the BAU.” She announced it to the group. She noticed a black man with a buzz cut and a goatee dressed in casual clothing smirking at her. He spoke up first. “Welcome to the team Price, we go back by last names for the most part here, I’m Morgan, that's Reid,” he said, motioning to a young man with brown hair touching his neck with one side tucked behind his hair. He briefly looked up at Natalie and gave a quick half-smile.

Morgan then motioned to a young white woman with long blond hair. “This is-"

The blonde woman interrupted, introducing herself: “I’m Agent Jennifer Jareau; you can call me JJ. I was the previous media liaison, so let me know if you need anything.” Natalie smiled at her, feeling a little more comfortable knowing that the previous media liaison was still working there. Morgan simply smirked and started again. “Would anyone else like to introduce themselves?” He asked for the room, but no one else spoke up. So he decided to continue. “This is Prentiss,” he said, motioning to a white woman with dark brown hair and bangs cut. Prentiss looked at Natalie and smiled at her. "Finally, last but not least, this is Agent Gideon.” Morgan finished pointing at an older white man in the corner with short brown hair that had sprinkles of gray; he wore a striped button-down shirt and black slacks. Agent Gideon looked up from staring at the small window overlooking the scenery outside to greet Natalie with a half smile.

Morgan sighed at Gideon's actions and muttered something under his breath. Natalie could sense a little bit of tension between the two. She decided to speak up again to clear the air. “It is nice to meet all of you; I am excited to..." Natalie’s sentence was interrupted by the sound of the door opening. In walked a white middle-aged man who had shorter brown hair, with pieces of it falling onto his face. It reminded Natalie of Leonardo Dicaprio’s hair in The Titanic. He had dark brown eyes that seemed to pierce into her soul. Natalie knew she would be working with profilers, but it never occurred to her that they would try to profile her. His face had a mixture of frown lines and wrinkles in his temple, and Natalie also noticed a beauty mark on his cheek. Natalie had only experienced what could be described as love at first sight; she couldn't deny what she felt when she looked at the man; her heart started to beat quickly, time came to a stop, and she froze for a few minutes just staring at him. He was so handsome that it hurt, she thought.

Aaron was having similar thoughts. He couldn't look away because Natalie was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. She took his breath away and scrambled his brain. He was undeniably attracted to her, which terrified him because he had never felt this way. Sure, he had loved his ex-wife and felt an intense attraction when he met her as a teenager, but he had never felt anything quite like this. The man felt an urge to know everything about her and do anything for her. He had read about sirens in Greek mythology using their songs and looks to lure sailors into their untimely deaths, and he felt the same way about the woman. He wanted to do anything for her already, and he started to profile her. His thoughts were interrupted, however, by Morgan smirking and speaking up again. “Hotch, didn’t you say that we had a case?”

Aaron reluctantly tore his eyes away from the woman and looked at the team, who all had knowing smiles on their faces.

Aaron spoke in a commanding tone, “Yes, we do, and it's time-sensitive, so we should get started."

He paused before starting again because he would have to look at the woman again. “And you are?” He asked, looking back at the woman.

“I am Natalie Price, the new media liaison; I just transferred from Narcotics,” Natalie responded not looking into his eyes.

"Right, well, I'm SSA Agent Aaron Hotchner, but you can call me Hotch.” He paused. Normally,  he would reach out to shake someone's hand, but he feared that he would turn into a lovestruck teenage boy if he touched Natalie.

He felt frustrated by the hold Natalie already had on him, so he decided to be an asshole as he continued, “Truth be told, I'm not completely convinced that we need a new media liaison quite so soon.”

Natalie looked up to face Hotch with a condescending smile; she didn't appreciate him questioning if she was needed.

"Duly noted… anywhere in particular that I should sit?” Natalie quickly responded.

Natalie felt better that he was rude; it would be easier to ignore her feelings if he were.

Throughout his life, Aaron has often been described as serious. If his team had to choose one word to describe him, it would be "serious." They would also acknowledge that he was good at his job, but Hotch, as he was known, often felt like that was all he had. He was an absent father and an absent husband, and his frown seemed to be his constant companion. Despite this, Aaron had grown accustomed to his busy schedule and his role as a team leader. 

But for the first time in his life, he was speechless, Natalie did not seem afraid of him, and the monotony of his life quickly changed.

He responded slowly, trying to collect himself. “No, anywhere is fine; welcome to the team you are about to witness your first case.” He responded.

 He pushed his thoughts aside and decided to focus on a woman's life at stake, and as the boss, he had to remain professional. He cleared his throat before starting up the projector and directing everyone’s attention to the large screen in the office.

He started speaking. “Today’s Case is in Seattle, Washington. Before twenty-three-year-old Heather Woodland left for lunch, she downloaded an image with a time-delay virus attached; it left this image on the screen.” Hotch paused, pressing the clicker to show the next image.

The text read, “For heaven's sake, catch me before I kill again," repeated several times. Natalie felt a little sick. “At most, we suspect this woman will have about thirty-six hours to live, wheels up in 30.” Hotch finished his thought. The team grabbed the files sitting on the conference table and headed off to get their bags.

Natalie headed back to her desk, and with her stuff in her arm, she realized that her desk was close to Morgan and Reid’s. She grabbed her pink rolling bag. She was glad she decided to pack a week's worth of clothes, along with all of the toiletries and her medication, last night. She opened her flip phone and sent off a quick message.

Natalie: "I will be gone for about three days; please take care of Bella and don't burn the house down."

She felt bad about leaving Maria and Bella because they had rarely been apart for that long, but she knew what this job required when she took it. Natalie felt a ping in her hand, so she looked down to read it.

Maria: "Will you take care of the dog? I can't promise I won't burn the house down. You have renter's insurance, right?”

Natalie smiled. She felt lucky to have her best friend Maria in her life; she always managed to make Natalie smile even on her darkest days and was the one person she could never get tired of.

Natalie: “Yes, I have renters insurance, Maria, but if I come home to a burned-down house, I'm busting the windows out of your car."

Natalie laughed at her message and then put her phone, along with the things she took to the conference room, in her rolling suitcase.

Morgan must have noticed her smile from her texting Maria because he smirked as he spoke up, “Message from your boyfriend?'

Natalie looked up at him; he couldn't tell if he was curious or was trying to flirt with her. "No,” she stated, pulling her bag off of the desk and wheeling it.

"But you didn't deny you had a boyfriend.” Morgan inquired, and Reid spoke up next: “I’m sorry about him, Natalie; he was dropped on his head as a baby."

This made Natalie laugh as she replied to Reid, “Thank you, Reid, and no, I don't have a boyfriend, Morgan."

Natalie started to walk off in the direction of JJ and Prentiss, where she hoped to find the direction of the plane. Natalie was feeling anxious about flying; she had only flown once in her life, and she hated it. She thought maybe this could be a sort of exposure therapy for her. She went outside to the small runway, and as she walked on the concrete, she was happy at the sound her heels made. Natalie pulled her rolling back until she reached the outside of the large white plane. “This is it,” she thought. She pushed down the handle of the rolling bag and carried it like a regular bag; it was heavy, but luckily, her time in retail and dance made her strong and muscular. 

She touched the outside of the plane as she walked up the stairs, being careful not to fall, especially not on her first day. Natalie looked around the plane; it was glamorous, and JJ and Prentiss were already seated next to each other towards the front of the plane. The seats were plush and made out of leather, with ample leg room, and there was a beige curtain hanging leading off to the back area.

Natalie also noticed a large couch placed near the cockpit; she mentally thought about the taxpayer money that bought that. Natalie moved to the back, right by the curtain, opting to sit close to the aisle, away from the window. Natalie opened her rolling bag this time, taking out her laptop and her iPod; luckily, she made sure to charge them last night. She put in her headphones and put on one of her favorite albums, I Brought You Bullets, You Brought Your Love, by My Chemical Romance. 

She had somewhat of a scene phase back in 2002 when the album first came out; it helped her through losing her mother, so it became a comfort to listen to her. Derek and Reid filed into the plane, laughing to themselves about something; they sat towards the middle; Gideon came in next and sat towards the front; and finally, Agent Hotchner entered the plane. 

Natalie looked up for a brief moment and then went back to her computer screen. She couldn't handle looking at him at the moment. Agent Hotchner sat across from Natalie, which made her wonder if she accidentally stole his seat.

After that, the plane ride was mostly uneventful. Natalie kept to herself and started working on outreach to encourage people to work for the BAU. It used to be one of the biggest departments until the bombings that occurred six months ago. Natalie didn't know much about exactly what happened; she was on a need-to-know basis with Agent Strauss. There were discussions about the case, and the team bounced around theories about the profile. Natalie wrote down what was essential, but the rest she left to the profilers. Aaron looked at Natalie a few times and wondered what she was listening to, but after his comment, he felt like he had made a bad impression, so he didn't ask. Eventually, the plane started to land, which caused Natalie to grip the armrests. She hated this part the most.

The plane descended smoothly, however, and Natalie scooted over to the window in amazement. She was in Seattle for the first time. Despite the nearly 6-hour plane ride, there was still light outside because of the time difference, which was good for the case. Natalie put her things back in her rolling suitcase and followed after JJ as they walked off the plane. They were going to have to split up to be the most effective with the small amount of time they had to find Heather. Natalie was assigned to ride with Hotch, Reid, and Gideon to get a profile for the suspect, while the others were going to talk to Heather's family. Natalie followed the others to one of the black SUVs waiting for them. Natalie felt nervous that it would be her first press conference, and while it had been years since the last incident, she wanted things to go differently this time.

They pilled into the SUV, with Natalie and Spencer sitting in the backseats while Gideon and Agent Hotchner took the front. Hotch drove, and Natalie noticed a few times when their eyes met as he looked into the internal rearview mirror. Natalie decided to look out the window to take in Seattle; naturally, she wished that she was here under happier circumstances. Natalie couldn't get over how beautiful Seattle was. Natalie especially appreciated all of the greenery; her mother had instilled a love of gardening in her at a young age, and since none of her other siblings were interested in it, eventually it became their thing. Eventually, they reached the Northwest Field Office; the building was large and imposing and covered in windows. Natalie followed Reid out of the car and into the building. He held the door and genuinely seemed surprised when Natalie said thank you, probably because no one else did.

After they went through security, Natalie trekked through the halls to reach their office. Natalie was surprised when Gideon corrected Agent Hotchner to say that Reid was a doctor; she figured he was intelligent, but it made her have even more questions. When it was time for her to be introduced, Hotch avoided her eyes and simply stated, “This is Natalie Price, the media liaison for the BAU.” Natalie gave a small wave paired with a smile. What shocked her, though, was Agent Hotchner's dry sense of humor. While she wasn't a profiler, she could already tell from his frown lines that he didn't often joke. They went over the profile. Natalie made sure to write down the key details on her laptop. She was impressed by how quickly they figured out the profile, and she had a million questions she wanted to ask about how they figured it out so fast.

After delivering the profile, Natalie had a million questions she wanted to ask, but they had to leave. Natalie scurried out first after packing up her laptop behind the men, following them back into the SUV. She started to get nervous because it started to sink in her head that she was going to be on national television and be hounded by reporters. She used to be a reporter, so she knew firsthand how vicious they could be. Even though the team already had a few leads on the suspect, they needed to come together to discuss what everyone had found before they tried to narrow it down. Natalie decided to get her mind off of her anxiety and tried to strike up a conversation with Spencer. "Reid, how old are you?”

She questioned him, turning to him in the car. Agent Hotchner gave out a dry chuckle at Natalie's boldness. Maybe someone who didn't know Natalie well would think she was making a poor attempt at flirting. However, Natalie was very inquisitive and enjoyed learning about other people, and while objectively Reid was attractive, Natalie wasn't that interested in dating, and she preferred older men anyway.

Spencer smiled at Natalie's question. “I’m 23;  how old are you? And that is certainly an interesting question to ask.

Natalie gave a half smile at that. “23? I thought you just had a baby face or something and you were secretly like, How are you a  doctor?" Natalie skipped over his questions; she needed answers now.

Spencer laughed at this. “I suppose I am technically a genius; I have an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187, and I noticed you didn't answer my other question."

Natalie smiled again, looking back at Spencer. “I’m 25, but I turn 26 in a few months, and I'm sorry for asking so many questions, but I think that you are amazing."

Natalie responded to Spencer, and he in turn gave a genuine smile. Spencer could tell already that Natalie was very kind; of course, Morgan was his best friend, but secretly he knew that everyone would get tired of his random factoids and his tendency to ramble. But Natalie made him genuinely feel appreciated, and that meant a lot to him. There was no denying that she was beautiful, but he honestly felt a sibling connection to her, and he gathered she felt the same. Reid also gathered how Hotch gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, and his frown got a little bigger while Natalie said that he was amazing.

Reid smiled to himself at how his normally stoic boss was slowly becoming attached to Natalie. Natalie and Reid continued to talk until they reached a small white courthouse. There was already press swarming the area; Seattle was considered one of the safest places to live, so naturally, the deaths of four young women plus the kidnapping of Heather Woodland gained the attention of every news outlet. Police officers had to escort the team up the white marble stairs to the podium and microphone set up for Natalie. Her hands started to sweat, and her anxiety started to kick in. Natalie took a deep breath and took out her notepad from her computer. She touched her pin, which calmed her down. 

It almost felt like a touch from her mother, which made her more confident. The press swarmed her, which caused the officers to have to tell them multiple times to stand back. Aaron helped them control the press, which made her feel a little bit better as well. Some of the reporters gave her weird looks; she knew that they were probably used to seeing JJ, and they were naturally going to be tougher on a black woman, so she mentally prepared herself for any misogyny.

Natalie approached the podium, tapping the microphone to make sure it was on. She cleared her throat and started to speak, "Hello, I am Natalie Price, the New Media Liaison for the Behavioral Analysis Unit for the FBI. We are here to give the public some information on the suspended suspect and general safety advice for the women of Seattle watching.”

Natalie took a deep breath and continued, “We are looking for a white male in his late 20s, someone who could most likely blend into any crowd. This perpetrator is highly intelligent and most likely has a previous history with law enforcement. We believe that the suspect drives a Jeep Cherokee with tinted windows. Finally, we believe the suspect will mostly try to insert themselves into the investigation. If you have any tips for the FBI, please report them to Crime Stoppers, which you can do anonymously. And for the women of Seattle, we recommend reporting any suspicious activity, going out in groups for the time being, and being alert to your surroundings at all times.” Natalie took another breath. “That is all at this time, and we will not be taking questions."

Natalie finished. She stepped away from the podium, proud of her delivery, and walked to be escorted back to the SUV. The reporters naturally followed, asking a series of questions: “Does the FBI have any leads?” One woman asked, “Do you believe Heather Woodland is still alive?” Someone else shouted, as Natalie reached the car an older white man, with silver hair yelled out “Another Colored Person Taking away the jobs of white people. What's going to be next for an all-colored FBI team?”

Natalie just slammed the car door, she was seething she had felt so proud of herself but it was now tainted by some racist prick. But she refused to let her new co-workers see her cry. Hotch glanced at Natalie; he was going to speak up, but Gideon said something first: “Don't let that asshole ruin your day, Price. You did a great job."

Natalie gave a half smile at Gideon. “Thank you, Agent Gideon; I won’t.” Reid chimed up next, "I'm sorry that you had to deal with that.” Natalie appreciated how the team was trying to comfort her “It’s okay Reid, I’m used to it.”

 Reid frowned at that “But you shouldn't be, that wasn't okay.” 

Hotch chimed in. “No, it was not. I will make sure he is banned from all future press conferences when we get back to Quantico; you have my word.” 

He looked over again to Natalie, who was a bit surprised but ultimately grateful. “Thank you, Agent Hotchner.” He gave a head nod to Natalie. She decided to just look out of the window again until they reached a police station, where the other agents were waiting. JJ approached her first once she stepped out of the car. “Price, Congratulations on your first Press conference you did amazing.” Natalie smiled at JJ and responded, “Thank you, JJ; that means a lot."

JJ gave a quick smile back as the rest of the agents cross-referenced the list of suspects compared to the profile they had developed. Eventually, the team narrowed the suspect list to one person, Richard Slessman, and started to discuss the best course of action. “I can call over the SWAT team; they will most likely be ready by nightfall, and considering that Slessman lives with his family, hopefully, that means he won't put up a lot of resistance.” Hotch declared.

Natalie panicked at that thought. She suddenly spoke up, “No, you can't raid the house if children live there.” She realized speaking up so boldly on her first day wasn't the best move, and it aggravated Agent Hotchner. 

“Need I remind you Price, that you are not a profiler but simply the Media liaison, therefore you have no stake in this conversation.” Agent Hotchner harshly responded, Natalie was glad he was an asshole it made it easy to overlook whatever feelings she thought she may have had for him.

 Prentiss spoke up for her though “Hotch, there is no need to speak to Natalie that way, did you have a suggestion Price?” Natalie appreciated the girls on this team, she genuinely hoped they would become friends now.

 “Yes, I do, and while I may be the media liaison Agent Hotchner I would like to remind you that I came from Narcotics and, therefore have useful knowledge on raids.” She paused taking a second to think and then she continued “I suggest you lure him out, that way the children aren't traumatized and we avoid a repeat of WACO” Natalie looked into his eyes when saying this.

 She was pissed by how she was treating her but she couldn't deny how her heart skipped when she looked at him.

 “Very Well.” Agent Hotchner responded he was staring at her again with his jaw clenched. 

Natalie was right in her original assessment, this morning, it was a miserable day, and it was going to be a miserable year.

[mapplesand]

For the oc ask: 💄, 🐞, 🌹 :D

thanks for the ask ! :D

💄 (lipstick) - What does your oc think of their face? Do they have a positive or negative opinion? Do they wear makeup? Do they have a skincare routine? What traits do they like most about their face?

Marco hates his body as a whole and avoids mirror because he knows all he's gonna see are the bags under his eyes and his acne that keeps getting worse everytime he looks at himself, it's not like he does anything about all that because he doesn't take care of himself but he still very much dislike what he has to see (for him he doesn't have any good part of his body)

so no this teenage boy doesn't have a skincare routine, he doesn't even shower, his skin is probably greasy af (and he stinks)

Tristan never really care how he looked, he's like "heh could be better but could be worse", he doesn't take care of himself either so he got acne and just overall redness on his face (you know, those white people who literally turn red, that's him) also I do believe Tristan would put black under his eyes like emos band from 2008 (idk how it's called lol), also Tristan likes his nose because it's a family trait and he likes the fact that he can pinpoint from who he got what trait

Josh is the most clean of them all, actually he puts a lots of effort in his appearance and use skincare for his acne, he shaves his face so he doesn't have a weird stubble, like yeah he's all good (up until he's not) he thinks he's an attractive guy, average but he's got confidence

Tyler doesn't care how he looks like either, he probably doesn't even try to shave and grows this weird mustache teen boys have sometimes, he's greasy, skin, hair, just greasy, he skips showers a lot because he doesnt think about it and think it's not mandatory

i think Tyler got naturally dark eyelids so it looks like he's either wearing makeup or got beat up, also Tyler like his hait because he can dye it (it wasnt supposed to be green but he ends up liking it)

🐞 (ladybug) - What does a perfect day look like for your oc? What do they do? Who do they see?

Marco got two perfect kind of day in mind : one that he can spend with Tristan doing dumb shit, either going to their secret hideout in the junkyard where he can shoot bottle or staying in his room watching movies and making out and his other alternative if Tristan isn't there is being left alone, eating chips in his bed, playing video games and jerking off, you can't really take that out of him

Tristan likes quiet days where he listens to music and play the guitar, he would probably like that and having Marco over, not doing anything in particular, just enjoying each others company and doing silly things

Josh on the others hand would be out of his way to be outside, going out with friends, eating junkfood, going bowling and then spending the night drinking alcohol

If Tyler could, then he would physically spend the day with Carmen and they would be in his garage-room building bombs, and then halfway through Carmen would pretend she's tired and they would just chill while drinking soda or beers, maybe he'll let his sister in so she can be part of everything even if she's 7

but if he can't have Carmen be there then he would just be in vc with her for like 6 hours straight and doing whatever while on the phone with her (and she would have to witness everything he does because if he doesnt put his phone down then it's in his pocket)

🌹 (rose) - What does your oc find attractive in other people? Are these traits found in their friends and/or romantic partners? Are they found in themselves?

Marco loves girls with big boobs, he grows to like more alternative girls too but it's always the same type, think "big titty gf" and that's what he likes in women, the thing is that he's with Tristan the skinniest man alive

also his type of man is "action guys from 90s movies" and also some twink i guess (Tristan), the only thing he has in common with what he find attractive are big boobs lol....

Tristan likes chubby men, he didn't realized he had a clear type before meeting Marco and Marco pointing out that every artist he follows on twitter are drawing exactly that, he also likes men with long hairs like Eddie Munson from Stranger Things or Kurt Cobain or nerds (think Sunburst from MLP or Milo from Atlantis), Marco is exactly his type like, i'm not joking they're a perfect match (and the only trait he shares with the men he likes is long hair)

Josh isn't very picky with girls, he does note that he likes bigger girls and that Brian makes fun of him for that, well in the end he does have a strange relationship with Tyler who isn't a girl but is definitely fat (and he barely has anything in common with people he's attracted to)

Tyler is a complicated one because he rationalize things way too much and doesn't have his own vision of attractivness, he tends to be like "objectively, she is attractive" rather than giving his own opinion, to him everyone is kind of the same but he finds himself drawn to people with quirks that make them stand out, but he does it more with an artist vision than a "he wanna make out with them" vision

he thinks Josh doesnt stand out because he's an average american white boy with no characteristics and who looks like he's too "polished", he does take more interest in him when Josh stops putting effort in looking good

questions can be found here

[t1meslayer]

A ZeLink Trio, Just for You <3

Been working on a series of ZeLink stories set between the events of Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom, and I'm really happy with how things are going! It's episodic, so each piece has a pretty different flavor depending on whatcha might be interested in - the through-line being these Hylian goobers getting more of the personal time that they deserve.

If you're interested in checking out the whole series, please enjoy:

There's plenty to look forward to as I continue bashing my head against Tears' endless well of content. But if you need more convincing, perhaps in the form of some story samples, would you care to... Descend into the depths with me?

Coping - A more mature opening act, "Coping" explores some of the hard emotions of being ripped from one's regular life and flung 100 years into the future. Link and Zelda have yet to get over the loss of their friends, or any lingering regrets around their short time together. Luckily, they still have one another to lean on.

Zelda sniffles, and turns her head to rub her nose against her grounded arm.

"But you know what's really helped me through it?" She asks with a more nasally tone as her nose is buried.

Link's expression softens as Zelda looks up to meet his gaze. She manages to pull a smile through the pain that tugs down her whole face.

"Knowing there's one other person who truly understands how I feel." Her hand desperately grasps for his under the covers, and Link weaves their fingers together. Zelda's smile grows. "Someone who I know I can learn to cope through all these awful feelings with. Together."

Link nods. "Together."

===

Royal Tea - The first thing I did in Tears of the Kingdom was run to Gerudo Town so I could see what Riju was doing with those swords. I was not disappointed. Decided to write a piece playing up some more of older brother/younger sister vibes I feel like Link and Riju would have developed up over the years - as well as canonize a few glaring omissions.

All three pairs of eyes are drawn to the guest as her clanking golden heels cross the threshold, passing from sunlight which paints Gerudo Highlands in a shimmering heat wave to the warm orange glow of candlelight bouncing off plaster walls and natural rock. Buliara carries a rugged stone tray with a gilded rim.

"He is the only voe to step foot in this room over the last century." Buliara's heavy contralto voice perfectly fits her seven-foot tree trunk of a frame, though it noticeable clashes with the baby-blue shade of her lipstick.

"Or was, as the case may be."

Link offers an apologetic wave as the captain of the guard, Riju's right-hand, places her tray on the table between them. Buliara's hawkish glare matches the impish face adorning her headpiece.

===

Recipe to Please a Princess - I like pasta. Zelda likes pasta. So Link cook'a the pasta for a very lovely date night in Hateno. Please enjoy this "short" fic that ballooned way out of control once I realized I could design a fake recipe on the page. Unlimited power.

Moving backward, Link ducks into an alcove beneath the stairs as he straightens the dark grey shawl over his embroidered blue tunic, trying not to disturb the Hylian broach holding that ensemble together.

He gets down on one knee to dig through a squared wooden chest, and pulls out an arrow with a bulbous red pouch tied over the head.

"Ya-ha-ha," Link mutters as he starts twirling the shaft around his middle finger.

Zelda often chastises him for playing with objects that could blow the house to smithereens. But he has yet to drop a bomb arrow, and has no intention of starting.

What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.

[bangtanhoneys]

Bangtan Sonyeondan: WINGS 

Release date: October 10, 2016

Lead singles: Blood, Sweat & Tears

It’s generally agreed this began the change for BTS for they reached new heights with WINGS, exploring toxic love though they explored individual musical ideas while keeping in with the theme of the album - all the research had been done between Grace and Namjoon. It was influenced by the coming-of-age novel, Demian, with the concept thematically dealing with temptation and growth which leads onto the second involvement of Grace.

It was early on agreed that in the music videos and in general that the temptation would be Grace herself, causing her to go through a complete transformation with her stylists, Hobi and Taehyung. No longer was the soft looking girl, with blonde hair, always hidden away at the back. Now she was forefront, dark red hair with hints of black, sexy clothes and now dancing in the centre. Her vocals would also play heavily in the likes of Intro: Boy Meets Evil, Blood, Sweat & Tears, Lie, BTS Cypher 4, 21st Century Girl and her own solo song: Dangerous Woman, which fit with the narrative that they had written with the album

The short film that came after Seokjin’s and before the comeback trailer, featured Grace sitting in front of seven screens that played their short films over and over again while the instrumental for Dangerous Woman played in the background. Finally, the lyrics began half way through the five-minute long video with Grace’s hair and outfit fully changing into what would become a big internet sensation: trousers that were tight fitting around her thighs and waist, highlighting the curves that had been hidden, with a dark coloured blouse and silk jacket. All paired with a pair of bright red high heels and bright red lipstick. The ending of the video allowed the opening of the comeback trailer for J-Hope to flow easily.

Jewelery was expensive looking with collars and flashy diamond rings and she began to dance in high heels, something she would continue to do throughout the rest of her career with BTS. Finally she was allowed to be the twenty-six year old woman, doing the sexy choreography without any worry of it being wrong though they still didn’t like to give her hip thrusting moves. 

FACT:

When they won their second daesang of Artist of the Year at MAMA, she was one of the few who didn’t cry in front of the cameras and was one of the first who hugged Namjoon as well as Yoongi. However, it was revealed during the Wings Tour, that when she got to her own room she burst into tears. She also revealed how the weight of being the only woman in BTS and being kept hidden, as it were, had dragged her down until this album fully allowed her to explore herself as an artist. 

BANGTAN BOMB shows Grace fully rapping Suga’s part of Cypher 4 without losing her breath, causing them to release a version with her on Soundcloud. Whenever Suga couldn’t appear, Grace would be the one to sometimes take over his part. 

She did the original guide to Blood, Sweat and Tears when it was at its first original version and draft. She also wrote two full songs on her own that did not make the final cut. 

[pedropascalito]

S2E2 The Raspberry Sex Shirt

Picture it: you’re driving through the city and look over to see this guy in the car next to you. Do you:

A. Follow him

B. Rear end him

C. Flash him

D. All of the above

He looks fantastic in this color, and combined with the golden aviators? chef’s kiss These variations on primary colors perfectly complement his tan skin and dark hair. A palette of sexy deliciousness

Later, Javi ups the sexiness ante by pairing this beautiful shirt with his leather jacket. I mean…this is the Javi I want standing on my doorstep, and the Javi I want to undress later that night. That jacket would make the most satisfying thud as it hit my floor, those shirt buttons slipping right out of the soft material. And just look how it pulls tightly across his chest. hhnnngg

(And can we play another round of “What’s that in Javi’s coat pocket?” Looks like a dime bag tbh. Maybe it’s a little ziplock snack bag. Pocket cheese?)

And, to complete the sexiness trifecta of the raspberry shirt, he tops it with his tactical vest and you could drown a toddler in my panties. (I stole that line from Archer.) Those arms! Those legs! Dat ass! I also love his darker leather belts with the dark jeans. His darker locks as Javi help Pedro look vibrant in deep colors.

I’d throw myself in the line of fire if it meant Javi picking me up and cradling me in those arms, against that chest. Fuck.

Of course he does The Stance™️ in this outfit.

Look at this walking sex bomb. This shirt + those jeans + that badge, the way the buttons pull ever-so-slightly over his little belly, the collar highlighting his kissable neck. Their costumer is officially on my Valentine’s Day card list.

I have several lipsticks the shade of his shirt; this is the look on Javi’s face when I ask if I can decorate his dick with my lips. I already know this color will look fantastic on him.

[ageofstardust]

Titanic (Sam Kiszka x Reader)

NSFW

WARNINGS: Smut, unprotected sex, oral sex, fingering, creampie

I got my Weight of Dreams necklace and it inspired this piece.

It was an impulse idea really. You and Sam had watched Titanic a few nights ago, and you couldn't get the necklace scene out of your head. You decided that you would recreate it. So, with Sam being at the studio for the day, you had the perfect way to do so. The pieces you had ordered for it had all trickled in, though you almost got caught when Sam was the one that grabbed it off the porch. You made up a story about it being for your Aunt and his it away in the closet.

Tying up your hair into a messy bun, you ran your bath, adding in some lavender as well as a lavender and rose scented bath bomb. Pulling off your robe and sinking into the water, you sighed and closed your eyes. You turned on some soft music, letting yourself relax for a while. After your bath, you took your hair down and got to work. First you curled the front pieces, then you carefully pinned it up into a neater bun, wanting the necklace to be fully on display. Putting on some brown eyeliner, some blush, and some nude lipstick, you completed your look. Standing and grabbing the stack of packages, you slowly assembled the outfit. A flowy, sheer dark blue robe draped over you softly, your weight of dreams necklace dangling between your breasts, the cold metal exciting you already, and your promise ring from Sam. You turned off the lights, turning the lava lamp on and one other light at the other side of the room. The orange glow casted off your skin perfectly. Grabbing Sam's art supplies, you set the canvas up in front of the couch where you would be laying and then laid down, playing on your phone for a while before you finally got the "on my way home" text. Setting your phone on the table next to the couch, you positioned yourself in a sexy yet effortless pose, waiting for the door to open.

Not even 5 minutes later you heard the key turn in the door, your heart fluttering with nerves for a second.

"Hey sugar, where are you?" He called into the apartment. You contemplated staying quiet and amping up the surprise, but decided against it.

"In here, love!" You replied, making sure you were situated and fixing your eyes on the doorway. Sam appeared a few seconds later, and you saw his jaw drop. Smirking, you beckoned him closer. "Paint me like one of your french girls, Sammy. Wearing this. Wearing....only this." You quoted from the movie, fondling the necklace to bring his attention to it. He leaned against the doorframe, sighing heavily.

"Holy shit...you just keep finding ways to make me love you even more. You look....so beautiful." He breathed out, moving to sit in front of you at the canvas. You blushed slightly and smiled, laying your head on your arm as you watched him get to work. You could tell when he was concentrating on little parts, his tongue would peak out of the corner of his mouth slightly. You could tell when he would get to the more erotic parts of you, the bulge in his pants growing to strain against his pants. The entire experience was one of the greatest acts of foreplay you two had ever done. What seemed like minutes passed by, but it had been 3 hours when he finally finished the piece. He turned it around to show you, and you were in awe. He had made you look like a goddess. You told him so and he just brushed it off, saying you always looked like one. He set the painting back on the easel and made his way over to you, leaning down and kissing you slowly and passionately. Kissing Sam was never bad, but you most preferred these kinds of kisses. Slow, passionate, driving you wild and making you wet. He let a hand trail gently down your body, fingers ghosting down the outline of your breast, eventually coming to rest right above your pussy. His hair curtained around you as he kissed you, engulfing you two. You glided your fingers down his neck to his collarbone, resting your thumb above it as you grasped his shoulder. He moved his kisses lower to your neck in return, dipping his fingers down into your folds as he kissed and sucked hickies into your neck, marking you as his though everyone already knew that. You moaned softly, tangling fingers into his hair as he worked you. He was slow and methodical, slipping two fingers inside of you and pumping as his other hand massaged your clit gently. He brought you to one orgasm that way, and another with his tongue before he finally peeled his own clothes off, positioning himself above you and slowly sliding his hardened cock into you with ease. You inhaled sharply at the overstimulation, any movement he made as he moved within you sending sparks up your spine in the most delicious ways. You kept eye contact with him as he fucked into you gently, taking his time with you. He let a free hand massage your breast, earning a sigh from you as your eyes fluttered closed, your third orgasm building rather quickly. Sam eventually picked up his pace, his rhythm getting sloppier the closer he got. You two came together, your high having you seeing stars as you lay there breathless. He rested his forehead on your shoulder as he caught his breath, pulling out of you and laying with you. You repositioned so that you could hold his head against your chest as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. Exhausted from being over worked, your eyes closed and you breathed out a content sigh, playing with Sam's hair.

"I love you." He mumbled, muffled by your breasts. You smiled tiredly.

"I love you too." You said, barely above a whisper as you two drifted off to a peaceful nap. The picture, after much debate, was hung above your bed a few days later.

Taglist: @doodle417

[angryschnauzer]

Stuck - Part 2

Summary: Following the development in your relationship from maid x client, you visit Agent Walker on his invitation, with no false pretences of what is expected

Pairing: August Walker x Female Maid Reader (no race or size described) Fandom; Henry Cavill, Mission Impossible: Fallout.

Warnings; NSFW, 18+, unprotected sex, vaginal sex, sex toys, dildo’s, butt plugs, masturbation, voyeurism, anal fingering, anal sex, creampie, Sugar Daddy relationship, (no use of ‘Daddy’ as a petname) 

I do not operate a tag list, however please follow @angryschnauzerwrites​ and put that blog onto notifications. That way you’ll get an alert every time i post anything. Part 1 can be found HERE, Masterlist can be found on AO3 link HERE All typos are allowed to run wild and free

Stuck - Part 2

Ringing the doorbell you heard footsteps this time, and were able to prepare yourself for Mr Walker opening the door - or so you thought. When the door swung open you could not have prepared yourself for the sight of him in smart black pants and a crisp grey button down shirt, the top couple of buttons opened to reveal a teasing glimpse of chest hair, his tie hanging loose and unfastened around his neck. He looked you up and down, taking in how your breasts were pushed a little higher, your ass a little rounder from the way the heels made you stand, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he stepped to one side;

“Please, do come in”

As you stepped past him you caught a waft of his aftershave, dark and musky, a hint of sandalwood and rosemary. You stood fidgeting, glancing around the apartment and seeing that it was sparkling clean, telling you that you’d be earning your money a different way today. You didn’t mind, not in the slightest. The $2000 tip he’d given you on your last visit had paid your credit card bill and you’d been able to make your rent on time for the first time in months. 

When the parcel had arrived on your doorstep a week ago with a note from Mr Walker you’d quickly glanced around the hallway, no courier or delivery guy having been seen, almost nervous to find what was inside. When you had opened the parcel it had felt like christmas morning, so many little treats all individually wrapped, a note from the high end lingerie store saying that they hoped you enjoyed the parcel. That night you’d tried on the exquisite underwear set, marvelling how the bra gave you the most amazing cleavage, the half cups ending just at the right place for your nipples to peek over the top of the lace. The panties had looked innocent enough from the front, but at the back it was a series of elastic straps that caged in your ass, the crotch non-existent and it gave you no false pretenses about what they were intended for. Having unpacked all the other treats - lipstick, perfume, bath bombs and scented skin oil, your favourite chocolates - you came upon one final gift and an envelope. Opening the parcel first you let out a small squeak when you saw the heart shaped jewel shine in the light from your lamp, the heavy metal of the plug smooth and cool in the palm of your hand. Grabbing the envelope you opened it, your hands shaking;

“Enjoy your gifts. I’ll make a booking soon. August x”

Back in MR Walker’s apartment you were distracted as he stood behind you, the only tell that he was there was the sudden feel of body heat warming your back even though he wasn’t touching you. When he finally spoke his voice was low and quiet;

“You can back out now and there will be no hard feelings. But if you want to stay and continue i can guarantee it will be worth your while in so many ways. So, what will it be?”

You could feel your hands shaking with nerves, hell, even excitement. Taking a deep breath you slid one foot back and moved until your ass was pressing against Mr Walkers crotch;

“I’d like to stay please. I very much enjoyed the gifts, Sir”

“Good girl”

He wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you flush with his chest as his lips found your neck, working his tongue and teeth over your jugular as his hands gripped at your hips before moving to the zipper on the back of your dress. The metallic rasp of it being pulled down filled the hallway, the cool air hitting your heated skin soon soothed as he trailed his fingertips down the exposed deep v of skin. Pushing the formal maid’s dress down your shoulders you let it fall to the floor, the deep groan of appreciation that rumbled up through his throat making your body tingle with excitement.

“You look fantastic, i made the right choice with this set” he took hold of your asscheek; “Are you wearing all of it?”

Bending a little at the waist you pushed your ass out and felt as he pushed his hand between your legs, first touching your pussy before moving back and pressing against the jewel of the plug;

“Hmmmn very good. My good girl follows instructions well. Now put your hands on the wall and stick your ass out a little more”

“Yes Sir”

Stepping out of your dress you turned and laid your palms flat on the board and batten walls, this time the sound of a smaller zipper filling the silence before your legs were kicked apart and a hand pressed against the small of your back. Bending your spine you pushed your ass out, gasping as you felt the thick blunt tip of his cock nudging against your swollen petals, searching, seeking out its destination before pushing in fully in one firm thrust.

“Fuck. Your pussy is as tight as i remembered” he muttered behind you, yet you were unable to respond, your body tensing around the deep penetration that felt so good. You felt him spread his legs and set off at a brutal pace, fucking into you from behind, with each thrust his pelvis would push the plug into your ass stimulating you even more. 

There were no words, just grunts and moans, and you could feel your legs starting to shake as an orgasm approached rapidly;

“I’m coming…”

“Not yet you aren’t… you’ll come when i tell you to come”

“”Yes… Sir…”

Gritting your teeth you tried to will the building orgasm to subside, but the way you were being fucked made it hard. Your left leg started to shake violently as you tried to hold back, Mr Walker ramming into you from behind before he finally grunted;

“Cum for me now”

You didn’t think you could orgasm on demand, but as you relaxed just the tiniest amount the levy broke and you came around his cock. That in turn set his orgasm off, and you were pushed against the wall as he came deep inside you, thrusting harshly into you as you felt him spasm deep within your walls.

When he pulled out you winced, quickly closing your legs as you felt his seed already start to drip out of you, and as he tucked himself back into his dress pants he winked;

“Good girl. Keep me inside” he reached for your hand; “Now come, a glass of champagne”

He led you to the large lounge, the pristine white leather couches and the soft net curtains giving the room a bright yet muted appearance. One wall was completely made up of floor to ceiling mirrors, and there were just a few houseplants scattered around the place to break up the stark white of the room.

“Sit” he called out from the kitchen before you heard the quiet pop of the cork.

“But… i’ll make a mess of your leather…” you called back, only to hear his voice as he approached holding two glasses of the golden frizzante.

“Doesn’t matter. For what i have planned you’ll be making even more of a mess than just a smear of my cum”

He handed you the glass and gently tapped his own against it before raising it to his lips, you followed and hummed as the bubbles smoothed over your tongue. He cocked his head and smiled, yet it felt like the look a viper would give its prey before it struck;

“Now, i said sit”

You did as he instructed, perching your ass on the edge of the couch before remembering the plug and wincing as you moved back slightly so you could sit on the whole of your buttocks to relieve some of the pressure in your ass.

Mr Walker hadn’t moved, and you were now eye level with his crotch, the outline of his cock clear to see as the fine fabric clung to him. Licking your lips you quickly sipped at your glass again before he tucked a finger beneath your chin to pull your gaze up to his face;

“Don’t worry, you’ll be getting another load soon… i have something else planned first… tell me a little about yourself…”

He stepped away and you watched him as he moved around the room, picking up a gift box and setting it down on the low table in front of you just out of reach, but saying nothing until he sat on the couch opposite you;

“I asked you to tell me about yourself…”

Stumbling on your words you tried to explain a little, unsure if he wanted a professional or a personal explanation, your arrangement seemingly a mixture of the two already. He sat with one leg hooked at an angle over the other knee, quietly sipping his champagne, his gaze intense as it never left you once. Finally he cleared his throat;

“Would you like to open your gift?”

Reaching to set your glass down, you took the box and rested it on your knees, pulling off the ribbon and lifting the lid, the gasp that fell from your lips immediately followed by a grin and somewhat unladylike snort of laughter, before focusing back on what was contained;

“Oh my god…”

Glancing up you saw Mr Walker eyeing you suspiciously, before you wrapped your hand around the contents and pulled it from the packaging, laying it across both of your palms as you gazed down at the heavy rubber dildo. It was so detailed, every vein and ridge perfectly formed, before a thought suddenly struck you and your eyes went wide;

“Is this… is this you?”

“I had it cast just for you” he settled both feet flat on the floor and you watched as he settled comfortably, his thighs wide apart; “Why don’t you give it a test run? Show me how well you take it?”

For a moment you simply held it, wide eyed at the thought of performing such an intimate act, but shook that thought from your mind as you settled back against the cushions, hooking both feet onto the edge of the low glass table in front of you, your heels hanging over the edge as you parted your thighs and trailed a hand down to your core, rubbing against the wet lace that was soaked from Mr Walker fucking you just a few minutes before. Lifting the dildo you considered it for a moment before spitting on it, bringing your soaked hand up and working the combined wetness over the thickness, pulling your panties to one side and resting the wide tip at your entrance. 

Looking up you maintained eye contact as you carefully pressed the first couple of inches in and breached your tight entrance, your jaw falling slack as you felt the familiar yet different stretch. You carefully worked the rubber phallus back and forth, pushing a little more each time, helping to lubricate the shaft with your own essence as it filled you. When it was inserted enough you grasped the heavy ballsack, your other hand teasing your nipples as they peeked over the lace of your bra, trailing it down to your panties to rub at your engorged clit. 

Working your body in the same way you had done so many times in private, thinking of Agent August Walker - even before your first sexual encounter with him - it was now surreal as you watched him palming himself through his clothing as you fucked yourself with the rubber imitation of him.

You could feel yourself getting close, the air in the room thick with lust as the only sounds were heavy breathing and the wet sounds coming from between your legs, when he called out;

“Stop”

With a whine you did. Pausing, waiting for his instruction;

“Take it out and stand”

The obscene sucking squelch as you removed the dildo from your aching core filled the room, before you set it down on the box and stood on shaky legs.

“Come here”

Your legs felt like jelly, crossing the room and standing before him, watching as he parted his legs further to make room for you;

“What would you like me to do Sir?”

“On your knees”

Settling obediently between his thick thighs, you were grateful for the extra long pile rugs beneath you cushioning your knees, resting your hands cautiously on his muscled thighs and looking up at him with wide eyes as he spoke;

“Lets see how good that mouth of yours is?”

Watching as he unzipped himself, at this angle his dick looked even bigger and more imposing than the feeling of it inside you. Shuffling closer you wrapped your hands carefully around the hot shaft, admiring how he was already rock hard and weeping with need. Leaning in you lapped at the clear bead that had pooled at the tip, tasting both him and yourself on his skin. Licking your lips to lubricate them you took a deep breath and descended on him, his girth stretching your lips almost painfully, working your tongue over the silken flesh. He gently smoothed his thumb over your cheek, wiping away a tear you hadn’t even realised you had shed;

“Doing so well Princess… your mouth is as good as your cunt is…” his other hand wrapped in your hair and he started to control your actions, his hips rising in sharp movements as he started to fuck your face. He maintained eye contact as he held your head, moving you how he wanted;

“Cry those tears for me, i know they’re not tears of pain or discomfort… its just overwhelming, isn’t it?”

You couldn’t answer, your mouth and throat too busy being occupied by his heavy flesh, but you nodded and let out a tiny grunt; it felt so good, so depraved to be used like this, and as his thrusts got faster you prepared yourself for what was to come next… but instead at the last moment he pulled you off of him.

Gasping for breath you were wide eyed, no doubt your makeup ruined but in the quiet of his apartment you watched him as he gritted his teeth and regained his composure. Finally he spoke;

“Turn around and sit on my lap… legs together and bounce on my dick”

You stood and turned, backing up and bending over before he pressed a hot palm to your naked thigh;

“Stop. Bend over. Let me look at that silken purse”

Knees together you did as he asked, letting out a gasp as he ran a calloused thumb over the pouting lips of your sex, already swollen from the events that had led to that very moment, and as he teased out your nectar he smeared it on your skin.

“Very nice, holding treasures within…”

Dipping his thumb inside he drew it out and hummed in appreciation at seeing his cum mixed with your own on it, before tugging at the jewel of your plug and smearing his thumb under the rim to your sensitive opening.

“Hmmmn, another treasure waiting to be pillaged… but first…”

He took hold of your hip, pulling you back as he held his dick and lined you up with it, and at that hot searing touch of flesh you gasped. You were more than ready for him, craving his touch, your body accepting him as you stopped holding back and allowed gravity to take over until you were sat flush on his lap, speared deep and aching with need.

His warm hands smoothed over the soft globes of your ass before pushing against you back;

“Bounce for me Princess”

You did as he asked, starting off slow, the warmth of his palm against your back spurring you on as you started to move faster, your pussy dripping around him and with each wet slap of your bodies you knew you’d coated his balls and taint with your juices. On one downward fall you landed hard, groaning as you ground your ass against him and his hands suddenly clamped down on your hips to keep you flush with him;

“Stay”

You felt the tug on the plug in your ass, moaning as you felt it being pulled gently but persistently, moaning as you stretched at the fullest part before the somewhat disappointing relief as it was removed completely. Out of the corner of your eye you could see him set it down carefully on the small table to the side, and grab a small bottle of lube that had been sitting there behind a plant pot. You braced yourself for the inevitable.

---

August.

He’d paced the hallways of his apartment from the moment his hidden camera’s had picked up that you’d left your building; checking traffic cam’s and building surveillance to track your progress. He kept telling himself he shouldn’t be nervous; he was in charge and you were simply a plaything… and yet when he’d heard the doorbell ring his stomach had done a little flip and he’d had to take a few seconds to calm his racing heart.

What had followed had been that of his wildest dreams; a woman pliable and willing, and yet still independent with her own thoughts. He’d had women simp over him and he’d had to guide them at every step, weak wristed and prudish with their own sexual desires… but with you… you were different.

For the time that had followed since you’d walked through his door he had told himself he couldn’t get too attached, this was a sexual relationship, one that suited his needs and that he controlled, but with every passing minute he could feel himself falling deeper and deeper.

And now here you were, sat on his lap and he was balls deep inside you, feeling your cunt tremble around his achingly hard dick, and at the sight of your tight back door winking as he’d removed the plug he’d almost blown his load right there and then. 

Carefully pouring the thick lube on the crease of your ass he watched for a moment as it slowly ran down, before catching it with his thumb and massaging against your asshole, watching as the stretched muscle accepted him so eagerly. He worked the muscle open, moving from his thumb to two fingers then three, your moans as you accepted him causing him to grit his teeth so not to blow his load right there and then in your unprotected cunt. And he knew you were still unprotected, he’d kept track of your appointments and knew you hadn’t updated your birth control, it had been a mere three weeks since your last visit, and even if you hadn’t figured it out he sure had.

He could feel that you were ready, lifting you up before positioning himself at your prepared hole;

“Just relax Princess, i know you can do it” 

He spoke softly, quietly… reassuring you as he watched you slowly stretching around him, and that first inch as he slipped inside you it took all his control not to slam deep inside your guts. 

With one hand under your buttcheek he held you up as he could feel your body stretching, growing accustomed to his girth inside you, and as you started to relax he would slip inside a little further.

He was basking in the moment, the lewd and salacious nature of something he had done many times before, yet this time it felt different; the connection was there this time. As his mind reeled from the realisation that this time he was going to have to take into account his own feelings, you turned and grinned at him, and with a sly smirk sank down until you were fully seated with his dick filling your ass;

“OH FUCK…” August cursed, his hands flying to your hips and his head rolling back to rest on the couch as he fought not to blow his load right there and then in the dark recesses of your ass.

Letting out another string of curses, he gritted his teeth and let out a low growl, his eyes dark with desire as he watched you start to bounce up and down on him, his gaze drawn to where your tight hole was stretched so much to accommodate his thick girth. He knew that if you kept bouncing like that he’d cum in seconds, and it was too good to let his body deceive him. Wrapping his arms around your torso he pulled you back;

“Shhhh… slow down Princess…”

-

You whimpered as he laid you against his chest, his dick slipping out of your ass a little before he bucked his hips and pushed slowly back into you. With one arm wrapped around your torso he trailed the other down your stomach before he sought out your sensitive pearl, rubbing at your clit;

“August…” you whined, feeling the intense pleasure shoot through your body; “I’m gonna cum”

“Don’t… not yet…” he gasped out; “Please… wait…”

“I can’t…”

Your back arched and you felt your mind leave your body for a split second, vaguely aware of the rumble in Mr Walkers chest as your orgasm set off his own, filling your ass with thick ropes of his seed as you lay prone on his chest.

Finally through bliss hazed eyes you turned to look at him, surprised when his lips met yours for a soft kiss. His lips were delicate and you could taste a hint of bourbon lingering on his tongue that the champagne couldn’t mask, the moment only broken by the feel of his softening shaft slipping from your body with a rather graphic squelch.

Now that your bodies were no longer connected he shifted you into his arms as he cradled you in his lap, one strong arm holding you as the other traced patterns over your skin with sensitive fingertips. You watched as he seemingly memorised the plains and curves of your body by feel alone, before he finally spoke;

“Let me run you a bath”

-

August

He’d carried you to his bathroom, running a deep warm bath as he’d helped you undress, rubbing the balls of your feet and you sighed as the pressure of the day seemed to slip from your mind. After helping you into the bath he’d massaged your shoulders as you’d soaked in the tub, before taking a soft natural sponge and gently washed you. 

When the water had started to cool he’d helped you out and gazed as the water droplets had run down your skin, reminding him of a maiden emerging from the sea on a sun kissed island. Wrapping you in an oversized fluffy robe he smiled;

“I’ve set some clothing out for you on my bed, i’ll be right out once i’ve showered”

You nodded and quietly thanked him, and he was finally alone with his thoughts as he quickly stripped and stepped into the large shower enclosure. The water was cold as it shot out of the jets, too impatient to let it warm up as he quickly rinsed the residue of his efforts from his body, his mind pensive as he wondered how he would broach the proposal he had for you. Quickly finishing up he stepped out and roughly dried himself, wrapping a towel around his waist before venturing into his bedroom, smiling to himself as he saw you preening in the mirror;

“Looks good on you”

You turned and smiled at his words and he could have sworn he felt his heart swell just a little more at the look on your face, watching as you bounced across the room and planted a kiss to his lips;

“Thank you…” 

He watched as you smoothed a hand over your breasts and down your hips, the expensive loungewear far overpriced but the quality shone through as it clung to your curves. Knowing you were naked beneath it had arousal swelling his length again, but he gritted his teeth to will it away, at least for a while;

“Looks beautiful on you Princess”

-

Searching through the coffee station in August’s kitchen you found a box of mixed herbals teas, and once you’d figured out his over engineered kettle it was soon warming up to get to a steady boil. Looking around the kitchen you spied the half drunk bottle on the counter, surprised when it stated it was zero alcohol when you felt a pair of warm arms wrap around your waist and a mustachioed mouth trace kissed up your neck;

“There’s still champagne…” 

His deep voice resonated through your spine, and you slowly spun in his arms before you wrapped yours around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his lips;

“I need something to soothe my throat after all the screaming you made me do”

“Fair enough” he said with a smile, giving your ass a squeeze; “Go take a seat, i’ll bring it over to you”

A few minutes later he set a steaming mug down in front of you, sitting beside you as he cleared his throat;

“I have a proposition for you…”

Blowing on the hot tea you raised an eyebrow as he continued;

“I’d like to keep you”

“Keep me?”

He shifted on his seat;

“I mean… come to an arrangement… an exclusive arrangement”

“So, like a sugar Daddy thing?” you asked

“Yes, as in a kept-woman”

You paused for a moment, considering what he was telling you before gently setting down your tea;

“I like the sound of this, but i want you to be specific with what you mean, what will be provided, and what any repercussions are”

Over the next fifteen minutes he calmly explained that you could give up your other maid jobs, he would pay your rent and expenses, and if you desired so could follow your passion for the arts. He would not expect you to be a live in whore-come-maid, but made it clear he would like a sexual relationship, but only on your terms and with your full consent at every instance.

“How do you feel about that?” he asked as he finally finished detailing what seemed like the dream arrangement.

You smiled at him as you shifted on the seat, straddling his lap and wrapping your arms around his shoulders;

“I think i feel pretty good about it”

Your lips met and the kiss was deep and passionate, bodies entwined and arousal growing when suddenly a loud ringing came from the table, August’s phone furiously vibrating against the glass.

“Fuck… Sorry, i need to get that”

August quickly lifted and set you down on the couch as he stood and answered the phone, listening intently before ending the call with a curt confirmation. Crossing the room he knelt at the side of the couch;

“I’m so sorry, i’ve got to go… my work…”

“I get it” you interrupted; “I know your line of work means sudden assignments”

“I’ve got to be at the pentagon in an hour, but your place is on the way so i can drop you home, this isn’t how i wanted today to end, but its the job…”

“I understand”

-

Twenty minutes later you were standing on the sidewalk outside your building, watching as August’s plain black Audi disappeared into traffic, wanting to wave but he’d said not to. Your phone chimed and your eyes went wide when you saw the ‘tip’ he’d given you, more than three months rent and a promise to call when he was off mission. You had never imagined you’d be in this situation, but you weren’t going to pass up the opportunity.

What you didn’t see was the person watching you from the shadows, already knowing you were their target, the perfect leverage.

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Red

Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 3680

Warnings: Kink and trauma. You know, in case you forgot whose blog you were on! Night terrors. Non-graphic flashbacks to violence, very graphic smut. Bucky’s head is just not a very fun place? References to brainwashing and torture. Kink discovery, including some hitting/slapping during sex and some power/control fantasies, all within the context of a very happy relationship. It goes down dark but there’s a distinctly soft aftertaste. 

A/N: For @cockslut-padalecki and her Decade Under The Influence challenge. My prompt was “The Crimson” by Atreyu. Thanks for always hosting the absolute best challenges, and congrats on the milestone! 

Pre-reads by @thoughtslikeaminefield @mskathywriteswords and @fangirlxwritesx67​. Inspiration from that scene where Sebastian Stan gets slapped. You know the one I mean. 

The companion fic to this will be coming soon! It’s significantly darker and way outside my wheelhouse, but please let me know if you want a tag. 

The Soldier stalks silently down the hallway to the bedroom, scanning the shadows. 

The closet. 

Something itches, deep under the ice: knowledge that closets are for hiding — 

— a small girl, giggling in the back corner of the closet — 

— ready or not, here I come — 

— but those frozen things don’t belong to the Soldier. 

He opens the door and finds the woman on the floor, trying to hide in the darkness. He picks her up by the throat. Moonlight from the open window glints off her wide eyes and the Soldier’s metal hand. She fights back, clawing at his arm uselessly. 

He waits for her to stop struggling. They always do. 

Bucky opens his eyes and bolts upright, gritting his teeth against the sweaty, shivery wave of nausea. 

It takes a moment for the numbing chill of the Soldier’s memory to fade. 

He knows it’s a memory. He lost so many things in the deep emptiness of cryo-sleep, but he couldn’t bury them forever, and now they claw their way out while he dreams. The darkness gives him back his life, one nightmare at a time. 

Sometimes he wakes up screaming. Sometimes he wakes up convinced that the bed under him is soaked with blood, and it takes a few awful seconds to realize that he just sweated through the sheets. Other times he’s paralyzed in the darkness, convinced he’s back in the cryo chamber, and he wants to punch and claw and fight his way out, wants to see the sun again, but he tried that one too many times — he learned his lesson about wanting things. 

At least he didn’t wake her this time. She makes a breathy sound as she stirs, but she’s still sound asleep, and when he inspects his hands in the glow of her night light, there’s no trace of red. 

She got the light about two months ago, when he started sleeping over. She didn’t ask him, didn’t mention it — he would’ve been embarrassed, if she asked, but it helps. She helps. 

He’s goddamn crazy about her. It hasn’t been long, but he knows this is it for him. 

Bucky curls up facing her. Her hair is a mess, and there’s a damp patch of drool on the pillow under her slack mouth, and she’s beautiful. It’s amazing that she trusts him enough to fall asleep next to him. 

He closes his eyes. This time he doesn’t dream.

The end credits of the movie start to scroll down the screen, and she makes a grumbling noise that means she doesn’t want to get up and turn the TV off. Her little apartment is full of the rich smell of whatever she’s got in the oven, and the day has been so sweetly domestic that Bucky wonders when everything will start to twist and distort and go bloody. He must be hallucinating. 

But the hallucinations always had a sort of airbrushed quality to them when they started, an inhuman perfection that felt easy, like he was floating. Right now his stomach is growling, and when she shifts, her elbow digs into his side, and she’s a heavy comforting warmth on top of him. 

The hallucinations were the product of his own brain, which might be why they came back all too quickly when he started to recover his memories. Even when he couldn’t remember his sisters’ faces, he remembered the drug-fueled torture that took place behind his closed eyelids, scenes that started like fantasies and ended like nightmares. 

Most memories from before the fall are weak and hazy, sepia-toned afterimages that overlay the living world like ghosts. Other things bleed through the decades, making it hard to keep track of whose memories he’s seeing. The Soldier’s memories are always sharp and cold, and they’re the hardest to shake off. Sometimes they’re triggered by the present, and it’s always a surprise; he’s stepping into a crosswalk and the past is washing over him like — 

The water from the hose is freezing cold as the handler rinses off the blood — 

— and he’s still staring down at the slushy puddle, but — 

— the Soldier keeps his eyes down, clenching his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering, watching the red swirl over the cold cracked tile and disappear down the drain, and — 

Bucky has to fight to hold on to the honking taxis and the Brooklyn stink, because the cryo chamber is quiet like a coffin in the last few seconds before he’s frozen into unconsciousness, and — 

— and sometimes he feels frozen even when the dreams dissolve, even when he knows they’re only dreams. 

The frigid paralysis was mental more than physical, for the Soldier, and that’s a hard thing to shake. The raw human parts of him iced over, head and heart numb while his body carried on following orders. 

She sits up and stretches, making her shirt ride up, and he notices bruises on her hips, wrapping around the side. 

“Did I do that?” he asks, voice thin. 

She looks down like she didn’t notice. “Probably.” 

He tugs the waistband of her yoga pants down a little and finds the shape of a handprint, stained purple. She twists to show him a matching set on the other side. They’re more defined on the side he was gripping with his metal hand last night. He feels cold all over. 

“Sorry.” 

“No biggie.” 

He’s too scared to meet her eyes. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I would never hurt you.” 

“What if I asked you to?” she tosses back, playful and easy. 

Bucky doesn’t know how to react to that. He can’t let her see how badly he wants that, so he just freezes like a deer in headlights, forcing himself to go still, to shut down, to say nothing.  

“Whoa, hey, don’t do that,” she says, and she moves into his space slowly, deliberately, giving him time to tell her to stop. He blinks at her, and she smiles, soothing. 

He spent the first month of their relationship waiting for her to turn and run. It’s gotten better, but… 

“Why the hell do you trust me?” he blurts out. 

She frowns, and hesitates, and he wants to reach up and smooth out the little frown line that forms between her eyebrows, but he doesn’t. She curls up against him and kisses his jaw. 

“Would you ever choose to hurt me?” she asks. 

“No.” 

“There you go.” He feels the movement when she shrugs, as if it’s that easy. “You control your choices. That’s it.” 

“But I —” 

“No buts,” she interrupts, and her voice is firm. “I choose to trust you and you don’t get to talk me out of it.” 

Bucky lets out a huff of not-quite-laughter at that. She’s stubborn as hell when she wants to be, and he knows better than to argue. 

“Okay,” he says, and wraps his arms around her, kissing the top of her head. She settles closer, her breath a warm damp tickle against the side of his neck. 

His body used to be a weapon. 

“You can’t blame yourself for things that are out of your control,” she mumbles, as if she heard him. 

He takes a deep breath and says it again: “Okay.” 

He can see her reflection in the mirror; she bites her lip, teeth white against her bright red lipstick, trying to hold back, but the whimpers are getting louder by the second as he fucks her harder. She’s bracing herself with her forearms on the sink, her entire body shaking with each sharp thrust. 

“Shhhh,” Bucky says, half-laughing, but he doesn’t slow down. 

He’s pretty sure this was her plan all along. They barely made it an hour into the party before she tugged him into the bathroom, and usually he would protest, but he’s been half-hard since he first saw her in that damn outfit. 

She opened the door earlier looking like a pinup, complete with glossy curls and red lips and this dress: flared skirt, nipped-in waist, curves threatening to spill over the scooped-low neckline. He had just stuttered for a few seconds as a wisp of memory cast a sepia glow over her pleased smile. 

He used to have a dog-eared print of one of those calendar girls, and it was tame compared to some that were carried to war, but there was something warm in her smile that made him hold onto it. He used to daydream about her waiting at home, welcoming him at the door, when everything else was heavy and grey. He used to look at her smile when he couldn’t bear to close his eyes, knowing he’d only see blood. They took it when he was captured, of course, but he used to imagine — 

— this, he used to imagine this, the way the skirt is rucked up around her hips and she’s bent at the waist, the way she stretches open around the shiny-wet length of his cock. 

He has a flash of certainty that this is just a fantasy, something he’s imagining desperately as he fucks his own fist and tries not to make a sound, pressing his other palm to his mouth to muffle his labored breathing. He’s picturing this so vividly that when he opens his eyes and sees the stars, framed by the caved-in ceiling of another bombed-out shell of a building, he’ll have to fight back tears of disappointment. 

The sight of her face in the mirror is utterly pornographic, threatening to send him over the edge too soon, but when he looks down, he can see the way her ass bounces and jiggles as she shoves herself back to meet each thrust, and that’s goddamn obscene too. Bucky’s imagination has never been this good. 

She’s so close, too close to stay silent, and just as she lets out a high-pitched, keening moan, there are footsteps right outside the door. 

He reacts instinctively, before he can think better of it; he slaps his hand over her mouth, muffling the sound against his palm — the metal one, he realizes, a split-second too late. 

Their eyes meet in the mirror for one wild heartbeat. Her skin looks dangerously soft under silver fingers that could so easily break the fragile jawbone they grip. 

Then her eyes roll back in her head, and her orgasm blindsides both of them with its intensity. If he wasn’t silencing her, she would’ve shouted, he’s pretty sure; she spasms violently against his grip, writhing like she’s trying to shake him off, and — 

— he imagines her struggling, fighting back, until he pins her against the wall and — 

— it hits him like a gut-punch. He doubles over, curling himself around her as he comes with a rough shocked grunt, and the white-out lightning-bolt electroshock feel of it is so incredible he forgets, for a few seconds; he just buries his face in those curls and kisses the nape of her neck. 

He straightens up and realizes her lipstick is smeared over the metal hand, deep crimson red. 

“God, we’re a mess,” she laughs breathlessly. She turns to kiss him, eyes sparkling, and then they have to clean up, put themselves back together, and he brushes it off. 

It was probably a memory, a ghost whose features he confused with hers in one fevered second. Unwanted memories — 

— dreams — flashbacks — fantasies — hallucinations — 

— invade his reality every day. 

It didn’t feel like a memory, though. 

She smiles, and there’s no doubt in his mind that the smile is real, so Bucky swallows his guilt and smiles back. Her hand is warm in his. 

There’s a knife in his hand and blood on the floor. 

It’s messy, but those were his orders. Easier to frame the mistress this way. At least the carving knife was sharp. Red drips down the blade onto the metal fingers.  

He’s about to place it next to the corpse when he hears the gasp. The mistress had been asleep four minutes ago, but people are unpredictable that way. 

Messy. 

The Soldier pivots, finds her standing in the doorway, hand over her mouth, eyes wide. She’s paralyzed by fear, like a deer in headlights as he stalks closer. Usually they run. Sometimes they fight back. This one just stares. 

“I won’t say anything,” she whispers. “I didn’t see —” He grabs her wrist, and she shrieks, trying to twist away, until he pins her against the wall and holds her in place. Tears start to roll down her cheeks. “No, please, I’ll do anything you want — just don’t kill me! You can — anything, I promise, I won’t struggle! Do you want —” 

“Want” is buried deep under the ice. “Want” is for bodies that are warm and soft and human. The Soldier is a weapon.

He presses the knife into her hand and forces her fingers to close around the handle. She was supposed to be asleep. 

She’ll be blamed, one way or another, but maybe it’s better this way. Cleaner. 

No witnesses. It’s an order. 

Bucky wakes up. He’s trembling, sitting up with his hands twisted in the sheets, but it’s not as bad as it could be. She’s sitting up next to him, one gentle hand on his chest as she watches with wide sad eyes. 

“Sorry,” he chokes out. “Fuck, I hate waking you up.” 

“Almost time anyway,” she says, which is when he realizes that it’s morning. Sunlight is streaming in through the sheer curtains. He settles back against the headboard, taking it in. They’re both naked, with her big downy comforter around their waists, and the residual chill of memory thaws immediately in the cozy warmth of her bed. 

She leans in hesitantly and brushes her lips against his. He can read the worry plain on her face — she doesn’t know what he needs right now — but he tugs her onto his lap, tilts his head back, mouth opening easily under hers for slow lazy kisses that stretch like taffy and then turn deep and dirty. She swears like a sailor as she sinks down slowly onto his cock. 

Christ, she’s gorgeous. 

It must be real. He could never hallucinate something so flawed and incredible as the way she looks naked, the stretch marks under his palms, the calluses on her fingers when she cups his jaw, the way she moans when he plants his feet on the bed and fucks up into her. 

She’s flushed and dewy with sweat, moaning in the sharp bitten-off way that means he found just the right angle, and her thighs are shaking hard enough that he has to grip her hips and hold her steady. He can feel her starting to get close, clenching and flooded around him, when her alarm goes off. 

“Cocksucking motherfucker,” she snarls. 

They both look helplessly at the phone, just out of easy reach on the nightstand. Bucky’s tempted to just ignore it, but she’s already leaning over. She twists at the waist but doesn’t stop rocking her hips down against him, squeezing in little pulses like she can’t help herself, so he settles her more firmly on his lap, holding her weight and anchoring her as she reaches for it. He works his right hand down between them, an awkward angle that’s totally worth it when he can rub her clit with the pad of his thumb and feel her spasm around his cock. 

“Five more minutes,” he suggests breathlessly. 

“Not gonna need that long if you keep doing that.” She trembles and almost collapses before finally grabbing the phone, and she hits the snooze button immediately. 

He’s already rolling his hips, grinding in deep, and he must hit something just right at the same moment she starts to straighten up; it makes her twitch, jerking uncontrollably against him as she moves, and her elbow cracks across his jaw, snapping his head to the side hard enough to rattle his teeth. 

“Shit!” she hisses, and then: “I’m so sorry, I — are you —” 

But the rough throb of pain hit like a swell of heat in Bucky’s gut, making him jerk up into her and shudder with pleasure. He lets his head loll, taking a deep heaving breath and letting it out as a moan. 

It’s not until he tilts his head back to look at her stunned face that he realizes what just happened. His cheeks burn but she doesn’t look disgusted; her eyes go all heavy-lidded and she bites her lip as she starts to ride him again, swiveling her hips. 

He’s opening his mouth to make some excuse, to deny it, when she leans in for a bruising kiss: teeth scraping his lower lip, a whimper rough in her throat, cunt silky-hot and soaked, so good his head is spinning. 

Then she asks raggedly, “Do you want me to do that again?” 

Without even thinking about it, he blurts out, “Yes.” 

Her palm connects with his cheek, a sharp sting that draws a guttural sound from deep in his chest. He moves on pure primal instinct, gripping her hips to slam her down on his cock. 

From there it’s rough and frantic and desperate. He’s only dimly aware of the way she moans, bucking against him, the way they’re moving against each other like animals, the way she bites his lip so hard he tastes copper and then he’s gone, coming so hard his vision goes white with the first intense pulses of it. She shudders as she follows him, riding out the shocks of pleasure with her forehead pressed to his and her hands in his hair. 

He shivers against her, breath hitching as reality washes in like ice water. 

“I can feel you freaking out,” she mumbles. “What, they didn’t have kink in the thirties?”

It surprises Bucky enough that he lets out a huff of laughter. “No. Not exactly.” 

“Why is this freaking you out?” 

He stutters for a second before he manages, “What’s wrong with me?” 

She sits up and looks at him intently. “Fucking nothing.” 

“That should be the last thing I want,” Bucky mutters, cheeks burning. 

“That’s not how it works,” she snaps. “Sex isn’t — it doesn’t always make sense. It’s messy.” 

“I’ve had enough of hurting people for a fuckin’ lifetime.” 

There’s something vulnerable in her sheepish half-smile. “Sometimes your body likes shit it shouldn’t. You can’t control what gets you off. Believe me, sweetheart.” 

He blinks, ready to question that, and she leans in for a quick kiss. As if on cue, her alarm goes off again. 

“Fuck.” 

“I gotta go,” she says reluctantly. “But later — later we’re going to talk about some things. Okay?” 

He doesn’t say it out loud, but he thinks it very clearly in that moment: I love you. 

“Okay.” 

The Soldier pins her brutally against the wall, one hand around her wrists, the other around her throat. He doesn’t squeeze, not yet, just holds her there and savors the thrill; she’s writhing and lashing out at him like a caged animal, but he’s got her and she knows it. 

It’s beautiful, the way she snarls and tries to struggle. 

He wants —

 — so this must be a normal dream, not a memory, but — 

— he wants to fuck her just like this, up against the wall, and —

— his hips jerk and his cock throbs, and — 

— fuck, he wants her. 

“Baby?” Her voice comes out as a sleep-slurred moan. 

He tries to blink away the dream, but instead he’s rolling over and pinning her, rocking his hips down before he can stop himself. She sucks in a breath, spreading her legs to meet the next slow thrust, and she blinks dazedly up at him, mouth dropping open as they rut against each other. 

“What was it?” she asks, raspy and heated. 

He lets out a pained sound and drops his head, hunching to bury his face in the crook of her neck. He’s so goddamn hard, so close, all over a fucked-up dream, and — 

“I was holding you — up against the wall. Your wrists.” 

“Yeah?” she says, voice smoky and eager. “Remember what we talked about?” 

“Traffic lights. Red if you want me to stop.” 

“Do it.”  

Oh. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Fuck yes.” 

He snatches her wrists and crosses them over her head, watching the way her lashes flutter at the touch of metal, the way she bites her lip. She shifts under him, squirming until the length of him is slotted up against her slickness and her legs are up around his hips. 

He slides in slow, relishing every inch, her body welcoming him with living dripping heat. She arches up, and he adjusts his grip on her wrists, squeezing slightly as he braces himself. All he wants in the entire damn universe is to drive into her, piston his hips until she’s screaming, but he starts to fuck her with steady even thrusts, holding back, trying to let go of the last lingering doubts. 

“Doesn’t this scare you?” Bucky asks hoarsely. “That you’re trapped.” 

She lets out a moan that sure as hell doesn’t sound like fear. This isn’t a dream any more, but it still feels surreal. 

“Yellow,” she says.  

“Shit. What’s wrong?” He tries to pull away, but she’s got her ankles hooked, keeping him in place with her legs. He lets go of her wrists, at least, and hauls in a deep breath, trying to make sense of that fierce expression on her face. 

“Nothing. I just wanted you to see that you’re in control. You chose to stop.” 

He swallows hard. “Yeah. I did.” 

“Stop punishing your body for wanting this,” she says. 

His breath catches, and for a moment all he can do is stare. She gives him a smile so soft it threatens to rip him open.

Then he curls his fingers around her wrists again — they’re still crossed, right where he left them. He waits for her nod. 

“Green.” 

Companion fic is here. 

[the-fiction-witch]

My Little Angel

Media: Doctor Who Season 3 Episodes 8 Human Nature & 9 Family Of Blood 

Character: Timothy Latimer (Thomas Brodie Sangster)

Couple: Timothy Latimer X Reader

Rating: Adorable

Concept: Care From a At Home Nurse 

I laid in bed staring up at the cream ceiling with dark wooden beams. I couldn't sleep. No matter how hard I tried.

The things I saw... such horrible things.

They flooded my mind at every opportunity and there was nothing I could do to keep them away.

My dreams are a haunting nightmare of guns. Bombs. Faces. Flames. Nothing would chase these ghosts away.

I pushed my body up from my rugged old bed doing my best to rub my eyes and face a little. I picked up my silver pocket watch from the side table running my fingertips across the text that lay on the outside even if I couldn't read it. I clicked it open and read it was already six anyway, no point trying to get back to bed. I shut it and set it on the table forcing myself up having to grab onto my bedpost to keep me up. Grabbing my wooden stick from the side so I could actually get across my house to the bathroom being careful not to slip on the stones.

I ran a pot of hot water, washed my face, up and down my arms and even my teeth. I hated looking in the mirror seeing the lifelessness my face had nowadays. I hobbled back to the main house and got dressed for the day, nothing too special for the day. Heading to the kitchen and put a pot of tea on to boil.

I made my way slowly to the front door unlocked it and headed out onto the porch seeing the grey sky, the ground wet but not currently raining, the wind fickle not enough to move the trees. I took a seat on the bench outside my front door looking across my garden, the road, and the fields that stretched for miles. I took a few good breaths full of air trying to clear the dust out of my lungs doing my best not to think about it all.

I suddenly heard the small ringing I knew well. The small bicycle bell rang in lots of three from the right of the road.

I looked up the road and saw the little red bicycle coming down the road towards my house with many items in its front basket.

Soon enough they stopped Infront of my gate and climbed off.

Little y/n, she was... a few years younger than me but Impossibly beautiful. She wore these sweet little black flat shoes much like a ballerina's, brown riding trousers that were uhhhhh tight. You could see her every curve and crevice and I admit having spent my formative years firstly in a boys boarding school where the only women were the matron and the maids who all wore large bustle skirts and then at war where... There were no women. Those pants did tend to uhh wind me up a little. She had a cream button-down with the sleeves rolled up and a brown waistcoat to match her trousers, her hair in sweet pinned-up curls, no hat to speak of, bright red lipstick and a sweet smile.

I knew her well, she's the local nurse around here now, and once I came home I often needed her assistance. We grew close and even became friendly despite the gap.

She smiled gathering the things out of her basket

"Good morning Timothy"

"Morning y/n" I smiled as she got my post from the box for me and headed down my path

"How's that ankle this morning Mr?"

"Same as ever"

"You silly thing, well you need to use it come on to the kitchen I'll make you a tea no stick," she says taking my stick with her as she headed in, I sighed and pushed myself up gritting my teeth through the pain of my ankle holding everything I could to try and keep me up until I collapsed in my kitchen chair

"Good work, for such good works you can have a biscuit" she smiled setting her little tin on the table filled to the brim with her handmade biscuits going to make tea with the kettle I boiled soon enough she brought the tea with a sweet smile, I happily took a biscuit melting into the nice warm chocolate. "Now let's have ourselves an investigation into this ankle" she says moving the stool over to put my leg up on moving her chair over rolling up my trousers

I didn't want to look. I couldn't be faced with it.

Not long before the war was over I got my ankle twisted in barbed wire stupid boy I was with tried pulling it off and ended up messing up my ankle badly she gave it a clean and a massage which did help the pain alot, she gave me some things to put on it most of which she did and wrapped my ankle in a little bit of cloth to support it better

"There we are. All better" she smiled sitting up and giving my cheek a kiss which admittedly made me blush

"Thank you y/n"

"All in a day's work"

"Now you said there was trouble sleeping again?"

"There is. Probably just the bed" I told her having some tea

"Well I'm not flipping your mattress again I've done it four times this month," she says

"I know. Sorry -"

"You can't sleep Tim because you're always stressed worrying about everything and nothing." She says tidying the kitchen a little

"I can't help it"

"I know you can't" she cooes coming to sit close with me "Timothy, I can't imagine the horrid things you saw, the things you went through, and I'm sure there is little I could do to chase away those memories. But the war ended six years ago you need to get on with your life" she says

"I know I do. It's just hard to find a reason to"

"Alright, well why not start small? How about a trip to town ever so often?"

"I don't like town"

"Well, how's about something to take your mind off? Get yourself some new books"

"I don't have the energy to read much anymore"

"How about a hobby, maybe do a puzzle? Sew? Knit? Garden?" She suggested

"Perhaps"

"Alright, I'm only trying to help" she says going and making my bed for me

"I know. You are a great help y/n really"

"Thank you" she smiled "still I think you need a time out of this house, or just some time doing something other than wallowing in that big blonde head of yours," she says

"I like wallowing"

"I know you do." She laughed "but it wouldn't kill you to go out and do something every once in a while"

"I know, I just don't have a lot of desire or drive too so much more than sit"

"You know who you remind me of sometimes Timothy?"

"No?"

"A certain little grey donkey" she smiled "who oftentimes loses his tail" she giggled

"I'm not Eeyore" I complained

"You can be sometimes my soft sad little boy" she giggled

"You love the damn book"

"I do. I find it perfectly pleasant"

"There for children you know"

"So we start saying books are just for children we'll end up with some very stupid adults in the world," she says "there are some very good books in this world written with sweetness pictures and little yellow bears, we say there just for children we'll miss so many good books," she says

"I suppose you're right." I sighed "you're always right." I smiled watching her as she tidied up but she came close "Your my little angel" I smiled pulling her close so she perched on my thigh which caused her a bunch of giggles keeping my arm around her waist "my sweet little angel who comes by on Tuesdays to make me feel better"

"Awww Timothy, your too sweet" she smiled pushing on my chest as she got herself up again "Right I best be off then," she says gathering her things but leaving me the biscuits

"Alright, Could I... have my usual Tuesday present?"

She smirked at me a little putting her hand on her hip and giving me a glare "Okay, you can." she smiled going to the door and leaning on it "If you come all the way over here with no stick timothy"

"Okay" I smiled pushing myself up and doing my best to go over gritting my teeth trying to deal with the pain from my ankle and almost collapsing into her arms "did it"

"Alright silly boy" she smiled tapping my nose sweetly before she gave my lips a soft kiss, I happily wrapped her arms around her waist our kisses got deeper and more passionate till she pulled back and giggled "there, feel better now?"

"Much much better my angel" I smiled giving her another kiss

"Good, right I'll see you next week"

"See you next week" I smiled giving her another kiss before she hurried out to her bike loading up her things "Y/n?"

"Yes Timothy?"

"Did you... wanna come over tomorrow night, For dinner. I'll make it"

"Sounds lovely, you handle the dinner I'll bring dessert" she smiled blowing me a kiss

[laequiem]

Kiss-proof

/ Jude has lost Cardan in the mall. Of course, he is in the one place she would never go. Domestic fluff, fluffy fluffiest fluff

Fandom: The Folk of The Air

Rating: T for mention of characters having a sex life, but that's it.

The flaw in Cardan's glamour is the same detail that infuriates me when I look at his face when he wakes up: he is impossibly beautiful. Not handsome like a popular actor, not pretty like the members of a boyband. He is absolutely devastating, just as he is as a faerie.

read on ao3 • part of Tales from the Mortal Realm

I check my bulky flip phone for the 5th time.

4:23pm.

I don't know why I expected Cardan to be back on time. I had some errands to do—which might include lingerie I wanted to keep secret until our anniversary—so I told him to explore the mall on his own. I gave him some (real, non-glamoured) money to spend like a child with an allowance.

There are so many red flags with this whole plan.

I do not like to admit it, but I'm worried. My extravagant husband has enough trouble fitting in with humans when he is with me, I can only imagine the trouble he can get himself in without me. Or the trouble that can find him when I am not there to protect him.

I get up from the bench that I had designed as our meeting point. Where could he be? Anywhere I would not go, which does not narrow the list down very much. As I walk around, I can imagine him enjoying every single one of these places.

Cardan smelling some bath bombs and chatting up with a pushy Lush salesperson. All that glitter, all that dye—the servants would rage at having to clean the tub afterwards.

Cardan entering a sterile-looking jewelry store, eyes glittering at all the precious gems.

Cardan browsing Hot Topic, digging into bowls of plastic rings and looking at shirts for bands he does not know.

My stomach drops as I stand before the one store I know I will find him in. Black-and-white striped pillars stand on either side of the storefront and the dreaded white font over black spells out the name of the store: Sephora.

I have never entered a Sephora before. They are intimidating and I know nothing about their products. Whenever I needed new eyeliner, I would just ask Vivi to buy me whichever one she thought was best. Nowadays, I can count on my husband's extensive makeup collection and skills.

“We have servants to do this!” I had insisted the first time he approached me with a kohl pencil. He had laughed, and I let him line my eyes. Ever since, I look forward to it. It’s a small, intimate gesture with which we prove our love to each other without saying a word. It is his way of showing care, and my way of showing trust.

I pass the threshold of the store and I spot him immediately. Even without my True Sight making his glamour ripple when I gaze at him, I would still have a hard time believing he is human. His glamour is perfect—rounded ears, no tail, the glitter of his skin dulled down to a normal healthy shine—but every glamour should have a flaw. The flaw in Cardan's glamour is the same detail that infuriates me when I look at his face when he wakes up: he is impossibly beautiful. Not handsome like a popular actor, not pretty like the members of a boyband. He is absolutely devastating, just as he is as a faerie.

Even amongst gorgeous people who perfected their faces through makeup and good lighting, he stands out.

For me, however, bewilderment comes from seeing Cardan wait in line like a normal person. Like a boy who did not grow up as an entitled prick. It shakes me so much that I stop in my tracks and watch him walk up to the register once the previous client leaves.

He adapts better than I give him credit for. My heart swells with love for this male who keeps challenging and surprising me.

I go to bypass the line and I catch a snippet of his conversation with the boy manning the cash register. On the counter lay piles of makeup, from eyeshadow palettes to colorful eyeliner.

"A good choice!" the cashier exclaims, holding a dark lipstick, "it has the best matte finish. It even passes the kiss test!"

I swear I can see him wiggle his perfectly defined eyebrows. The smile he gives Cardan is wicked—the same kind of grin my husband gives me over dinner then he's feeling particularly hungry.

"The kiss test?" my husband asks, a grin forming on his sinful lips.

"Yeah," the cashier replies, "you can make out with someone, it won't budge. Or transfer."

I get to Cardan’s side and the cashier notices me then. His brows raise in surprise for a moment before he schools his features into a socially acceptable customer service smile.

I can't blame him for his surprise—Cardan and I could not look any more mismatched. His sharp features are accentuated with contouring and a lighter version of his usual silver highlighter. I, on the other hand, barely had time to brush my hair before putting on an oversized hoodie and leggings. I bet I look like someone he took pity on and brought to the mall for a makeover.

"Where is the fun in that?" Cardan looks at me then, his dark eyes twinkling with mischief. "Still, I suppose I will have to try."

I roll my eyes and he presses a kiss to the top of my head.

The cashier tells Cardan the total, and he raises a brow when my husband starts counting cash. I know other humans use cards nowadays, but without a permanent address in the Mortal Realm, we have been dealing exclusively in cash—mostly given by Vivi in exchange for Elfhame goods.

The boy thanks Cardan for his purchase, and it's all I can do not to laugh when he replies "you're very welcome", like that is a normal thing to say to a retail employee.

On our way out, Cardan stops by one of the many mirrors in the store and applies his new lipstick, ending with a pop of his luscious lips.

"Really? You couldn't wait until we got back to the hotel?"

I smile teasingly at him, and he grins back. The lipstick is deep, dark purple.

"If I did, nobody would see it but you." He slides an arm around my waist and winks. "That would be a shame, when it looks so good."

I roll my eyes and slip out of his embrace, making towards the exit. When my back is turned to him, I allow myself a smile. It does look good, I think, though I won't give him the satisfaction of saying it aloud.

"Jude, wait—"

With those long legs of his, Cardan catches up to me quickly. He puts a hand on my shoulder and spins me around to face him. I lift my chin to look at him, and his expression sends a chill down my spine. This face used to send unwanted images of our younger days to my brain—Cardan spitting on my shoes, pulling my hair, kicking my lunchbox. Nowadays, this wickedness sends my blood rushing south and fills me with memories of his clever fingers and his face between my legs.

"I was not done," he says as he circles my waist again, pulling me towards him sternly. "I have to debunk the claims the boy made."

"Fine," I say, and peck him quickly on the lips.

He chuckles. "You know that won't do, Jude dearest."

Cardan leans towards me. Instinctively, I part my lips and close my eyes. Even after all this time, I hate that he has this effect on me, even though I know it's not fair. I have spent my whole life training with a blade while he spent his training his mind and body to seduce and manipulate.

His lips claim mine and I all but melt into him. I forget where we are, how utterly exposed we are to the judgement of others. I seek out his tongue with mine and bite his lip the way he likes.

Cardan pulls away and I chase after his lips, desperate for more, until I feel his mouth on my neck. Slender fingers grip my chin, angling my head to allow him access.

I open my eyes and finally remember myself, where we are and how inappropriate this is—

"Cardan!"

He hums in question as his cruel mouth continues kissing its way up to my ear. His hand moves back towards my nape and tangles in my hair, pulling lightly.

"We're in—you can't just do that! People are—"

I look around, mortified. The mall is not that crowded, but I see people looking abruptly away when I look in their direction. A mother covers her child's eyes as she notices us. An old lady sneers.

I feel Cardan grin against my skin before dragging his teeth up my ear to nibble at the curved cartilage.

I give a small shove to his chest and he pulls away with a chuckle that curls my toes.

"You're shameless," I say.

"You look like you drank an entire bottle of faerie wine," he replies, then gives a quick kiss to my heating cheek.

When he pulls back, he inspects my face with narrowed eyes, then my neck. He lets out an impressed hum.

"It seems he was right. No marks."

I laugh and his eyes light up, a genuine smile forming on his dark lips.

"Will you buy more, then?" I ask.

"No. I prefer when it leaves marks."