#so of course I had no choice but to draw it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hitlikehammers · 2 days ago

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ignis obscura (dragon-sacrifice!Steve falls for random-man-in-the-woods(?)!Eddie before Steve goes to get eaten) (???)

feat. lots of love-at-first-sight, soul-deep devotion sorta shit

When a dragon arrives within telling-distance, the town nearest the lair it claims must send the sacrifice; their most valued possession. Everyone knows this.

It was just that no one in Hawkins had ever imagined—never really believed—that of all the villages, a dragon would come to them.

Steve had imagined it, though. As a boy, he’d thought it an adventure. As a teenager, he’d fancied it something of an escape.

Now, when it happens? As a young man, Steve Harrington mostly just thinks of course it goes like this.

Because he’s the disappointing-but-only son of the mayor, in a town where mayoral wealth rivals the coffers of the crown, and if the dragon wants value? Steve’s the gateway to whatever riches have been hoarded, whatever small power may be marshaled to command more, to rule, to gather up virgins if Steve himself proved insufficient to that fabled task—though he was renowned as the most comely of his people, having just dipped his toe into his prime while keeping the rosy flush to his cheeks alongside the strength in his arms: perfect timing, really. It helped pad the argument for him as the tribute.

As if maybe the dragon had waited, had watched. Had known what it wanted, and swooped in with intent.

Steve couldn’t give two rats’ asses what the dragon did or didn’t do, as he made his way through the woods and up the mountain. The stories of sacrifice always paired with the same end: no matter how you pleased the dragon, the tribute did not live to descend to their home again.

So really, at this point, it was merely a question of how Steve would meet his end. At the dragon’s mercy, of course, but: more like details.

Steve distracts himself with arguments for whether it’s wiser, or more efficient, to carve human flesh with claws or teeth, and it’s a job done so well that he not only finds himself wholly turned around on this trek, far too close to nightfall, and not nearly as near to the cave he’s aiming for as he need be, but more than that:

He fails to notice he’s no longer alone.

“Are you lost?”

There is a honey-smooth quality to the voice that rings out but…deeper. Darker even, though it doesn’t strike warning between Steve’s lungs. It’s…caramelized, and slow slip of thick…almost comfort. Steve fights to keep a clear head: not all dangers are apparent. Enchantment and faerie mischief, even, could have found him in his mindless wandering.

“Lost?” Steve tries to scoff at the right tone of haughty; “I’ve lived here my entire life—“

“In these deserted woods?” the voice, and now there’s a figure that draws nearer, closer in the growing claim of the moon for light but still more silhouette than anything as it—he, the voice is male, Steve is near-certain—turns and assesses their immediate surroundings before tutting thrice:

“Strange choice of domicile.”

And it’s mocking, of course it is: but the honey-caramel of the voice is a molten thing. It warms Steve deep and he cannot even be cross.

“I,” he starts, but sees not point to finishing before he sighs and admits, to himself as much as to the stranger:

“Yes, I am lost.”

“But you’ve lived here your whole life!” the stranger slaps a palm to his own cheek, mouth dropped in faux-horror but he looks so…earnest. And maybe adorable with it, so much so that Steve can’t help but chuckle a little helplessly for it all.

“Hush,” he chides, half-heartedly at best. “I was supposed to get to the caves by nightfall.”

“Ooo,” the stranger leans in, as if to prepare for a secret; Steve didn’t realize he was so close; “scintillating dinner date?”

Steve can’t help it but to snort.

“By a measure,” Steve deadpans, before clearing his throat; “I need to present myself to the dragon.” When the strange man stares at him unblinking Steve deflates a little.

“You know, hot, fire,” he gestures broadly; everyone knows what comes at the end of a sacrifice: “dinner…”

“Why are you looking for a dragon?” the other man asks, his lips pulling down a bit in just-shy-of-a-frown. Steve doesn’t like the look on him, so he tries to put on a bit of a show, match the stranger’s teasing energy from before as best he can in the given circumstances:

“I just so happen to be the village sacrifice,” Steve announces, chest puffed a bit, but he fails to do anything but deepen the frown he’d been aiming to wipe clean from the other man’s face; now Steve’s frowning, too, as he deflates a little, but hardens a little too, crossing his arms and leaning back where the other man’s not even bothered to stop leaning in, despite his apparently displeasure.

“What?” Steve challenges, but it’s brittle, he knows it. “It’s a,” he vacillates, unsure how exactly to describe the…ritual of it. The way it’s cast as a, as a…

“It is a high,” Steve’s voice wavers a bit, like finally saying it aloud makes it all the less believable: “honor.”

The other man eyes him silently until Steve feels it in his very skin, before finally he speaks:

“Hmm,” he tips his head, considering just a little before he seems less to come to a conclusion, and more to a conclusion on how to best voice the things he wanted to say already, at that:

“Well, I know these woods very well, better than any hailing from the village I suspect you’re speaking of,” his gaze flicks Steve top to toes, something warm in it, no, something hot in it, that simmers through Steve’s veins: “and so I can get you to the caves, at the very least for shelter before moonrise-full,” he glances skyward, seeming to doublecheck his words before he nods decisively and reaches out a hand:

“Think you can trust someone you only just stumbled upon in the forest to steer you straight?”

And Steve doesn’t know for sure what he’d have done, what his answer and actions may have been if death-by-some-draconic-means weren’t imminent. But it is, and so he takes the hand offered, and grasps more than shakes, holds more than strikes accord and lets himself notice and relish how smooth and warm it feels against his skin:

“Lead the way.”

He doesn’t know what he’d do in lesser circumstances.

But for the grin on the man’s face, the way it shines brighter than moonlight, than sunrays even, he suspects: for the way it makes of the man a star on his own somehow?

Steve wants very much to believe he’d trust the man anyway, regardless of sense, just for the breadth of that smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Looks like the dragon’s out for the night.”

Steve makes an extra survey of the den nestled a good bit into the cave when his mysterious guide comments on the undeniable silence of their surroundings, the telling echo of their footsteps in the empty space.

“Curses,” Steve huffs, both frustrated and dismayed because: “I’ll have angered him, what if he doesn’t think I’m enough for—“

“One,” Steve’s beguiling guide ticks the point off with a finger raised on a strangely elegant hand; “you think dragons to be too irritable.” Steve rolls his eyes to himself—this Man who knows so much of the temperaments of dragons, the ego to presume—

“They can be quite pleasant so long as they have sufficient treasure. And they’re long-lived, so they’re patient,” the man continues on, which: it seems his ego’s well-reasoned out at the very least, Steve supposes.

“Which brings us to point number two,” and of course there’s a number two, a pair of fingers now waving almost accusingly to the side of Steve’s face:

“You’re more than enough to be worth waiting for.”

Steve blushes furiously and thanks the sparse cracks of nearly enchanted—quite possibly enchanted, actually—light for very little chance to be seen for it.

His companion grins with a glimmer of that sparse glow catching his eyes, glittering in it like enchantment themselves, and Steve thinks both that yes, he’s likely been seen and caught so that likewise yes, he needs to move out of the shaft of light that betrays him and with haste, because to think such a thing about this strange and beguiling man—beguiling, good gods—says far to much about what Steve feels about him, and far too soon, even by his standards.

Which are lightning quick already on a day in which he knows restraint.

“Sparse for a horde,” Steve surprises himself for how steady his voice is, given how obvious his bid to change the subject lands, not matter his tone.

His companion is gracious enough to allow the shift without comment:

“You think mortal eyes can see such things without a dragon’s explicit permission?”

But not gracious enough to abandon that ego.

“How do you know so much of dragons?” Steve finally just asks; subtlety’s never been his strongest characteristic, and in honesty, it’s past time to have asked it.

The other man smirks, scoffs a little.

“This may be your village’s first encounter with them,” and it’s said not quite in censure, and not unkindly, but Steve is cowed a bit nonetheless—the man had never named but has more than once referenced where he thinks Steve’s from, and Steve suspects if his vestments and the crests embroidered to them weren’t enough, his lack of knowledge would be—his people have been blessed in many ways, and live privileged lives on the whole, most especially his family, in comparison to their neighbors.

“But here is the only perch for the span of tens of villages,” the man points out; “and they’ve not been left untouched for so long.”

Right. Of course.

“You’re from a neighboring town?”

“One word for it,” the man shrugs, in such a way now that it shivers through his unruly curls; “and you’re from Hawkins, I gather.”

Right. Unsubtle to the bone it seems, indeed.

“For the whole of my life I can say I know only one thing about your home,” the man takes Steve grimace as the confirmation that it is; “and it’s how they share notoriously little to know.”

Steve chews at his lip, knows the failings his family’s rule has had for the people without and without their borders. Has tried to find ways to help without power of his own in the order of things.

“I always wished to see other lands, even the nearest of them,” Steve finally lands on something to say; “I tried to convince my parents, but—”

“Parents?”

It might be the first time his new…friend? Looks properly halted.

“Son and heir,” Steve points to himself with a weary sort of smirk, the whole thing laughable, really; “the tribute has to be valuable, right? I thought upon seeing so little here, I could offer from our own troves before the end, as appeasement but,” Steve sighs, suddenly drained, only now realizing, now that the option eludes him, just how heavily he was counting on the option of at least trying to bargain with the dragon, appealing to its intellect and far more, its love of treasure.

“But if it’s as you say, I may have much less by way of offering at all.”

There’s an instant sort of chill that fills him as he starts to acclimate to the reality that he’s going to die, and soon, and there truly is not hope for an escape. He—

“Let me assure you,” the man’s hand startles Steve, battles and swiftly overcomes the chill in him as it wraps tight around Steve’s wrist, his voice following Steve’s own almost without break, a cutting finality to it, definitiveness in his tone and his eyes alike once Steve meets them—and once Steve meets them, the not-quite-stranger doesn’t let him look away.

Magnetic.

“Based on what I have seen?” and the words could be casual, but the low rumble they’re spoken with is anything but:

“You could walk here wholly empty handed, and no dragon worth their flame would turn you away as unworthy.”

Steve feels less his cheeks, and more his whole body, inside and out, flush bright and there’s no light to hide from, save from the one shimmering in the gaze locked into his own.

And Steve, for all his postures of pride: this time?

He has no desire to hide the way he flushes, never mind the way he shivers, if it means trying to evade those eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Incidentally, it’s too late for the other man to turn back, though he clearly knows these woods so well. Steve insists that he stays.

Not for any ulterior motives, of course.

The man argues, if almost for show alone, but agrees on one condition: they neither of them have bedding. The other man apparently hadn’t planned to be out past the hour for rest, is only stuck because of Steve and Steve—

Steve has a pack but he…he presumed he’d either be dead and his offerings deemed fitting, or the dragon would keep him as the dragon desired, bedding or clothing or neither, until the dragon was satisfied.

And then, again: he’d be dead.

It is unthinkable to take the meager blankets Steve can see in a corner, not without permission; not from a dragon, so. The other man is asking to…lie close.

And Steve is not opposed. The man is almost…surreally exquisite, especially in the passing moonlight. His angles are…particular. Alluring. They steal the breath in Steve’s chest a little, long before they’ve earned the right.

“It feels more than overdue now to ask your name,” Steve whispers, not that it’s necessary. Not that there’s anyone to hear.

“Eddie,” the man whispers back, his voice so warm and almost enveloping, like an embrace in itself and Steve feels less absurd for speaking so soft, so privately.

Nearly intimate.

Good gods, now Steve is being absurd and should feel it to his bones. He deserves to suffer the uncomfortable twist of embarrassment it leaves in stomach, at this rate.

“Steve,” he manages to say low enough that his mortification isn’t audible.

But then:

“That is a beautiful name, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, and he’s shimmied closer somehow while Steve was stuck in his shame-spiral for being the too quick to show his cards, even to himself in his own head.

“Nothing special to it,” Steve mutters, demurs a little but in a coquettish way, doesn’t even mean to. Just…there’s an energy between them now, and Steve’s primed to match it.

“Isn’t there?” Eddie asks, heated and near in a way that dances up Steve’s spine:

“I would hesitate to be so sure.”

Again, Steve doesn’t mean to, or plan to, when he rolls further into Eddie’s frame where they’re laid together, already so close, now nearly in each other’s arms.

He doesn’t mean to, and yet: his arms are gathered close against the chest of a man he doesn’t know, and yet feels…more comfortable next to than any body he’s pressed against in his life.

And there have been fair few.

“You’re so warm,” Steve mouths more than anything, lips dragging on this half-stranger’s neck by accident, because it could be nothing save an accident that Steve now knows that Eddie’s skin tastes of salt and smoked cinnamon sticks and the air in the forrest at night: elemental, somehow. Necessary.

Only by accident would Steve torture himself this way.

“I’d keep you warm always,” Steve hears as the world blurs soft to black, the phantom sensation of arms curling around him, welcoming him to sleep—the whole of it odd in every way because he hadn’t spoken loud enough to be heard, really, even so close, and to read his words from the drag of his mouth to flesh was of course impossible.

“To the end of the Age and beyond if I could,” the words drift blissful, wistful like an invitation into sleep: “if you’d let me.”

So of course: it must have been a dream.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daybreak finds them entangled.

Steve…freezes, as if he didn’t feel snug and perfectly warm wrapped up so close. He weighs the merits of bolting, and making apologies after the fact, against trying to extricate himself without rousing his companion, versus—

“Good morning, sweetness.”

Steve stills somehow further, feels his face heat yet again and yet this time, despite the dark of the cave, he’s…crushed ever so pleasantly against the bare smooth planes of a chest that…shouldn’t be bare, should it, because they moved together close for heat against the chill and for certain it is past dawn but it is still nowhere near warm enough for—

“Did you sleep well?”

Steve groans, which only leads him to burrowing further into the unavoidably welcoming give of Eddie’s chest, lean but strong, Steve can tell, much like he can feel as much as hear the rumbling laughter that cascades through that chest: so much like an invitation to sink into the chest and the sound alike, to never be singular, to never be cold.

What a ridiculous notion.

But then lips are unmistakably pressed to the crown of Steve’s head, not even in passing, no: they linger. They…feel right.

Steve wants for them to be right until the day he dies—

Well. That might actually be possible, or close enough for what he’s earned in this world.

The irony.

Eddie takes to the hunt—the reason he was in the woods to find Steve in the first place, apparently; he says his bow and knives are just down toward the ravine, which Steve vaguely knows but not well, too close to the borders of other lands.

“Don’t fret, though,” and this time the lips press to the low half of Steve’s cheek, affection that does not press its advantage but makes it desires clear, too close to Steve mouth to be anything less.

Steve…is unsure what to make of that. Because he cannot make what he thinks of first; he cannot possibly follow that thread in his own mind—increasingly in his own chest.

“I’ll find you, if you get lost again.”

As if Steve will wander, would risk missing his dragon captor’s return, to even consider one misstep to unintentionally enrage his looming executioner, to even consider missing a single instant in the meantime with this man—

But the glinting smile that man shoots Steve’s way as he strides out the yawning opening in the rocks, its glinting like stardust and warm radiance that fills Steve’s veins then spills over and seeps into his marrow:

Steve doesn’t think that man actually meant getting lost that way.

And what on earth is he supposed to make of that, save everything that he can’t have; that cannot be?

Though, in fairness: it would be on brand. Steven Harrington of Hawkins.

Falling hard and fast and more real than ever before, mere hours before he leaves the mortal coil.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re anxious.”

Steve knows now that his dreams were realty, last night. The words, the arms.

He is awake in them now after they eat what Eddie’s secured for them, cooked over a fire perfectly pitched outside the mouth of the cave, its warmth not insufficient as they’d eaten in pleasant company together.

Not insufficient at all. Just not this chest; these arms.

And now they are both of them bare to the waist, knowingly and happily curled into one another, and Steve feels on one hand boneless, weightless, inexplicably held and kept beyond the physical in the embrace of a man he barely knows and yet feels…close to. Something-he-cannot-bring-himself-to-say-at-first sight, like in the fairy stories.

But that man’s palm is splayed across Steve’s chest; can feel the birds’ wings of his heartbeat at first stroke.

For the first time in Steve’s life, it doesn’t feel like a weakness he’s caught out on; with Eddie nuzzling at his hair, Steve doesn’t hesitate to speak his fear with a heavy sigh:

“You said you’ve dealt with dragons.”

“Time to time,” Eddie hums, presses his lips to Steve’s scalp like reassurance.

“How will it happen?” Steve whispers shakily, but for the first time in his entire life, he shakes into someone who seems to care, against all reason; who holds tighter to him for needing rather than casting him away.

“I mean, I know,” Steve licks his lips; “I know what will happen, just,” and he can’t quite finish, chokes around his words. Eddie moves closer against him, under the weight of Steve’s frame, maneuvers them so that he can tilt his head just so to kiss down Steve’s jaw while still holding him close; ever closer.

“Well,” Eddie pecks against the peak of Steve’s cheekbone before moving down, all the while massaging circles against Steve’s chest; “a town sends their most valued,” and he sucks a little the, against Steve’s jawline; “but some towns have less to pick from,” and then he finds Steve’s pulse point and suckles there with real feeling until Steve may be terrified, but he’s simultaneously soft clay in a beautiful man’s hands, under a beautiful man’s mouth.

“A dragon is not a mindless beast,” Eddie adds after Steve can feel he’s been well and thoroughly bruised.

“I’ve always heard they’re very smart,” Steve breathes, maybe nods, mostly just savors Eddie’s heat, his nearness, how he touches Steve like he has value; like Steve has value to him, and what a thing to feel, to want, to possibly hold, even for these stolen moments; “it’s how they tell if you send them less than they’re owed.”

Because of course Steve knows the stories. Steve can remember countless tales of horrific ends for villages, towns, whole kingdoms even, razed for being so haughty and foolish as to try and swindle a dragon—perhaps embellished to encourage children’s behavior, but. The bones of the narrative fit the oft-smoldering evidence often enough, so far as Steve could tell in the proper histories.

“Not owed,” Eddie corrects, firmly but somehow also gently, his capacity for dynamism an oddly comforting thing, so human and forgiving of overstepping boundaries so freely as to maybe not even draw any to begin with, at complete odds with Steve’s entire life; “not how most people think, at least.”

Eddie flip Steve over gently, firmly again, settles them chest to chest, one atop the other as Steve looks down at him, feels his heartbeat crash against Eddie’s own closer than ought to be felt, like their ribs clear way for the two of them, for whatever they could be, and Steve wonders if part of why his heart is racing so is for the loss of the possibility that rushes through him, that swells between them in every moment—something that grows in every moment, every look and touch and blink, that expands effervescent and filled with so much without any knowledge that there is not space to hold it, that what time they have is borrowed at best.

Steve thinks maybe; his sick heart for it could be railing where the rest of him is fixated on etching every one of those looks and blinks and touches into his bones so that they may be among the last parts of him to leave the earth.

“A dragon, above most things, has a particularly keen sense to know precisely where value lies,” Eddie’s explaining again, his hand now still, pressed against Steve’s heart akin to a shield, or a safe-hold. “And how.”

Steve ponder that for a moment before he meets Eddie’s eyes, having felt them heavy and molten upon him with new fire before taking them in for all that they are: brilliance.

Blinding.

Steve leans as Eddie arches and they meet in between to press their lips together after what feels an eternity and an instant of living in a world where they didn’t taste one another in such a way as to drink their fill. As to breathe each other’s breath.

So as to tease and cherish deep, to tongue against the very heart.

And there Steve makes certain, before he loses himself wholly to sensation:

Looks. Touches. Blinks. Carved into his bones, but first.

First he’ll gild them in every single kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~

They transition fully into lovers in a seamless fashion, insatiable like Steve’s never known it. Eddie never keeps him wanting, gives selflessly and Steve does all that he can to reciprocate and more, because Eddie is everything, of that Steve is certain, and therefore he deserves no less.

He also seems dead set on making sure that they are posed as equals. That to lavish one another with affections as much as to ravish each other endless never unbalances one way or the other. Wherever Steve seeks to give more where Eddie should have it, Eddie turns the tables to takes Steve apart so that all he knows is tingly euphoria. A happiness he’s never felt, didn’t quite believe could exist.

Yet here he is. Here they are.

Steve smiles more than he remembers, playful and ravenous and overflowing with feeling, and Eddie doesn’t rise to meet his enthusiasm: he’s already there, matched with him and ecstatic to entwine. It’s a heady thing, addictive and overwhelming and a gift, Steve thinks: maybe the universe forgive him for doing less to stop harm and deprivation in his home, for wishing to help more and acting where he could even if it wasn’t enough. Maybe he gets this sliver of heaven out of pity for what’s to come.

He will take it with open arms. He will welcome it. He will make himself of it until there is not Steve that exists outside of it.

But it cannot overcome the inevitable, in its impending, suffocating weight.

Come the sixth day like this—the sixth night like this—something in Steve gives way. Existing on the precipice of life and death with no telling of when the hammer with strike finally takes too much of a toll, and his nerves betray him.

“Likely they are hunting, it can take many days, weeks even I’m told,” Eddie tries to console him as he shakes, can’t even sob, like his body can’t coordinate even that much to work properly, too distraught are pieces of him he’s flooded with pleasure but finally could no longer be denied, fed on his wonderment and picked until it cracked enough for his fears to bleed through. “But if you are still so anxious we could, or, I could try and look for some clue as to where it’s gone?” Eddie offers carefully, holding Steve together as he does his utmost to shudder out of his skin. “And you can stay here, in case it returns?”

The only thing Steve can do then is shake his head until it hurts, until he’s dizzy with his own vehement denial: it’s the first things that’s properly matched, body to feeling.

It’s fitting that way.

“I,” Steve starts, just voice barely a scratch as Eddie reaches, tips his chin upward and cups his face so delicate:

“What, angel?”

Steve blinks at him—takes him in, presses down to pain as he draws it, brands it onto his skeleton to be remembered, all the tangled but powerfulfeelings he has for this man so fast, so strong.

For this man, for all he feels: Steve makes himself speak what’s heavy and true and real in his galloping heart:

“I have no intention of reneging my duties,” he rasps, holds on to Eddie as tightly as he can, as if maybe their bones could brand one’s another and fuse into one.

“But until no choice is left, I,” Steve chokes, and his eyes burn as he holds Eddie’s gaze, lifts Eddie’s hand away from his cheek and over to his lips to press all his hopeless hopes against Eddie’s palms:

“I don’t want to be out of your sight, nor you taken from mine.”

The tear that escapes him then is caught by Eddie’s thumb. Adoringly.

Each that follows is lost between Eddie’s lips; might belong to them both.

Steve thinks he can believe that much—in these fleeting, sacred moment—to be true.

~~~~~~~~~~

The dragon has still not appeared, and Steve has since collected himself for the most part, with Eddie ready to brace him steady when he starts to falter. It’s a wild novel thing, to be supported this way. To be cared for.

With such care, comes perception. For better or worse.

“What troubles you, beloved?” Eddie eyes him knowingly, a level of sight straight through to Steve’s soul that should not be fathomable in a lifetime, let alone a week’s time.

“My own mind,” Steve admits freely, unwilling any longer—if he ever had been—to hide from Eddie, unsure what the point would be even if he desired to: “it is cowardly, and selfish.”

“I doubt that,” Eddie catches Steve’s jawbone with a single finger, playful, endearing: but clear in its pointed redirection of Steve’s gaze, and his disparagement of his own thoughts:

“I would doubt that quite strongly, in fact.”

Steve lets Eddie touch prompt him to a kiss, as if he needs coaxing before he leans into the crook of Eddie’s neck and breathes him in: the best savours of the ground and sky.

“I would not run from my fate, here,” Steve says, not wholly to remind himself but, not without that purpose at hand; “save that it feels like my fate is…”

And he slides his hand to Eddie’s chest, hopes it speaks for him where he doesn’t know words for the depth and breadth and weight of these feelings; Eddie’s hand covers his, automatic, and he knows he’s understood.

“I wish not to be parted from you, now that I’ve found you,” Steve whispers, swallows hard, then looks Eddie in the eyes, speaks straight to the soul in them so that he is not misread, or underestimated in the weight of his own words, now:

“I think that I may be in love with you.”

And he’s never been before. He’s believed it may be love, but: no. No, it was never love before.

If ever it was love: it is this.

“Oh my precious one,” Eddie pets his hair and kisses after his own touch: “I don’t think that I’m in love with you,” and Steve stiffens only for the instant Eddie leaves between those words, and dipping down to Steve’s ear to exhale with feeling:

“I know it.”

How it is possible to die brokenhearted and happier than he’d ever dreamed, Steve doesn’t know.

But he’s about to serve as object lesson, in just days.

Maybe less.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Know that when,” Steve is speaking to the cracks in the rock that peek at the night sky as he speaks, Eddie on his chest like a blanket, save so much better; “when it happens,mwhen it devours me whole or takes me in pieces,” and his voice catches, but he remains resolute; “it will know you in every inch of me,” and he cups Eddie closer to him then, holds him against the thunderous roar of his pulse.

“My heart is full of you, and it will taste only of devotion,” Steve near-hisses for the fervor in him. “You’ll be the last bit of me known to the world.”

“Never.”

The growl that comes from the body that curls around him, protective, possessive, beloved in a way and to a magnitude Steve didn’t know he could feel before now: the venom in it makes it clear that it’s not a refutation of Steve’s declaration for the sentiment.

It’s a refutation to the cosmos itself.

“I would never allow it,” Eddie bites out, pressing closer to Steve, to his heart: “you will not be forfeit to some dragon,” and oh, but this man Steve loves is wild with his passion, foolhardy and yet all the more lovable for it.

“I would fight with all that I am to protect you,” he vows, presses his lips to Steve’s chest and speaks there like he means well and truly to means to tell Steve to the heart of him this sole, unshakeable truth: “and should somehow I lose the battle, it could only be because there is nothing of me left to fight.”

And for the first time, in all his life: Steve clings to something, someone, he’d happily rip his beating heart out to protect.

And that—he realizes in a single world-rewriting instant—he fears the loss of more than any other thing.

Any. Other. Thing.

~~~~~~~~~~

They don’t speak of it, or of a choice to be made when the time does come: Steve thinks maybe that’s the only way they manage at all, really, is to simply hold it between them in those last days. Known. Seen.

Loved.

And feared.

But always together. Always so close, in every way.

Until the stasis breaks.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes into the afternoon, innocuous. Steve’s stopped counting how many days they’ve stolen together.

“I must leave, my darling.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying to understand him. He watches as Eddie hurries to gather both of Steve’s hands, to bring them to his lips.

“Only for a short while,” he murmurs between Steve’s fingers, kisses at his knuckles with apology, and with heartsickness thick between his breaths: “barely a moment,” and his breath is short, thin, like the thought of leaving hurts.

And Steve…Steve has been in love for the first time, with the perfect match to his very soul. Unthinkable, but undeniable.

But it hasn’t made him wholly blind.

He means to press, to see if the slight little inklings he’s had every so often hold any weight, point in any direction of significance, means to ask just a simple thing, but then Eddie’s expression breaks open, a miasma of emotion spilling forth as his breath catches, monumental on a sob and he takes the hands at his lips and instead uses them to bury his face.

“Oh, my Steve,” he breathes, and all Steve can really see are the heaving lifts of his shoulders, and the way his curls fall a little like a monsoon.

“I am sorry,” Eddie whispers into Steve hands and Steve feels dampness there, and oh. No.

Not from Eddie. Not for whatever this is. Steve can think of nothing, save Eddie leaving for good before the end, that he should be moved to apologize for. And even that Steve would forgive.

Because Steve loves him.

“Why?” Steve asks, incredulous, his own half-formed ideas to seek to know gone at the sight of his beloved in distress. “What reason on earth do you have to be sorry, you said,” and Steve halts, wonders if that’s the catch, and tries not to falter without reason, tries to stand tall: “only a moment,” and that is what Eddie said, he said only a—

“I lied.”

Steve does to falter.

He starts to fracture and fall entirely. Because what, what all was a lie, was it all a lie, he—

He doesn’t know if he can breathe. He’s never lost his heart before. But he imagines that if death is still waiting for him, and he’ll face it alone: it’s what he’d planed for. What he’s prepared for from the start.

He knows how to be alone. It has to hurt less, than losing his heart now.

It will have to hurt less, at the very end, if it comes to him without a heart in his breast.

“It was worth every second, no matter that it must end, in joy or heartbreak,” Steve finds himself saying, and if his tone rings hollow, it’s only because his heart’s already leaking from him, already half-gone: he means it with every bit he has left, nonetheless.

“You are the moon, pulling me close,” he turns his hands so his palms line to Eddie’s; “the sun wrapping me in warmth,” and he folds their fingers together, clutches tight one last time, greedy as anything:

“You have been the greatest gift at the end of all I’ll ever know.” And that is the truth, that is the last words and final rites written on his bones. “Because of you, I will die fulfilled in ways I didn’t realize I was lacking.”

And then there’s just one thing, because Steve, Steve needs to say this part, he doesn’t think he’s said this part yet:

“Thank you.”

He means it.

But Eddie only holds onto him harder, painfully but it’s perfection; only shakes his head over and over before he finally rasps, barely audible:

“You misunderstand.”

Steve leans closer to hear him, to feel him, to know his warmth in the lat moments that might be left. He wants to understand. He doesn’t want the end to be anything but clear.

Even if it hurts.

“I have lied,” Eddie swallows hard; “but you misunderstand for what.”

Steve…still misunderstands.

“You have been my moon,” Eddie nearly moans, his head nuzzling into Steve’s hands, his hold, with nothing short of desperation:“you have been the sun since the first revelation when I was taught as barely a hatchling that my kind were born of suns, made from fire.”

And that. It’s been those small things: some dragon. Not owed. No dragon would find him unworthy.

The ego to presume.

This is no longer a small thing, spoken now.

“You stole my heart straight away, and I gave it freely but,” Eddie hiccups the slightest bit; “I only grow in relishing that of all the souls in all the worlds, yours has welcomed mine,” and he sniffles, by every god and power in all the worlds—

“You are a privilege.”

And oh, oh, but by every god and power: Steve loves him.

“And you have a dragon’s heart now, no matter how you choose to use it, to keep or reject it,” foolish words Eddie speaks so messy, so rushed and ragged, so ripped out from him visceral and slick with feeling: “and your end will be my end,” and his lips brush Steve’s hands, kiss the pulse on both his wrists:

“And either that will be unmeasurable ages hence,” and his breath catches, and Steve only wants for him to look up, just look up, because he’s said it without saying now, hasn’t he, muddled and frantic and so human, to say he’s anything but as he admits to the thing he thinks he needs to offer apology for.

“Or,” he trips over the next words, but they’re so sodden with candor, the blood in his veins:

“Or my heart may turn ash if you leave but,” and he brings the heels of both Steve’s hands to his mouth and kisses, speaks into them worshipfully:

“Your life will go on as a mortal’s, once I’ve—”

“You’ve given your heart?”

Because Steve had suspicions. Of why Eddie said certain things, certain ways. How warm he was. How strong and even and…ancient the beating of his heart resonated beneath Steve’s ear, his touch, like it radiated heat as a sun in itself.

“Of course,” Eddie’s head snaps up, like he’s offended at any suggestion to the contrary; “almost immediately.”

He blinks; he forgets himself. There’s a lid to his starburst eyes that closes unlike Steve’s, the opposite direction, almost invisible.

But Steve’s watching. Steve doesn’t blink once, cannot miss this.

Cannot pause what he writes into his bones because even if he plans for nothing less than ages unmeasurable, now, he wants this written on the bones that come in the end.

Whenever the end stretches out to.

“And if it’s ill received,” Steve asks slowly, his brows pinching as he picks through the implications of this part: “you—”

“Wither, slowly,” Eddie says, far too matter-of-fact for Steve’s liking, or willingness to stand: “but the end comes, yes.”

“Eddie,” Steve scolds, and Eddie flinches, thinks he’s been caught, been known and revealed now and in so being is anything but wanted with all of Steve’s being.

There is a tiny part of Steve that’s grateful for his foolishness: it makes Steve feel less alone, to be swept so by a love this vast.

“You are the dearest treasure I’ve ever known,” Eddie whispers, but it’s a pleading thing, something even Steve can tell doesn’t feel as if it had a hope to grasp; “if you let me keep you I would hold you closer than all things. To give a dragon’s heart means to place whatever holds it closer than the heart itself ever learned to rest on its own,” and Eddie gathers Steve’s hands again to his chest, stacks them, presses so very hard.

The life in him is a sobering thing. The idea that Steve holds this power somehow in his hands, literally and otherwise, is…staggering.

No less then amazing.

“You are my single desire, but more,” Eddie breathes; “you are my single care, my sole concern,” “my only.”

“Why do you leave, then?”

And Eddie stills. Pulls back only so much as to weigh what he sees in Steve’s face, Steve’s eyes—what Steve sees in his is clear: Eddie didn’t think he’d get to this part. He thought Steve would balk at learning his lover was something more than mere human.

Specifics aside, Steve could have told anyone that from the night that they met.

And so Eddie, bowled over by the shock of the fact that Steve still holds to him, does not waver, seems to speak unvarnished when he answers:

“The things you have shared,” and Steve knows without expansion what Eddie means: tales of home, of his family, of his parents, of how he came to be here, pledged as sacrifice for the good of his town, whispered in the dark as they watched the stars move slow; “I can bear it no longer, my darling.”

And Eddie straightens further then, and Steve sees what he dismissed as the play of the light: the glow in Eddie’s eyes unmistakable as something other, something from within.

“I demand the most valued,” Eddie’s words come out in a hiss, shape even as he hesitates, leaves every moment for Steve to pull away should his touch be unwanted as he reaches to brush Steve’s hair from his face.

“You are that and more to me and yet,” and he shakes his head, and it’s so strange still to be marveled at this way: unbridled and unashamed.

“You said it yourself, valuable,” Eddie nearly spits the word, like a poison he seeks to eke out; “and yet I believe that I said something different.”

Steve frowns, tries to put together the pieces but then his face is framed in long fingers that span the whole of him, fittingly so, as Eddie looks deed in his eyes and says with force and feeling:

“Valued,” he emphasizes with a kiss; “beloved,” and another, and Steve cannot help but smile into it just the slightest bit, his heart soaring as the other pieces—borrowed time and impending ends and forevers in view all at once rearranging into what he thinks might be an always with this man who’s more than a man when he speaks against Steve’s mouth:

“Precious beyond all else and others.”

He pulls back, and marvels more, then narrows his eyes in a way Steve’s never seen, pupils contracting inward from the sides into slits.

“You are mine,” Eddie growls; “but the demands we make are not idle, and they did not value you as you deserved,” Eddie scowls, and Steve sees it now, where he’s going, what he’s doing:

“And they thought it acceptable to send you to me as their most valued, believing they sent you to your death?” Eddie seethes:

“It cannot go unpunished.”

Steve…sees it. Understands, now.

It does not hurt, the idea of losing people who were family only in name, especially not to the man before him, who is all that family should mean, could mean, will mean.

Always, now.

“The villagers are innocents, please,” Steve whispers, and Eddie cups his cheek, so lovingly it aches.

“Fret not,” he says with that warmth that Steve’s melted in from the very start; “I know who deserves my ire.” His expression sours, hardens:

“And they will know their hard-earned consequences.”

Eddie kisses Steve with a kind of devotion bigger than the sky somehow, and it’s only because Steve’s reeling to get his footing back that he trails behind Eddie and not at his side as he makes to depart.

“Please do not follow me, beloved,” he calls over his shoulder, not breaking his pace; “I do not wish you to see-“

“I will stay,” Steve answers, like the words were waiting on this tongue of this very moment: “if.”

Eddie stills; turns.

“If?”

“You promise to return with all haste,” Steve reaches him quick and is the one who kisses with all that he knows, all that he can imagine, all that he holds inside of himself and shares already with Eddie uninhibited; “I will be cold without you.”

And that makes Eddie soften; smile as he promises:

“Done.”

“And,” Steve adds, pulling away from Eddie’s lips to look him straight on as Eddie’s brow quirks in question:

“And?”

“Change for me.”

And Eddie, for once, is wholly dumbfounded. Speechless.

It’s quite a feat to behold.

“You,” he stammers; “you wish to see,” he shakes his head, disbelieving; “beloved, it is not, I am,” and oh, oh: Steve did not expect this part: “we are cast as fearsome creatures for good reason.”

He is wary. He is cautious. He thinks himself the monster. He wants to hide this part from Steve.

But Steve will have nothing hidden between them, least of all this: the whole of who his love is.

“I do not fear you, I could not,” Steve pledges in truth; “and any creature with your heart, who has captured my soul,” Steve grabs Eddie’s shoulders and draws him in, bows those foreheads into one another:

“You could never be anything short of exquisite. Breathtakingly so.”

Eddies breathing is hitched, stuttering. Steve wants to cry for the way he is surprised. Wants to mourn for whatever hurt him to make him this cautious, this stunned by Steve’s love: unconditional.

Undying, now that it’s possible to give as such, and in truth.

And Steve waits, watches him, stares patient until Eddie sighs deeply, steps back far and then closes his eyes and…becomes.

Larger, of course. The wings are a feat. The talons are less a surprise from his spindly fingers.

He’s, he is…

“You are,” Steve reaches, waits until Eddie comes to him, welcomes his touch this way and to feel him, smooth scale not so unlike the chest bare against him in the night—warmth and safety and all that is right:

“Magnificent. And I would know you,” Steve tells him, seeks his gaze as he speaks from the very core of his being: “even if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

He steps closer, waits for Eddie to be curious enough to bow his head low so Steve can mimic how they’d stood, forehead pressed just moments before.

“These unfathomable eyes,” he whispers between them, and smiles at how those eyes fall closed in something like relief, like comfort after laying down a heavy burden as Steve reaches for the soft underbelly in lighter scales against the charcoal of the rest of his beloved’s form:

“The might of this heart,” and he presses, and yes, exactly as he knew he’d find: thunderous. Could part seas, reshape the globe, stir the stars.

And it’s Steve’s. So he doesn’t hesitate to press his lips above the breathing and breathe out:

“Unmistakable, my darling.”

When he pulls back those eyes truly are just the same: they wonder. They marvel.

At Steve. Just Steve.

It’s intoxicating.

“Do what must be done,” Steve nuzzles at the side of Eddie’s face, pulls his snout to his shoulder so he can kiss at what he supposes is something of a cheek, and then he pulls back, lets go.

But only their bodies. Nothing more. Never anything more. Not ever again.

“Then come home to me.”

Steve could be wrong, or just wishful, but he thinks Eddie glows from within through the whole of himself, and not just his eyes, as he takes flight and shoots like the star Steve always saw inside him, up into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s not long. It’s just as Eddie promised.

After everything, Steve hadn’t worried at all that it would be anything else.

“It was painless,” is what Eddie says as he walks back into the cave, a man again; “and it was for the sake of justice overdue,” as if he must explain. Or seek forgiveness.

Steve pulls him in and kisses him until he’s breathless as an answer for both concerns.

“What now?” he can’t help but ask. He is still more in love than he can breathe through. Will live and die exactly that way for time innumerable.

“You wish to be here, with me?” Eddie asks, almost hesitant; seeking.“You do not feel indebted, or, or coerced? Or tricked or held by force or—”

Steve grins at the babbling, the nervous rambles. To think they’re because of him.

It might just give him an absolutely unbearable ego of his own if it’s to be the norm forevermore.

“Love,” Steve presses a single raised finger to the missile of Eddie’s lips, watches as he adorable crosses his eyes to follow its trajectory.

“You are all that I have imagined and never thought to find.” And it really is as simple and as unthinkable as that, in the end. Or the beginning. “The only way I would be anywhere but your side is to be torn from it, or sent away.”

Eddie growls at the first suggestion, and huffs in pure offense at the suggestion of the second as he reaches and pulls Steve flush to his body: warm, warm, warm.

Steve’s heart flutters against him, reminding him that he owns it wholly.

Eddie’s drums in protective answer, welcoming as much as seeking to leap into Steve’s chest on the same promise, the same pledge as he murmurs into Steve’s lips:

“You still misestimate what it means to be loved by a dragon,” and drags his mouth against Steve’s bottom lips, a little wanton even as his words carry the weight of the universe entire:

“This,” and he clutches Steve’s closer still, so as to not be mistaken; “is for as much of eternity as is for us to grasp.”

It is not sacrifice at all to kiss the man, to love the dragon, in front of him, now.

And for the rest of time ahead.

For @a-little-unsteddie, who requested the quote 'Magic' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher

divider credit here

💫 ao3 link here

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yakutarts · 2 days ago

Text

Nightmare and Dream but feral, non-skeletal body!

For the love of god PLEASE click on the image for better quality + close ups and clothed version under the cut!!

Would you kiss them?

Video process:

I made these using a specific context

A while ages ago I drew and posted a drawing of Nightmare and Dream on their light ball form but with some alterations/personal headcanons.

On the post, I expressed my desire to draw the twins in a universe were Nim didn’t need to give them bodies, and just let them grow naturally. And specifically give them an animalistic appearance, instead of a humanoid one like most artist do.

You can see on the process video that it took me 1000 sketches to make something that looked good and I was happy with, the video is obviously sped up, the total time it took me to make this was 28 hours and 15 minutes.

Now explaining some things:

Why are they so big?

I read on a post made by Joku that Nim, before giving them skeleton bodies, tried to make them human ones, but the pure amount of magic and power the twins had made the human bodies explode or some shit. So she picked skeletons since the magic could flow freely through the bones without being confined by muscle and flesh. That made me think if their power had physical forms, it would be gigantic. So I gave them gigantic forms to better represent their status of strength and power, beings made from raw magic to serve as guardians of all emotions throughout the multiverse, of course I needed to make them big and intimidating!

Why the horns?

Artistic design choice, I gave them little horns and a chubby tail in their light ball form to purposefully make them more animalistic, wanted to keep it while making these. Also just giving them a smooth head with nothing much going on looked weird and boring.

Why the draconian look?

Dragons had been created and depicted as symbols of pure power above humanity and worshipped as deities throughout several cultures around the world, different depictions of dragons has been one of the only things present among almost all cultures, like a default folklore creature. While I tried to incorporate other mythical creatures in the design, the draconic body plan felt more right due to the influence of dragons on human beliefs, and their representation as magical and powerful beings beyond human comprehension. Plus I just really love drawing dragons.

Why the clothing choice? Also why is Dream half naked while Nightmare has everything covered?

While designing the clothes for Nightmare, I used as reference clothing that usually royalty would wear, Nightmare has a really big ego and sees himself as a king, so he uses fancy, expensive clothing and jewelry, adapted and designed for his anatomy. Not practical for battle, but his corruption can go through the fabric without damaging it, and most people and monsters just run when they see him, so he doesn’t worry about it getting dirty or tearing, Nightmare just expects every soul to instantly submit when they see him, so he never worries about getting into a battle and getting dirty he has that big of an ego.

Dream is the opposite, his style of clothing much more practical for running, jumping, flying, fighting and general exercise. He has 4 bags in total, 2 on each side, inside them he keeps several items, be it healing food, magical artifacts, first aid kit, gifts he receives, stuff he buys or random things he finds and wants to take home with him. Dream’s crown is now a colar couldn’t figure out how to make it work with the head shape and horns, his cape is from his official design, but changed to white, was planning to make it yellow but when I looked at it my eyes hurt because there was too much yellow everywhere. I made Dream’s clothes with the intent to match his official design, I didn’t to the same for nightmare because a turtle neck with a hoodie on a dragon would make him more huggable than intimidating. Plus I like to think that the leg warmers was a gift from Blue, and the ring on his horn a gift from Ink. Didn’t add more stuff on him because I couldn’t think of something that would look good and match Dream’s vibe, the rest of his clothes on his official design didn’t translate well here. Oh, while I was drawing this, I drew the colar and the leg warmers first, without the cape, Dream looked like a twink with a pet play kink.

Side note; neither Nightmare or Dream see the use of clothes as a necessity or as decency. For them clothes are nothing but pure decoration and to show off status for Nightmare, they can wear full body suits, partial clothing, just jewelry, or nothing at all, which is what they usually go for when at home, wearing or not wearing stuff doesn’t make that much of a difference to them at all.

Do they act as animals or do they have human intelligence?

Despite me using the word “feral” all the time to describe them, they do not actually act as animals. I’m only using “feral” to describe their body/anatomy, Nightmare and Dream are fully sentient and have human level intelligence/awareness. They are capable of speech and have opposable thumbs on their front paws, they can grab, write, hold… do anything a human can do with their hands with dexterity. But they do have to use only hand one at a time, and balance themselves with the other. To use both hands, they have to be sitting, or be supported by something, they can balance themselves on their wings if they have to.

And now contradicting what I just said, they have some animalistic behaviors. The twins can growl, purr and roar. Despite Nightmare being able to use his tentacles and Dream being able to shoot magic arrows out of his wings, they to also scratch and bite while fighting. Since they are big and heavy, they can easily crush bone under their weight and their bite force is strong enough to split someone in half. If you need a reference, just use Smaug from The Hobbit, he has more or less the balance of animal behavior and human intelligence I’m looking for.

Expanding more on this, the twins stretch just like felines, and often sleep in positions usually cats sleep in (they don’t actually need to sleep but do anyway). Dream likes to go fishing, and by fishing I mean jumping in a lake and chasing the fish underwater. He finds it more fun than sitting around and waiting for the fish to come to you instead.

I guess you count their lack of necessity to wear clothes as animal logic too?

_________________

If you have any more questions about them, I will be happy to answer!

And yes, I do plan on making more drawings of Nightmare and Dream on this form!

Dreamtale belongs to @jokublog

Feral concept/design by @yakutarts (me)

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redrose10 · 1 day ago

Text

This was a request for cop Yoongi from @maryhopemei. I already had something similar drafted so I continued that. I hope it’s okay! I’m working on the requests that I have so I should start getting them out as I get them done.

Bonnie and Clyde

Cop Yoongi x Female Cop Reader

Warnings: Guns, violence, gangs, hostage situations, slightly suggestive, mentions of blood and murder, swearing

*******************************************************

Sitting in the crowd watching the newest graduating class of the police academy made you feel proud of course, but it also filled you with dread because you knew one of the rookies was going to be your new partner. You tended to work better alone and you definitely didn’t want your partner to be some newbie that was just going to get in your way.

The captain had dropped the bombshell on you last week. He was kind enough to let you choose your new partner which you promised to advise him of your choice after the graduation ceremony. As you scanned the recruits you thought back to through your options:

Jeon Jungkook: Age 26

Top of his class in physical activities, definitely had the body of a cop, would be your first choice to have next to you in a physical altercation but since you were in narcotics you wanted more brains than brawn.

Park Jimin: Age 28

Didn’t look like a typical cop but maybe that was a good thing. Aced all of his verbal and written tests. You’d spoke to him a couple times and he seemed too sweet so you knew he’d get eaten alive in your line of work and you didn’t want to be responsible for that.

Min Yoongi: Age 31

His superiors noted that he had all the skills necessary to make a great cop but seemed to hold back. He was quiet and mostly kept to himself but was very observant. He didn’t look happy to be there just like you... That was your guy.

So after the ceremony you let the captain know that you’d chosen Yoongi as your new partner much to his surprise, but he obliged and said he’d have the paperwork entered right away.

The next morning you walked into the narcotics department ready to start the day when you ran into your new partner, already making himself comfortable in the desk right next to yours.

Trying to be polite you introduced yourself with a handshake, “Hi, My name is Y/N.”

For a moment he stared down at your hand like he was pondering if he should shake it before he ultimately took it in his, “Yoongi”.

Captain Cho called an emergency meeting wanting to provide some updates on the big case you all were working on.

In the meeting room you took a seat next to Detective Kim Namjoon, one of the few people you trusted.

The walls of the meeting room were littered with photos and drawings, some scribbled with notes.

Captain Cho pinned a new photo onto the wall, “This is Jung Seo Joon. We have confirmed him to be the newest member of Saaghan as he was just recently initiated. He is the third addition this month so we have reason to believe that Kim Myung is planning an attack and trying to beef up his team. We need all officers to be on the lookout and prepared for anything.”

You took in the photo doing your best to memorize the man in front of you.

“Y/N and Yoongi please stay back. I have some things to discuss with you.”, Captain Cho announced before dismissing everyone else.

“Y/N, please get Yoongi caught up on everything with this case so far. Then I want the two of you to head to this address and scope it out. We have reason to believe that Myung hangs out here.”, the captain said handing you a piece of paper.

You nodded before stepping aside to let the captain pass.

Once back at your desk you grabbed a bunch of papers, “So we’ve been working on this case for several years. Have you ever heard of the Saaghan gang?”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, “I know more about them than you could ever imagine.”

You bit your lip trying not to say something nasty back. This is exactly why you liked to work alone.

“Okay fine. Let’s just go scope out this location then since you’re already up to date on everything.”

You didn’t even wait for him before storming off to your assigned car.

The location was a small kbbq restaurant on the other side of the city in a run down alleyway. Definitely not somewhere you’d expect a wealthy gang leader to hang out.

“There he is. That’s are guy.”, you whispered after seeing Myung walk out of the restaurant followed by six men in suits.

Yoongi’s hand tightened around his gun, “We should just kill him now.”

You shook your head, “Are you crazy? We’re severely outnumbered. They’ll definitely kill us.”

“If you were a decent cop we could take them right now.”, he scoffed.

“And I’m being a decent human being by not killing YOU right now.”, you mumbled getting an amused laugh out of your partner.

It was a few months later and you and Yoongi were finally starting to warm up to each other a little. His sarcastic remarks started becoming funnier and less annoying to you. You brought him coffee in the morning and he bought you lunch in the afternoon. One day he even dropped by your apartment to bring you soup and medicine after you had called in sick.

He also started following up on the case more and more. He provided lots of good intel on Myung and his gang which you desperately needed. You felt like things were going in the right direction and you were happy to have him as your partner.

Then one night Namjoon stopped you in the hallway and invited you back to his desk.

“Y/N I want to talk to you about Yoongi.”

“Okay?”, you questioned confused.

“I just…I…something seems off about him.”

You were feeling a little defensive about your partner/almost might be considered a friend/very secret take it to the grave crush.

“What do you mean?”, you spat.

Namjoon adjusted his glasses, “Y/N I’m not trying to be disrespectful I promise. It’s just… don’t you think it’s a little weird how he knows so much about the case already? He’s pointed out high ranking members of the Saaghans before we could even attempt to yet somehow Myung always happens to escape as soon as we get there like he knew we were coming. And Jin said he walked in on him getting dressed the other day. He said he has a tattoo…THE tattoo.”

You felt your heart skip at the mention of the tattoo. It was confirmed that all members of the Saaghan Gang had the same tattoo. It was a part of the initiation. All official members had a tattoo on the left side of their chest. A tattoo of a snake curled around a demon, the official symbol of the gang. It was a very distinct tattoo and every artist in the country knew not to tattoo it on anyone that wasn’t official.

You scoffed, “So we’re going by he said she said now? Maybe Jin was mistaken. Besides he shouldn’t be creeping on other officers while they’re changing. That sounds like an HR issue.”

Namjoon sighed getting frustrated, “He wasn’t creeping. It was an accident and why would he lie about something like that? Look Y/N…I know he’s your partner and you guys are getting close but I’m just saying to be careful and keep an eye on him.”

Wordlessly you got up and exited his office feeling angry and hurt but also a little unsure at the same time.

You spent the next few weeks trying to get a glimpse of Yoongi’s chest without making it obvious.

You suggested working out together which he surprisingly agreed to until you suggested swimming as an option. He said he preferred to work on weight training instead of cardio.

You “accidentally” spilled a cup of coffee on his shirt before conveniently pulling a spare out of your backseat. He thanked you and grabbed the shirt before walking into the nearest convenient store to use the restroom to change.

You invited him over to your apartment for dinner and drinks. You poured him shot after shot. You also had a few yourself to try and calm your nerves. Before you knew it, he had pinned you down on the couch, his mouth leaving marks on your skin as his hands roamed underneath your shirt searching for your bra strap.

You were hazy with lust. You wanted him and you were shocked yet excited that it seemed like he wanted you too. Forgetting about the reason you were even in this position to begin with you reached for his shirt and started unbuttoning it. You got three undone before he stopped you and pulled away.

You panicked thinking maybe you misread the situation.

“I’m sorry Y/N. I shouldn’t have done that. We’re both drunk and I don’t want you to feel like I’m taking advantage of you and we’re co-workers on top of it. I don’t want anything to be complicated between us.”

Before you could reassure him he grabbed his coat and stumbled out of your apartment leaving you feeling all different emotions that revolved around more than just a tattoo.

After that night the two of you remained on a strictly partner/co-worker relationship. The coffee and lunch breaks stopped. You didn’t speak unless it involved work related discussions. You were hurt and disappointed and maybe a little bit heartbroken.

Then one evening Captain Cho called an emergency meeting.

“We have received reliable intel that Myung will be meeting a new supplier at this abandoned factory located at the port. We need to dress and be ready to move out within the next fifteen minutes to meet him there. Everyone have your eyes and ears open. No one goes in alone and no one gets left behind.”

You and Yoongi loaded into the waiting van as it began the hour drive to the location. Namjoon who was sitting across from you gave you a smile and a light squeeze to your knee knowing that you still got a little nervous during raids like these. Yoongi grumbled about something when he noticed you two but you didn’t care enough to clarify.

The van pulled up to the location and you and the rest of the team exited and quietly made your way to the warehouse. You followed closely behind Yoongi up several flights of stares. Suddenly Yoongi stopped after you heard talking. Peaking around the corner you saw Myung and some other man having an altercation.

Unfortunately at that same moment your radio went off. You had forgotten to silence it, a rookie mistake. Myung shouted something and next thing you knew four men with guns were shooting at you both. Yoongi was trying to push you back as gunshots continued to ring through the air as you did your best to fire back while also ducking for cover.

Captain Cho was shouting over the radio for everyone to retreat and abandon mission. Myung took off running with Yoongi closely behind ignoring the captains orders and forgetting about the no one alone rule so you were forced to also chase after him.

“Yoongi stop!”, you shouted dodging a bullet.

“No I’m gonna kill him. Once and for all.”, he gritted through his teeth while reloading his gun. Captain Cho was demanding for your return but you couldn’t let Yoongi go alone.

“Y/N go back to the base. I don’t want you to get hurt.”, Yoongi said.

You shook your head, “No I’m not leaving you.”

Out of nowhere you felt someone shove something hard into the back of your head.

“Myung you fucking bastard. Back away from her. Now!.”, Yoongi hissed with his gun drawn in your direction.

“Or what?”, Myung spat, “Are you going to kill me? Have me arrested? Don’t you remember our little agreement Yoongi? Did you suddenly stop being a gangster and become a bitch of a good cop?”

You were confused by what he meant by all of that but the cold metal pushed into the back of your head was making it difficult to really think straight.

“Myung if you let Y/N go unharmed…I’ll…I will let you go free and take the blame for everything.”

He chuckled, “No no no Yoongi. That’s not how this works. I make the deals now. Not you.”

Yoongi looked above before turning his attention back to you, “Y/N, on the count of three run.”

You shook your head too afraid to move.

“1…2…3!”, he shouted. You tried to move but your feet were frozen. You heard two gunshots go off. The grip Myung had on your body softened as he dropped to the ground besides you and laid lifeless in a pool of his own blood.

You heard commotion above you and you turned to see Namjoon running down the stairs with his gun still drawn. You looked in front of you and saw Yoongi on his knees grasping his arm as blood was quickly soaking his shirt.

“Yoongi!,”, you screamed running towards him thankful he was wearing a bullet proof vest even though he had been shot in the arm by Myung just before Namjoon had shot him.

Namjoon called for medical attention which quickly arrived and you helped Yoongi over to the waiting ambulance.

You were talking to Namjoon as the medics removed Yoongi’s shirt even though he tried to fight it.

And that’s when you saw it. The tattoo on the left side of his chest clear as could be. You didn’t even excuse yourself from Namjoon instead choosing to storm over to Yoongi as the medic was stitching him up.

He refused to make eye contact with you until the medic was finished wrapping his arm up and left you two alone.

“Y/N let me explain.”, he said with his hands reaching out for you. He was cut off when your hand slapped across his cheek leaving a red mark.

You were fighting back tears as you bit your lip, “How could you? You’re one of them. I trusted you Yoongi. Namjoon tried to warn me and I didn’t listen to him.”

He shook his head, “Y/N listen to me. It’s not what you think. I am a member but not like that.”

You scoffed but stood silently otherwise waiting for him to continue.

“My father owed Myung a lot of money. He couldn’t pay him. One night he came to our apartment with two of his men. They…”, he took a deep breath. This was clearly hard for him to say, “They demanded the money and when he couldn’t pay them Myung killed my father. I was hiding in the closet. I was twelve years old when I watched that evil excuse of a man murder my father. Myung had his men stalk me for years. He would never kill a minor. Then when I turned eighteen he started demanding I repay my fathers debts. Of course I didn’t have the money. One night he had his men kidnap me. He told me that I either repay the debts or he would kill me right then just like he had done to my father.”, Yoongi took a shaky breath before continuing again, “Out of fear and desperation I offered him a deal. In exchange for not killing me I would work for him. To my surprise he accepted it. Over time I earned his trust and his respect and made it to a high raking position in the gang. But…but the entire time I was plotting a way to get him back and avenge my father’s murder. So when he came up with this plan to have someone infiltrate the police to get intel I volunteered. I had to do little things like let him know when we were coming so that he wouldn’t be suspicious. But now…I got him killed. That’s all I wanted and now I can move on knowing my fathers murderer is dead….and I can get this stupid tattoo removed. I’ve always hated having this disgusting ugly thing on my body.”, he said pointing at the ink.

You were left speechless. You took a few moments to to collect your thoughts until you heard Captain Cho demanding everyone return to the van immediately.

“Yoongi…I…I’m sorry you went through all of that.”, you whispered reaching for his hand, “Umm but Myung’s men will try to avenge his murder too. Once they find out you turned on him they’ll come after you. You’re in danger Yoongi.”

He shook his head, “I’ll be fine Y/N. I’m going to quit the force and I’ll move far away. But you need to distance yourself from me. They’ll come after you too if they know that you are important to me.”

“Yoongi you can’t leave. You can’t leave the force. You can’t leave me.”, you begged.

“Y/N I need to. For your safety. I love you Y/N and I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you because of me.”

You didn’t even fully register what he had just said to you said before Namjoon walked over and interrupted you, “Listen guys, Cho is ready to loose his shit. We need to go. Hey… where did Yoongi go?”

You nodded before looking around in a panic realizing that Yoongi had disappeared. You looked through your surroundings but it was too dark and you couldn’t see him anywhere.

Dejectedly you followed after Namjoon unsure of what would happen next.

It had been twelve months since you last saw Yoongi at the port. He vanished without a trace. His apartment was left untouched. He never officially resigned from the force but just stopped showing up so they were forced to fire him. You woke up every day hoping you would get some kind of a sign that he was okay. You knew that Myungs men had set their focus on finding him just like you had expected they would. It was hard for you to hear about it but it motivated you to capture every single one of them.

On a Wednesday morning you walked into work feeling exhausted and stressed. You placed your things down on your desk before getting called into Captain Cho’s office.

He handed you a piece of paper, “We got a call from an anonymous informant. They said they have specific details about the whereabouts of Jung Hoseok, the new leader of Saaghan.”

You nodded, “Okay should we get a team together?”

The captain shook his head, “The informant demanded you come alone. He said if you had anyone with you he’d refuse to talk so you’re going to be wired but you’ll go alone. We’ll have backup holding back a few blocks away.”

You nodded nervously but agreed to go.

When you got to a similar kbbq restaurant as before you walked inside to find it completely empty. The elderly woman behind the counter greeted you and directed you to a small room upstairs already knowing who you were there for.

In the small room Yoongi greeted you with a smile. He was dressed in a suit minus the jacket, his hair was much longer than the last time you saw him and he had a noticeable scar going through his right eye.

“Y/N, how have you been?”

“Good, and you?”, you responded still in shock at seeing him.

He nodded, “Great actually, especially now that you’re here.”

Yoongi walked over to you slowly and began pulling on the wire that ran along your body. Of course he knew it would be there. In one snap he disconnected it.

“I know we don’t have long until your team swarms the place now so I’ll make this quick.”, he said putting his jacket on and then handing you a loaded gun. “Run away with me Y/N. I’ll take care of you and provide for you. I’ll keep you safe and you’ll never have to worry about anything ever again.”

“Yoon-Yoongi I can’t do that.”, you stuttered.

“Yes you can Y/N. If you want to be with me like I want to be with you then you can. You know that we can’t be together like this. A cop with a gangster. It’ll never work.”

You shook your head, “But you’re not really a gangster. We can explain what happened. Sure you’ll probably have to do a little jail time but if you agree to provide info on the gang members I’m sure they’ll reduce your sentence significantly. Then we can get you protection and everything.”

He cocked his gun hearing your fellow officers pull up, “You’re right Y/N…I wasn’t a real gangster…but a lot has changed in the last year.”

He walked over to the window and pushed it open before tossing a large duffel bag onto the roof of the building below. Then he turned in your direction. He held his hand out to you with a smirk, “So what do you say Y/N? Want to be the Bonnie to my Clyde?”

#bts #yoongi x reader #yoongi fanfic #min yoongi #bts fanfic #bts x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #bts yoongi #yoongi au #cop au

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goldenboywrites · 2 days ago

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“What?” Quin whispered at the King’s words. He nearly asked him to repeat himself because he didn’t believe the words he had heard. They were still betrothed. He was surprised with everything that happened the King would allow them to move forward with it. He remember the concern Cesare’s father had before he was kidnapped, how it was Quin’s fault he looked so haunted. How Cesare had set off without a moment’s notice to retrieve Quin from his uncle’s grasp. He knew Cesare loved it, Quin never doubted that, but it was what Cesare would do for him that scared him. Because if it came down to it, Quin wasn’t sure Cesare would put his country before him. And it would only be a matter of time before his uncle figured that out.

“About time,” Maximus said, shoving at Quin’s shoulder. “I gave Cesare my permission forever ago.” Quin cut his brother a glare but the squeeze of his hand had him drawing his attention back to Cesare as the King continued to talk to Maximus. Quin studied their clasped hands, the words of Cesare’s father going in one ear and out the other. He understood what the man was saying and in a perfect world Maximus would have the time to find his soulmate and marry for love, but that wasn’t their reality and they were running out of time. He knew it wasn’t the time to argue his point, he would wait to get Maximus alone for that.

And then he heard Cesare’s words and Quintus felt like he was floating. Everything he had longed for, had wanted was right in front of him, and he could take it. Cesare would give his unwavering love for Quin freely and without restraints, but even as Cesare spoke beautiful words to him, Quintus didn’t know if he should.

Because the truth of the matter was that Cesare didn’t know everything and Quin never wanted him to. The fact of the matter was that Quin, despite Cesare’s best efforts, may not survive seeing his brother to the throne. And if they were to enter into a union, Quin would become a liability to Cesare. One that his uncle would have no issue exploiting. It was dangerous to continue their relationship when everything was on the line. He knew once they married, he would be a member of Adros’ court. If his uncle kidnapped Quintus again or even successfully killed him, there was no other choice but for the countries to go to war.

“Of course it’s what I want,” He said quietly to Cesare, glancing up to meet his gaze. “It’s what I’ve always wanted since I met you and knew I would do anything for seconds of your attention.” He squeezed Cesare’s hands, rubbing his thumb along his knuckles. “For the longest time I didn’t think love was meant for me, but you came into my life and I knew if I wanted anyone to love me it was you. Loving you is having company during thunderstorms, it’s adventures, and sharing meals. It’s disagreeing but coming together to solve the problem anyways. It’s…” Quin ducked his chin to his chest, avoiding Cesare for the moment as he attempted to control the blush spreading across his face. Fuck, how he hated that Maximus and Cesare’s father was here for this. “It’s having my best friend by my side.”

“I’m not going to pretend that one didn’t hurt a bit because it did,” Quin heard Max say in the background.

“If our circumstances were different, I would marry you tonight. I need you to know that. But as it stands, while my uncle is alive and fighting to take over our countries, I can’t put you in a position where I’m a liability to you because if he catches wind of this, he will use us against each other. If that costs you your throne, I would never forgive myself.” He closed his eyes, shaking his head, forcing himself to fight the sting of tears. “I’m in this, Cesare, with you, but only when it’s safe for you and Adros.”

It felt as if he'd slipped in between realities because the conversations happening in front of him truly couldn't be. While Cesare knew this was all apart of their lives but it hurt to hear Max saying that. Still on the mend and out of his own country just added insult to injury and Cesare leaned forward to offer his hand to him, knowing full and well that it wasn't anything but a sign of understanding.

"While both of you are right." The king interjected, sending Cesare to clasp onto Quin's hand instead. He felt the reflex to push him off but he held on tighter. "Quintus and Cesare are already betrothed to one another." His eyes darted between his son and the prince expectantly. "They announced it upon their arrival and unless I'm not privy to some sort of discussion on that being changed. It still stands." Cesare swallowed hard and his fingers flexed around Quin's, the heat between them creating a comfortable feel and he felt himself leaning towards him in turn. "I'll take that as a no. Then we've already a foot in the right direction." He breathed out and looked to Max then. "I know I'm not the right man to be discussing this with you or even have a right to but I knew your father well. He was a dear friend to me as you are to my son."

Cesare felt the room shift just then for him. His father rarely opened up or spoke softly to anyone but his mother and him. It was something he'd admired, how he could always hold his role of King separate when the time was needed for it. "Both of your parents would want the two of you to be happy. And I for one agree with them. I wish the very same for Cesare." He sighed and looked at the three of them. "I'm afraid this world will be extra hard on you but if you are going to marry, all of you then let it be for the right reasons." He paused, smiling softy to himself for a moment. "The selection of a partner is one thing but to marry and have bliss? That will be the true tell of how powerful a ruler you will be. Your parents are great examples of that." He tried his best to not let it show but he felt the tears welling at the sight of their future before him. "So please take your time in choosing. For you choose for a whole country as well. You two will always be welcomed guests in this country and my home." He raised his hand, waiving for his hand to come to him. He'd whispered briefly in the man's ear and sent him on out of the room.

The cool breeze of the door closing again sent a chill down Cesare's spine and he tore his gaze from his father and to Max and then Quin. "I made the right choice." He told him boldly, turning in his chair until their knees met. He wished they hadn't just dragged him out of the bowls of hell and away from that man but he needed Quin to know. "I have loved you for a long time." He could see Max moving in the background but had to block him out because saying this had to be done right then. "I want your home to be here. With me." He felt his lips pulling into a small smile at that. "I can't undo what's been done but I can make sure that the rest of your life is full and you'll never be left wanting for anything." His lips pressed together and he felt the rest of the room looking at them but all he cared about were the two in front of his own. "But only if that's what you want Quintus."

#looking out for you

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alex-van-gore · 1 year ago

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You know how really small kittens twitch their ears when they drink too fast?

#transformers #maccadam #tf drift #transformers drift #transformers fanart #the colour shifts a lil bc gifs are horrible on tumblr sowwy #the idea for this was presented to me over breakfast and it made me crumple to the floor #so of course I had no choice but to draw it #it is so so difficult to draw drift dont look at me

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deoidesign · 2 months ago

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Thinking about vampires, death, life, and the space they occupy in between

#to be or not to be. that is the question #ty adam for being my model for dramatic vampire moment #musings on the thinkings about:#when to live you are required to hurt others. you must repeatedly ask yourself what the value of your life is #To sleep... perchance to dream...#ah. THERES THE RUB.#ok I actually couldnt come up with too many thoughts. I had a lot more while I was drawing this but I guess I put them in the painting LOL #reading that soliloquy and being like damn this is just like vampires #the reality of course is that the soliloquy is a debate over suicide and ultimately making the choice to live #even if just out of fear of the unknown #and vampires are about dying and then in undeath choosing to continue to live #despite the fear of eternity and loneliness and hurting others #theyre not the same. but like let me thiiink come onnnn I'm allowed to thiiink and have incomplete thoughts #I would have to write like a proper essay about this to organize my thoughts. this is the tags on a tumblr post.#anyways finished episode 79 #working on patreon stickers for this month (and next month soon)#and working on book 4. taking a pause from episodes cause I've got 3 weeks of buffer now... UGH #I'm so mad that they changed it. it would have been 5 weeks before but it's fine it's whatever #anyways yeah taking a break from episodes to make my book now!#its good stuff.#and this painting is good stuff #banger after banger from me tbh #this was a little relaxing giving myself a couple hours to muse #it's necessary for my health and I always forget that til I do a painting...#I loved doing the little landscape in the background too I should do that more! I love how plants are just like whatever shape you want #like you can make up any plant you want and not only does that plant PROBABLY exist somewhere #a weirder plant exists somewhere too. so. literally whatever you want #ok bye again for a few days while I get back to work

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rookeryyy · 7 months ago

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REINVENT

YOURSELF

tumblr HATES my 44.1mb image swag so it has SO MUCH COMPRESSION and downsizing here. :') peep the actual intended size & quality (or as good as i could get it exported)

post-return Q!Tubbo :] Tee hee.

un hamburgesa para tubbo (he lookied ungry)

#qsmp #qsmp fanart #tubbo fanart #qsmp tubbo #yippeeee :D #i forgor what other tags i usually use for my art on this blog. fngbnfdj. oh well.#WHY DID THE WATER TURN INTO LAVA [SHAKES CCTUBBO] WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT HELLO. DID ANYBODY ELSE NOTICE THAT BC I DID. IS IT FROM #THE MACHINE OVERHEATING? HE WAS BURNING WHEN HE SURFACED or is it a less physical creative choice...#this is why theyre surrounded by water and lava (and also bc of dying by the ocean monument ^w^ teehee)#if you notice all the details i had in mind when i drew this ily foreva and eva #i drew this over the course of a few days after the revival/return stream but i never posted it IM SHY OK #i wonder how long i spent on it... must be over 6 hrs atleast? considering i also spent like an hour touching things up b4 posting rn..#nice. im in my hours-long compositions era :D smiles irl so happily i love it #<- usually never spends longer than like 1-2 hrs on one drawing #i shared this with a couple of qsmp-enjoying friends of mine and they convinced me to let it fly free ksksks. FOR THE TUBBLINGS o7 #also if anybody has a better image sharing option lmk. DHBFK.#blood #ALMOST FORGOT THAT. THERE IS BLOODIN HERE #CONTAINS BLOOD.#guy whos flehs and bone #debatably #art #months later im slapping on that art tag HFHFHG i forgor

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capn-twitchery · 5 months ago

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twitch has no direct source for the ongoing smut book gossip so they are actively dying. rest in pieces, they will be missed, maybe

(plot twist grace is reading up on the drama. that's jamie's controversial smut book--no i'm kidding,,,,,or am i)

#grace they are DYING where is your sympathy #this is incredibly messy and dumb but i got it in my head i had to get it out xD #fred draws #jam is prophet's of course #semi context twitch is (was?) friends with jam but they are banned from talking to him. for complicated and red reasons #but it was not by choice they still like jam. so they wanna know what's going on so bad #gritchposting

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hydn-jpg · 6 months ago

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i just read all the current chapters of id2 and i. i need to lie down

#i am. genuinely unwell #wtf #i honestly didn't have high expectations going into it bc yknow it's a sequel and i also hated the ending of book 1 but ????!!!!??#it's so good!!!!!#(to me anyway idc what yall think)#i was on the edge of my seat the entire time holy fuck #it had me screaming and crying and giggling ?? what ??#is it a perfect book? of course not. am i genuinely enjoying it anyway? hell yeah !!#just as book 1 brought me back to the choices fandom #book 2 is singlehandedly rejuvenating my interest in choices #my head is swimming with drawing ideas!!#esp a particular scene in ch. 10 >>#can't wait for the next chapter!!!#also i thought there'd be more fanart by now??#maybe it's just tumblr search doing y'all dirty but i hadn't been able to find a lot #for book 2 i mean #if there really isn't any then damn #i gotta do everything myself around here /j /lh #side note it is currently 8 am and i have not slept A WINK #literally stayed up all night to read lol #hydn.txt #immortal desires

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todayisafridaynight · 7 months ago

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I’m fairly new to the fandom, but I do have a question if you can answer it! Why do people ship Daigo with Aoki / Masato? I tried looking to see if they’ve interacted before, but couldn’t find anything! Sorry for asking I’m just </3 dumb AND I LOVE YOUR ART OF THEM!!! Nerd looking ahhhhhh

hi ! welcome to the community i hope you're having a lovely time so far and ty for enjoyin my stuff :) no need for apologies it's a very fair question to have :]

i cant speak for everyone (all. ten people into masadai anyway) but Personally To Me i just think the idea of them together is very funny. thats quite literally it im afraid..

#snap chats #//twenty page google doc in the background// ignore that. it's mostly for comedic purposes #might also be my fault idk sorry about that. allegedly. idk ive had like three people tell me they started to ship them cause of me 🧍‍♂️#@mementoasts is another person who's drawn masadai and whose stuff i love and am inspod by .. i love their disneyland fic sm ...#there was another artist on twitter who posted a neat drawing of them but i cant remember who they were and i didnt bookmark it //screams//#recently there's been ANOTHER masadai artist ive started following on twitter - @wifekiryu. his account's n/s/f/w fyi before you go looking #he has a tumblr too @foxdies. i say cause i realized as much recently vjeaKLGJALKGJ #oh but I GUESS ill get deeper into why. /i/ personally ship masadai or whatever #first off they're opposing factions yet their character alignments Do Not Match their roles. stereotypically anyway #aoki who leads the 'surface' of society and is meant to be an admirable figure and someone 'just' when really. he sucks LMAO #though that's not atypical of politicians but just from a stereotypical This Is A Respectable Individual perspective of his role #daigo on the other hand leads the 'underbelly' of society- yk comprised of dangerous criminals and outcasts and whatnot #yet as we know him daigo's compassionate and considerate of his men- he doesnt treat them like tools like aoki does #if put in a room with the two daigo would be most people's choice of person to hang out with. probably open a trapdoor on aoki tbh #and i think thats really cool and epic i always love that kinda Subverting Expectations thing #theres also the fact they both started off like. edgy/angsty in the franchise and then brush up down the line #masato does a stronger 180. publicly. obviously but its still really funny they both have to get their act together #if you wanna talk about in-text reasons. there really is none LMAO I TELLS YOU masadai is pure crack #but if i wanted to pull a muscle reaching then there's daigo being on aoki's side while everyone else is on arakawa's during the funeral #im lying of course. mitsu was behind him. rgg tryna make me forget mitsu exist .... put him back in y8 ....#and ofc ichi joins that side to even out the seating but moving on another Goofy Reason is arakawa being like #'the chairman and my son are like p much the same age Surely he knows how he thinks :)'#and then i just think daigo being all smarmy about outsmarting aoki is really goofy and im choosing to interpret that as personal #they both also have issues with their dad. s. dad/s/. anyway.#tbh the google doc tag was a joke but i really could sit here and list every dumb reason why i think theyre funny together #like i started going over the tag limit so uhhhh yeah needless to say i have a lot of. dumb reasons 💀💀💀💀#one day ill use the main text for long rambles like this but todays not that day Point Is my imagination is rampant im afraid #so the short and sweet of it is I Think It's Funny. And They'd Be Terrible Together. Which Is Why It's Funny.#and the unfortunate part is anything i find funny i obsess over for a year so. //gestures to the mountain of bullshit thats my masadai tag/

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junotter · 7 months ago

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sometimes researching for avatar redesigns has you 6 layers deep into the Japan's Meiji era allies wiki

#im trying to mess with some of the stuff that feels weird about the ways the fire nation is depicted idk #like i do not feel optically it is good for like them to be so heavily based on japan's imperialist actions #while dressed in clothes that come from places japan colonized #but i dont want it to just be solely japanese though i did draw zuko and azula in hakama but its largely cause i wanted to draw hakama #and like the only place with strong japanese influence being kiyoshi island and my own frustration with the modern day samurai depiction #i think fundamentally it isnt a choice that had as much thought as i am putting in put into it but it does raise an eyebrow for me #anyway i think keeping the thai influence is fine despite the brief invasion japan had into thailand due to thailand then allying with japa #and further allying with the axis due to allying with japan #ugh and ive been told not to think this much about it because its fiction but its also fiction so so so heavily based on real places #and when you base fiction on real cultures you fall into some unintentional pitfalls #i also fucking hate the royal fire nation robes they look so meh and the most costumey out of everything in the show #they look like heavy blankets despite being a supposedly hot nation #theres ways to have heavy robes (heian era japan) but they look like i make them out of fleece and velvet blankets #back to kiyoshi island i think the really only aesthetically japanese reference in the show being an island of noble warriors is lame #plus over done #it feels like nowadays theres a lot of people who get all whiney about people saying fire nation is based off japan #but like dude the creators in the comics and korra like go even more into the japanese influence and clearly it was the original intentions #also i do think you could do some pretty interesting world building by having say there be an older cultural influence on kiyoshi island #from the fire nation especially if the place is established as a central port area then you tie in some okinawan or even hawaiian reference #and gives an explanation that makes sense to why kiyoshi stands out from the rest of the earth kingdom you have long term cultural trading #and it establishes interesting relationships even pre kiyoshi time thereby drawing back onto some real historic references #cause for awhile ryukyu china and japan used to be this trading triangle which could explain some of these various influences going on #i think you can get a really interesting harmony when you create the fire nation out of a mix of japan and thailand #i mean both have these floating buildings due to living on some pretty wet lands and theres harmony in that mix #god i did see one person go like “fire nation is more based on china because theres a lot of red and red is important in china”#my brother in christ red is also important in japan #red is important in like many many asian cultures #i mean of course a lot of that importance stems from china and cultural exchange with china but idk kinda silly to say with your whole ches #like if you want to bring china in then the dragons are the biggest thing like sure some mythos has dragons in japan #but a lot of those comes from china in some way

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seaofreverie · 1 month ago

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So busy with Sparkstember that I almost forgot that I go back to school on tuesday

#honestly maybe it's better this way. i'd rather just not care at all rather than be super stressed about it #just like i've been doing with every little thing for most of my life #might have missed the date when we were supposed to choose our elective courses. well whatever Lol #and i still don't even know what my schedule is or what classes i have this semester oopsie #well the university itself doesn't seem particularly pressed about giving us the schedule either #but i'd probably better still read up on the classes at least before they start #i don't have high hopes for this year just like with the last. probably should just stop pretending that i still want to study anything atp #this wasn't even my first choice of a course bcs i had to prepare for that damn exam to be accepted for my preffered one #but i couldn't be bothered to study for it again which probably should have told me enough abt whether going into this again is a good idea #i'm so tired just thinking about it but i know that actually looking for a job and then having a job will be a thousand times worse so uh #but at least i'd have my own money and start doing something ughhhh. useful maybe. who knows what it will be though #i have no ideaaaaaa. but this feels like just putting off the inevitable. like at some point i need to get my shit together #i will probably report at the end of the next week about how i'm so done already #i don't really knowwww mannnnnm. i don't feel like i had any vacation at all even though 3 months have already passed #and i also sort of didn't prepare something relatively easy to do that would have given me an actual document #that would confirm that i actually finished that part-time school thing last semester #can't really be bothered to come back to it at this point though #well at least i learned something actually useful and interesting from that and that's enough for me tbh #and a lot of it is also relevant to my current area of interest (digital drawing and computer graphics in general)#well speaking of which i'd better just get back to drawing now lol. just one more left to finish!!!#in short i guess that my new way of dealing with stress is just ignoring it all #well it's worked in some way at least so it can't be an entirely bad thing lol #goosepost

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soultoken-archived · 2 years ago

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american comics are wild, man.

#𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐲.「 out of character. 」#hope you're ready for me to ramble in tags because OOOH BOY. i'm waving at my comics academy diploma.#of course let me start by saying that i don't mean it for every single american comic. i'm not here to generalize and lemme tell ya #some italian comics sometimes tend to do the same of what i'm about to ramble about. staring at some dylan dog comics i have.#but sadly it's also a thing that happens a lot in mainstream american comics (meaning marvel and dc) and that i even studied #and it's called ✨BODY PROPORTIONS✨ and how they are absolutely butchered to make a cool panel or just. ignored because BUFF 'EM #i'm specifically talking about a deadpool comic at the moment because that's what i was reading #and i swear that deadpool's proportions kept changing panel to panel. not to mention his body was 'perfected'? like #yes he keeps regenerating but he's supposed to have a body consumed by cancer. why does he look like hulk then.#and it's not only marvel doing this - once again i'm staring at dc and at my biggest problem with constantine's comics #which is that they have hinted (actually more than that) to his eating disorders - not to mention alcoholism and general lack of self care #and he's also a sorcerer and supposedly the anti-hero which is not super muscolar and has no incredible physical strength #yet how many freaking comics i've seen of him where he's just. SO buff. his body super perfect. WHY.#at the same time though so many people draw comics to put them out as fast as possible that i can see why they just *draw it*#and have no particular references for each other so when they're asking you to draw a thing fast you tend to draw what usually works #that's a whole other discourse that i even had experience of during academy. might make an actual post for that actually #because i've been thinking a LOT and throwing thoughts out might be interesting. BUT STILL. PROPORTIONS.#not to mention the choice of the frame to make panels look cool but you just *can't get what the bloody hell you're looking at*#three years i've spent in an academy learning what NOT to do when making comics and then i read these that do exactly all of the do not's

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kentopedia · 1 year ago

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ LEAVING LIPSTICK STAINS ON LEVI

fem!reader, sfw, fluff, you leave lipstick all over levi before a mission and the scouts find out, just something super cutesy & short while i work on some longer pieces hehe, pls ignore errors lol, 1.3k words

“promise you’ll come back in one piece?” you say, smoothing the wrinkle between levi’s brow with a kiss.

he glances up at you from under his lashes, crinkling his nose as a short, breathy laugh escapes him, one he tries to subdue. still, he can’t deny the happiness that slips onto his features, not when joy is so fleeting because of the life that the two of you live.

cold hands run across your back, down to your hips as you straighten his collar, kissing his sharp cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. “i’ve made it this far, haven’t i?” levi mutters, squeezing your sides gently before shifting you off of his lap.

he lifts you, sets you on the edge of his desk, causing some of the papers that erwin had dropped off earlier to crinkle. a smile graces your lips as levi stands, stretching his limbs behind him, the chair pushing away from the desk with a creak.

“i’m going to be late because of you,” levi remarks, eyes narrowed playfully, but he gives you another kiss on the lips, lingering there like it’s painful to pull away.

“then stop kissing me.” your hands splay across his chest, but you don’t push him away, feeling his heart beat under his ribcage, the melody that you will always come back to. still, levi tugs your hips forward, slots in between your legs, and kisses you even deeper. “it’s time for you to go, captain levi.”

a heavy sigh weighs against your mouth, his exhale warm as he pulls back. “sounds like you want me gone.”

“of course i don’t.” your voice softens as you play with his fingers for a moment, before he's tugging them away gently, withdrawing from your figure. “i'm going to have to find someone else to sleep next to while you’re away."

normally, you would’ve been going with levi and the rest of the scouts, but an injury from your last mission prevented you from going on any more for a few weeks.

levi snorts, putting on his jacket, fixing the leather straps across his chest. “is that all i’m good for? killing titans and keeping your bed warm?”

you make a face at him, then shrug, half-hearted as he stares back at you with amusement. then, you laugh, cheerful and free; you know levi will come back to you. he has no other choice.

levi makes his way towards the door.

“levi?”

he turns, the lipstick stains still visible on his cheek, dark against his pale skin. for a moment, you wonder if you should tell him—if he’d be mad if you didn’t.

but then you remember he’s going to meet with a squad of fifteen year olds that have all almost died alongside him. if they really have a problem with their captain being loved by you, then they don’t care about him as much as you thought.

you smile and shake your head, voice holding just enough mischief for levi to notice. “just be safe. i love you.”

he softens. there are times where levi is hesitant to say the words, still worried you will be taken from him. but this is not one of those times. not when you will be separated for days, his life once again in danger. “i love you too, sweetheart.”

within ten minutes, levi is down to the first floor, pushing into the room where the members of his squad are already waiting.

he’s only a minute late, but he feels like they must have been waiting for hours, the way that they are all gawking at him with wide eyes, connie’s jaw faltering slightly. “everyone here?” levi asks, doing a quick scan of the room, counting heads like he’s their babysitter.

no one says anything. eren’s eyes look like they might bulge out of his head, and jean covers his mouth, looking away as him and sasha let out a stifled giggle.

levi’s mouth draws into an even thinner line. “what the hell are you snickering about?" he grumbles, looking at each of them individually, wondering who will be the first to confess.

their eyes dart away dramatically, faces red. even eren, who is normally more obnoxious than the rest, seems to have run out of words to say.

his eye twitches; levi wonders if connie’s head might burst, or if sasha’s laugh will rip out of her first.

“well?” levi asks again, snapping, already tired of this mission. a hot cup of tea sounds nice, in bed next to you.

armin, as usual, is the one to speak up when no one else has anything intelligent to say. “well, sir,” the blonde says, gesturing towards his own face. “i think…”

levi touches his cheek, remembering all the places you’d kissed him earlier, wearing that pretty black dress and your dark lipstick. a sigh leaves him when he pulls his fingers away, the tips coming back, smeared with a deep red.

he should've known.

“i see," levi says, staring for a moment, before meeting eren's eyes, his lips finally widening into a grin.

“ooooh," eren sings, his expression smug as mikasa elbows him, her own features pinched tight. "the captain’s in looooove."

levi knows they are expecting a reaction, a spectacle of the fact that he adores you. but he’s never kept it a secret, and he’s certainly not ashamed of all the things he feels for you.

“and what if i am?” levi asks instead, pointedly staring eren down as the rest of the scouts watch the exchange. “honestly, i am surprised no one noticed sooner.”

eren’s jaw falters a bit; a small wave of silence falls over the scouts. you and levi don't make a point of hiding your relationship, but really, levi shouldn’t have been surprised that no one in his squad was observant enough to notice.

or so he thought, anyway.

historia’s smaller, high-pitched voice breaks up the quiet, repeating your name back to him, as if affirmation that you’re the one he kisses goodnight. a silly question really, considering levi has never looked at anyone else with the same kind of tenderness.

“it is her, isn’t it?” historia asks, smiling softly. “i only know because you’re always holding hands under the table when you think no one can see.”

levi raises his eyebrow. “clearly we were wrong about that.” though, of all the things to notice, he thought it’d be the way you kiss him after every mission, the way he’s harder on you than anyone else because he doesn’t want to lose you.

eren shrieks your name like he’s never heard it before, and levi is starting to wonder if the boy actually is an idiot. his old squad had known immediately; petra caught you sneaking up to levi’s quarters when you thought everyone else was asleep, kissing him on the cheek when you thought everyone's back was turned.

it’s been a long time since then, he supposes. maybe the years have taught you subtlety.

“how long have you been together?”

“does she actually like you?”

“do you—” connie makes a lewd gesture with his fingers. “you know.”

“connie!” jean shouts, whacking him on the back of the head. “what do you think! dumbass.”

“hey!" connie says, rubbing his head. “geez. i just can’t picture it.”

"i’d rather you didn’t." levi’s face turns sour, disturbed by a room full of teenagers discussing his private and romantic life. “bring it up again and i’ll leave you outside of the wall on the next mission.” he pauses, crosses his arms with an exasperated exhale. “and she likes me just fine. at least, she has for the past five years.”

“five—”

a new wave of questioning starts and levi pinches his temples, shakes his head, the red smear of lipstick still on his face.

levi almost wishes you could’ve been there to field the questions instead. you’ve always been better with the kids, connected with them a lot easier than levi had.

even if it was would’ve exposed his lovesick eyes, the tiny lift of the corner of his mouth when you were around.

he’s never been very good about hiding it anyway.

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darkdemeter · 4 months ago

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THE THREAT OF INTIMACY

⚤ Mafia!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Angst — insecure reader and depictions of negative thoughts and fear of sexual intimacy — profanity — SMUT 18+ mdni — virgin!reader/loss of virginity — unprotected sex — hurt/comfort — oral (female receiving) — le dasha of body worship —cream pie — mafia bucky being a huge softy for his wife — I think that's it ✎ 7.4k A beautiful bride marrying the man of your dreams. But when faced with what comes after the vows and first dance as Mr. and Mrs Barnes, you suggest that a particular arrangement be made.

↳ MASTERLIST | ↳ TAGLISTS ────────────────────────

It’s not so much of a grand show once the curtain falls. There hangs a greed of mischief and ominous silence. He looks at you, blue eyes piercing the exposed skin of your back, the white gown hangs an elegant silhouette on you. Its embroidered sculpts become melded into the fabricated folds as you stop midst the gate of your saunter forwards, each step a reminder drawing nearer as you do to the bed.

Did you really have to do this?

It was an era of change after all. But his seniors were old school, and so you expected him to be as well in the matters of the marriage bed. It is expected of you — the both of you. Your hands fish through the elaborate style of your hair, musing it loose and gaining a comforted scalp as you turn away from the bed and walk over to the large windows that extend from top to bottom, overlooking the twinkling space of stars fallen to earth.

Being far away from it means you are torn from it. Once you step foot back in that place, you are no longer the girl you once were.

You are now Mrs. Barnes. A wolf among sheep. The queen of the Bratva. A cooperation of mobsters who have bought police eyes and silenced officials of the government. But was this status and power worth what is intended to follow?

You didn’t have a real choice in the matter. Well, maybe you did. You fell for him, you won’t deny it, and you fell hard for him. Other pickings were not as savoury, nor did they explode with the chemistry you shared with him. But this wasn’t the only factor.

It’d been clear that your hearts were set on one another. With the subtle whispers into the other’s ear, hugging and kissing, fingers entwined, or the more assuring hand on the low of your back. This intimacy had been a flavour sweet – loving – and you came to embrace these softer textures of your life at his side. His proposal was impossibly expected but even then, you couldn’t contain your surprise and eagerly said yes.

You never gave the thought of what came next exactly. The very intimate aftermath. Until his mother pulled you aside, a smile on her painted ruby lips as she guided you to walk with her through the hedged gardens. That conversation is one you will never forget. Her love is shocking, her devotion to her husband and family, you can hardly stand the thought of not loving her in return.

But that talk shocked you.

Half of it because of the gory details she regaled, but the other half because of your own mind. Your poisoned mind that festers with anxious insecurities.

Of course it’s expected. Your virginity doesn’t exactly wave you as an expert, no matter what talks of womanhood you are subjected to. But by the standard of Mr. Bucky Barnes, his former bachelor days had given him what you lack: experience.

What if I’m so bad that he’s repulsed by me?

He’ll only need to take one look at me and that’ll be enough.

What if I can’t make him cum?

What exactly am I supposed to do— I don’t think I’m ready.

You continue on in your panicked, internal reverie, hand raised to rest your lips against your knuckles, the shine of diamonds catching in the dark reflection, a momentary blindness befalls you that then causes your stomach to writhe with unease.

“Hey,” your husband whispers, breath warm over the shell of your ear and his lips tease the curve of your exposed neck with light kisses. Your body flinches at the suddenness of his appearance right behind you, his chest to your back; you feel tears deep into the corner of your eyes, hot and wet and annoying. The stronghold of air chokes you in the back of your throat.

“Mm, hi…”

Your forced smile is quick to fade, just barely passing back a glance at him before looking away. He catches this falter. His expression is shadowed by a troubled frown. He noticed the way you flinched before him. And that glistening of tears is hard to miss when it comes to you.

“Talk to me,” he presses gently, “you okay?”

His hands are strong and sure as he holds you, turns you to face him directly now, putting the window to your back. Your ring bound hand massages over your face with a breath hollowing out in a deep sigh.

“Yeah. I’m good, I think we should get some rest. It’s been a big day.”

Before you can step around him, his hand circles the entirety around your forearm, holding you in place.

“You don’t want to…” At the trailing end of his words with his blue eyes alluding to his meaning, the sting of tears prick your vision again and a flush paints your cheeks and neck red. He lets you walk away with the train of your dress flowing behind you like a silken shadow.

“I don’t think tonight.”

Or any other night…

Bucky’s throat bobs with a thick swallow, nodding as he watches you. Always a man who knows what to do, how to maintain composure — his power — he feels that confidence wane like the fading moon. Powerless.

The words brewing on your tongue are tart, poisonous and unpleasant. Not the sort you would ever want to say to your husband, no less on your wedding night.

You’d ventured over to the vanity by now, you say beneath a shaken exhale, “I’ll look to hire a mistress.”

“Excuse me?” He gasps sharply.

Your reply, voice short of anything joking or playful. You sit before the vanity and bend forward, unfastening the golden clasps on your heels before you set them aside. “I’ll have a mistress contracted for you. We’ll do everything else together but she will… provide the sexual affairs.”

“And you?” His question makes you pause midway of turning fully towards the mirror, only barely do you see him trail the outskirts of the room, just only in focus of your view. With a sigh, you pluck your earrings out, saying more so to your own reflection than him, “I’ve gone this long without sex, Bucky. I’m sure I can go on the rest of my life without it.”

“No, no, we’re not doing things like that. I married you — I want you.” Why is that just too hard to believe? You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes in the mirror, so you look away, anywhere that doesn’t meet his gaze. “Honey, where the fuck did this come from?”

You don’t answer. The man is practically brought to his knees before you like a servant ready to obey you like a goddess. Treatment he committed to you, though you don’t feel deserving of. He spins you slowly on your stool until you face him, knelt before you, he tries to find the stunning awe of your eyes only to find you hiding away from him. “Did somebody say something to you? Who was it?”

Quick to spare someone needless bloodshed, you stand abruptly, almost knocking him back and storm away from him by some feet, putting distance between you both, your voice carries over your shoulder, “Nobody said anything. I just think this arrangement will be better for us.”

You’re blinking back a curtain of tears that threaten to unleash. A wave rises high like a tsunami in your soul with these stupid, incessant thoughts.

You’re imperfect.

You’re ugly.

Let another woman – a beautiful woman – please him.

He’ll regret marrying you once he sees you.

Fingers ringing the course of massaging your temples, you are slowly being drowned by many, many thoughts like these. They're endless. They’re relentless and they are loveless. Not once do you give yourself the internal piece of mind that maybe, just maybe, there is hope in this relationship. That they are wrong. That he won’t judge or run from you. But who can say for sure?

It’s best to play it safe and keep what dignity you have left. Despite the spitefulness of seeing him become satisfied by another woman, it would be better than depriving him for the rest of his life. And you care more for his own happiness. It’s all you want for him.

He speaks up again, his voice going stern in his verbal study. “So, let me get this straight: I marry the love of my life, the very essence I love and breath for, only to… fuck another woman. After I swore a vow to you.”

“Bucky, you’re making it sound—”

“I’ll go without sex for the rest of my life than have some whore in our bed.”

You spin on your heel, mouth agape. Finally you look at him long enough as he works to slowly approach you and he sees just how badly you’re hurting on the inside. “Bucky—”

How quick he is to cut you off before you can even utter another heinous thing, now reaching you. “I wouldn’t stand at the altar for just anyone. I gave up that bachelor life to have you. I chose you. I want to have all of you.”

You mutter, mumble off-centred excuses that come out as broken noises on a record, and then you let out a shaken breath, chest feeling like it's being cleaved and ripped apart to the point your body trembles. You try your hardest to suppress your quiet sniffles as the flow of tears begin, fingers hastefully dapping away as to not smear your makeup; your only means of perfection that you’ve felt in a while.

When you saw yourself in the white dress every little girl dreams of for the first time in a bridal shop far too expensive for the average, then again in the dressing room with hair and makeup done to the nines, it all almost made you forget about the gut-wrenching aftermath once the reception concluded. That you were walking down that aisle with a purpose you would never come to regret.

Was it all a foolish fairytale to idolise this facade of beauty?

The hand bearing his ring uses a force so gentle you think it’s the end, that when you look up, he will be gone. That your wedding dress will fade into your everyday jeans and grandmother’s patchy sweater you treasure too much to throw away, her scent still lingering there to inhale on a bad day.

He drives your focus upwards until your eyes meet, your vision hindered behind a blur that wets your lashes as you blink. A vibrant colour of blue that once intimidated you now attends to assure you, to quiet your riled fears, but there is a reluctance to let your guard down this time.

His hands cradle your jaw in his hold with a promise to never let you go. To never let you know this fear again.

“I won’t judge. I won’t run in disgust or whatever you think I’m gonna do. I think my vows can be credited to that, yeah?”

Your bottom lip sinks inward slightly, teeth biting down hard on the plump of flesh, muttering a softly broken, “I-I guess.”

“You’re scared.”

It is shame that brings your eyes to falter, chin wobbling until it crinkles. “Yes…”

It’s like he could read you, knowing that your next move is to shove him off – push him away – he leans down and presses his lips to your own. Warm, a little roughened yet still retaining a softened plush of texture, he breathes some sort of cooling flame that soothes you if not for a short while. A rattled, sharpened gasp teeters on the edge of your voice and he parts from the kiss with a low and silky drawl. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, love. We can take our time with this.”

You’re hoisted into his arms, strength unyielding as he carries you over to the bed and sets you atop the mattress like porcelain. For him, he’s scared how easily it is to break you, no matter how hard you hide this fragility. You use the outside of your hand to wipe at your nose and exhale loudly, mind prattling on with your swirling thoughts.

Pathetic.

He’ll definitely need a mistress after that display.

And all you’re better off getting is a toy.

His family will ridicule you. He’s going to tell everyone that his little wife refused to have sex with him on his wedding night.

Poisonous thoughts. They aren’t going away. With a sniffle, you watch Bucky begin to strip himself down, leaving himself to his boxers. However much you admire the act in itself, it’s far too intimate than anything else. The idea of you doing that for him sickens you. You become repulsed by yourself.

Your mind is a hideous beast.

Like you.

Shut up!

You make this wedding dress look ugly.

“Come on, doll,” Bucky’s voice breaks through the hazardous cloud like a lighthouse awaiting for you ashore, guiding you to safety. He offers you a smile you try to match only to feel your lips twitch, muscles cringing as you keep the well of tears and cries inside. He invites you to join him and you move up the bed. You can’t bear to shed the second skin of your dress to reveal the lavish, risque lace and frilly lingerie you’d picked out at the encouragement of your bridesmaids.

You never really gave it much thought before until it was too late. This culture of intimacy you perceive as a threat.

Your husband doesn’t question you. Instead he lays beside you, arms stretched out to invite you into his embrace. An invite you half-heartedly indulge in, inching yourself awkwardly to his side but remaining to keep some inches from him.

Head laid on the tucked shelf of your arms, hair mused to fall over your features, you intend to wallow in silence until exhaustion overtakes you into sleep.

You’ve ruined his day.

“What are you thinking in that pretty head of yours?” The question is directed to you, you’re sure. But it also sounds like he’s asking himself for the answer to a riddle he cannot begin to understand.

“I’m sorry I ruined your day…”

The contortion of his features almost has your body locking up into a tightly wound position, the form of his dark brows bevelling in the middle, eyes widening until the blackened pupils shrink into tiny dots.

“What?” he sputters, “No– no, honey. This is our day.”

Our day?

There is a storm of emotion battling in his own eyes, however, he is just as quick to hide it from you. He trails again to caress the line of your jaw, his thumb strokes along your bottom lip. “Love, I will never force you into anything. Not your first time, not your hundredth. You hear me, yeah?”

Your eyes only look to stare at him with a stillness, before you absently nod. Then you turn, putting your back to him. You cannot bring yourself to look at him out of sheer guilt that no matter what, he cannot silence the honest and cruel torment of voices in your head. Not forever. They will find something to pick out and gnaw at to send you into this spiral.

If you could do so without the judgement of your husband, you would cry and howl into your pillow for hours until the perfect mirage of your makeup fell apart, you’d spare the dress from being a ridiculed taint by being on you any longer. You’d be on the phone to your sister pleading for her to keep you company and distract you from this pain, you’d cry into her chest as she held you with all the strength she possessed. You’d ask your parents to call you beautiful, even though it’s a lie.

But you keep it all in. And it breaks you so harshly on the inside that it cuts you like thousands of shards shredding you apart.

You’re not sure exactly how much time has passed between the void of silence. You can’t sleep. The tyrannical storm of emotion swarming inside you makes it impossible to even try lest you break and let it all out, letting it show.

“B-Bucky?” you squeak, clearing your throat and you hear him hum immediately in response, the weight of him rolling over until his body is a ghost along your back. “Can I… uhm, can I ask you something?”

Aside from the odd hiccup and sniffle here and there, you hold firm to sounding as you were before, the bubbly and playful girl Bucky couldn’t help but tease until you were a flustering mess, the girl who attempted to flirt back only to fumble over your words and proceed conversation with a shy smile. The girl he fell in love with. The one he gladly stood at the altar for. Before the voices.

“Of course, doll. Anything.”

Nervously your fingers flex and wind together, thumbing the fabric over your breasts, the enclosed circlet of cleavage pressed closely together. You wish you could giggle at the way you caught Bucky gawking numerous times in supposed awe of you throughout the day. He often is like that every time he sees you though, now that you come to think about it.

Supposedly.

Not likely real…

I’m going to regret asking this, aren’t I?

With a heavy swallow coated heavily in your hesitance, you take a breath in hope that proves to fail to settle your nerves. “You’ve been with plenty of girls before me… you know how to please them, what did…” you pause upon a whimper, “were they all the same?”

The amount of strain behind your vocal cords makes you cringe in disgust. You sound like—

“No, they were all different. Unique to each girl.” You can almost sense the way his head props up to look at you. His eyes staring a cool layer of heat into your back. “Just like you.”

“How can you say that?” Your voice betrays the toxins of a heart and mind poisoned together over far too long. Bucky hears the loathe of self in your words, dry and cynical, unbelieving in his words and your own image. “You’ve never even seen what I look like… you don’t know how I’ll be, I’ve never—”

Your hands press over your eyes in hope to suppress the tears glassing over your vision.

“Hey,” Bucky admonishes with a low drawl, tutting you, “hey. I’m not expecting the fucking grandios of perfect sex. I’m expecting you and only you. I want what makes you and your body unique.”

You turn your head to see him, chin wobbling slightly. How he’d crawl through hot coals and glass for you, seeing the beauty of what you see are flaws. He then grins and for a moment, it disturbs you how he could smile when you’re like this.

“I wasn’t the best for my first time. In fact, I’m telling you–”

“Bucky, no, you don’t have to,” you interject with a stifled cough. You shoot to sit up and your husband follows, chuckling.

“No, I will tell you I was shit at sex. Horrible. My first time—”

Your hands paw and pat at his mouth to silence him to no avail, your chorus of hiccups and sniffles turn into shy giggles.

“I–couldn’t–”

You giggle a little louder this time. “Shush, Bucky! No-ho!”

“Couldn’t even– find the cl—”

Your fingers are a heavenly pillar even as they hold his lips prisoner from speaking aloud. He smirks behind them and plants delicate kisses to them, enamoured by the faint smile on your face and the softness of your eyes. Seeing you cry and be tied to these human emotions makes a fire burn in his chest. Like for the longest time, he’s finally found someone who can make him feel whole. If only he could help you feel the same. In the make of those blue, puppy dog eyes, you crack and scoff out a snort. “New York’s infamous Mob Lord…”

He beams from ear to ear at the unfinished implication, taking the time to fall so hard in love with you all over again. He leans his forehead against yours with a rumbled, “Mhm.”

Mascara smudged under the barrage of wet lashes and tears, your lips part with a shaky breath. “Bucky?”

He hums again, so you press on, throat suddenly tight. “Do you think you could make me feel that way?”

His response is instant, deep voice trailing along the bridge of your neck, much like it had done earlier as his arms circle the lower curve of your arse and hoist you until you balance atop his thighs, keeping his weight on his haunches. “Moya zvezda, that and more.”

Your arms drape over the burly muscle of his shoulders, breath mingling with his in hot gusts laboured with anticipation, you hear him groan as you ever so slightly lower your hips against his and he pushes you that little higher on the pedestal he holds you on, it’s height greater than any earthly accomplishments men can dream of.

It’s why you’re his star.

I love this man.

With all my heart.

His front presses fully into you, he works to weave one hand beneath the shower of your gown and feeling along the sheer stocking attached to your garter; he groans again, more feral sounding in his sensational marvel of how perfect you are. How blessed he is to be the one to touch you like this. To hold and have you so intimately.

At his touch, your body erupts with a shudder, momentarily staggered by the electric push and pull and thriving buzz between your legs; though the stir of arousal isn’t foreign to you, it certainly is a stark contrast with his attentive action.

His lips smother the embers of your trembling gasps with a kiss, passion tasting as a fine wine on his tongue. The kiss is paced slowly to attend to your cautious nature, an utter surety that he won’t make any move against you. You take no part in stopping him as he pushes aside the obstructive barrier of your panties.

The way his fingers are gentle to stroke your core has you keening, teetering on a choked whine, his work deliberate in focusing on the pearl of your sensitive clit and the slickened beginnings of your folds. His hands that have sinned many times now amend themselves with the purity of worshipping every inch, exploring you with the intent to please. His thumb rolls in drawn circles, eliciting from you mewls and heated pants of air too heavy to stay in your lungs, cooing at your slow induction.

“Atta girl.”

I’m alright.

“You’re doing amazing.”

I’m safe.

His two fingers run along your entrance, causing your spine to arch slightly and he smirks, pulling from the kiss.

“You like that, doll? Yeah?” he asks smoothly, seeing you nod shakily with eyes half lidded.

Your hands entangle themselves to the bedded roots of his hair, tender as you can to pull with each spark that has your stomach tying knots and your muscles tensing, his thumb begins to roll a little harder and faster. At hearing the apparition of a moan escape you, he applauds you with his encouragement despite the way your hand covers over your mouth to silence these noises.

“Fuck, please again, zvezda. Please.”

“I want to hear you.”

“Please… fuck you sound so beautiful…”

In your stun over his pleas, your hand lowers away and you continue to let your moans lull him, hips moving at a slow crawl against his fingers that press to your core and with a single look you let him know you’re willing. He fights the tantalising grip of your fingers to reach your lips as he pushes two fingers past your folds. Your gasp is a sharp sound to his ears, one of alert that he seeks to comfort you through the kiss.

The trajectory to pull your hips away stabilises and you begin to find that rhythm with each grind and thrust onto his fingers, the waves of pleasure coming from your clit has your stomach tightening.

“B-Bucky…” you whisper and he swallows your words with a deep moan. Your walls clench around the intrusion of his fingers, moreso when he adds a third, curling them as if to beckon your body furthermore to his touch, to yield your fears and let him set alight that bloom inside your core and unto your bliss.

You pant harder, “B–ngh… Bucky… th-there.”

“Right there?” He asks with a sultry grin. Your voice comes out in a strangled response. “M—mhm.”

The voice of your whine is his commandment. He installs a level of dedication at gently fucking you with his fingers right where you needed him – wanted him. That swell inside you grows and grows, furthering into a maelstrom that leaves your body shivering, unexpected of where this sudden burst will implode.

“Good girl, you’re doing so well, doll,” he praises with a low timbre, groaning with a prided grin when you tug a little harder at his hair, your softer nature betraying to act out this darker side of yourself; this almost forbidden wanton.

I feel…

Your hips move to become greedy and much to Bucky’s approval, feeling the swollen bulge of his cock straining against his boxers has you weak and some instinct to move against it drives you, a louder moan slipping past your lips. Bucky’s mouth leaves a heated trail of passionate nips and teasing flutters of kisses against your neck, spoiling you.

You gasp and your hands fly to his shoulders to hold you at bay, the sudden shockwave a prelude to ride as your orgasm ascends upon you, he hears the feverish whimpers you make and he purrs, pumping his fingers, “That’s it, love, let go. C’mon, let me feel you cum for me. I’ve got you.”

The suppression of a scream hides in your chest, leaving only a choked sob to rack through you as you thrust and claim your first release, a hot flush of white behind your eyes blinds you, your muscles convulse in tensing and relaxing as you ride out your high.

Your arms that wound around his shoulders squeeze a little tighter in your recovery, your breath timed to slow down after a few minutes but your body remains to quiver against him. The form of his aroused cock clear and unhidden has your core weeping for more.

“There you go, that’s it,” he coaxes softly with a smile while he eases a kiss to the corner of your lips, “how’re you feeling?”

“G-good… really like… wow.” The words come out jumbled to you, as if you were still influenced by the strong wine at the reception, having made you reserve your consumption to a very limited amount.

Bucky hums and withdraws his fingers, leaving you to mewl at the loss. The sight before you has you in some chokehold, a crimson heat flushes into your cheeks and down your neck, rendering your blood into fiery rivers beneath your skin, a sudden jerk picking up in your heartbeat as Bucky cleans the slick of your release from his fingers, the crystalised shade of blue dimming with a certain darkness as the taste of you rolls over his taste buds.

He’s tasting me…

He moans with a thunderous growl. “Fuck… you taste amazing,” he grins, teeth gleaming with that cute, charming esteem.

I do?

The warmth in your cheeks glows ten fold, bringing a sight for Bucky to admire. That cute girl who’s face becomes rosy with embarrassment. It’s like he could read your mind and the way he says your name has you at a loss of breath, drawing your attention back to the shine of his eyes.

“You are exquisite…”

Following in action as the continuation of his proclamation, his hand finds the spine of your dress and upon reaching the apex between your shoulders. He seeks to pause and his eyes seek out your permission, brows slight to bevel. “May I, Mrs. Barnes?”

The crescents of your palms brush the exterior of his stubble, every inch of your hands covered by the sensational prickling that leaves you like putty. How he stares at you with this amass of love and fondness that feels overwhelming at times.

He’s just so… perfect.

The return of tears glasses over your eyes and you smile, brightly and toothy and nod, cupping his jaw in your hands before you press a softened kiss to his lips. You feel it in unison with him; it steals the breath from you both.

“You may, Mr. Barnes.”

With your approval, he draws the zip undone. Anticipation lines your nerves like a trail of gunpowder ready to be set ablaze. He’s testing the waters, ensuring that this is what you want and when you give no indication of refusal, he glides the dress from your shoulders, revelling in the delicate sculpt of your body; the warm, ambient light hitting the surface creates a heavenly glow upon your skin. With the overhanging light above, it frames a golden halo around you as his sights steer upwards.

Your gown drapes a sultry form over you, accentuating the mounds of your breasts pushed close together and the nakedness of your shoulders and neck. Bucky growls under a vice of hunger. But something lays in the glassy waver of his stare.

“Please be real?”

His voice barely rises above a near shattered whisper. A man who fears losing you just much as you fear losing him. His voice pleads with you. Your lips part, jaw coming to drop slightly as your eyes widen.

Please be real for me?

“I-I am, Bucky. I’m real…”

The man before you exhales loudly, gasping for breath to keep himself drowning. “Good. Because I want this to be real.”

He doesn’t waste another moment. His mouth clashes against yours, hunger succumbing as he ravishes you with the heated intensity of his kiss, tongue running a pleaful line along your bottom lip. You part them and he awakens the stir of arousal flooding through your veins, tongues dancing in an artistic battle for dominance he undeniably wins. You moan a muffled song and he drinks every lyric of it, intoxicated by it.

His hands are wild in their exploration, peeling your dress lower to reveal the laces and frills of your lingerie, not permitting you to shy away and hide from him this time, his hands feel every inch of it, mesmerised by the way it fits to you so beautifully that even the most talented of sculptures would struggle to capture your raw and enticing beauty to its complete and apex design.

Your hands scour to claim the roots of his hair again. This time, you hold no restraint and he loves it. He loves the radiance of confidence you find in every following second. You are claiming what is rightfully yours as his wife. As his one love that he will kill and die for without question. Though time and mortal breath dares to intrude and part you, you find ways around the schemes, momentarily gasping for air within the clash of your lips, too far entranced to pull away.

His hands glide up your sides until his thumbs are able to tease your stiffened nipples through the thin fabric, groaning at the noises you create from it, his touch sending those blissful tingles throughout your body. When time comes to see you both departed from your kiss, you each still remain to linger, tasting one another in the inch spared between you, chests heaving madly and brushing together. Dress pooled to a rolled belt over your waist, Bucky drinks in every detail of your body.

Why does he look at me like that?

His nose buries into you, nestling into the warmth and softness of your body as he utters phrases of praise to your skin, a trail of his devotion painted upon your skin with the invisible ink of his love and adoration for you.

“You feel what you do to me?” he asks, strong hands guiding your hips down to roll in unison with his, the swollen mound of his erect cock still suffering in confinement has you hiccuping in your stun.

Though your voice is light, you nod as you answer. “Yes.”

“That’s how fucking hot you are,” he says with a deep, velvety drawl, his words slightly muffled by the way his mouth caresses you. “You have me so hard right now, fuck, the things I wanna do to you, doll.”

His confession has you blushing.

He can’t possibly mean that…

He can’t help himself. He’s a man enslaved at your whim. Though you try to bring this madman to his senses with an embarrassed huff of his name, he only leans in to claim your lips with his, the melding of hunger brings you both into that feverish haze again. Tongues entangled with one another, Bucky’s hands paw and pluck the garments of your lingerie from your form, peeling away the details of floral patterns and lacy sheer to feel the heat of skin below, the way your muscles twitched under his touch.

You moan between the kiss and allow your hands to feel the soft tresses of his hair between your fingers, carefully weaving through the darkened locks and nails scratching at the roots against his scalp, a rumbling purr escaping him.

The rock of your hips move together, a desiring fire burning in your core to the point it borders on a painful ache between your legs. Your dress is discarded, left aside with your undressed garments to be reclaimed at a later time. He lays you on your back, your head nested atop the plush cushion of the pillows, bodies flush together without leaving so much as a morsel of space apart.

Entrapped by his lustful kiss, you thrust and grind your heated sex against him with shocking eager, a whine is tugged from your throat, unsure.

Bucky is quick to assure you of your arousal, that its intoxication is a vice wanted. He uses one arm to support his weight above, caging you, as his other takes hold of your thigh and gropes at it fervently while somewhere in the mixture haze his boxers are tossed aside. His swollen tip oozes with glistening, droplet streams, his size heavy and long that has a gasp escaping you.

W–will he fit?

Such worrisome thoughts are snuffed out like speckled embers as he deepens the kiss, tongues gliding together and moans and limbs entangle. His tip brushes over the sensitive spot of your clit and your hips take languid actions against his practised thrusts.

“It’s going to hurt at first,” he mutters across the skin of your jaw, “but it won’t for long. I’m right here, moya zvezda, I promise.”

A crystalline glint appears on the waterline of your eyes, a tender smile on your lips as your lips connect with a chaste kiss.

“I’m ready, Bucky…”

His blue eyes take the time to carefully read your expression. For a man so immersed in being so gentle and caring with you, you have come to know that with the very same hands he caresses you with – he has broken jaws, bloodied and bruised noses and strangled the very life of more than one person. He can tell when a man is lying just by looking into his eyes.

He sees you’re telling the truth. That you want this with him. You want him. Cock nudging at your folds, you push your legs a little wider to better accommodate his size after hearing him chuckle at the crimson blush creeping into your face, flustered at the thought of his entire cock sheathing inside you.

“Gonna fit all of me, my sexy little wife?” he’d teased with a wink.

His eyes retain their focus with yours as he pushes the head of his cock into your cunt, meeting the slight of resistance and surged forward, a sigh heavily laced on his breath that has his head bowing to press his forehead to yours, eyes scrunched tightly.

A hitched note on your throat is silenced, cut out with a high pitched whine as he sinks deeper and deeper, breaching past the wall of your hymen. Your nails mark their bite into his shoulders and down his back with angry red scars, tracing over the blackened inks already imprinted there.

Your walls constrict around the intrusion of him with a searing pierce that brings your tears to streak down your temples, chin slightly trembling, you feel Bucky’s lips hover over yours.

“O-ow,” you mewl, “It hurts…”

“I’ve got you, zvezda, I’m here.”

Your chest feels tight, suffocated, but his words comfort you. You cling to him tighter, thighs trembling at his sides and you feel his hand resume its place there, gentle to knead and rub soothing circles as he coaxes you through the blight of your pain.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good,” he whispers to your lips, the crinkle of a smile forming on his features. Just as quickly as it had come, the pain subsides and you feel so full at the point where your bodies meet, you finally nod for him to continue.

He goes slowly.

He sets a rhythm paced to ease you into the forcing motion of his cock gliding through your hot, velvety walls that clamp and shudder with each movement he makes. Your gasps turn to softly sung moans as you begin to grind your hips to meet his and he smiles down at you. “There you go, love. That’s it, you’re taking me so well.”

“This body… so perfect, so beautiful… I love it, I love you.”

Another moan escapes you. He heaves a deep breath with every thrust, still focusing hard to keep this steadiness, until you moan for him,

“Bucky… please, I-I need…”

“What do you need, love? Tell me.”

“I– need more– please.”

He groans, the thought of ruthlessly fucking you with abandon crosses his mind in flashes, the way you’d look spread out while being pummeled by his cock that ruts into your pretty pussy until you’re stuffed full of his cum that it overspills as a creamy ring around his girthy base.

To fuck you the way of a mafia lord.

“You want that, sugar?” he asks, his voice sudden to drop lower into a silken, deepened purr with a darkened smirk. “You want to be fucked the way a mafia queen should be? H–hmph, you want it harder? Faster?”

You choke on the release of your words, sounding breathless, “Y-yes!”

Your walls clench tight around him, a series of moans spilling from your parted lips as he then picks up his pace, the incentive of your permission driving him to thrust harder, his hand fists and squeezes the flesh of your thigh within his grasp, holding you fast to him as he strikes deeply into your pussy. His muscles bend, curve and tense and your hands greedily explore every single portion of him, granting you this chance to be upheld by the prison of your thoughts that may hold you back later.

You howl, whine and cry – all for more, for him to keep going, to not stop. His body arches over yours, hands now ahold of you at the hips he uses the advantage of his strength and position to forcefully piston himself back and forth, back and forth until you’re writhing beneath him Your hands attach themselves to the veiny reins of his wrists, your hips arched up until your lower half is lifted for his leisure to fuck into that spot that has you seeing an galaxy of stars.

“Bucky– Bucky, oh Bucky!” you cry out.

“Fuck— yeah baby, fuck you sound beautiful, shit— baby, keep screaming my name, I want to hear you.” Each word is intensely laced with an exerted breath or guttural groan. “Fucking hell, zvezda, you look fucking amazing like that—”

“You’re taking my cock so well.”

“I’m never getting over the sight of this.”

His eyes burn with lust at the sight of your breasts bouncing without restraint, the shudder of your body with each clash of your thrusts, how your face contorts so beautifully with pleasure and the holstered grip of your legs hooking around his waist repeatedly only to falter each time after several pumps, only kept upright by his hold. A knot coils inside you, a tidal wave of pleasure coursing through your veins that sets your nerves aflame and your vocal cords to strain with every sound you make. The more and more he slams his cock into you, your neck is forced to arch back against the pillows with a pleasured shriek.

You call out to him, “Bucky, I— I’m gonna… ah!”

“Cum for me, doll, I wanna feel how tight your pretty pussy is around me.” Your back arches further as his tip continues to hit that spot and the sensational toying of his thumb rolls on your clit, eliciting a flourish of sparks to ignite until you’re suddenly overcome with a flush of white, that euphoric hit crashing over you while heat pours into every inch of your skin with your eyes rolling back.

You chant his name like a sacred prayer, the meaning of your vows imbued within your slurred, intoxicated mantra. He pants, hot and heavy in your ear,

“Shit, shit— fuuuck, baby— ‘mgonna cum, gonna cum for you. I want my seed in you, I want it in you so bad.”

His thrusts increase, the sound of skin slapping skin is erotically loud. You don’t want it to stop. You don’t want him to stop and so you beg him to keep going.

You continue to whine, low and cooing, walls stretching and clenching around him, milking him of his release that sweeps over him with a long, baritone and throaty moan. His head presses into the crook of your neck to suck at the skin of your collarbone, marking you with dark bruises of his love and possession as he paints your pussy with his seed. The air is faintly filled by the sound of oozing slick of your combined orgasms that leak and drip around his still thrusting cock.

The erratic pace in which his rhythm held eventually wanes, instead he moves to a slow-crawling grind to ease you off your combined highs. His chest rises and falls and you allow your eyes to admire his form above you, A balance of skin and ink layered in a thin coating of sweat, as is your own, the muscles of his body rippling with each motion he makes.

His hands release from your hips after he’s lowered you back down to the bed, allowing your body to succumb to the exhaustion undoubtedly taking hold of you. Your gaze meets his own, the colour of them haloed by the shine of tears and his heart yearns for you.

He fears he’s done something wrong and his hands quickly raise to caress your face, thumbs stroke over your cheeks.

“Moya zvezda, are you—”

“I’m…” you trail off, blinking rapidly to see him through the watery veil and you grin up at him and nod. He’s relieved to see that smile, coming to mirror it himself.

She’s okay. My girl’s okay.

You reach your hand up, the warmth of your palm contrasted by the cool adornment of your ring. Bucky leans his face into your touch. “You stayed… you didn’t—” Though your words fail you, Bucky sees what you mean to say in your eyes.

“Of course. You’re everything I ever wanted…” Your brows furrow, touched by the sincerity in his words. Before you is a man whose heart is held in your very hands. And his heart is one you wish to cherish, hold dear and never break. To think you almost bargained him off to another woman—

“Have me again tonight, zvezda. Have me any other night. I promise, I will be there every time, every moment.”

He doesn’t want a mistress. He wants me.

Those voices are gone, replaced by newer, kinder ones.

You’re perfect.

You’re beautiful.

I’m not scared anymore. Not with him.

You now realise that intimacy was never the threat. The voices in your head were.

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Did you want some tissues?

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