#she looks SO GOOD in any hairstyle
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sapphireofmars · 1 month ago
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round of applause for agatha's lavish, magnificent, gorgeous hair
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internetgiraffekid1673 · 7 months ago
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Miraculous Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng Drawings
I drew a lot of Marinette Dupain-Cheng from Miraculous Ladybug. I have the same love hate relationship with this show that most of the active fandom has. I may repurpose the time lapse from this drawing to use as visual while I rant about it and turn that into a YouTube video.
This is technically a redesign of Marinette, except I mostly like her canon design, so it’s actually just putting her in a bunch of different outfits to fit the occasion.
I started by tracing a picture of her and starting to adapt it to my style, thence freeform drawing her canon design in my style, then went from there.
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Imagined context for each one:
Canonette Trace: Marinette at a regular school day.
Canonette Freeform: Marinette attempting to greet Adrien like a normal human being and mostly succeeding.
Girlboss Marinette: She had a big presentation that she wanted to look professional for.
Bakinette: It’s 2 a.m. and she’s making brownies for some reason.
Dancinette: She’s ballet dancing alone in her room, cuz she’s not confident enough to dance in any public capacity.
Grouchinette: She hasn’t slept in 3 days and someone just asked her a really dumb question.
Fashionette: Showcasing her newest design
Pridenette: It’s a pride parade and she’s having a little too much fun.
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silusvesuius · 13 days ago
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i legit love when a character's gender is so integral to their personality (and perception obviously.) like so concrete that if genderbent their whole shtick would just be absolute dookie. anyways i'm just writing this text so i can talk in the tags (My beautiful safe haven)
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this 14 minute song is soooooooooooo FYRE
#text#actually i'm thinkinbg about this only cus i'm drawing female neloff and i'm just like#Elder dookies fans already hate females..... imagine them tryign to handle a woman with NPD that is reaching toxic waste levels#old decaying female with NPD.#but i'm also drawing female neloff for fun cus i have an idea for a look; i don't think it's a good idea#and he is just one of those characters that feel very good in the strict cismale box.#i also feel silly talking about gender-anything in any fiction because that's a topic only Am*ricans with no real problems sweat about#if that makes sense#just not something that interests me in the slightest#actually this might jsut be fascinating 2me because it is interesting indeed to see the different ways narcissism is treated. in characters#if i keep saying females instead of women it's bc i legit love that word. Sorry#and el*nwen+ulfr*c too are those female+male respectively perfectly fitting characters too#but notice how i didn't say cis. exactly. i'm thinking about the person that said elly did his top surgery in the torture basement. 4 free#or maybe i said that and they jsut said they're both t4t. Mmmaybe#the absolute W we copped with elly being the ' ' Big Bad ' ' th*lmor as a woman who is just obsessed with the luxuries of life.#stereotypical high society woman#she's so cute#i might just be obsessed with exploring very traditional dynamics too. i love keeping it grounded yk#Me after reading too many geriatric centuries old novels and huffing copium on sk*rim#i think i legit hate having fun with wilder character personality-morphism (because it is useless) that's not working with what u have#i'm just saying things that will make sense only 2 me now. Bye#why did i develop interest-related nihilism that extends to me hating fantasy franchises and anything that isn't non-fiction#i love it tho makes me feel so sophisticated#this is what happens when nobody humbles you while you draw regurgitated glorified studentXteacher (with a medieval twist) for a year.#i'm so excited for the year to be over not bc it's bad for me but bc i wanna see what all of the n*lvas art i drew looks like together#i wanna compile it like i did with eltl in 2023#n*lvas been treating me so well though liek i've been at such an artistic Peak especially after may#i'm always at my artistic peak tho.#i have a picture of n*relion on my mspaint canvas and it keeps looking at me while i'm drawing . he scares me because who gave him -#- the t*lvas hairstyle and the n*loth beard Bro.
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only-lonely-www · 2 years ago
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Do you see my vision.
Do you see it.
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blessyouhawkeye · 2 years ago
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stan twitter making fun of luna's new haircut when she looks like THIS is fucking crazy to me..... like she's giving. that's mother. if you say anything otherwise i'll kill you.
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moe-broey · 1 year ago
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Honestly a dream hobby of mine (ESP as I've been getting more into Making Things with My Hands -- from pins to jewelry and ESPECIALLY clothing modifications) is doll customization. ESPPP inspired by Dollightful on Youtube, where her projects get So Involved sometimes she's woodworking she's sawing off limbs she's using clay and sanding it down to reshape the doll's body to fit her vision. AND ofc any doll custom involves a new face (watercolor pencils or paints choose your fighter) and new hair (doll hair BUT I ALWAYS THINK ABOUT the way of making doll hair/wefts Out Of Yarn‼️‼️ THAT'S SO COOL) and a new outfit (sewing and crafting and ESPECIALLY considering "Okay, What material would work best to achieve the goal I'm aiming for? How does it sit? How does it flow? And most IMPORTANTLY How Does It Work!!!!!")
Like maybe it's the alleged not officially diagnosed ADHD but I GET. SO BORED. If I'm not Working With My Hands (I literally CAN'T draw digital anymore because IT'S BORING‼️‼️ IT'S TOO CLEAN ALSO‼️‼️‼️ LET ME BULLSHIT AND GET MESSY AND TRY WEIRD THINGS THAT MAY OR MAY NOT WORK ‼️‼️‼️ EXPERIMENTAL‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️)
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doolallymagpie · 1 year ago
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Trying to prime 1:12 Thalia
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Hopefully the stickiness is just that the paint is still a bit wet
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russellsppttemplates · 7 months ago
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Hi,
can I request a blurb where reader always forgets or looses hair ties and Lando noticed this so he started to always wear one on his wrist for her?
"It's so hot", you grumbled as you walked around the city, Cisca and her boyfriend joining you and Lando on your day out since they came over to spend the week with you in Monaco.
"Do you want me to get your cardigan, lovie?", Lando asked, "no, thanks though, I'll just tie it to my bag", you smiled, doing so before latching your hand back in his, his thumb rubbing your soft skin, "you're good?", he asked and you nodded after looking at your wrists.
"Is the restaurant still far?", Cisca asked, "no, just around that corner", you mused.
It was not the time of the year where you had sunlight until later on, so Lando suggested you take a drive around the city, you and Cisca sitting in the back while Lando drove and his sister's boyfriend sat next to him, "are you two safe back there?", Lando checked again.
"Yes, we are", you said, trying to keep your hair behind your ears so your hair wouldn't be a mess later.
"You've been dying to tie your hair for at least five hours now but you didn't bring a hair tie like usual", Lando said as he stretched his wrist out for you once he got to the red traffic light.
"I'm not going to use one of your bracelets to tie my hair - it will probably snap and the beads will get tangled in my hair", you reasoned as you noticed Cisca patting her pocket and check her wrists, "I don't have any on me", she apoligised.
"I have a hair tie for you in there, you muppet", Lando smiled, feeling your fingers gingerly touching his wrist as you found the thin black elastic band.
"Thank you, baby", you smiled, using your fingers to pull your hair back properly and get it out of the way, checking with Cisca as she flashed you a thumbs up.
"Looks good", she smiled before patting her brother's shoulder, "who knew the boy used to come into my room and ruffle my dolls' hair and do crazy hairstyles on them would be carrying a hair tie for his girlfriend when he was older? Good job, you! You turned out okay after all!", she teased Lando in a sisterly manner, the four of you laughing as you and Lando blushed.
(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)
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bi-writes · 8 months ago
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the lamb experiment
a body is given. and it cannot be taken back.
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pairing: ghost (+ tf141) x curvy!fem!reader word count: 6.3k summary: the 141 are not known for their pliancy. in an effort to take back control, they send a lamb to slaughter.
cw: (18+) mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dark!tf141, military criticism, unhealthy power dynamics, graphic descriptions of violence + gore + torture + murder, themes of dubcon (but reader is consenting), piv, cumplay, fear play, size kink, praise kink, curvy!reader with hair long enough to hold
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You don't think you've ever been the object of anyone's affections, not really. Although you are blessed with many gifts, even physically, you do not see yourself that way when you look in the mirror. How you feel inside betrays you when you look in one, and instead of staring too long, you always turn away.
This time, you stare. Because her ass looks nice, and her skin looks soft, and her face isn't disagreeable.
This reflection almost terrifies you. In front of you lies a woman you do not know.
She looks good. Your clothes are a size too snug, and it squeezes all the parts of you that normally you attempt to hide. Your thighs, the cinch of your waist, every curve you cover up with your uniform normally is on display, and instead of your hair in a standard bun, it lays free. You are anything but the soldier you always see, and just when you think about running, there is a knock at the bathroom door.
You open it, straightening out your outfit, and you look down shyly when you see the face on the other side of the door.
"It's...a little tight," you say, tugging at the waistband of your pants, but the woman tuts, crossing her arms over her chest as she steps back to look you up and down.
"It's as it should be," she responds, very matter-of-fact. "Now follow me. Need to debrief before your flight."
Her name is Laswell. You have not been graced with any other name, and you suspect it is because she wants you to call her Laswell and nothing else. She is blunt and intelligent, and there is no room for anything but the truth with her. If you answer her with a lie, she waits until she hears what she knows is expected.
When you sit, she spreads a few files out in front of you. Four manila folders, three packed with documents and pictures, one with documents only. You reach for one, eyeing the labeled name.
MacTavish.
You open it, and you're overwhelmed with the information. You see a man with pretty blue eyes and a military history that would put your old squadron to shame. Flicking through the pages, there are numerous confirmed kills, no small list of disarmed explosives, reports written by others and himself that even at a quick glance exude something impressive, utmost intelligence and extensive knowledge. You take note of his unique hairstyle; shaved sides of his head and tuffs of dark waves that run down the middle. You acknowledge how much you like when it gets a little long, falling in curls over his forehead.
The next file is equally as large. You flip it over, and you tilt your head to the side when you see a picture of him. He isn't posing, but his stature is one of confidence, and he's gorgeous. A strong facial structure, dark eyes. He keeps his hair short, and his skin is dark, and as your eyes roam lower, you notice the strong muscles of his forearms as he grips a rifle. His skill sheet is no less impressive than his sergeant counterpart. He has been in so many dangerous situations, and he comes out with nothing but scratches; and he seems to be deadlier with nothing but his hands than any small firearm could be.
Kyle. It's fitting.
You look away from his pretty face to their commanding officer. There is a picture of him with the other two sergeants, and you notice how he stands taller than them, but just as broad, and you think military fatigues suit him well. He wears his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and you can see the expanse of his strong arms and his large hands, and you take note of his carefully sculpted beard and the hat he wears. When you flip through the history, you are overwhelmed with the amount of ops he carries under his belt. This man is a war machine. You suspect there is a number on his head somewhere, in some distant country, and it makes you shift in your seat when you realize this isn't someone easy to kill.
He does the killing. And that's all that matters to the Crown.
John. That is the one that has to matter most.
"He's the one who calls the shots." Laswell's voice cuts through your heavy thoughts. She takes the last folder and opens it for you, and immediately you notice the lack of photos here. "But this is the glue."
Ghost. That is the name that sits on the official documents, but there is a dirty sticky note pasted next to it with Laswell's chicken scratch.
Simon Riley.
"His name is redacted," she says simply. "And so is his face."
"He has no face?" You ask, and when you realize how you worded it, you think it a stupid sentence, but Laswell only stares.
"Not one that matters," she responds. You look back down at the documents. He is tall, and you observe that he's most skilled with a sniper rifle, although he doesn't lack confidence or efficacy in any other form of combat. Hand-to-hand, smaller firearms, rifles, he uses them all with a terrifying accuracy, and you pull the papers closer to you as you read more.
"The glue," you murmur, not quite understanding. "And what am I supposed to be?"
"The solvent. The hammer. Whatever the fuck I need you to be."
The thing that breaks it apart. The thing that tears. The thing that makes them bleed.
And so you lie. It is what you do, what you are taught. Laswell is good at it, and you are a fish to water with it. You lie until it comes as easy as breathing, you learn to pretend until it is all you know, and when you create your second life, it is easy because it is the only one Laswell tells you to know.
You are a soldier, and you do as you're told. When your orders are to forget who you were and become something else, you do it, because that is how it works. And you know what you are in Laswell's eyes--you are a weapon, and you gave your body to the state, and she can do what she pleases with it.
And you know, really, what she expects you to do.
It isn't spoken of. She never says it out loud. But when you study the files she gives you, you notice there are more details that what is necessary. You learn more about them, in ways that feel intimate, that feel secret.
That John's favorite color is red. That MacTavish likes a traditional meal. That Kyle has a sweet tooth and likes jazz. That Ghost downs two fingers of Kentucky bourbon to unwind.
They are things to help make them agreeable, you think, but agreeable in what way is up to you.
But red looks good in lace. You've been told the stomach is the way to the heart. Chocolate is supposed to be an aphrodisiac. And alcohol is the perfect enabler--and armed with this information, you will divide and conquer.
Break and tear apart. Separate. Sever the bond. That is your mission, that is what you've been told to do, and you will do it because that is what a good soldier does, and this is all you are.
Laswell's pet. Her pretty little soldier. The hammer to her nail, the bone for her dogs, the string that will mend the ones snapped by her own puppets.
She wants control, and she isn't stupid, and neither are you. When you look in the mirror again, you understand why she picked you. No matter how far her men stray, they cannot change what they are at their core.
Men.
And men are fickle.
You suspect, you hope, even these ones are. They are not gentle, and Laswell makes sure that you learn well why it is they need supervision. She shows you pictures, videos, eyewitness statements of their spiral into violence.
It's not that they weren't war criminals before, but they were her war criminals. Unsanctioned ops, sure, but they toed a line that was drawn for them. But then the red tape became too much, even if there wasn't very much of it for them.
They began to ignore orders. When they were told to stay put, a sergeant would slip off, and under the guise of protecting them, all four would end up in a firefight. And when this became a frequent excuse, they stopped coming up with them. They simply showed up in manila folders like the ones you held, enemy casualties sometimes in the hundreds, and they did not appear even when required.
Debriefing? Their connection was bad. A hearing in front of their superiors? They're on a mark, and they cannot move. And then it was just silence. The occasional response to real crisis, and then back underground, until all Laswell could get from them were limbs taken off the enemies they weren't allowed to kill just yet.
They knew how to disappear. They knew how to hide. They knew how to stay put, come back up overground, and then scurry back underneath where no one would find them.
But that wouldn't do. Not for the CIA, not for SAS, not for either of their governments who soon realized they had let loose a group of soldiers-turned-mercenaries who hold valuable secrets that could put their politicians at the forefront of Congressional hearings, NATO violations, and then in the right mess of breaking off relations with a numerous amount of countries they already held fragile relationships with.
The 141 is a liability. They need to be the ones pulling the reigns again, no matter the cost--and they tell Laswell to do it, and to spare no expense and to pull back the curtain on what she believes might be crossing even the lines she has drawn before, to go beyond it.
She draws this line around you. A circle, a fence, wrapping around you as she molds you into what she needs you to be. She is honest. Not always kind, but honest, and because she is, you want to succeed.
Finally, you can be of use. Finally, there is something that will give you purpose. Even if it hurts, even if it kills you, you want to give her what she needs, because it isn't fair.
You have already given them everything, and you have nothing to show for it. So you paint your face, and you zip up the tight pants, you lie and you learn and you listen, and when she tells you that they will not be gentle, all you reply is, "I won't be either."
Men are fickle. And they fucking deserve this.
You are wearing red when John sees you for the first time. It is in your hair, a bright red scarf that keeps it out of your face, and you know he looks right at you and not through you when your eyes meet.
When he eyes the open door of your room later that evening, you pretend not to notice his gaze when he drinks in the sight of you in red lingerie.
It is the first morning you are with them that Johnny wakes to the smell of something in the rec room. You stand there, at the stove, stirring a wooden spoon in a warm pot, and when he steps in, you turn to see him, and you smile. You exchange no words, but when you hold a tasting spoon out to him with a soft potato and a spoonful of wonderful broth, he can't help the way he closes his eyes. There's a beautiful woman cooking stovies in the rec room, and when he opens his eyes, you are looking right back at him.
And then it's the music that plays in the evening that catches Kyle's attention. They are trailing back to their rooms after drills, and he catches sight of you in your room, and he can hear Ella Fitzgerald, and when you look over your shoulder, he is there, and he doesn't shy away.
And then--fuck--it is so easy.
Wherever you go, they follow. Unconsciously, you suspect, but they do, and you live the lie, and it feels fucking euphoric. You know you've won when you run your knuckles down John's cheek for the first time, and he keens, nuzzling the side of his face into your hand and chasing after your touch.
They are animals. You watch them when you join them on ops, rifle in front of you as you follow them, and you keep a neutral face as you observe them wreak havoc. They kill and they maim, and they sleep like the dead at night, as if the heinous ways they kill do not bother them at all. John points, and Kyle pulls the trigger. John nods his head, and Johnny detonates, nothing but a dull reflection in those blue eyes. John clicks his teeth, and Ghost sweeps.
He sweeps, and he kills, and if it wasn't so fucking terrifying, you would have admired the way he did it. The elegance that he took on an entire room of moving targets, how he never let himself be pinned down in one spot. Whenever someone gets too close, he goes hand-to-hand, and it's fucking brutal the way he finishes them off. He keeps throwing knives in his boot, and they sink into eye sockets as if running through tender meat. He puts blades through their mouths and doesn't let them go until the light leaves their eyes.
You hate that it makes you warm. That there is something deep in your belly, that twists there, that tells you that you like it. When he turns around and meets your eyes, wringing the blade out of someone's neck and letting them drop on the floor at your feet, you don't flinch. You simply kick them to the side and step over them, and Ghost watches as you lick over your teeth as you pass by him.
Insatiable. Fucking hungry. He eyes the sway of your hips, and when he finds his next target, he uses his hands again just because he needs to feel flesh under his gloved hands, needs to tear it apart. And when he feels you watching him again, he grunts as he stands to his full height. He's a fucking bear, and you leave him with a hint of a smile before you turn the corner.
You are not sure if you are pretending that day.
They ravage, and then they go back to their beds, and they wash the blood from their clothes with ease--and the worst part of it all is that you do it, too. You come out of the same places that they do, and your face is splattered with their targets. Your jeans have flecks of brain matter, your hands are dirty with someone's singed flesh. When you finally stand in the light back at their base, all John does is sit you in front of the bathroom mirror and wipe at your face with a warm towel.
He tells you how good you've done. How special you are. How he has never seen a woman keep up with them so easily, fit into their pack like she was meant to be.
He says that you belong, but he doesn't say to who. You wonder, for a second, if he means that you belong to them all.
When you report back to Laswell, you tell her this. What you don't tell her is what you've had to do to gain this status. You don't tell her about the blood you spill. You don't tell her about the bodies you see or the men that lose their faces or how worked up the boys get after an op and how it takes them hours between your legs to lose the adrenaline.
You don't tell her this because this is for you. It's all for you.
They tell you things you aren't supposed to know. When you're in their beds, they talk, and you listen. Kyle tells you about the man they are keeping in the cellar. That he's been there for 29 days, and he hasn't said a word, but that Ghost will be next to speak to him, and he will talk then.
Kyle tells you that it is a mercy that Ghost hasn't visited him yet, but they are done playing nice. When he says this, you have the image of Ghost standing over a man who pulled a gun on you in your head, and you remember watching him with a sickening relief as he pressed his thumbs into the man's eye sockets and pushed they were nothing but squished matter. You squeeze your legs together; and this time, you don't feel bad about it.
Johnny begs for you, his bonnie lass, to keep close to him on the next op because you strayed too far today. He fucks you to make you say yes, his lips on your ear as he tells you to promise him that you'll do as he says, and that if you promise, he'll let you come. So you promise, and he fucks you boneless, and the next day, you are glued to his hip when you raid a foreign embassy for nothing but answers.
You know they know. They don't say it out loud, but you know that they all know where you go at night. One night, you are kneeling under John's desk, kissing the pearly tip of him before taking him down your throat for what feels like hours. The next, you are letting Kyle bend you over his desk, rattling it against the wall as he tells you how pretty you are. And in the morning, you are pressed against the shower wall, Johnny holding your wide hips in his hands as he fucks into you, begging you, bonnie, please--give it to me, tha's it, right there, ye can do it, good girl--
Good girl. That's what you are. You're a good girl, and you do as you're told. You smile, and you keen, and you give them big, soft eyes, and you let them have the illusion of control. Maybe they think they're pressuring you. Maybe they think they scare you. Maybe they think this is why you get on your knees for them or let them pool your pants at your ankles or allow them to have you whenever they want, but the reality is that you want it, and you need it, and this is working.
They don't even realize you've fucked them into submission because they're too busy showing off.
A domino effect. You expect them all to fall once you have the captain, but there is one chess piece that does not move willingly.
Ghost.
He is an unmovable object. He stands still and rigid, and he is a statue that refuses to be pushed or pulled in any direction but one he deems. Even in the middle of the nights, when you notice he is awake, he never joins you when you drink his favorite bourbon outside. He doesn't ask for a cigarette when you smoke one, even though you never actually take a puff of it. He passes by you, and he doesn't look at you, and you are invisible.
You want to be content with what you've accomplished, but it isn't enough.
This is the glue. He is the glue, and without him, everything falls apart, and you cannot fail. There isn't room for it. And maybe you feel bad for preying on the parts of Ghost that you think he prefers to keep hidden, but you need to catch him before he gets too far away.
A kitchen accident. A knife that plunges too deep, that draws blood and makes you cry. You are in the bathroom, tears coming down your face, blood in the sink, and your hands are shaking as you try and patch yourself up. You are loud enough to draw the attention of the lieutenant whose door is only just across the hall, and when he sees you there, he doesn't leave you.
One moment there is nothing, and the next, he is behind you, a pervasive warmth at your back, and you whimper when a gloved hand wraps around your injured hand. Wordlessly, he turns the faucet on, running your hand under the water, and you hiccup, looking away and breathing deeply.
He wraps your hand in his room. You sit on his bed, and he works to cover the wound, and you know he has done this before. Soothed another's tears, quieted soft cries, covered up cuts and bruises and things that will scar.
He kneels in front of you, and when he stands to his full height, you tip your head back to look up at him. You think you will meet a soft gaze, but he glares, and he seems angry. When you open your mouth to speak, he tsks, and your tip trembles as you close it.
"Y'can fool the others," he says lowly, finally. "But not me."
You frown, confused. When you sniffle, he snarls.
"I know why y'r here," he murmurs. "Isn't the first time Laswell has sent one of her little...toys."
You clench your jaw. For a moment, something envious rattles you. You aren't like anyone else. You are certain no one has accomplished what you have, that no one has gotten this close to rock the fucking boat or pet the beast. He doesn't get to demean the progress you've made like this, even if he's figured you out, because you aren't going anywhere.
Not until you get everything you need.
"Excuse me?"
"Y'r a spy. You're CIA's whore, and I don't like y'here, puttin' y'r bloody nose where it don't belong," he kneels, his voice low and gruff, and he reaches over and grips your chin hard. "Y'may have fooled them. In their fuckin' beds...in their heads--" He draws you closer, and you swallow. "But y'r not in mine."
You meet his eyes. They are dark, and they are meant to scare you, but the feeling that runs through you isn't one that terrifies you. He is a magnet--and you can feel the field of his presence, and it has you. This is supposed to be your show. They are men, and they are stupid, and you hate them, and Ghost should be eating out of the palm of your fucking manicured hand, but there he is, spitting against his mask, and it is you that aches to see what is underneath the cotton.
"So, little lamb..." Ghost rumbles, and it is with his entire chest that he speaks. "Wot is it you're here to do, eh?"
You shake your head, "N-Nothing. She...all she told me was that this was a joint operation...CIA and SAS--"
"Y'r on the piss, I know that," he hisses, clicking his teeth. "Joint operation," he laughs, but it is without humor. "Is that we're calling this now? Being barracks bunny for the 141?"
"Fuck you," you snap, shoving his hand off. "You're a fucking bastard, and if you think--"
"If I think wot, eh?" He stands, and you choke as he grips you by your throat, lifting you off of his bed and forcing you against the wall. You grip his wrist, but it is useless, because he's a brute, and you are nothing to him. He holds you there on your toes, and you grip him tighter, but he doesn't budge. Even digging your nails into him doesn't make him flinch. If anything, he seems amused. "Wot kind of trainin' she make y'do, eh? Did ya have to practice? Who'd y'shag to get y'r stripes?"
"Eat shit," you spit, and he snickers. There is fire in your eyes, venom on your tongue, you are a fighter, and when the world is so quiet, fighting feels good, and he knows this feeling well. He understands what it means to be nothing and then something, what it means to worthless and then useful in the eyes of government and government alone.
Because you are useful, but only to Laswell, and only as this, whatever this is. Whatever you are. Pet, prize, toy--it doesn't matter what the name is today, but it will stick tomorrow, and you wonder, sickeningly, if that is your destiny.
To be unknown. To be used. To be the property of what you do not know. To be given, to be taken, to not know and to be content with not knowing.
To accept it because it is still better than whatever you were before.
He sees this. He looks into your eyes, he breathes in, and he hums, and when his grip loosens just enough, you put your toes on the ground, and you lean in, and there you are.
One and the same. Bitten, chewed, spit out, two people who are products of their suffering and the culmination of their sheer fucking will to live, even if the living is miserable.
Maybe that is what it is. Maybe it's what's broken that will put you together. Ghost is the glue, you are the solvent, and you will make it so.
Because I can't fail, I can't do it, I won't go back, I can't go back--
"I'm here for me," you whisper. "I'm here for me, and no one else--" You gasp, and it isn't a lie, not really. You are here for you, this is for you, even if it is at the downfall of someone else. If you need to step on necks to get ahead, you will.
Ghost is the last piece. The last one you need to move. He is stuck, but now you know what it is you need to do, you know how to set the game into motion.
"Ghost," you breathe, and it's soft, it's quiet. You meet his eyes, and you lean close, and he feels your breath on the front of his mask. "It's not what you think."
"You're a lamb."
"I don't wanna be a lamb."
"It doesn't matter what y'want, y'are a lamb," he growls, and you whine, and he hums, and you can see the crinkle of his eyes, and you know he must be smiling. "Tha's wot y'are, and y'can't run away from tha'."
You blink, and he stares, and there is understanding. You are prey, and you belong, but you don't know where. But then you remember you are a soldier, and it isn't your job to know. Your job is to lie still and let them have you.
And to not tell my handler how much I like it.
"It's what they made me," you whisper, and when there are tears in the corner of your eyes, he is gentle. He smooths his hand down your throat, rubbing a thumb over your trembling lip, and you know that he understands you. "It's not what I wanted."
"It's never what we want," he murmurs. "Never."
You hold your breath when he cups your face with a big gloved hand. Dark eyes on soft ones, and you wonder what it would be like to have him. He doesn't keen the way John does, doesn't kneel the way Johnny kneels, doesn't follow and listen without objection the way that Kyle does. No, he's a brick wall, and you need to be what knocks him over. You need to shake the foundation, split it in two.
You need to sever the fucking bond and do your fucking job.
"So when can I have what I want?" You ask him softly. "When...when is it my turn?"
He tilts his head to the side, curious, and you slide your hands up his forearms, over the muscle of his biceps. He is everything you cannot have.
And he is everything that you suddenly realize you want.
Forbidden. Unrelenting. The oxygen to a raging fire. He isn't the glue, he's the catalyst to whatever the fuck you bring to the experiment, and even though you know this will be disaster, you want it. You want it so badly.
Destruction tastes so good. Control is victory. Sex is power, and you want him, you want this, you want him to have you, to own you, to make you see what he sees, because it will be familiar because you are the same.
"Y'r a soldier," he says lowly. "Not about what we want. 's about what they want."
"Fuck what they want," you groan, looking away, and then a few tears slip down your face. "Fuck what they do with us. If I die for them, they only tick some fucking statistic. It means nothing. So why can't I do what I want with the time I get before...before I'm just...before I'm nothing again?"
And there it is. The mirror you hold up. The common ground. The level playing field. The two paths that cross, this is it, I have it, I have it, I fucking have it, I have him, he's mine--
He kisses you. You don't get to see his face, but his lips are there, a precious amount of skin that you're blessed with seeing until your eyes are closing.
His bed is warm. He fills it well, the breadth of him almost too much for its size, but it doesn't matter because he fucks so well. He eats your cunt because he's hungry, your thighs on his shoulders shaking as he laps at your wet folds.
He does this different. John is soft and slow, Kyle takes his time, and Johnny is always eager and sloppy. But Ghost watches. He slides his tongue in soft motions, watching, and when your thighs twitch and shake, he does the motion again. He flattens his tongue and drags it, and when you whine and arch your back, he revels in the way you move. He drinks what you spill, he fucks you with his tongue, and this is different because this isn't just attraction.
There is something about him. Something underneath the layers he covers himself with, under the mask, something that you can see that others cannot even though he doesn't take those layers off.
You know this is true when he's inside of you. His mask hasn't come off, but his mouth is on your ear, and he groans, and he talks, and you feel like he spoils you this way. Ghost never talks. You wonder often if maybe he has a limited amount of words, and he never says more than he has to lest he runs out of them. His eyes speak, and it's more than enough, but now, he talks, and it is a gift, and now you know.
He cradles your head as he fucks you, and he kisses you until you can't breathe, and then when he talks, it takes everything in you not to beg for more.
"Such a nice cunt...'s so nice..."
"Fuck--y'feel me, luv? Right there--" And he presses his palm down on your stomach, and you cry when he grabs your face and forces you to look at him, because he's cruel and he's mean, but his cock feels so good--
And you think it can't get better, and you think he can't go any deeper, and then your thighs are wrapped around his waist, and he's leaning over you, and you think you're forgetting your name.
You forget yourself. You forget the reason you're here. It's so hard to think when you're not yourself, when your mind is in the stars, when everything feels far away and so close all at the same time. There is a place for him inside of you now, and you know that even though he will ruin you, even though he already has, you will never be rid of him.
You've severed the bond. You've made your own.
When he kisses you again, and when he grinds his hips down so nice that your clit aches, you know suddenly what it feels like to have real control. The feeling that Laswell chases, the feeling she wants so fucking badly that she's made your body a weapon, your cunt a tool, your brain the hivemind that will make her every wish come true, you understand now.
You will make the sky blue, the birds sing, but you did not realize the power you held until you had Simon "Ghost" Riley buried so deep in you, that you aren't sure you're even really here anymore.
You gnaw on his arm, your tongue tracing the tattoos there. You taste sweat, and you swallow it, and you go numb thinking about having more of him inside of you. You want to bite and eat and take as much of him that he will let you--no.
You will bite and eat and take as much of him that you want, because he's yours, and you get whatever you want.
Your fingers grasp the cotton of his mask, and your grip is enough to pull his lips off of you, and when your eyes meet, the gaze is different. He's desperate. For once, there is something disorderly there, and he pants, and he wants something from you, and finally you have something to give him.
You fuck it out of him. You lay him on his back and let him look at you, and you fuck him because it feels good, because you want it, too, because it's all that matters. You cry into his mouth, sob, "please--! please, please, please--"
And he tugs on your hair in response, guiding your hips as he loses his composure, "'ve got you...y'r mine...'s olright, yeah--nggghhh, fuck, luv, th's it..."
You do want it. You do need it. You need them, but you want Ghost the most, because he is the piece that does not move. He is not willing to do anything except for the sake of his pack. Ghost is impenetrable, even your pretty cunt isn't enough to change his mind, but that isn't what this is.
This is mercy. Ghost, he is the product of all of his misery. You, you are the result of every man to ever betray you, the outcome of your unwavering desire for revenge. You are the same, somehow, and he knows this, and that is why can't help himself. That is why Ghost is underneath you, that is why he bares his mouth to you and lets you lick into it and allows you to taste the forbidden fruit.
Because he thinks you are him, and he thinks you think so, too, and all he's ever wanted in his life is just for someone to see him the way he saw himself.
When he comes, he paints your cunt and fills you, and you collapse, your body on fire as you come down from a high that takes your breath away. His big hands cradle you against his chest, and you don't move, too afraid to let go, and he kisses your face when you whimper. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and when he pulls out, you gather it up on your fingers and suck. He groans, and he kisses you, and then he sinks back to his knees because he doesn't hear the ringing in his ears when his mouth is on your pretty pussy.
You're just a lamb, it's all you are. Handpicked by Laswell to head into the lion's den, a scarred animal that has no one to protect her, straight to slaughter.
He knows what it feels like. He knows what it feels like to be used and forgotten, to have nowhere to go, to be backed into a corner with no way out, and he pities you.
Ghost pities you because there is nothing behind your eyes except fear. But it's a lie. You're so good at it now. It's a lie, and you tell it so well, and you're warm inside. Not from taking the last moving piece, but from the satisfaction of knowing you have done what others cannot. What others never could.
It's late when you finally settle beside him. He leaves you when you ask for something to eat. You watch him slip clothes on haphazardly and leave, the door swinging shut behind him as he shuffles to get what you need.
To provide. To protect. To shield. Ghost is good at those things, you knew he would be. A man does not nurse a brother back to health without it, does not protect his mother and defy his father without being good at being a dog.
He's a good guard dog. And when he goes, and the door is closed, you smile because the dog is mine, all fucking mine--
You reach for your phone, and you pull up the only contact in it. You type a simple message, and then you send it, and for good measure, you shut the device off, tossing it into the pile of your discarded clothes.
>> we have joy.
You are good at pretending. You can tell a lie without blinking. You have been taught to be this thing, and you do it well, because you are a soldier, and this is your mission, and you cannot fail, and you didn't fail.
When you see Laswell again, many weeks later, she is not surprised to see you covering up with long sleeves and keeping your hair down. One tug on the collar of your shirt, and she gets glimpses of the love bites that have marked bruises all across your skin. She lets you go, tells you to sit, and she smirks.
You smile back this time.
Men are fickle. And they fucking deserve this.
"Good girl," she takes out another manila folder, but it's different this time. When you open it, you have schedules of upcoming ops, intel the boys are working, evidence of their reckless abandonment of order in favor of the chaotic success of getting the job done. You have seen this first hand, you know what they do and how they do it. But now there is another factor, another subject, right in the middle of it all. It is you.
Laswell takes a seat, spreading out the papers, and you meet her eyes. This time it's different. This is the truth, and you want to feel bad for your betrayal, but you don't. The fact of the matter is that you and Laswell, together in this room, have more power at your feet than you know what to do with.
A lamb to slaughter, and yet you sleep with the wolves.
"Alright," she says. "Now let's get to fucking work."
2K notes · View notes
a-pute11as · 22 days ago
Text
stubborn
r has a hidden relationship with one of the team physios, but texts from an unknown number reveal she's being used and alexia isn't happy about it.
warnings - 18+ MDNI suggestive smut themes, stalker texts, angst
words - 2996
part 2
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my phone pinged. 
unknown number : she’s taking advantage of you, she’s done this with other people and she knows you’ll say good things about her to other staff so she’ll keep her job 
i furrowed my eyebrows, surely this wasn’t a text for me? the number wasn’t saved in my phone and i had no texts from them before.
me : i think you may have the wrong number 
i shut my phone off without thinking about it much after that, i knew it wasn’t for me but i very much felt sorry for the person it was intended for. 
i pushed myself up off the sofa to get myself ready for the evening training session, as nice as it was to train when it wasn’t as scorching hot, though i still preferred morning sessions. i stepped into my bathroom, standing in front of the mirror to slick my hair back into a ponytail, doing the same hairstyle i did most days. all of a sudden a pair of arms wrapped around my waist as i began brushing my hair, causing me to smile at the contact.
“we could do this every morning” she whispered before placing a peck on my neck, instantly having a calming effect on me, though it didn’t last long, “if you changed clubs”.
my face dropped and my body tensed up, she knew how much i hated this conversation and yet she never saw how ridiculous it was to ask me to leave a club like barcelona just for a casual fling to become something more. 
“mhm” i couldn’t say anything more, no matter how many times i tried, she would never actually listen to the words that were leaving my mouth. i was constantly fighting a losing battle.
“don’t be like that” she said, dropping her arms from me and stepping back. “this is my job just as much as it is yours, why should i risk my career so you can play football for another year at the ‘best club in the world’ before you go back to a half decent club”, her argument was stupid, but the audacity to use air quotes when referring to barcelona as the best club in the world stung. since we met i would always talk about how playing for barca was my dream, and how excited i was to be living that everyday, she knew exactly what this club meant to me. 
she leant against the bathroom door, staring me down, waiting for me to fight back and challenge the hurtful words she spewed at me, but she made it clear that she didn’t respect me and i was getting tired trying to gain a half-arsed apology from a person like her. 
“ana” i took a deep breath “if that’s how you feel then that’s okay, but i won’t be looking for a transfer just to please you” i sighed, continuing to put my hair back, “you know what this means to me”.
she rolled her eyes, “im not doing this, it’s always about what it means to YOU and never to us” she dramatically flung her arms in the air but i knew to stay quiet to avoid the same fight repeating itself. “you’re going to put me in a bad mood for work again, and don’t you dare think about going to isabel for a massage during recovery” with that she picked up her bag and left for work. 
peace and quiet, finally. 
i finished getting ready before grabbing my bag and heading down to my car, normally i’d go to training with keira, but she’d been out all morning so i assumed i’d be meeting her there. as i sat in my car i checked my phone, assuming it would just be a couple of texts i wouldn’t need to pay any mind to. 
unknown number : this is y/n, isn’t it? 
me : yes? why? 
unknown number : i know you’re with ana, she’s taking advantage of you. you aren’t the only person she’s with and she’s done this with multiple girls before you
my eyes widened.
me : who is this? how do you know this?
unknown number : i’ve been watching you, ive seen you leaving training together. i hate the way she looks at you and the way she touches you during recovery, it makes me sick.
i know she doesn’t give you what you deserve. i wouldn’t keep you hidden like this. 
i could give you so much more, i’d never hurt your pretty heart like this. 
i sat in my car, not wanting to move, i couldn’t care less about it being Ana or that i was receiving slightly stalker-like but somewhat hot texts from a random person, but i did care that i’d been used for someone else’s advantage. i knew i couldn’t let it go on any longer, not just so it would benefit her career and ruin mine. i swiped onto ana and i’s messages.
me : i’ll talk to you after work but we aren’t doing this anymore  
ana : don’t be like that, it was just a silly argument this morning, i’ll talk to you at work
me : can you read? i said after work. we aren’t doing this anymore, find someone else. 
i closed my phone and blasted music as i drove, assuming it would help re-centre my focus before i got to training, i couldn’t have something like this affect my performance. as i pulled into the car park i took a minute to collect my thoughts, somehow i had to remain professional but how could i when all that was swirling around my mind was finding out i was being fucked over and stalked in the same day. 
i finally got out of my car, grabbing my stuff as i headed towards the door. 
“alanna! stop ignoring my texts” i heard a small shout from behind me, i knew it was ana but i wasn’t about to give her the time of day. 
“what’s that about?” cata asked, standing at the door, clearly waiting for me to catch up to her. 
“we were sleeping together, not anymore though” i said blatantly, i had mentioned i was seeing someone but i never gave any more details than that, the only person who knew the true picture was keira but that was only because we lived together. 
“woah, i didn’t expect that” cata said, standing still for a moment, assumingly trying to process the information, as i continued to walk to the locker rooms. she quickly caught up to me and wrapped her arm around my shoulder, “im here if you want to talk about it, but not if you wanna test out your advanced spanish, thats way too painful” she added, with a small laugh, causing me to laugh too. 
we walked into the changing room, which was already filled with our fellow teammates, i quickly greeted them before heading to my cubby to put my stuff down, giving myself a minute to sit down and check my phone.
unknown number : you look so good today. dios mios the things i’d do to you… 
i quickly looked around the room to see if anyone was on their phone, no one was, all the girls were engaged in conversations with each other or had already left to go to the training pitch. i put my head in my hands for a minute, my attempts to refocus had failed. i wanted to wait until i was the last one in there, either so i could scream or cry, with no one else around. 
“habla con ella ale, tu eres la capitana” cata mumbled, trying to be quiet enough that i wouldn’t hear, but she was never very good at being quiet. 
“no quiero hacerla sentir peor” alexia mumbled back “nosotras no estamos tan cerca después del incidente” she added. 
the ‘incident’ was a very drunk champions league after party, which ended with alexia and i finding our way to the club bathroom to make out. we somehow made it back to her flat together, and whilst we didn’t sleep together, we certainly got close to, so close that we woke up naked. i didn’t regret anything about that night, not the drunken flirting, the incredibly close dancing or the bathroom make out session, i didn’t even regret making it back to her flat and taking off each other's clothes before we passed out. i regretted how i dealt with the situation, but i knew alexia held that same guilt too. 
they continued mumbling between themselves as i reached for my phone to text this unknown person. 
me : can you send me some kind of proof? for some reason i believe you, i just want to see it with my own eyes
moments after i hit sent, a phone within the locker room pinged. alexia’s phone. i didn’t think anything of it, she was one of the biggest names in women’s football, her phone was constantly going off.
as i put my phone back into my bag i noticed cata had left, leaving just me and alexia alone in the locker room. she was stood in front of me, maybe 6 feet away, one hand rubbing the back of her neck as her eyes darted about the room, making me realise just how awkward the situation was. then the realisation hit, this was the first time we had been alone in a room together since the incident, at least we were fully clothed. 
“ale, you don’t have to do this” i said, standing up so there wouldn’t be the awkward tension that happens when someone is looking down on you.
“i’m your captain, i should be here for you if you need someone to talk to” alexia said, meeting my eyes. 
whilst things had been awkward between us for the last couple of months, we actually hadn’t seen each other much, i was back home, playing a couple of games for england but ale was representing spain in the olympics, so we never really got the chance to talk about things. 
“it’s just something personal, honestly it means nothing, you don’t have to worry about me capi, i’ll be focused” i awkwardly shuffled the bracelet around my wrist and forced a smile. 
“i’m not worried about you being focused nena, y/n im worried about you being okay”
my name rolled off her tongue like it was made for her to say, so perfect and effortless as if english wasn’t her second language yet it was like hearing an angel. she never really knew the soft spot i had for her. before that night, we were close, of course people thought we were together and some of the girls would joke about it, but in reality we just enjoyed each other’s companies. she made me a better person and i challenged her in every aspect, especially when it came to who could cook a better paella. it was always her, but i enjoyed teasing her about it. 
“someone i trusted was using me, that’s all, it was nothing serious but it just hurt so i’m in a bit of a shit mood, so if you’ll excuse me i’m going to train” i said, adjusting my socks as i headed towards the door. 
but all it took was one very quick, and smooth, movement from alexia for her to be standing in front of the door.
“who” she asked so simply yet her eyes had shifted, they seemed darker, the eye contact she held was so intense yet i couldn’t escape it. 
“you wouldn’t know them” i said, my breath hitched slightly, realising how close we were stood to each other, yet i don’t think she realised. 
“ahora no es el momento de ser terco” she responded, huffing at me slightly “give me a name”. 
“i’m the stubborn one?” i questioned, my eyebrows raising as i got irritated “you wouldn’t know stubborn if it hit you in the face. you’re so much more stubborn than me, everything happened and every time i tried to make things right you ignored my calls and my texts, i had to show up to your door just to be told you wanted space. i flew to france to watch you play and all the other girls came over but you, that hurt ale because the only person i really wanted to come over was you” tears threatening to spill from my eyes as i spoke “you are so stubborn alexia putellas, i tried to fix this but you were the one stopping that, so don’t act like you want to protect me all of a sudden” i added, tears now rolling down my face.
alexia took a step back and took a minute before attempting to speak, but i quickly cut her off. 
“please, just go out to training, i’ll be there soon, i just need a minute” i said, with that she walked out the door leaving me in the locker room alone. 
i took the time to compose myself before heading out to train, putting on a very fake but very convincing smile. at this point i needed the distraction and being on the pitch would offer me a retreat. i quickly apologised to pere blaming my lateness on a personal emergency before joining my group for training. 
and to my joy, the distraction did work. by the end of training i was genuinely smiling and laughing as if nothing had happened at all. we all headed inside to recovery where i promptly made my way over to isabel, another team physio, knowing exactly how it would make ana feel. surprisingly, i was feeling extra flirty today, even if it was superficial.. 
“how can i help y/n?” she asked, as i perched myself on the edge of the table. 
“my thighs please, they’re feeling quite tense after training, so i definitely need your magic hands to do some work” i said with a small smirk, laying down on the bed. i glanced over at ana who was working on cata on the table next to me, her face already showing the effect i was having. 
“i can definitely put my magic hands to work” isabel said with a wink, before getting to work on my legs. 
throughout the massage i showered her with flirty compliments, telling her good my legs felt after she worked on them and how she was the best with her hands. she knew i was doing it to rile up ana, yet it didn’t stop her in returning the flirty comments back to me. 
“jesus ana, that hurts” i heard cata remark, turning my head to see a red mark on her leg where ana had gripped it too hard. 
recovery was quickly over and surprisingly i felt a whole lot better. something about purposely making the person that used you intentionally angry felt like a release.i packed my things up and changed back into my normal clothes before heading out to my car, i hadn’t even made it half way across the parking lot before i heard my name being called. 
“don’t walk away from me when i’m talking to you” ana called out, causing me to pause where i was standing and turn around. 
“ana, i’m not doing this in public” i said, i wanted this to be over and i definitely didn’t want it to happen in front of my teammates. 
“i told you i wouldn’t be impressed if you went to someone else in recovery, and i specifically said not isabel, so why are you acting like a whore now?” she questioned, raising her voice so anyone close by could hear. 
“a whore?” i questioned, before shaking my head to refocus on the actual situation “i’m not doing this here, you can call me when you’ve calmed down” i added, turning around to walk away.
all of a sudden i felt a hand grip my arm and pull me back, making me lose my balance slightly, ana had gripped my arm so tight that her nails were beginning to grip into my arm. 
“let go of me ana, you’re making a scene” i said, my chest getting heavy as i became aware of the amount of people who were around us, tears instantly started to form in my eyes as my anxiety increased. 
“i’m not letting you leave until we talk about this” she said, refusing to let go of my arm. 
“get off of her” mapi said, quickly dropping her bag and running over to us. the other girls, who were leaving training at the same time, weren’t far behind her as they all instantly diverted their attention to the situation. 
ana was quick to drop my arm when she saw the attention she had gathered. 
“this isn’t what it looks like, we were just having a conversation” ana said, trying her best to defend her actions. 
“i think it’s best if you leave” cata said, before taking me by the shoulder and walking me towards my car. 
whilst there was some distance between us, i could still hear a few of the girls interrogating ana, and she wasn’t doing a good job at defending herself. 
“hey it’s okay, why don’t i come round for a bit and we can just sit and chill for a bit” cata said, giving me a reassuring smile, causing me to nod in response.
before getting in my car i looked back at ana to see a very heated conversation between her and alexia. 
“you’ve taken advantage of her for too long now, go and pack your stuff, you won’t have a job to come back to” alexia said, her voice as clear as anything. 
her words repeated in my head, i could’ve sworn i heard those words recently to describe this whole situation. the messages from that unknown person said i was being taken advantage of, the exact thing alexia said. 
any spelling/grammar mistakes, please let me know x
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yamujiburo · 2 months ago
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Hello, I’ve always been impressed by your design decisions so I wanted to ask: are there any Pokemon or trainers that have really spoken to you design-wise? Not necessarily your favorite, but left a strong impression on you.
Hope the rest of your day goes well! ^^
Aw thanks so much! I love character design, it was my first passion before storyboarding actually
Here's my faves:
RYME!!!! They nailed that older gen rapper look. Backwards cap, sequins, lots of gold and a puffy jacket! Also I'm not quite sure this is the intention with her shoes but they kinda look like grillz which is sick. I'm a sucker for a limited palette so the black, gold with turquoise accents in her nails, mic, earrings and eyes spoke to me. Also OF COURSE her hair (you're gonna se this pattern for the next two LOL). Making her locks look like a skeleton??? Genius. I love the hand bone for the front and the hip bone for the back. Literally one of the coolest trainer designs pokemon's ever given us.
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GRANT! Just an immediately readable design. Oh, he looks like a rock climber, must be a rock type gym leader. Simple fit, I love a sleek black top. The carabiner, climber straps and chalk holder add a little more complexity to the design but not too much. It's a smart choice with how wild his hair is. I feel like if you do too much in the fit AND the hair, you risk your design feeling overdesigned and busy. I love that his hair is meant to look like a rock/cliffs with the holds! The holds add a nice dash of color without being too much.
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AMARYS <3 It's the fact that she's in uniform but still has a design that immediately caught my eye. But to her being in uniform, I find it really cool that the other Elite 4 members really alter theirs or have accessories that make the uniforms feel like their own or really different but Amarys doesn't really. It goes to show how rigid she is and gives you the impression that she's a very "follow the rules" kind of person. Her main accessory seems to be her boots which just LOOK heavy, and sleek and look like they have bolts in them. It really makes her design feel bottom heavy and grounded which I feel is appropriate for a steel type trainer. Now, hair. Look at her hair. SO GOOD. I loveeee that pokemon is utilizing black hairstyles like this. Her hair being screws that kinda resemble banto knots is so CUTE. The could have left her hair at that but the braid across her forehead adds a nice asymmetrical aspect to her design. It's so cool that it mirrors her pocketwatch chain, creating a focal point on the school crest. And lastly her glasses! Super cute, I think it's cool that it gives the illusion of bottom lashes which makes her eyes feel a little more droopy or sad than they really are. It just really brings her facial features all together and helps sell her personality.
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celuere · 2 months ago
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hii could i please request some fluffy general relationship headcanons for mavuika with a female reader please? (sfw + nsfw if that's okay!) thank you!
MAVUIKA BRAINROT IS REAL!!!!! I need more lore on her fr she is literally the only Natlan character I find interesting😞
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pairing: Mavuika x fem!reader
cw: fluff, strap-on, mentions of sesbian lex
I REALLY wrote down anything that came to mind, if I get more ideas throughout the next days/weeks I will make a part two! Hope you like it anon <3
NSFW utc, MDNI!
SO HELP MEEEEEEE Mavuika with a gf or wife- I don’t think she is the possessive type at all BUT has no shame in kissing you publicly in front of like god knows how many people.
Very attentive to you, notices immediately when something seems off to her for example when you‘re in a bad mood, about to get sick or are just struggling in general. Expect her to pamper you.
Your birthday is actually a holiday. Yes. She made your birthday a national holiday in Natlan. It‘s literally impossible to forget it now.
She actually gives you a lot of say in archon matters, for example when it comes to dealing with the fatui or organizing the next pilgrimage. She trusts you to the moon and back and you taking off some weight from her shoulders means like- the world to her. She‘ll make sure to „thank“ you properly of course <3
PRAY if she ever puts on that strap tho. Did you see how she fights? Now imagine her channeling that same energy into bed. Legs thrown over her shoulders. Arms pinned down to the mattress as she thrusts her hips forward into you while ringing one orgasm after the other out of you
I hc her to have tons of tattoos grazing the skin underneath her suit. A few of them being dedicated to you. Your name decorating her chest, right over her heart. Your birthday on her waist. Your favorite flowers on her back. The anniversary/wedding date of the two of you right above her v-line.
LOVES to feel your tongue lapping up and down over her sensitive clit as she has you kneeling down under the cover of her desk. Fingers getting a good grip on your hair as she presses you further into her, telling you how much of a good girl you are, how good you’re swallowing her liquor up, only to have you sit down in her lap (after she came all over your pretty mouth) with her fingers buried all the way to the knuckles inside your cunt. Office sex is a weekly occurrence for the both of you.
Shameless starer. Coming into her office wearing nothing but one of her shirts? She doesn’t even try to hide how her eyes immediately find your nipples poking through underneath the fabric. Wearing something that highlights your curves? She even tells you to spin around with a lil‘ twirl motion of her finger. Why should ever feel ashamed for looking at what’s hers?
Just MAYBE names a whole river or sea after you. Just because she feels like it. One day you wake up and she‘s like „Heeeeey, darling… you know about that one nameless river nearby the tribe of scions…?“, you maybe sobbed a little.
Is actually not THAT talented when it comes to doing her hair, something always just goes wrong. One day it’s the hairband snapping. Then she struggles with finding a good hairstyle for her long, voluminous hair until you decide to step in. Gently grabbing the brush out of her clenched fingers and placing a kiss on top of her head before your run it through her messy bed-hair as you maybe tell her what you have planned for the day, etc.
After a hard day, maybe she‘ll ask you to strap up every once in a while. Every hard working woman needs her wife to pound some sense back into her, no?
Not that much of a big fan when it comes to degrading or any other harsh kinks but praising? Talking you through it as she pushes the silicone into your spent pussy? Having you maintain eye contact? Maybe fingerfucking you in the dead of the night on her throne in her stadium???
LOTS of physical contact. Her hands always grabbing onto whatever curve she can get a hold of. Lips trailing up and down your collarbone and neck SO HELP THIS WOMAN.
A morning person through and through. As soon as the sun rises she is out and about and can’t stay up past 10pm for the love of it. (You sometimes found her dead asleep on her desk after filling out paperwork)
Actually highly dislikes coffee but smoothies on the other side…… if something ever happens to go wrong, just make her a smoothie and it’s all forgotten.
Can lift you up with less than one arm. No matter what. The way she swings around her claymore like a toothpick? You’re lightweight compared to that. (I have a thing for muscled women if you can’t tell already)
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retromochi · 3 months ago
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lovingly still drawing mlp redesigns in the year of our lord 2024 these are kind of for a very casual next gen au of mine, but honestly i just like imagining ponies in different ways :-) (more info + headcanons under the cut!)
fluttershy: - trans (she/her), sapphic, autistic - she's a deerpony mix, with her maternal grandmother being a deer and her maternal grandfather a pegasus. - has sensory issues with cutting her hair, so she's content to just let it be long. - has large wings, but not a lot of strength. she's better at gliding, and can't really get herself into the air very well. - tallest of the mane six. twilight: - nonbinary (they/she), bisexual, autistic - all ponies have magic in them that can give their bodies physical changes, with twilight being an extreme example. the star patterns on her chest appeared after wielding the elements of harmony for the first time, the stars on her hooves appeared after becoming an alicorn, and the yellow streak in her hair appeared after defeating tirek. - has fairly bad eyesight, but prefers using her glasses rather than using magic to fix her vision. - can't fly as fast as most pegasi, but has good endurance. - shortest of the mane six, although she's only barely shorter than rainbow. pinkie pie: - gnc (any pronouns, but loves being called sister), pansexual - her full name is rose quartz pie, in line with the rock and gemstone theme in her family, but pinkie was a nickname that just stuck. - chiffon swirl/mrs. cake is her maternal aunt, they have more in common than pinkie does with her mom, but pinkie loves them both equally. - her strength nearly rivals applejack, she has super strong legs from bouncing and jumping everywhere. applejack: - bigender (he/she), sapphic - inherited her father's hat and her mother's hairbands - all of the apple siblings have accessories left to them by their parents. - prefers going by AJ or jackie, only granny smith usually calls her by her full name. - ties up her hair when working, and keeps the fetlocks on her back hooves trimmed short.
rainbow dash: - nonbinary (he/she/they), queer, ADHD - like twilight, rainbow has extreme examples of her body changing with magic. her cutie mark got longer after performing each sonic rainboom, and the colors in her hair appeared after she got her cutie mark to begin with. - originally named bluejay dash, changed her name to match her new look. her parents still call her "jay" from time to time. - never quite shook the rainbow crash nickname, she's a great flier but not so great at landings. has a fair share of scrapes and bruises, but they dont bother her. rarity: - cis (she/her), omnisexual - part crystal pony on her dad's side, her mane and coat have a slight crystaline look to them in the right light. - changes her hairstyle a lot, but has it tied up when working in her studio. - crafts beautiful jewelry, in addition to her clothes and accessories.
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unoislazy · 1 year ago
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Your Touch
Mizu x Reader
Summary: Mizu is touchstarved. That’s it, that’s the entire thing.
A/n: Next story will hopefully be “Caged Bird” part 3, then I will finally post one of the asks that I took an interest in.
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You looked at Mizu, her dark hair pulled up into the high bun it was always in. The loose curl that she always kept out no matter what the occasion, lightly bounced as she walked by, focused on whatever task she had to finish.
You watched and looked on with curiosity, you wondered if she had ever done a different hairstyle on her hair before. You thought a braid might compliment her features, or even half up, you had many ideas and suddenly you were determined to try them.
Well that would require Mizu’s permission first.
“Hey Mizu.” You began, drawing out each syllable of her name to quickly pass on the hint that what you were going to say wasn’t serious.
She paused for a moment, putting down a large box and wiping her brow before looking at you. Her eyebrow rose ever so slightly, her curiosity was piqued despite her not saying a word.
“Have you ever worn your hair differently?” You asked. She simply stared at you for a moment before shrugging,
“A few different times. I just can't really afford to when I’m doing ‘samurai’ things.” She said in air quotes. She never enjoyed calling herself a samurai, for one thing most of the time she purely acted out of the name of revenge not honor. Another, she’s a woman.
Personally, you didn’t really care about the rules of a samurai, you respected them and their ambition but the ones you had met in the past were more focused on their honor over anything else. It had only hit you when you had met Taigen, he was so obsessed with reclaiming his honor like a disowned child that he practically abandoned his engagement. You didn’t understand it, what good is honor if it can be taken away so quickly.
You looked up at Mizu who seemed to be deep in thought. You figured she was just thinking of the different styles she had done before, but her face held a certain sadness as she thought. You began to realize that there was a story attached to the topic of hairstyles that you knew better than to bring up.
“Have you ever braided your hair?” You asked, regaining her attention. She thought about it for a moment before shaking her head. It wasn’t a common style for the time so you weren’t exactly that surprised.
“Would you like to try one?” You asked. You had definitely piqued her interest, her eyes shifted ever so slightly wider as you patted the spot in front of you.
She obliged, sitting down and facing away from you, her legs in a crossed manner with her hands peacefully resting on her knees.
She almost seemed a bit eager to try the hairstyle which honestly excited you a bit, it’s not often Mizu openly gets excited about something, especially with her very subtle expressions.
She sat before you, her slim figure not too far away from you as you gently reached up and grabbed the hair tie that seemed to hold Mizu’s entire hairstyle together. You’d never understand how she did it with so much hair, it never made sense to you. Her sleek dark hair unfolded, a healthy glow could be seen throughout it, she took care of it despite it being up all the time.
With one hand you ever so gently began to rake through her hair, making sure there were no knots that might get in the way of the process. Because of this, you noticed Mizu stiffen for a moment, a shiver could visibly be seen going throughout her body.
Having seen this your hand jerked back, not wanting to make her uncomfortable. Before you could say anything she turned her head just enough to look at you from over her shoulder and said in a low tone,
“Keep going.”
You paused for a moment as her words sunk in. The way she spoke to you was no different than any other time and yet for some reason… it felt different. You decided to pay no mind to it as your hand returned to her head, slowly dragging it through and sending shivers throughout Mizu’s body yet again.
Despite this, she sat calmly making no other movements other than the occasional twitch here and there as your hands glided through her hair. Having her hair done was a pleasure she never thought twice about, but the way you so delicately pulled at her hair, twisting it and shaping it as if she was some piece of art, it made her feel cared for in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.
You carefully separated her hair, overlapping the pieces in a rhythmic manner, cautiously pulling the groups of hair but never hard enough to hurt. It didn’t take long before you had finished, you tied it all together with the hair tie that she used before, letting go of your work.
“How does it look?” She asked, now turning to fully face you. There was almost some sort of innocence that shone through Mizu's expression, one that seemed to say she genuinely cared how she looked. It was kind of sweet to see her usually stoic and harsh exterior break for a moment, it showed you who Mizu really was even if it was for only a few seconds.
You had seen Mizu with her hair down before, maybe not often, but you had seen it. Something was missing.
You stared at her for a moment, a confused look riddled your face before it hit you, the curl.
You gently reached your hand up towards Mizu’s face, one finger looping around the curl that had been hidden away underneath all of the other pieces of hair. Not expecting this, Mizu froze, letting you do what you needed to do but also not knowing how to react otherwise.
Once you had fixed the curl, you moved back a bit to reassess your work. You smiled, finally happy with how it looked.
“Perfect.” You said, proud of the work you had accomplished. Mizu was happy enough just taking your word for it but she was still curious to see how she looked. She drew her sword partially, only just enough to be able to see at least a little bit of her reflection on it. From what she could see, she truly didn’t mind the look.
“So, what do you think?” You asked, patiently waiting for her answer. You watched as a very small smile graced her features as she said,
“It looks good.”
She put her blade away, turning to look back at you as she brushed a few loose strands out her face.
“I wasn’t expecting you to be so… gentle.” She admitted quite plainly. Her hands rested on her lap as she thought back to a time when someone else had done her hair.
“Anytime my mother did my hair, gentle didn’t seem to be a word in her vocabulary.” She joked, a melancholic yet reminiscent look made its way onto her face as she thought back to the many times her mother had scolded her for looking to feminine.
“Being rough will only get you so far.” You responded, not really realizing how that sounded. It earned a small snicker from Mizu but it still went over your head regardless. It had got you thinking, the blue eyed woman constantly trained, having faced the several hardships in life at such a young age that no one would even dream of facing. She had to be tough in every way possible if she had any hope of surviving.
But you were determined to show her, in your own way, that you can let your guard down every once in a while.
“Let me see your hands.” You ordered pretty out of nowhere.
“What?” Mizu responded, clearly taken by surprise by your sudden demand.
“Let me see your hands.” You repeated, putting one of yours out and gesturing for her to place hers on top.
Her eyebrows wrinkled with uncertainty, having not a singular clue what you were planning to do, but she still did what you told her to anyway. Her confused expression remained as she placed her hand on yours, her palm facing towards the sky. With your free hand you gently traced the lines on Mizushand, slowly going over each callous that you could see. Just as you had expected, her hands were coarse and rough, tense from constant overworking and pressure, or maybe they were tense because she wasn’t used to the feeling of someone else, you couldn’t tell.
At first she didn’t know what to do except watch your hands.
“What are you doing?” She asked, confused what the point of this was.
You continued to trace lines and pointless circles around her hand, occasionally gently massaging different points.
“You’re really tense.” You pointed out, “I figured this might help you relax a bit.”
Mizu sat still for a bit as you continued, still not easing up in the slightest. Having her hair done was one thing, she had it done before so she knew at least somewhat how to react, but this was something different. You looked up at her, noticing her unbroken stare before smiling at her.
“Relax.” You calmly instructed her.
She closed her eyes, eventually relaxing into the feeling of your touch just like she had done before. She had truly forgotten what it felt like to be touched in a way that didn’t result in a bruise or broken rib.
You continued your motions, occasionally putting slight pressure on different areas. However in one area you had put just a bit too much pressure, resulting in a noise that sounded like a moan escape from Mizu. You immediately stopped, taking your hand away as you apologized,
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“
You looked up at her, ready to continue apologizing but you were met with a serious yet… almost affectionate gaze as she said,
“Don’t stop,” She began, her voice was quiet and relaxed so at least you knew your work was paying off.
“It feels nice.”
There it was, that feeling again. You averted your gaze, not able to handle making eye contact with her while also processing your very wild feelings at that moment. One thing about Mizu was she never truly realized just how attractive she was, she always deemed herself a demon or a monster because that’s what she was taught to believe.
But you saw past that and because of that, things that Mizu didn’t even think twice about doing, would nearly send you into a coma just because it was her doing it.
She had no idea the power she had over you just from a few simple words, and you had no idea the power you had over her just from a simple gentle touch.
You continued on like she had told you, smoothing out the tension in her hand the best you could without any prior training on the subject. Eventually you had switched over to her other hand which was somehow more coarse than the first. You couldn’t help but admire the amount of time and strength that went into forming such things.
As you continued, you could tell Mizu was refraining from making any noises. In all honesty, it was nothing you hadn’t heard before, she’s been in pain enough times around you for you to get used to her whimpering and groaning.
Except this time was different, usually the noises she made were from a place of pain and discomfort.
However, this time, they seemed to come from a place of pleasure.
Caused by you.
“It’s okay.” You began, refusing to look up at her. “The more you let out the more I know I’m doing the right thing.” You encouraged, and sure one could say it was for a selfish reason but really who could blame you.
You could hear her continue to refrain, but over a small amount of time you could hear her a little bit more. Your heart raced as you continued, the act you were partaking in was nowhere near as sensual as it sounded and yet it still felt so intimate. If anything that’s all you wanted it to be, but that was a line you’d dare not cross, at least not yet.
A little more time had passed, you had eased out all the tension you felt in her hands and let go of her. Almost immediately she began to miss your warm and gentle embrace, having returned to her harsh and cold reality. But really, it wasn’t as cold as she had thought because you were still there, right in front of her, looking at her as if she was the only human to have ever existed.
“There now, do you feel better?” You asked quietly, a bit sheepish considering the amount of thoughts that had crossed your mind that you would never say out loud.
Mizu rubbed her hand absentmindedly, her face seemed a bit glazed over like she had been so lost in her thoughts and she wasn’t ready to be a normal person again. Once she had finally, fully, snapped back to reality she nodded.
“Thanks.” Was all she said before you two sat in silence. The tension was practically thick enough to cut through but neither of you wanted to be the one to take that leap, not without knowing for certain it was one they could even take in the first place. Up until now, sure you two had been close, but you had never gotten so close physically. You wanted to, she wanted to, but neither of you wanted to own up to it. She claimed she didn’t need distractions, and you claimed it was a feeling that would flutter away just as quickly as it came.
Well you were both wrong.
You both sat there, not looking at each other, not saying anything before you decided to gain the courage to say,
“Mizu?” You practically whispered. She looked towards you, finally taking her attention off of her hand which she continued to rub, trying to emulate the feeling of your touch but to no avail.
“Yes?” She responded. You very slowly inched a bit closer to her, not trying to make your idea or intention too obvious but she already had a few possibilities in mind on how this might unfold.
None of which she was complaining about.
“Can I… can I touch you again?”
That was all you asked. Sure you had literally just put down her hand but it was the fact that you had even asked that sent the same shivers down Mizu’s spine. She went quiet for a moment, not knowing what to respond with.
She truly had never been asked for permission to do anything before, not in this regard at least, and it shocked her a bit.
It somehow became the most intimate question you could’ve asked.
She nodded, not saying a word as she continued to look at you. It was as if she was trying to memorize your features, as if she was trying to burn them into her retinas so she'd never forget.
Your hand very carefully went towards her, cupping the side of her face as if it would break with too much pressure. She slowly began to lean into your touch, the warm feeling returning quickly as she let her harsh exterior down yet again, feeling uncommonly safe because of your touch. From this position she looked towards you, her hand making its way up to your face, and brushing a few hairs out of the way before asking,
“Can I kiss you?”
Her voice was raspy and low, just above a whisper. She waited patiently for your answer as you both sat in silence before you nodded in response. With that, her hand that had brushed the hairs from your face, slowly made its way to the back of your neck as you both leaned forward and-
“Hey, I found this place that sells food down the road and I- Oh. You’re here.” Taigen had barged into the room, not a singular care in the world as he looked at Mizu with his usual disdain. By this point you had already jumped back from her, being startled by Taigens sudden presence while in such an intimate moment.
With a cold glare Mizu looked towards Taigen,
“What do you want?” She spat. She could get over him annoyingly asking for a duel every now and then but ruining this one moment for her was too far. She finally felt safe and warm in someone else’s embrace and the same man who ruined everything else for her had to come back and fuck something else up.
Before either of them could say any other ‘kind’ words to each other you very quickly made your way to exit the room, not wanting to think about the awkward moment any more than you’d have to.
“I’m going to go… find some things for Ringo. I’ll see you later Mizu, bye Taigen.” You said, very quickly making your way out of the room, leaving both Mizu and Taigen together. Mizu had watched you leave with a certain sadness that you could only really see in her eyes, the rest of her face remained as stoic as ever as she turned back to Taigen.
“New hair style? You look oddly feminine wi-“ The man began, pointing towards her still braided hair.
“Say another word and you’ll lose an arm.” She threatened.
“Noted.”
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cherryredstars · 5 months ago
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hello can I request a reader being from 1610 Miles universe and she feels left behind by him since all he can do is like Gwen, so somehow she ends up in 42 Miles universe and they hit it off.
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Pairings: Miles-42 x gn!reader
Warnings: Fluff, Slight Angst?, Reminder: READER AND MILES ARE MINORS!
A/N: Hello! Of course you can!
Unedited
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It's the same just... different.
It seems like home, smells and feels like it. But something in your gut tells you it isn't. Your gut screams that something is wrong, that something is missing. Your mind just can't prove it. Not yet, anyways.
You're not sure how you got here, how you can be asleep in one place and wake up in another without ever moving. Maybe it's some sort of fever dream, one of those insanely vivid ones that leave you yearning when you wake up. You're sure it has to be. How else would you explain this.
Your heart beats widely for the boy in front of you, even though your mind rations that it isn't really him. This isn't your Miles (and some cruel part of your mind sneers that he wasn't yours to begin with). This is someone else, something else. But he looks and feels like Miles. He speaks and acts like him. He has the same lopsided smile, same deep eyes that draw you in, the same carefree yet playful tint to his words. The only thing that differentiates him from the real Miles is his hair.
Two thick braids run down his scalp, containing his usually natural afro. They look good on him, like they're made for him. Now that you've seen them on him, imagining his hair in any other hairstyle feels wrong. There is something so complementary about this simple style on this specific Miles, and your gut tells you it's because this Miles has something that yours lacks.
For example, that look in his eyes. It isn't very unique to this Miles, because your Miles has that same tell-tale shine in his eyes too. But it's not for you, it's for Gwen. The girl who up and left one day but left some remnants behind that Miles clings to like a lifeline. That particular glossy sheen that envelopes his pupils when he talks about her, that rise of color that highlights his cheeks when you find him drawing her silhouette over and over. But this Miles- the one standing in front of you- is looking at you with those eyes and blushed cheeks. He's looking at you the way you wished Miles would.
He's tripping over himself, sputtering on his words as he tries to pull a faux illusion of calm. One so horrible and see through that you can't help but laugh, causing his eyes to widen and his collar to feel tight around his neck. He can feel the heat of his blush forming perspiration on the nape of his neck, the pounding of his heart sounding like it's shaking the whole space. He reminds you of a puppy, instantly fascinated with the new things dangling in his line of sight.
He opens his mouth and closes it, the words forming a ball in his throat. His eyes scan you as he tries to gather the words. He feels like he's in kindergarten again, trying to collect the numerous cards of words and trying to piece them together to find something that makes sense. In the end, he fails, the meaning of what they all mean- all these nouns and verbs and adjectives- escaping him until his mind locks onto the only word he really knows.
"Pretty."
Breathless and intrigued. You smile, a warmth flooding your face and your heart singing. This may not be your Miles, but he's the Miles that wants to be. The Miles without a Gwen. The Miles who makes you feel like you're not someone's second choice. This Miles who looks at you like you're the stars in the night sky. This Miles is the one that was made for you.
You only fear that you'll wake up from this dream too soon.
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bountydroid · 7 months ago
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Darlin' pt 4
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pt 1 / pt 2 / pt 3 / pt 5
Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!reader (Slowburn romance)
Description: Reader realizes her growing feelings for her traveling companion in Filly.
Notes: Okay, so I am SO proud of this part. Please let me know what you guys think. 
TW: Kinda angsty at the end.
"Find somethin' to do," Cooper says as he makes himself comfortable on a chair, watching the store across from him carefully. 
I huffed and crossed my arms before looking around. "A new shirt would be nice." I thought to myself as I looked down at my mud-covered clothing.
"You got any extra caps?" I asked, leaning up against the side of his chair.
"No." He responds shortly. 
I hummed in response. Just as I started to walk away I felt him grab my wrist, "Don't get into any trouble darlin'." He said, smirking, "Wouldn't want a repeat of last time. You'll scare away my target." 
Embarrassment crept up into my cheeks, "I'll be good." I mumbled. I was not sure If I was telling that to myself or him. Probably both to be honest, but it seemed to satisfy him as he let go of my arm. The last thing I wanted to do was mess up this job for him. He was finally warming up to me, and the idea of ruining that ate at the back of my mind.
Filly was an interesting town. It was packed to the brim with fiends and travelers alike. I couldn't help the nervousness that settled in my stomach as I got farther and farther away from my newfound companion. I felt safe with him, safer than I have ever felt in my life. Most people would think that strange. Safe with a ghoul? I thought back to the man who called me a freak for being with the ghoul as I blushed. He thought we were together. A couple. Butterflies found their way into my stomach as I thought about the possibility. Romance was something that I never thought I would experience beyond the tattered books my brother got me from a wandering trader.
"Stop being stupid, Y/n. He doesn't want you." I thought to myself.
Without any caps, I decided to find a place to sit and lay low. I was determined to stay out of trouble, so I found a nice tree to sit up against while I watched all the people go by. I found watching all the different kinds of people walk through extremely interesting. All different types of hair colors, hairstyles, clothing, and weapons. Not to mention odd couples, siblings, and partners. All the new experiences were overwhelming. I found myself sitting there watching for longer than expected. After I had my fill, I got up from the tree and started heading back to Cooper. 
"Right where I left you," I said to myself as his sitting form became clear. He had his hat covering most of his face, I assumed it was to avoid detection. The last town made it very clear that ghouls were not welcome.
As I made my over to him I saw his head tilt and his eyes peer up at me from under his hat. I smiled at him, "No trouble here."
He snorted in response as his eyes flickered over to the men wrestling each other across the way. "You might be the only one darlin'."
I leaned up against his chair again, letting some weight off of my feet. "My feet are-" I start to say before a person caught my eye. Her unique outfit and soft hair made her stand out from the rest of the crowd. 
"A vaultie," Cooper responds, anticipating my question before it even forms.
"Those are real?" I gasp before leaning forward, wanting to get closer to her. 
"Yeah, they are real." Cooper sighed as his hand shot back up to my arm. "Don't talk to her."
I frown but I keep quiet as I continue to watch her. He then kicked my foot gently to draw my attention back to him. "I mean it, darlin'."
"Fine," I say sighing as she disappears into the shop across the way. I felt sadness creep into my stomach as his hand dropped down to his lap and went back to fiddling with an empty Jet bottle. The butterflies from earlier returned as I thought about his touch. I bit my lip as I stared up at the sky.
"What has gotten into me?" I thought to myself.
We stayed there in silence for some time before a man and a dog came into town, making his way to the same shop the vaultie was in. I recognized him from the drawing. It was the bounty. I shifted in anticipation as he started making conversation with the vaultie at the front door.
"So now what?" I whispered, excitement laced in my voice. 
"Now... you find somewhere to hide," Cooper said back. "And you don't come out till' I say so, got it?"
I frowned, confused. "Hide?" 
"They ain't gonna let me just take him, darlin'." He responded, shifting in his seat as he readied for action.
The implication was clear. There was going to be another shootout. Not only was I unarmed, but I was unfamiliar with weapons altogether. Hiding was definitely the best course of action for me. 
"Right," I said as I looked around before making my way behind one of the buildings.
Once I was finally out of view I heard Cooper's familiar voice, "Whilzig!" He shouted.
I peeked around the corner to see him walking up to the bounty. At this point, they were too far away for me to hear. I could tell that the people of the town now saw him for what he was as all eyes were on him, a ghoul. "That is a lot of people." I thought to myself. I was starting to worry.
"Now last night a bounty came in through all six agencies!" He shouted again. 
I whipped back around and pressed myself to the building taking deep breaths as I tried to tamp down the panic in my chest. Once the first gunshot rang out I could hear the townspeople scrambling. "Maybe no one will give him any trouble?" I thought to myself. I was being naive again, but I didn't care.
"I got a thousand bottle caps for whoever kills that fucker!" I heard a woman scream out. "But you don't get shit if I kill him first."
"Shit," I whispered. I took one last deep breath before I peeked back around the building. I watched as Cooper moved in a circle, taking count of all the men lining up to fight for those caps. Our eyes met for a moment. While my eyes were filled with fear, his eyes were filled with confidence. He gave me a small smirk before continuing to circle around, waiting for someone to be brave enough to take a shot. 
Once the shots started, all hell broke loose. I could hear wood breaking and bodies being thrown. Some of the ammunition even made its way through the buildings and out the other side. 
In defense, I curled up in a ball on the ground. I was so worried about him that I didn't even realize that I could be shot too.
When there was a brief pause in gunfire, I fought the temptation to look out again. "Don't come out till I say so." His words echoed in my head.
As the shots started up again, I felt something pierce my arm. I fought the urge to shout in pain as tears started to run down my face. One of the men's shots went through the building and into my arm. I look down to see a nail and some wood splinters sticking out of me. 
"Fuck." I whimpered as I cradled the wound trying to take deep breaths.
As I did my best to steady my breathing I heard a robotic voice say, "She said stand down ghoul."
I look around the corner to see a knight making his way towards Cooper, "Knight Titus of the Brotherhood of Steel. Stand down, or be cut down."
I couldn't hear Cooper's response, but I saw a look of disbelief and amusement on his face. 
"Just do what he says, please," I whisper to myself. "Cooper." Just as I finish saying his name he lifts his gun at the girl and the knight makes a run towards her, jumping in front of her to take the bullet. 
I squeeze my teary eyes together as I turn back around. If Cooper was going to be killed by this knight. I didn't want to see it. 
Gunshots rang out again, this time it was just Cooper and the knight. To distract myself I looked back down at my arm, still bleeding. I had no idea what to do so I decided to pull the nail out. I took a deep breath in anticipation before giving it a good, hard yank. I couldn't help the loud cry that escaped my mouth. At the same time, I heard a body fly into some wood nearby. "It's not Cooper, it's not Cooper," I repeated over and over again as I fussed over my arm. 
"Well, I'd say come up here and get me, but it's hard to walk upstairs while wearing a 12-piece cast-iron skillet set." Cooper chuckled.
Relief flooded my body when I heard his voice. The sudden sounds of bullets, explosions, and crashing filled my ears. I closed my eyes tight as I waited for it all to stop.
Eventually, I heard the knight flying overheard, clearly having lost control of his suit. It was over. 
"Y/n?" I heard Cooper yell out. 
I unsteadily got up on my feet and shuffled out from behind the building, still cradling my arm. "I am here."
As his eyes raked me over and stopped at my arm a look of concern washed over his face. He jogged over to take a closer look.
"I'm okay." I try and convince him as he gently touches my wound. 
"Those crocodile tears suggest otherwise, sugar." Cooper responds, giving me a small smile. "Let's find you a stimpack."
I nod my head as he wraps his arm protectively around me and guides me towards the shop. He only lets go when we reach the dog, wounded and whining on the ground. He gently picks it up and brings it into the shop with us. After putting the dog down on the table, he starts to rummage through the junk in the shop. 
"There's gotta be one around here somewhere." He mumbles. 
Between sniffles I say, "When you find one, give it to the dog."
He lets out a small chuckle as he finally finds what he's looking for. "Well lucky for us I found two."
"And the bounty?" I ask as he makes his way towards me.
"Ah, I'll get him," Cooper says, brushing off my concerns before he quickly stabs me with the needle.
"Ouch!" I whine as he rubs my arm while shushing me.
"You are okay, Darlin'." He coos.
"The dog-" I start.
"I got the dog." Cooper interrupts before giving the dog the other stimpack, petting his head gently. A smile erupts across his face as the dog pops up, immediately feeling better. "There."
I smile wide as I watch him with the dog. "You like dogs."
He looks over at me still smiling as his eyes flicker over to my arm. The wound was healed and I am no longer cradling it, the pain completely gone. "Feelin' better?" He asked, already knowing the answer.
All the feelings I had experienced during the shootout came flooding back to me as my smile faded. I felt overwhelmed with sadness, fear, and relief. "I-" I started as tears filled my eyes. 
"I was so worried about you!" I cried out as I ran towards him and wrapped my arms around him. 
Faster than it took to wrap my arms around him, I felt him rip me off. He dug his fingers into my shoulders as he held me at arm's length, shaking me gently. "Don't." He said sternly.
Embarrassment washed over me as I stared down at my feet. "I-"
"Just, don't." He interrupted, sighing before releasing me. "We will wait here until nightfall and then we'll follow Whilzig's trail. See if you can find anything useful around here while we wait."
"Okay," I whispered in response before shuffling to the other end of the store. The rejection stung so deeply that I could barely focus on what I was looking at. Right when he started to warm up to me, I ruined it.
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