#the one where the sleeves are a different color than the body

[inkedinfusions]

𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | eren jaeger one shot

⊱❦︎⊰ | You encounter Eren again after a year of not seeing him. Still, things could not be more different than when you first parted. You stand on opposite sides of a cell trying to piece together that which separated you after years of close friendship.

⊱❦︎⊰ | masterlist of works

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

word count: 2k

content warnings: hurt no comfort, angst, mentions of violence but nothing you haven't seen in aot, spoilers for s4 ig, gaslighting on erens part because he is in his lets make everyone hate me era. I'm like 99 percent sure there are not markers for gender or height or anything else here so this is gender neutral reader. Can be read as romantic or platonic.

a/n: Yeah, idk where this came from either. I was chilling, trying to write for the key listening to music, and then BAM i love you by billie eilish came on and inspiration hit me in the back of the head with a metal tray. This is my Christmas gift to ya'll, so I hope you like it. Happy holidays!

Thanks for reading!

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 holding cells are kept was humid, decrepit. It smelled of decay, of burned out dreams and untold desperation. The stones that made up the walls were held together by the sheer will of those who sentenced the unfortunate tenants – those that found themselves on the other side of rusty bars, lit only by the faint light emitted by the hellfire torches. 

Your footsteps echoed in the small hallway that led up to the cells, and you were guided by this same light, following like a moth to a flame, knowing just as well that the probability of getting burned climbs higher the farther you walked. 

The sway of your cardigan kept your warmth against the cold of the dingy place, where not even the fire that lit your way was able to warm up. You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, pockets empty except for the feeble hope that kept fighting inside you, not getting extinguished no matter what the higher ups told you, what your eyes had witnessed back in Liberio. 

The gruesome memories from the raid left a bitter taste in your tongue, only stoked by the death of your friend. It had been unexpected to say the least; there had only been a bang as the bullet left the firing chamber, a thud as Sasha’s body hit the floor. The desperate pleas from you and everyone else and then the tenderness of her last breath, succeeded by the limpness of her body. 

She had gotten a burial in the common grounds, just as many of your departed comrades before her – she had left behind people who loved her, just as many of your departed comrades before her. 

It had hurt like hell when you arrived on the island, it had hurt even more later, when you arrived to Shiganshina. The city was cleaned from the pandemonium that had happened oh so many years ago, and still the traces of the Wall’s fall could be found in those who survived it. And now you had gone and inflicted similar pain on the nation who had been responsible. 

Innocent civilians –children, mothers, brothers, humans– were caught in the crossfire as they so often are. The blood they had shed was nothing but the price to be paid for winning the game those in the high chairs played, their hands easily wiping their hands from the crimson liquid. And you, a simple soldier, weren’t in the position to afford such a sanctified handkerchief.  

The uniform that you had donned in your early days as a cadet had been white, odd in theory but practical in the field. Titan remains evaporated in just a few seconds – minutes in worse cases – and so there wasn’t much of a problem when time came to clean them.  

It had only been when your enemies started to be human that there had been a change to make them black, a color in which permanent blood splatters would show less. 

The journey back on the airship was nothing but a figment of time in your memory, numbed by the loss you had felt, by the expected reunion that had done nothing but confuse you, melt your perceptions and flush them down the drain. 

Your feet finally took you to the end of the cell row, having passed endless empty ones. Each time you approached a new one, each time the wall partition revealed the inside of the bars, each time your heart jumped, your stomach churned. 

You felt like a lovesick teenager again, with butterflies in your guts, with clouds messing with your thoughts, with heat spreading across your face. But now there were no warm embraces, no teasing words, no glances exchanged when on opposite sides of the room. There was only silence as you met Eren’s eyes from across the metal bars – his, devoid of feeling; yours, anguished, betrayed. 

The faint crackling of the torch to your right set the atmosphere, the small candle at the side of his mirror followed it in its dance. 

“...You changed your hair,” you said, breaking the silence, cutting it with a butter knife. 

“I did,” he replied. 

A beat passed. His clothes rustled as he stood up from where he was sitting on the bed, walking so he would be situated directly in front of you. Divided by the iron beams, by the way neither of you stood close to them, you continued to watch him, drinking in the essence of the boy you hadn’t seen in a year. 

But the person in front of you was a boy no longer, but a man with a scarred mind, one burdened with the knowledge of things yet to come. You surveyed his figure as you often did before, lessons learned from the many brawls he seemed to get himself into, from the many injuries he used to try and hide from your watchful eye, giving in when you traced the bruises that marred his skin. 

That little routine stopped when he got his titan powers, now it being the thing that kept his flesh unblemished, no longer needing the healing of your touch and yet longing for the comfort it offered. 

Just as the fire danced, you had too, stepping in between lines, playing with the tether that held you both together, tugging and tripping and twisting until the relationship you both shared could not be defined by any spoken words. 

Still, you tried. 

“Yours looks the same,” he said, as coldly as his first statement. 

It did. You hadn’t let it grow, and neither had you taken scissors to it and cut until it resembled a haircut no more. It had been stagnant just as you, left to rot behind with the progress that wasn’t going anywhere in this world of broken hopes. 

You nodded, losing your words just as easily as you had lost him.

The candle in the cell kept dripping, wax falling off the candle holder and forming small drips along its side. The torch kept flickering, changing your shadows so that no moment was the same. 

“Why are you here?” Eren asked. 

“I just wanted to see you–”

“Let me rephrase,” he interrupted. “How are you allowed to be here?”

You hesitated. Hange had been clear with your squad. None of you were allowed to make contact with Eren, given his current traitor status to the island, given your emotional ties to him. Coming down here would be only detrimental to your position in the military machine if all that were to be true. 

And still, moments after Hange had left the holding cells after talking to Eren for the first time in the better part of a year, they had summoned you to the building. The higher ups had been against it at first, but it became clear that you were the person that Eren would be more likely to talk to. And by the Walls, did that admission hurt. 

“...Hange thinks you’ll talk to me,” you said. “I chose to believe them.”

“Talk to you?” he said. “What do we have to talk about?”

His question strung your heart along, puncturing it like the sharp headed arrow that it is. You knew he had changed – it was as obvious as the ripples a stone forms in the sea. Yet you wanted to pretend that beneath the hardened surface, he would still treat you like the boy you used to know did. 

The more you thought about it, the angrier you got. How dare he disappear without a trace, how dare he make you worry for a year, how dare he send letters with instructions with no regards for your being, how dare he return as cold as a winter day. How dare he treat you with scorn, worse than a stranger, for strangers don’t have bonds that can be ruptured. 

“Nothing to talk about…?” you started, slowing your words down to push their meaning through. “Nothing to talk about?”

You clenched your fists, fire burning in your guts, your heart, your eyes, threatening to set you ablaze. 

“You left with no warning, on a strange land not one of us had been to before, suddenly sent letters basically ordering us to follow your plans for a raid, and then when I finally see you again you tell me we have nothing to talk about?”

You didn’t notice how your breath pattern became increasingly more erratic, how you began to wildly gesture with your hands. Your body language was deservingly sharp against him, and yet Eren remains frustratingly calm through your rant. 

“You summarized it nicely,” he said after a moment. “Well? I’ll tell you no more than what I told Hange.”

“I want to hear it anyways,” you said with barely contained exasperation. 

Eren took a step forwards, closer to the iron bars, closer to you and still so far away. 

“You might think I am a prisoner here, but there is no cell that can hold me now,” he said. “You remember me taking the War Hammer Titan back at Liberio. You know I can leave whenever I want.”

“So why haven’t you?” you asked. 

Once again there was no outwards response on Eren’s part. His eyes flashed with something, but that was it. There was no agitation, no remorse. 

“Why should I tell you?” he said. “You are the one who said the higher ups sent you.”

“So now you're just–” you made a disbelieving gesture with your hand, “keeping secrets? You know I won’t tell them if you ask me to.”

This time the flash in his eyes was far clearer. Surprise. Wonder. 

“You would commit treason then?”

You scoffed. “You sound surprised. I've been charged with insubordination before.”

All three of you had. Eren, Mikasa and you went against Levi’s orders back in Shiganshina, with the only purpose of saving Armin’s life. It shouldn’t be a surprise that the same determination be applied to him. 

His face hardened. “You won’t get anything more from me.”

“...Whatever. I don’t care why you haven’t broken out,” you started. “But I want to know why you left us.”

“Left you, you mean?”

His words cut deep, and he could see that. You felt heat making its way through your guts, up your esophagus, threatening you with its bitter raspiness. You were dazed, confused. What had happened to warrant such a drastic change?

“It's simple really,” Eren said. “I keep moving forward, while you get stuck behind. Our paths were never meant to stay together for long.”

“You don’t mean that,” you said, the heat turning to tears that you were barely holding back. 

“I do,” he answered. “I may look like I’m the prisoner here, but you are the one who cannot escape the guilt that trails behind. Guilt at surviving, guilt at desiring better, guilt at failing to do so. It’s people like you, who claim to want to be free and yet lock themselves in the comfort of their own cages that disgust me.”

You had said your piece, he had said his. And now there was only one thing left behind to tick away, one last statement before everything went crashing down, one last dance before the music ended abruptly, the orchestra destroyed by those they performed for. 

“I love you,” you said, a single tear running down your cheek. 

“That was your mistake,” Eren said. 

You choked on a laugh, disbelieving. You remembered warm days spent dazing on the shadows of a swaying tree, of late nights and graveyard shifts, of lingering touches and heartfelt words. You remembered the boy who loved you, one who you were sure was trapped under layers and layers of falsehoods. 

Eren didn’t move, when once upon a time he would've been the first to comfort you after seeing the droplets that fell out of your eyes. But he just stared, as still as a statue when you turned to the hallway, taking your leave, walking away with the last breath of the melted candle. 

Living as a soldier was brutal. You had lost friends, endured broken bones and cracked ribs, known the primal fear that comes with being on the wrong side of a weapon. And yet nothing hurt as badly as the few cutting words Eren had imparted upon you. 

[kotaromita]

Closed Starter for @aki-shinonome-official

Kotaro runs up to Akito right outside the front entrance to Odaiba Animal Land. It'd been a minute since the two of them had the chance to be together one-on-one and even longer since they did something as date-esque as this. It was still way too hot outside for him to ask Akito to go somewhere outside unless it was somewhere they could swim and be at nighttime. An indoor zoo was perfect for August and he was excited to see Akito's reactions to all the different animals.

"Akitooo!" Kotaro jeers, barely slowing his pace before hugging Akito. "Looks like you beat me here."

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

Big Hands (Spencer Reid x Fem!PlusSize!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!PlusSize!Reader

Summary: You and your boyfriend, Spencer, are getting ready for a night out, when your insecurities start to get the best of you.

Word Count: 1531 -- it's just a lil guy

Warnings: Body insecurities, maybe a little bit of a big-girl-soapbox

A/N: I definitely wrote this very quickly this afternoon because I literally just felt like it. This is just a short lil one for the big gals who just want someone to notice them.

Anyway hope you enjoy! Thank you all who have commented/reblogged/liked my last fic!!

-

Your jeans hugged your curvy hips as you tugged them up to your belly button, covering the bottom, larger part of your stomach. You were tall, for a woman, but not taller than Spencer. He was, what, 6’1”? You stood around 5’9”, so he still towered over you, still had to look down at you when he spoke, still had to crane his neck to whisper in your ear. 

You were wearing a flowy, sage green blouse. Why were clothes so hard to find for a larger girl? It was all cold-shoulders and obnoxious patterns. You just wanted something that flattered your body type and made you feel sexy. Apparently that was just a ridiculous request. This blouse was cute, but modest, with a ruched, fluted bunching of the fabric in the middle. The collar was low-cut to accent your breasts, but the sleeves were long, which was annoying. You were going dancing tonight with your boyfriend and his coworkers. You didn’t want to show off all of your body, by any means, but you wanted to look hot. Who could blame you? And it was also going to get hot, temperature-wise. Long sleeves just didn’t feel like the most pragmatic choice. 

Sometimes you just gave up and went with the best option. And this blouse, that made you feel like you were going to a casual church event, not to a bar, was, unfortunately, the best option. 

You inhaled sharply and shrugged your shoulders as you looked in the full-length mirror hooked on the back of the closet door. Your hair looked really cute - the two biggest pieces on either side in the front were braided and dangled in front of you, effectively bringing your hair out of your eyes but also provided something to give your hair a little pizzazz. Your makeup looked great - a simple, subtle smokey eye and glossy lips. Your black boots looked good, peeking out from your wide-legged jeans, which hugged your hips and, honestly, made your butt look really good. 

It was just this stupid shirt. And maybe you were getting too much in your head about it. But you were transfixed on it, hating the way the sleeves bunched up a little, how the bottom half flowed beneath the ruched fabric, effectively covering your stomach, meeting your jeans and the top of your thighs. The color was too muted for a going-out top - you wished you could wear something more exciting. 

You sometimes wished you looked like Emily or JJ, or had the self-confidence to rock loud looks like Penelope did. But then you remembered that you were who you were for a reason. You looked like you simply because that was what you looked like. And there was no point in wishing you looked like someone else. 

Plus, Spencer was really into your body. He was nearly always staring at your breasts when you were in private, sometimes to the point where you had to snap your fingers in front of his eyes to garner his attention. 

It was flattering. You didn’t mind it if your boyfriend objectified you a little bit. He was respectful about it. 

“Y/N, are you about ready?” Spencer walked into your bedroom as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes met Spencer’s and you saw his neutral expression turn into a full-fledged grin, biting his tongue and all. “You look really nice,” he said, and you shook your head. 

“I look like a chaperone at a middle school dance,” you frowned, tugging at the fabric of your blouse in some illogical attempt to make it look different. 

“What?” Spencer stood behind you in the mirror. His chin basically met the top of your head, like too puzzle pieces. One hand rested on your hip, while the other slowly brushed your hair to one side so he could press a kiss to your neck. “I think you look great,” he added. 

You immediately felt tingly and your knees wobbled at the action. “But I’m not dressing for you,” you said, your voice instinctively dropping as Spencer’s lips trailed down your neck. You were having trouble concentrating on what you were trying to say. “I’m dressing for me, and I want to look cute. I can’t believe you’re even going tonight. You don’t dance, Spencer,” you pointed out, your self-control somehow beating out your desire for Spencer in the moment. You broke away from him and turned around to face him. 

“You do look cute, Y/N. I don’t understand what the issue is?” Spencer’s head cocked to the side as he looked down at you. “Also, I’m going out tonight because you want to. And I’m trying to keep an open mind. I might enjoy it.” 

You were proud of him. When you started dating about six months ago, he would have simply politely declined an invitation to a night out. And while you didn’t love going out every night, or even every weekend, for that matter, you did enjoy a night out occasionally. 

Regardless, he still didn’t quite understand what you were feeling about that damn shirt. “The issue,” you began, heaving a sigh, “is that I’m insecure about my body. Like any woman. You don’t get it, because you’re a man, and you literally have nothing to be insecure about.”

You knew the words were incorrect the moment you said them, but something kept you from backpedaling. You watched as Spencer shook his head, letting a small laugh escape him. “You could not be further from the truth,” Spencer pointed out, and you knew he was right. Men had plenty to be insecure about, and it was, in some ways, even more difficult for men to express those feelings. 

“Well, I think you’re perfect,” You let a small, playful smile creep onto your face, and Spencer rolled his eyes as you used his own tactic from earlier. He stepped towards you and his hands found your waist, contouring to match your curves. He knew them so well now, he could probably draw a map of your body with his eyes closed. 

“I appreciate that,” Spencer said, his voice a little softer as your eyes met his. His head dipped down, and you thought, certainly, that he was going to kiss you, but instead, his lips stopped just barely by your ears. You could feel his breath on your neck, and a shiver ran down your spine as he spoke. “You might be insecure, Y/N, but I am, too. You’re just human.” 

“What are you insecure about?” You found yourself asking, pulling your head back to look at him properly. Now you were curious. 

“My hands, mostly,” Spencer removed his hands from your waist, holding them palm-up, as if to present them to you for the first time. 

“What’s wrong with your hands?” You asked, placing your palms atop his. 

“They’re really big,” Spencer said timidly, and, admittedly, they were. But just by comparison. Your hands fit into his with plenty of extra space. You used your index fingers to trace his palms. 

“They’re not too big,” you told him, and Spencer just smiled down at you, shaking his head, like he was just humoring you. “I love your hands,” you continued. “I love that you can put your palm over an entire half of my face,” you said, guiding his palm to your cheek and grinning when his skin touched yours. Spencer’s thumb brushed your cheekbone. 

“And I love your body,” Spencer replied, and you just pursed your lips and shook your head. “No, Y/N, listen to me.” 

You let out a frustrated little exhale through your nose and let him continue. 

“I love the way you look. But I wouldn’t care if you were any bigger or any smaller. Because I love you. I’m attracted to you, to your mind, to your sense of compassion, and to your body. I love the way your hips fill out your jeans, how your stomach looks in your yoga pants,” he said. “I love the way you wiggle your toes when we’re watching something funny on TV, how you do a little shimmy in your seat when you’re eating something you really enjoy,” he explained, mimicking the movement. You looped your arms around his neck. “But mostly, I’m in love with your personality. How you challenge me, how you seem to bring out the best version of myself.”

You let out a wistful sigh. If this were a Jane Austen novel, you would have swooned. But instead, you used your grip around his neck to bring his face down to yours and kiss him. It was slow at first, then a little more intense, and when you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his. 

“You ready to go now?” Spencer asked, and when your eyes opened, you saw that he was smiling down at you. 

You shook your head, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. “Not yet,” you said, your hands sliding down his arms until your palms met his. You tugged him in the direction of your bed. “I want to show you how much I love these big hands.” 

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part fifteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.7k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Pearly sunlight weaves through the trees, casting freckles across the calm current of the creak. Somewhere, a raven bleats loudly, but your ears block out the sound. The skin between your brows wrinkles with concentration as you tightly grip the wooden makeshift spear, its carved point hovering just above the water.

Numerous fish writhe below you, and your eyes dart between them studiously before finally settling on the meatiest one. With a quick stab, your spear pierces the water's surface, but all it hits is the mucky bottom of the creak. The fish startles with a splash and swims off downstream. 

"Fuck me," you huff, standing up from your squatting position on the rock to soothe the growing ache in your thighs.

Fishing shouldn't be much different than hunting, yet, it's been hours and all you have to show for it is a small chub the size of your palm. With a sigh, you decide your craving for fish isn't worth all this effort and leap off the rock, carrying your measly catch in one hand and spear in the other. Maybe the still waters of the pond could be an easier spot to try someday.

You chose the creak over the pond because it's a greater distance from camp. The longer walk allows you to fixate on the emerald green leaves fluttering in the breeze and the soft chatter of swallows that are returning after their winter migration. Everything is starting to turn into Blue's favorite color. For the first time, you departed the cabin without a jacket, opting for only the long-sleeve tee from Ghost. You had the sleeves rolled to your elbows while fishing, but as you trek back through the wild grasses, you push them down and allow the fabric to brush your knuckles. 

There are hardly any flowers left on the Pink Sorrel after all your foraging. It's a shame they taste so good because the petals are a beautiful fuschia. Arriving at camp, you amble over the plucked stems, bound across the trench with ease, and spot Blue on the other side of the gate offering Grim a wad of grass.

The moment you returned yesterday, she had asked how training with Ghost went. That was quick, she'd observed. Weasling past the rules of your friendship, you gave her a half-lie: He went easy on me this first time. She didn't seem fully convinced that Ghost and 'going easy' belonged in the same sentence together.

"Hey," you greet. "Open the gate for me?"

Grim is given a pet across his back before she leaps up to undo the locks. 

“Hey. How’d it go?” She looks at your near-empty hand. "Fucking noodles. That's it? I thought there were lots of fish there."

"There are. I just suck at catching them."

She gives you an apologetic smile. "Oh— Ghost was looking for you, by the way."

It takes you a moment to respond. "He was?"

"Not sure what for." Her brows furrow. "I'm also not sure where he went. He was here, and then—" Her blue eyes glimmer like water in the sunlight as they shift to something in the distance. "Oh, there he is."

The very person you'd spent hours of alone time trying not to think about arrives as a shadow, lugging what appears to be—you squint—a fucking corpse behind him. Upon closer inspection, it is certainly a body, and with how wonky the limbs look as they drag against the ground, it must be a Grey. That's a little more reassuring, and a lot less bothersome, than if it were a human corpse. 

He drops the corpse in front of the trench, rubs his gloved hands together, and then passes through the parted gate. 

"Is that what you wanted Twix for?" Blue asks, nodding to the Grey.

Ghost explains himself in an even more gruff baritone than usual. "Knew I smelled something." He speaks at you. "I wanted you to check south while I checked north."

"Oh. Sorry," you say lamely and hold up the small chub. "I was, uh, fishing. Looks like you found the source, though. Just one?"

He nods. "Only found one. Could be others so we'll keep an eye out."

"Why did you bring it here?" you ask curiously. 

Blue is the one to answer. "To burn it. Sometimes it seems like they attract each other, haven't you noticed?"

"Right," you grimace. "Blood and rot. Their favorites."

Setting down the catch and spear, you help Ghost gather some wood from the modest pyramid stacked beside the cabin. He nudges the Grey with a booted foot, making it tumble limply into the trench. Starting the fire in there should keep the flames contained.

As you silently place the wood and some kindling over the carcass, your mind is in two places at once. With Ghost right next to you, it's impossible to not think about yesterday; how it felt to be grabbed by him, how he questioned you again about the ammo trip, and how you can't help but detest the thought of him looking at you in pity like he once he did. 

You also think about how much you fucking hate Greys. Christ, they are disgusting. Your fingers accidentally brush against the paper-thin skin that hangs off the bones and a shudder travels up your spine.

Ghost starts the fire with a match and the two of you watch the flames catch, quietly at first— then, they roar through the corpse, quickly turning it black. Bitter smoke intermingles with the crisp spring air and the smell has you coughing into your arm.

Blue has taken it upon herself to avoid the fire, making an audible gagging sound before scooping up Grim. In her absence, you shift from foot to foot, stealing a glance at Ghost. He watches the ash build up and the flames tamper down in mild interest. 

Your fingers curl up into balls, fisting the excess fabric. "Are you worried about more?" you ask him.

It's the first thing you've said to him - actually said to him - since cutting your training short. He loosens a breath and slightly shrugs his broad shoulders. "No. I told you. We never see more than a few at a time." You weren't worried, but if you were, his dismissal of the subject would reassure you. "You should be careful until I finish your bow, though. Unless you're good at throwing knives."

"I'm not," you almost snort, voice no louder than it needs to be. "But Blue is quite good at it. She's been killing squirrels for me."

He hums his response, a low sound that gets lost in the crackle of embers, and you wonder if that's him showing a lack of interest in this kind of conversation with you. With a deep inhale, you change the subject to one you can't ignore.

"Ghost— I want to apologize," you turn to face him, straightening your shoulders. "I wasted your time yesterday. It won't happen again. If we could... give it another try, I would like that."

The smoke is starting to fade. Ghost breaks his gaze from it to study you. You try not to shrink away, wondering what he's thinking. If he feels pity, it's impossible to detect in the dark irises set behind his mask, though, you've never been able to find much of anything in them. 

"You didn't waste my time, Twix. I have an interest in your capabilities." 

"What?" 

"If you're going to be staying here," he elaborates, "—then your strength is of value to me. I'd like to know that if I ask you to do something, you can do it. That if shit happens again, I can rely on you."

"You can," you breathe out. "I am... capable."

"You are," he agrees, looking away. "You're good with a bow. You think quick. But you're still weak, and you doubt yourself." The blunt comments make your brows lower, but you can't help but feel satisfied with the glimpses of approval. "Yesterday was my fault. You weren't ready for it and I should've known that."

"I am ready," you protest, lips parting as you shake your head. "Let me try again. I don't want to be coddled."

"I'm not going to coddle you," he replies in a firm drawl. "I want you stronger first. Let's start there."

“Okay.”

A hand.

There's a hand on your shoulder, heavy and firm, offering a slight shake. With a gasp, your eyes fly open to darkness, only the white of a skull visible above you, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight. 

"What the hell?" are the first words you sputter, voice harsh and raw from sleep. You grip your throat to clear it. 

He scans your face. "Get up. Come on."

"What? What... what fucking time is it?"

"Almost dawn. Let's go."

It takes a few deep breaths to calm the rush of adrenaline ignited by his abrupt wake-up call. Go where? you think to ask, but instead, you slick a hand through your hair, warily rubbing your eyes to adjust to the lack of light.

Somehow you end up outside, wading through the sprawled-out fog as you follow behind his silhouette, the morning so early and quiet that it would've felt like a dream if not for your crunching footsteps. You braid your into a single, tight braid along the way. With such shitty sleep, you're too out of it to even scowl at his backside, wondering how getting up at this hour will in any way make you stronger. 

The answer is in the two axes he carries and the towering oak tree he stops in front of, your eyes climbing up the height of it before landing back down on Ghost. Your hands are forced out of your coat pockets when an axe is offered to you, fingers curling around the handle and abs tightening from the surprising weight of it.

Confusion rolls around in your gut. Slowly, you ask, "Um. You... want me to cut this thing down?"

"We need more wood after yesterday." He inclines his head and gives a tap of his own axe to the thick trunk. "Good size for you to start with."

"It's huge," you mutter under your breath. "Why do we have to do this so early?"

If there's any reasoning to it at all, he doesn't bother sharing. Rather, he stalks over to another tree about ten meters away. The calm air is soon shattered by the rough sound of metal biting wood as he starts effortlessly cutting the trunk. A large part of you considers dropping the axe and leaving without a word, but you ignore it.

"Alright then," you whisper to yourself. 

It's not the first time you've chopped down a tree. You used to help Paul with it, and truthfully, you're surprised Ghost has never asked you to do chores like this sooner. It's certainly bigger than the skinny, young trees you used to go for, evident in how little of a dent you make with the first swing.

Either you're as weak as Ghost claims, or this axe of his is heavier than the one Paul had because your biceps feel strained by the third hit.

"Have you never done this before?"

The voice at your back nearly makes you drop the axe. Whirling around, you face the colossal presence of him and wonder how you didn't notice it sooner.

"I have." You rest the thick blade on the ground, grumbling. "Do you have a thing for sneaking up on people?"

"Be more aware of your surroundings." His tone teeters towards admonishing, and he looks you over before ticking up a brow. "And fix your stance before you throw your bloody back out."

He nudges the toe of his boot against yours, forcing you to spread your feet further apart. Your lips roll together as he grunts in approval. "Try again now."

When he takes a step back, you face the tree again, bending your elbows before extending them sharply. The blade cuts deeper this time, if only by a little.

"You're focusing too much on your arms," he remarks behind your shoulder. 

Your eyebrow twitches. "I'm... I'm holding the axe with my arms. Why would I not focus on them?"

"When you're shooting arrows, what muscles do you use the most?"

Thinking back to those lessons from Paul, you answer almost immediately. "My back." It's always the part that gets most sore. "And my... my shoulders, I guess."

"Focus more on those."

His advice helps. The next swing deals considerable damage to the bark. You turn to see his response, but he's already gone back to his tree.

The next few days involve so much chopping and sawing that you think you might be starting to hate wood and all of its forms. After the trees are down, you have to cut them into sizeable logs. The back-and-forth motion leaves your arm numb. You quickly realize why Ghost is making you get up early for this work— once the sun is out, it becomes miserable, cold sweat cascading down your back and temples. 

Blue decides this is not the kind of training she's interested in watching. You don't see much of her except during dinner where she offers to cook the squirrels she's caught for you. You don't object. You pick the meat apart down to the needly bones, wiggle your sore toes of their confinements, and knock out earlier than either of them. Fatigue goes back to claiming you swift and heavy, like a current that pulls you down, down, down. The dreams sit behind a dark wall, blocked for now. 

It goes on like this for a whole week, and somewhere along the way, you stop hating it. The grunts that leave your mouth are laced with exertion and focus. Your arms don't hurt as much. You split the logs apart as your mind fills with thoughts of everything you hate. Greys. Death. Pity. You imagine breaking all those things into a hundred, rotten pieces. It feels... good.

One morning, you awaken to sunlight already bleeding through the plywood, and confusion sits you up. You look around, wondering why Ghost didn't get you up sooner, only to find Blue lying belly-down on the raggedy rug, flipping through one of her new magazines.

"Where's Ghost?" 

"Good morning to you, too," she sings. Her chin inclines from where it rests in her palm. "I decided you need a different kind of training today. He's setting it up."

"You... you decided that, huh?"

She hums. "I made you breakfast. Go eat." She waves her hand. "I'm sure he'll be done soon."

You have no idea what she's talking about, but your stomach guides you to the cooked meat calling your name. She points out things in the magazine, like old celebrities and ridiculous perfume ads, cute boys and yummy sweets she wishes she could try; you nod along as you eat.

When he returns, she perks up. Practically tugs on your arm. You have to remind her that you're still barefoot. She impatiently groans the entire time you are lacing up your boots, taking your sweet time on purpose. 

The pond is where she leads you. That place where you first saw her.

Except today, there is a thin log stretched across one end to the other. A bridge.

"We have got to work on your balance, my student," Blue announces, hands on her hips. A gentle, warm breeze tousles her hair and she swipes it from her face. "We can't have a repeat of you-know-what."

Your brows shoot up and a chuff of breath leaves your nose. "Are you trying to say I have no sense of balance?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying. Come on, now."

You almost forgot Ghost followed the two of you out here until he sits on a tree stump with his carving knife and the bow he's making. He's been working on it for a few hours every day. Today, when you steal a glance as Blue clasps your hand and leads you to the homemade bridge, it almost looks like a bow, finally taking on a curved shape. You can't see much of it, though, because soon you are being instructed to cross the log.

"Without falling," Blue adds. 

"Easy," you tease, shrugging. 

"Prove it."

The log is about the width of the metal beam, but much shorter. You cross over it, arms outstretched at your sides and boots hovering a few feet above glistening water that is teeming with fish. When you step down on the other side, you shoot Blue a grin.

She rubs her chin. "Not bad, not bad. Again."

You do it again with ease, even though your muscles are still stiff from your morning workouts. 

"Okay, this time, we're going to make it more realistic." 

By realistic, she means baring her teeth in a growl and sticking her arms out like a Grey. All of a sudden, you are being chased across the log, Blue running behind you. Explicatives leave your lips until your boot misses a step and you fall into the water. This time, the shallow pond offers a comfortable temperature that doesn't send your body into panic mode. You break the surface, able to stand up on the rocky bottom, and throw your wet hair out of your face as laughter bubbles up your throat on its own accord.

You look up at Blue, playfully glaring. She smirks.

"Come here, Grey," you say.

You grab her by the ankle and pull her down into the water with you. She gasps and giggles, thrashing around in her soaked clothes as you splash water in her face. 

"Or," you taunt, "Should I say Amelia?"

Her eyes widen. "How did you—" 

Then, she's leaping at you, pushing your head under the water. "Don't ever call me that."

"Or what?" You tease and swim away, scaly fish brushing against your ankles as the wide legs of your jeans ride up. "You'll kill me?"

"Might have to!"

You're not sure how long the two of you swim in there. Minutes. Maybe an hour. Until your fingertips are pruney like how they used to get when you used to swim in the pool with your sister.

You hoist yourself out of the pond and sit by the water's edge, drenched shirt clinging to your breasts uncomfortably, but you don't care. You've felt far more uncomfortable things. The buttery sunlight kisses your exposed cheeks as you wring out your hair, Blue sitting beside you to do the same thing.

She peels off her wet jeans, probably uncomfortable in them. You would do the same if you were eleven and didn't care. On her thigh, the thick scar from her bullet wound blemishes the soft, pale skin.

"I'm a better teacher than Ghost, huh?" she says.

"So far," you nod, glancing at him. When you do, his eyes meet yours across the short distance. Only for a second. Before they flicker back down to the bow.

"He hates swimming, you know."

You look at her. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. He never really goes in with me." She shrugs and buries her fingers in the grass. "Hey. Look. There are those violets I told you about."

You follow the direction of her eyes and sure enough, a patch of wild violets decorate the ground, gently bent in the breeze. As your clothes dry, the two of you pluck them. They are beautiful. Dark purple petals. You braid them into her hair. She tries to do the same for you, but her braiding skills need some work. It's a nice break from the past week you've had, your sore limbs sprawled against the grass to dry.

It's when the sun starts to lower that Blue puts her jeans back on. Your clothes are still wet, and the wind is starting to pick up, spreading gooseflesh across your skin. 

"Here."

The familiar low voice announces his presence. Tucking your wet hair behind your ears, you look up at Ghost. The two of you haven't exchanged many words except for his occasional correction of your form while cutting wood. 

He stands against the sun. You take the finished bow from him in quiet awe. It's even nicer up close, the smoothed oak caressing your palms as you glide them up and down the length of this new weapon. The first one he gave you was made for a child, but this one is larger, the perfect size for you. Your index finger gives a pluck to the string, feeling the hum of vibrations. He must have just added that. 

"Thank you," you tell him honestly. Whatever uncertainty or irritation you might feel about him doesn't change the swell of gratitude you feel in this moment. It’s a tangible thing that sits in your chest. “It's... great, really."

"Might take some getting used to,” he says gruffly.

You shrug. "That's alright."

You glance to your left where Blue is still changing. With a swallow, you hold the bow tight to your chest. "Do you think I'm ready to try more tomorrow? Not just the wood. I feel like... I feel like I've been getting stronger from it already."

He gives a short nod. "Tomorrow, then."

[mayajadewrites]

could've been you - shouta aizawa x fem! reader, hawks x fem! reader

chapter eleven

this chapter is all about this sexy ass man so we're all gonna stare at this beautiful photo of him thank u

✦ story synopsis: You're the new teacher at UA with a rocky past with one of their beloved teachers, Shouta Aizawa aka Eraserhead. You'd rather never see him again but alas, such is life. You also meet Keigo, aka Hawks, who is the opposite of Aizawa. Smiley, golden retriever energy.

✦ chapter content warnings: unprotected sex

✦ relationships: aizawa x fem!reader, hawks x fem!reader

ao3

TAG LIST:

@come-away-with-me87, @kxshdoll, @evilsanzu, @friendly-neighborhood-turtle, @lili-pond,

@the-unhinged-raccoon @falling4fandoms @cherry-cosmoz @kkgraham @big-denki-energy @aphrodite-xoxo @keiweeny @minminroie @skazewrld @crimsonsaki

You took an everything shower, making sure to scrub every crevice of your body. You applied your sweetest smelling lotion - notes of vanilla.

You take a deep breath as you look in the mirror. You almost didn't recognize the woman in front of you. You're finally, finally giving Shouta a chance to prove himself.

Just 24 hours ago, you were tangled in the sheets with Keigo.

But that is the past. The past that needs to stay in the past.

Keigo is younger than you, not too much but enough to where you feel as though you're from two different worlds.

He has fans. You're not used to women fawning over a man you were with - a man they would take in 2 seconds if they could.

"Tch." You suck your teeth as you turn to your closet to sift through your clothes.

"Shouta's favorite color is black." You tap your chin with your index finger. You pull out a black, off the shoulder crop top with long, mesh sleeves. Your tits look phenomenal, honestly. They're pushed up and the shimmer from your lotion hits the lighting perfectly.

You grab black washed ripped jeans and your favorite pair of simple black heels before you put on your makeup. Your hair was loosely curled as you ran your fingers through the ends with oil.

7:55 PM.

You heard a knock at your door. You were skeptical, since it wasn't 8 yet. Did Keigo come back?

You look through the door hole and see Shouta with his hair pulled back in a bun, dressed in all black. He had a giant bouquet of red roses - had to be at least 5 dozen.

"You clean up nice." Your eyes ran up and down his body as you opened the door.

"You still stink." Shouta smirked as he walked into your place. He handed you the flowers for you to put in a vase.

"You're 5 minutes early, sir."

Shouta didn't answer you, he just sat down on the couch and pulled his phone out. "So whatever you need to do in the next 5 minutes, do it."

You spray your favorite perfume on your skin before taking one last look in the mirror.

"Ready."

-

Shouta opened the passenger door of his car, a black sedan. Practical.

The inside was very clean though, which you appreciated.

"Where are we going?" You turn him, crossing your ankles.

"You'll see."

He started to drive, his eyes every now and again finding their way to you. You look down at his large, veiny hands. You wanted to touch them. You wanted them to touch you.

He must've felt the same, because the next thing you knew his hand was wrapped around your thick thigh. He squeezed the sides gently, smirking at the plushness of your skin.

You look out the window as his hand caresses your leg, always coming back to your thigh. You bit your bottom lip, hoping he didn't notice how flustered he was making you already.

He picked out a cute sushi restaurant - the inside looked beautiful with twinkly lights and waterfalls.

When he let you out of the car, he took your hand gently and lead you to the door. You felt his hand squeeze yours, as if to make sure you're actually there.

You were led to your table, in a more secluded part of the restaurant.

"It's so pretty in here." You look around.

"You don't remember what you said about this place, do you?"

You shook your head.

"We were on patrol one day, and this place just opened. You said you wanted to try it when you had money to, since we had just become pro heroes."

"How do you remember that?" You cross your legs under the table.

"I remember everything." His eyes stay on you as he sips his miso soup.

You felt bold, so you dragged your foot down his leg gently under the table. You watched him almost spit out his soup, which made you laugh.

"Feeling brave, hm?" Shouta kept his eyes on you.

You nod, continuing to rub his leg with your foot. You tilt your head to the side as you take a sip of your water, your lips wrapping around the straw.

Shouta turned his head to look at a fish tank, trying to get his mind off of the fact that he wanted to take you on the table right then and there.

The rest of dinner was filled with sexual innuendos, reminiscing on memories, good memories, and more sexual innuendos.

Your pussy was already soaked thinking about what will happen when you get home.

-

"Well, here we are." Shouta deliberately went past your door to his as his hand squeezed yours. You smiled as he put his key in the door, turning it quickly. You take a few steps in before you bend down to take your heels off.

"Let me help." Shouta kneeled down to the floor, his chocolate eyes boring into yours. He unbuckled your heel, sliding it off your foot slowly. You let out a breath from being let go from the tight heel, your foot finally being able to relax. Shouta kissed your ankle once before moving onto your other foot.

You watched from above as Shouta took your other heel off, his hands dragging up your legs to your hips as he stood up.

Your eyes were filled with lust as you leaned into Shouta's body, your hands pressing against his muscular chest.

"Are you still feeling brave?" He purred.

That's it.

You pressed your lips against his gently, gripping his shirt in your hand with a fist. Shouta grabbed your face with both of his hands, making sure you stay close to him.

You tilt your head as you kiss him, his thumbs rubbing your cheeks as he slips his tongue in your mouth. A breathy moan escapes your throat against his lips - a sound that was filled with lust and need.

"Should we move to the bed?" Shouta's words sounded like music to your ears. You nod as he lifts you up by your hips, planting his large hands on your ass. His lips find yours again as you wrap your legs around his waist. He lifted you like it was nothing.

Once you were back in his room, he gently laid you down on his bad, your hair pooling around his pillows. He was hovering over you, his arms caging you in. He unbuttoned his shirt, which was so unintentionally sexy. You followed his lead and took your shirt off, your tits bouncing when they released from the fabric.

"No bra?" Shouta kissed your lips again as he threw his shirt to the floor. "Dirty girl."

"Bras hurt." You wrap your hand around his wrist with your dainty hand, bringing his large hand to your breast. "Touch me, Shouta."

His movements were timid at first as he stared at your beautiful, supple chest. Your tits are huge, in a way that makes Shouta want to bury his face in them. His fingertips grazed the skin on your nipple, goosebumps immediately forming. You bit your lips with anticipation as he finally took a handful of your breast in his head, squeezing it gently.

"God, Shouta. Your touch is like fire." You throw your head back as he massages your breasts. His eyes flicker to yours as he lowers his head to your chest, his mouth wrapping around the nipple on the other breast.

You gasp as he starts sucking on your sensitive nub, his other hand kneading your tit. "Fuck." You press your head to the back of his head as his mouth let go of your nipple with a 'pop'. He kissed the valley in between your breasts as he made his way to your soft stomach, kissing right above your belly button, them to the top of your jeans.

You were getting impatient. Your pussy was throbbing with need, but Shouta liked to take his time. He knew you were getting fussy, too.

"Impatient one, hm?" Shouta smirked as he undid the button to your jeans.

"Shouta, please." You pout. "I need you inside of me."

"Inside of you... is that right?" He grabbed your belt loops, pulling your pants down to reveal your black thong.

"Yes." You nod, reaching for his pants. He did most of the work in taking them off, but hey, you tried. You were too full of lust to truly assist him.

He slowly pulled his boxer briefs off, his long, fat cock springing against his abdomen.

This man is ripped and he never shows it. What a shame.

But you get to be the one to see him.

Truly see him.

You watch his cock with amazement - you've never really thought about how big Shouta is - but you had a feeling he wouldn't be on the small side. A few pieces of his hair fell out of his bun to frame his face as he pulled your thong off of you. He tore the fabric so easily that they ripped right there.

"You're too strong for your own good, Eraserhead." You smirked as you looked at your broken pair of panties. "You owe me a new pair."

"I'll buy you as many panties as you want. I'm keeping these though." Shouta leaned into your neck, placing kisses marks on your skin. He sucked on your sensitive spot - his tongue swirling around the new bruise.

The cold air of Shouta's room hit your pussy as he kissed you. He was so close to you, but not enough. You wanted to feel him, all of him.

"Do you have condoms?" You felt your pussy clench around nothing.

"I don't. And I prefer not to use them." Shouta removed himself from your neck to look at you. "Did you use them with the bird?"

You nod, bringing your hand to the back of his head.

"Once I'm inside you, you're mine. Ok?" Shouta kissed your lips roughly, his cheeks a shade of pinkish-red.

"Yours?"

"You heard me. That means no more bird. That means there's no reason to use condoms. I'm clean, you're clean."

You watched Shouta's movements, trying to decipher if he's joking or not. But there was no sense of softness in his eyes.

"I want to fuck you when I want." Shouta kissed your lips. "Wherever I want." He placed a hot kiss on your neck again. "I want to feel all of you, got it?"

You nod. "I'm yours, Shouta."

Those were the words that ignited something in Shouta Aizawa. You felt his fat tip rub against your slits, coating them with his pre-cum.

You spread your legs to give Shouta a better view. He used one hand to guide his cock inside of you, his other hand on your plush hip.

You felt his tip slide inside of you, a cry leaving your lips.

"Shhh, it's just the tip baby." He slowly pushed himself inside you, finally going past the tip. Your pussy clenched against him as he watched his cock disappear inside of you. "So tight, fuck." He slid the rest of him inside of you, watching your eyes roll back.

Shouta brought his hand to your face, caressing your cheek as he established his rhythm. Your tits bounced with his movements, the sound of his balls hitting your skin filling the room.

Your back arched as he leaned down to your neck, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he pounded into your plush walls.

"Fuck, baby." Shouta's moans were sinful. You could feel your pussy clenching his cock tightly, the coil in your stomach tightening. "You're so wet, so tight, damn."

The sound of your wet pussy was all Shouta could hear. He started to pound into you faster, his hands squeezing your hips roughly. His fingertips left marks on your skin.

"I've dreamt about this pussy, did you know that?"

A whimper left your lips, the coil tightening again. You turn your head to the side as you feel your orgasm approaching. Shouta took notice, bringing his thumb to your swollen clit. Your body twitched at his touch, bringing your euphoria that much closer.

"Shouta I'm gonna come." You moaned his name, tangling your fingers in his raven hair.

"I didn't say you could." He rubbed circles on your clit, using your own arousal to coat the nub.

"P-please."

"No." He slammed his entire length into you as he rubbed your clit, the sound of his cock pounding into you making your ears ring.

You couldn't hold it anymore.

"Shouta, please."

"Daddy."

"D-Daddy, please."

He moved his hand from your aching clit, bringing his lips to yours as he thrusted into you. You took that as an okay, so you let yourself free. The coil broke, your body involuntarily squirming. "Shouta." You moaned when you wrapped your arms around his neck, his skin sweaty. His face was in your neck, biting the skin as his pace became sporadic. You felt his muscular chest against yours, your fingertips dragging along his back - which is also very muscular. You dig your nails into his skin as he reaches places you never thought anyone could.

"Where should I come?" His voice was so low you almost couldn't hear him.

With lust on your mind, there was only one answer.

"Inside." You let out a breathy moan.

"Trying to trap me already?" He smirked. "Don't worry baby, this cock is yours forever whether you like it or not."

"I'm on the pill."

Shouta pushed himself into you one last time before he released himself inside of you, his white juices covering your walls. He was at the hilt of his cock - a ring of a white substance around his member.

You whimpered when his cock retreated from you. From the sudden loss of him. Shouta kissed your swollen lips before going to the bathroom to grab towels. He helped clean your body up, kissing your forehead when he was done.

You both stared at each other in that moment. Lost in each other's presence, in this moment. You couldn't help but kiss Shouta's lips again and again, savoring this moment.

"Yours." You kissed his lips once more as he wrapped his arms around your naked body.

"Mine." He pressed his cheek to the top of your head as you laid your head on his chest, drifting off to sleep.

[casuallyimagining]

Selfish. || myg.

Less of Them - Two: Selfish.

NSFW. minors dni

Pairing: Min Yoongi x reader Genre: arranged marriage au, established relationship, star-crossed lovers, angst, smut, fluff Word Count: 5,461

Summary: As the daughter of one of the oldest families in the kingdom, when the king decides that it's you he wishes to marry, you're forced to make a decision and fulfill your duty, leaving behind everything you've ever known--and the only man you've ever loved.

Warnings: implied domestic abuse, controlling behavior, depression, arguing, a slap, blood, discovery of a dead body, murder

Notes: thank you to @oddinary4bts for beta-ing this

"I do know there are all kinds of barriers to love. I do believe the world needs less of them." - Lang Leav

prev. | masterlist | next

There’s a bustle in the castle that hasn’t been here for a year. It’s like the very stone–polished, whitewashed, ancient–is vibrating with excitement. After all, a royal wedding is an exciting time, and everyone must play their part. The cherry trees, hundreds of them across the property of the castle and in the castle town, are close to blossom. The merchants are busy building and sewing and crafting and baking. The stewards and keepers have cleaned the castle walls inside and out more times than can be counted.

You cannot find it in yourself to match their enthusiasm.

You stand on a pedestal facing a floor-length mirror, a seamstress on either side of you. They haven’t stopped touching you since they’d walked into the room. Slipping garments onto your body. Primping and adjusting the fabric so it lays just right. Measuring, pinning, tucking, tacking. The silk is heavy, like lead on your limbs, and they just keep layering it on. All of it is an elegant cream color–not white, despite tradition. Daniel had instructed the royal seamstresses. It was because of him, after all. White is too pure, too untouched.

Maybe, under different circumstances, worn by someone else, you would find the gown pretty. The silken fabric is soft and luxurious, a delicate floral pattern embroidered into the sleeves. The skirt is plain, but it flows well, and it’s a slightly richer color than the rest. There’s a small loop at the waist where a luck ornament will be attached. You haven’t seen it yet–the queen mother hasn’t yet presented it to you–but the handmaids have told you that it’s meant to bring many sons.

But honestly, you’ve avoided looking–really looking–at any of it, your focus solely on the leather toe of your shoe sticking out from under the fabric of your dress. You were never too mesmerized by your reflection, but now… It’s hard to reconcile what you see with what used to be there. Your hair is longer. You’ve lost weight. A bruise peeks out from under the collar of your dress. There’s a hollowness in your eyes, and worse, there’s a hollowness somewhere deeper. A meekness that you don’t recognize, but that’s been gnawing at the edges of you for nearly a year now. 

You don’t recognize yourself. You don’t want to recognize yourself.

“Have you seen him yet?” You hear one of the handmaidens ask as the seamstresses pin the fabric at your sleeve.

The other handmaiden groans softly. “I’ve been stuck inside all day. Kagha asked me to shine the silver.” Kagha is the stewardess of the castle, and she’s been running around like a crazy person of late trying to prepare for the wedding.

The first handmaiden leans closer to the other. You’ve seen her around, but you have no idea what her name is. “He’s gorgeous,” she whispers, so quiet you almost can’t hear.

“Shame he’s from the forest,” the second handmaiden laments, standing. Her arms are full of linen.

You hum. It’s been a long year. A lonely year. You’ve learned a lot, and you know you’ve done a lot of growing to meet the needs of the position you find yourself in. But that doesn’t mean that the path hadn’t been lonely. And you’d finally managed to convince Daniel to allow you to send a letter to your father, asking him to send you someone to serve in the castle.

Based on the handmaidens’ reactions, he’s sent Seokjin. 

It makes sense. Out of anyone your father could have sent, Seokjin is the most likely to fit in at the castle and in Castle Town. He’s charming and smart, and knows how to hold himself at court. And, more than anyone, Seokjin knows–or assumes–how careful one must be in this life, too. 

There’s an excitement bubbling in you that you haven’t felt in a while. Your step-brother. Here. Finally, a friend. You leave the seamstresses when they’re finished, an almost giddy bounce to your step. It leads you all the way to the King’s Council Chamber–if Seokjin is here, that’s where he’ll be. Daniel may not have greeted you on your arrival to the Ironhold, but he would certainly not risk snubbing the eldest son of one of the old families.

You stand outside of the council chamber, suddenly unsure. The excitement has faded, replaced with the roiling unease that comes with being anywhere near this room. You should wait. As excited as you may be to see Seokjin, you don’t want to risk Daniel’s ire at your interruption. So you stand there, outside the door, far enough away so that you aren’t in anyone’s way. 

After a moment, you can feel your heartbeat start to pound in your ears. Maybe waiting is a mistake. Maybe, if you’re lucky, you can make it back to your chambers. Maybe you can wait there. You nod to yourself. That’s a better idea. You’ll wait for them to come to you.

You’ve just turned to go when the door opens, the hinges creaking lowly with the motion. You can hear Daniel’s voice, but it’s Eden, Daniel’s younger brother, who walks out first. His eyes widen when he sees you standing there, half fleeing, and you can hear him make a little noise of surprise. It doesn’t last long, though, because as soon as Daniel spots you, Eden’s face schools into something neutral.

Daniel stops mid-word to question you. “What are you doing here?”

“I-” Your words stick in your throat. You shouldn’t be here, but you’re frozen in place. And then, just when you think things can’t get worse, a dark head of hair and curious, feline eyes poke out from around Daniel’s form.

You freeze, hoping the ground will open up and swallow you whole. You feel yourself wilt, and suddenly, you’re hyper-aware of how you’re standing, how awkward your arms feel at your side, how rigid your spine feels.  It’s not Seokjin. You could never be that lucky.

Daniel stalks toward you and roughly grabs your upper arm. His fingers dig in, pressing into your flesh. You wince ever so slightly–it hurts, the bruise already there is an angry deep purple–but quickly, you school your face into something more pleasant.

“We’ve talked about this,” Daniel says. His voice is even, but you can hear the undertones.

You should not be here.

You’re embarrassing me. Again.

We will discuss this again later.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out softer than you’d like, and you wonder if he can hear the slight tremble, or if it’s just you. “I… I thought it was Seokjin and I…” You trail off, eyes falling to the stone floor.

The king jerks you closer, grip like a vise on your upper arm. “You what?”

“I got excited.”

He hums. “I see.”

Off to your left, Eden clears his throat. “Brother. You have a meeting with Mother and the High Priest in the garden soon. We shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

Daniel nods and squeezes your arm. “We’ll discuss this later.”

The brothers leave, and suddenly, the hall is quiet. The few guards that had been milling around follow Daniel and Eden out. You clear your throat, unable to meet the dark eyes that watch you curiously. He’s never been to the Crownlands, and your brain latches onto an idea. 

This doesn’t have to be awkward.

“Have you seen the grounds?” you question finally, shifting your weight.

Yoongi shakes his head. “Not yet.”

“Would you like to?”

You can feel him looking at you, can feel the questions hanging in the air. Thankfully–and surprisingly–he says nothing, simply motions for you to lead the way.

“The castle was built nearly 800 years ago by the Choi family. Because of tensions at the time between the royal family and the rest of the old families, the Ironhold was built to be nearly impregnable, with oil chutes built into every staircase and balistraria in every exterior wall.” You gesture to one of the arrow slits in the wall, where the sunlight from the mid-spring sun peeks through the thick stone. You know that he knows all this–he sat through almost as many of your father’s history lessons as you did–but it helps to keep talking.

And to his credit, Yoongi listens patiently. He follows dutifully at your side, pausing to look at things you point out and nodding along where appropriate. You can’t show him everything–that would almost be impossible as the castle grounds are so large. But you walk him through parts of the gardens (“There are over 1,000 cherry trees on the castle grounds.”), and show him the fish ponds (“The fish have been imported from the Eastern Coastlands. Some of the koi are descendants of the original fish brought in when the ponds were built 300 years ago!”). You walk past the Queen Mother’s private residence in the southern part of the castle grounds and show him the knight’s barracks and the training grounds. 

All of the buildings on the castle grounds look the same. It had taken you a few months to actually learn where everything was and what each building housed. Tall, sloping, whitewashed walls, deep blue tile roofs, sharp corners and rectangular windows. A far cry from the curved staircases and round windows and dark woods of Castle Blackwood. 

Re-entering the castle proper, you show him the Grand Hall, where important dinners are held, and the king’s dining room. And finally, finally, you end the tour of the castle grounds on the second floor of the western tower where your chambers–and the chambers of personal guards and hand servants–are. You’ve known for a while that there was a room designated for your own personal guard, so you end up in front of that door.

“This is yours,” you tell him, gesturing to the door. It’s not as thick or as dark as the ones back at Castle Blackwood, but you grew accustomed to those small differences long ago.

He stands there, his hand on the brass doorknob, gaze soft as he takes you in. You can see his eyes dart briefly to where the bruise peeks out from under your collar and feel yourself shrink away. You don’t want to know what he sees when he looks at you. 

“Come in.” His voice is gentle, almost as if he’s speaking to a wounded animal. “Let’s catch up.”

You shouldn’t. You know you shouldn’t. It’ll make it harder to move forward–to move on. But then he says, “Please,” and you’ve never been able to resist the softness of his eyes. So you let him lead you into his chambers and shut the door.

“It’s been years since I’ve seen you in a dress,” he says quietly. He stands in front of you, a little awkward. He keeps rubbing his hands together, patting down his trousers. It’s little comfort to know that he’s just as nervous as you are.

“Why are you here, Yoongi?” You don’t mean to snap, but it just kind of happens. You aren’t sure what this means–what it means for him, let alone what it means for you. There’s a pit in your stomach that feels almost like you swallowed a rock, and you do your best to steady yourself.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean why are you here? Why did it have to be you? Why couldn’t it have been Seokjin, or Namjoon, or any- anyone else?” 

He reaches into his doublet and pulls out a folded piece of parchment. It’s a little crumpled, the edges a little worn, like it’s been read many times. You catch a glimpse of a forest green wax seal still clinging to the top edge, and immediately you know what it is. 

“Maybe we’re both a little selfish.” The way he says it, you can feel your heart sink. 

Of course you know what the letter says. It haunts you, but at the time, you thought you were doing the right thing. You still do. 

I hope that, in time, you can move on. That eventually, you will find yourself in love. That you will find happiness again. It’s selfish, but I will only be able to live through this with the hope that you are happy and living a life that is worthy of the care you’ve shown me. 

Find someone who loves you as much as I do. For my sake, if nothing else. 

You want him to be able to move on and live his life. You want him to be happy. He deserves to be happy. And you would sacrifice your own happiness a hundred times over if it meant he could have the life he deserves. 

Yoongi reaches out, and your heart races. You tense, an automatic reaction, and his hand pauses mere centimeters from your cheek. A look of confusion crosses his dark eyes that quickly morphs to understanding and then sadness. His hand falls back to his side.

“How did you get that bruise?” His voice is casual, but you know him, can practically see the cogs turning in his mind.

You tug the collar of your gown so that it covers better. “I tripped.”

“And bruised your shoulder?”

“I’m still getting used to the gowns.”

He hums. You know he knows you’re lying. But you aren’t sure how much you want to allow him back in yet. You aren’t sure how much you want to drag him down with you. 

He sighs, but he doesn’t push it. Instead, he looks at the letter that’s still in his hands. “I tried,” he says softly. “For the first few months, I thought that if I could just convince myself that I was mad at you, it would be easier. I tried so hard to hate you, to blame you for leaving, make it your fault.” He looks up at you, then, and you can see a shine to his eyes. He reaches out again, but this time, the tips of his fingers brush against your hand. “But I couldn’t. It’s not fair, but it’s even less fair for you. And I want to be here. I know it won’t be easy, but I want to be here with you. You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

Your eyes sting, and there’s a lump in your throat that you can’t quite swallow down. 

Hours later, you’re alone in your chambers. Dusk has fallen, the handmaidens have already been through to light the few candles on the tray near your bed. You sit on the chaise under the open window, a gentle spring breeze lightly caressing your skin. Silently, you stare down at the wooden box in your hands.

It’s dusty. You haven’t touched it since placing it on the shelf when you’d first arrived in the Ironhold. You can see the fingerprints from how you’ve held it over the past half-hour. Gently, you wipe the dust from the gilded leaves of the thistle and press them in. A soft ‘click’ echoes through the inside of the box. 

You take the contents out carefully. Sketches from one of the artists in the Forest Town–one of you, your father, your step-mother, and Namjoon and Seokjin; the other of you and Yoongi. You look much younger here, even though the drawings were only done a few years ago. It feels like an eternity. The real reason you’d pulled the box off the shelf, though, is still in your hand, wrapped delicately in a piece of cloth you’d ripped from a pair of your trousers.

Once it’s unwrapped, you hold it between your thumb and your forefinger and inspect it in the low light. 

Part of you feels guilty that this is the first time you’ve looked at it in almost a year, that you can’t wear it, even on a chain around your neck, or at the very least that you can’t display it in some way. You shouldn’t have accepted it. But there’s no way you could have known it would have spent a year hidden away in a secret compartment in a wooden box, wrapped in the fabric of the trousers you can no longer wear.

You suppose there are things about the world your father couldn’t have thought to teach you.

He couldn’t have prepared you for everything you’ve learned here. How to break yourself down, brick by brick, and rebuild from the ground up. How to change how you talk, how you think. To change your personality to be more likable, less loud, less prominent. To change how you walk, how you stand, how you take up space. A good queen knows when to enhance her king’s spotlight, but also how to fade into the background. She’s firm but quiet. She defers to her husband’s opinions, she doesn’t shape them. And certainly, she knows naught of how the king’s court functions.

He could never have taught you that there’s a special kind of loneliness reserved only for future queens, when you arrive in a new city and no one knows you and no one likes you and no one wants to know or like you. You’ll just be another fixture in the Crownlands, a figurehead with no power, a vessel with no thoughts. There for one thing–maybe two, if you’re lucky–and ignored the rest of the time.

You miss home, miss having things to fill your time with. You miss the activity of Blackwood Castle–there was always something going on, even if it was something minor. Now, you feel as though you spend most of your time daintily draping yourself across chaises and windowsills, watching the world pass you by. You’d tried to go to the library once and were barred entry (“The queen has no need for such knowledge!”). You’d been banned from the council chambers (“How dare you embarrass your king in front of the Eastern traders!”). You couldn’t watch the knights spar, couldn’t sit by as the dog trainers did their work, couldn’t stroll the streets of the Castle Town.

The sound of guard boots in the hall draw your attention, and you jump, hurriedly re-wrapping the ring in cloth and slotting it and the two drawings back into the secret compartment in the box. You press the thistle flower and manage to wipe the rest of the dust off the front just as the door to your chamber opens.

Daniel stands there, the Realm’s unshakeable king, smelling of wine and grinning like the dog that caught the hare. He doesn’t say anything, merely shuts the door behind him and yanks the bolt in place to lock it. You embrace him as he approaches, allowing him to push you back onto the bed.

After he leaves, you stare at the ceiling and hope that someday soon, you’ll start to feel less hollow again. 

It takes mere days for Yoongi to fully integrate into life in the Ironhold. Or, perhaps, integrate is the wrong word. It takes mere days for him to disappear. Once it’s clear he’s there to stay, he’s no longer a novelty, overshadowed by the wedding looming over the next couple days. He goes with you to dress fittings, sits behind you out of the way when you meet with the clergy. He even accompanies you to meet with the Queen Mother. You’re shocked that she allows him to stand in on your conversation, but if you’re honest with yourself, you’re a little glad she does.

“My knights followed me everywhere over the years,” she says casually, pouring herself a cup of tea. “I expect you’d want yours to do the same, forest bumpkin though he is.”

The Queen Mother sits at a small table near the window. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything, simply stares out at the garden as if she’s inspecting the very plants for quality of growth. It’s uncanny how much her sons have inherited from her. Daniel has the same intense, calculating gaze, and both he and Eden have her high cheekbones and downturned lips. They’ve all got the same dark, glossy hair and downturned eyes.

You stand there, waiting for her to address you again. It’s awkward, but you dare not move. You can feel Yoongi’s presence behind you–he’s been quiet all morning, but you can tell that he has thoughts about life in the castle. You ignore him. Instead, you focus your attention on the table in front of you and the Queen Mother’s cup of tea.

Finally, the Queen Mother brings her attention back in your direction, leveling a gaze at you that reminds you just how scrutinized you’ve been since you arrived at the Ironhold nearly a year ago. She studies you for a moment before raising her teacup to her lips. “I suppose you’re expecting me to give you the norigae for tomorrow’s ceremony.”

That had been why you thought she’d called this meeting. The seamstresses who’d been working on your gown said the Queen Mother would give you a lucky decoration. They’d said it was a big honor, that it was tradition. Now, you’re unsure. Still, though, you nod quietly.

The Queen Mother hums. Her gaze burns into you, and when you fidget where you stand, she frowns. “Danny has said that your dress is to be cream.”

“It’s pretty.”

“It’s not white.” Her tone is as sharp as her glare. It’s an accusation.

You swallow. “I do as my king asks.”

“The traditional norigae has been passed down for generations in the Choi family,” the Queen Mother says. She does not look at you, merely glares down at her tea cup. “It’s supposed to bring great luck to the marriage and many sons. It’s meant to be given to a king’s bride to both welcome her into the Choi family and celebrate the pure gift she brings with her.”

It scares you a little, how she says it. It almost sounds like a threat, though you aren’t quite sure what she’s threatening you with. What you do know, though, is that you probably should be scared of whatever it is.

“Do you think you deserve that?” she questions.

“I…” 

You aren’t sure what to say. You aren’t sure there’s anything you can say. You’ve willingly allowed Daniel into your bed when he’s come calling. He’s the king and the man you are to marry. This is your life now.

Her question lingers as you wrack your brain for something–anything–to say. Thankfully, she puts you out of your misery.

“I suppose I must. Tradition is tradition, after all.” She sighs. “I will give it to the dressmakers tomorrow before the ceremony.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”

“You may go.” There is no room for argument. 

The trek back through the gardens and to your chambers is silent. Yoongi is quiet as he follows you, the only signs that he’s there are his shadow following yours and his footsteps echoing off the stone floors of the castle. He shuts the door behind you as you enter your room, sliding the steel bolt into place to lock it.

“That’s not necessary,” you tell him, collapsing onto the chaise at the foot of your bed. You’re exhausted, and there’s something heavy growing in your chest. “You can return to your own chambers. I’ll call for you if I need anything.”

He doesn’t move, and when you look up at him, you can see the conflict in his eyes. After a moment, he seems to decide on something, because he takes a cautious step forward.

“You know you don’t have to put up with any of this.”

“What?” You have no idea what he’s talking about. 

“We could run away.” He’s closer now, kneeling in front of you. Carefully, he takes your hand, holding it as though it were glass.

You shake your head. “You know that’s not possible.”

Yoongi squeezes your hand, dark eyes pleading. “We could go somewhere far away. Somewhere they couldn’t find you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“You’re exactly who I’m worried about.” His tone is firm. “This place is poison, it’s… it’s-”

“It’s fine, Yoongi.” His touch is electric on your skin, and you jerk your hand away, burned by his proximity. “This is my duty. This is my life.”

“It’s not fine!” He stands, clearly frustrated. “You don’t deserve how these assholes treat you. No one does. The Westerlands can deal with whatever comes from-”

“Loyalty does not yield.”

“Fuck that! Have some sense!”

“Get out.” You say it as loud as you dare, not wanting to draw the guards but desperate, so, so desperate, for him to leave. When he doesn’t move, you pick up the closest thing to you—a soft-bound journal—and throw it at him. The book hits him in the chest with a dull thud and plops to the ground. 

A pillow follows. Then another. A blanket. Your hair brush. Anything you can get your hands on, you hurl in his direction. If he would just leave and let you rest. You’re exhausted. Dear God, why won’t he leave? Eventually, you’re out of ammunition, everything else around you being too heavy or too large to throw with any sort of accuracy. Yoongi, to his credit, has stayed stock-still throughout the ordeal, unflinching despite the onslaught.

You stalk over to him, blood pressure rising. There’s a headache stirring behind your eyes. The pit grows inside of you. “Go. Now.”

“No.” He says it so calmly.

“Stubborn fool. I will send you home.”

“Listen to yourself,” he pleads. “This isn’t you, you don’t-”

Your palm stings. 

Why does your palm sting? 

You look down, confused, and see your skin a shade of angry red. Movement in front of you draws your attention. For the first time since you’d thrown the journal, Yoongi moves. His hand comes up to cup his cheek; your gaze follows his arm as it moves. There, hidden by his hand, his skin begins to blossom pink.

It’s like you’re sucked out of your body. You can see yourself standing there, cradling your stinging hand, staring in bewilderment at the red that blooms across his skin. A silent moment passes. But then you feel something, deep within you. At first, it’s nothing more than a tremor, a slight tremble within you, but then it builds. Your heart races. Whatever was left of you—whatever you’d been able to claw and cobble together over the last year—implodes. You can feel it shatter within you, a thousand times more powerful than the initial destruction. And with it, you crumble.

Yoongi approaches you cautiously, like he’s coming up on a wounded animal. “What can I do?” he asks, his voice soft, kind. “Tell me how I can help.”

“Leave,” you beg.

You regret it. You regret contacting your father. You regret asking him to send someone. Why you thought having any of them here would be helpful–or why you’d never considered it would be him–you’ll never know. You can survive here–you were surviving here. But at what cost?

It hits you hard, blindsiding you like a sudden storm. The truth is, you’re scared. What if the old you–the you he fell in love with… What if she’s gone? What if she can’t come back? What if she died the day you climbed into that carriage, replaced by this hollow husk of a person you are now?

You suppose it doesn’t matter. You’re here. Yoongi is here. Tomorrow, you will marry Daniel. And from there, you will take things as you have. One day at a time.

Eventually, you manage to pull yourself together. Your face still feels stiff and puffy, but you refuse to remove the cloth you’ve draped over the mirror, so you don’t know if it really is. You’ve got a headache–all the pressure behind your eyes and in your cheeks is enough to make you feel like your head is splitting open. Part of you just wants to go to sleep. But it’s barely mid-afternoon, and you aren’t entirely sure what you’re supposed to be doing.

The wedding is tomorrow, but you’ve gotten almost no direction from anyone on what should be happening. You suspect that something should be happening, but you have no idea what it could possibly be. As a child, you spent more time climbing trees and tormenting Namjoon with Yoongi than dreaming of your wedding, but even still. This feels like a business transaction.

A knock at your door pulls you from your thoughts, and it takes a moment for you to gather yourself. Your mind is a little hazy as you slide the bolt unlocked and open the door, but when you see Eden standing there, you force yourself to come to your senses. The prince bows slightly with his head, inclining it forward ever so slightly. It’s respectful, but only so much–he’s still the one with royal blood.

“How are you holding up?” he asks, stepping into the room. You haven’t really invited him in, but you step aside anyway and close the door behind him. “I heard that mother may have accosted you over the norigae this morning.”

“She was within her right,” you tell him softly.

Eden hums. “Still. You’re to be part of this family. Mother is just disappointed that she won’t be the most important woman in Daniel’s life anymore.”

“I don’t think that’s remotely true.”

He snorts, a wry smile on his lips. In the year you’ve been at the Ironhold, Eden has become your favorite person here. You don’t particularly trust him, but of everyone that lives in the Crownlands, he seems the most normal.

Casually, Eden wanders over to a window, looking out over the courtyard several levels below. “It is my hope that things will get easier for you in time.”

From where you’re sitting, that seems almost impossible. But you don’t want to quash his optimism. So you smile politely and nod.

“I brought you something,” Eden tells you, and the way he says it, it sounds almost like a conspiracy. 

Carefully, he pulls a long strip of fabric out of his pocket. It’s a beautiful silk, red as blood–the chosen color of House Choi. He holds it out with both hands.

“Technically, my brother should be giving this to you,” he says as you take it. “But I don’t think he cares so much about keeping to every tradition. Just the ones that are convenient to him.”

You can feel something thin and hard inside the silk. Eden nods, and you gently unfold the fabric. Inside is a hairpin, shiny silver and around the length of your hand. The end is an intricate dragon head, expertly forged, and in its mouth, a bright red gem. The same dragon that stands resolutely on the Choi family crest. It’s pretty, but something about it makes your heart hurt.

“Tomorrow, you will become a dragon,” Eden says. “You should be able to dress like one.” 

“Th-thank you.” You can barely manage it, and you hope that he takes your struggle as emotion and not the war that’s starting to wage within you.

After Eden leaves, the hours pass slowly. You aren’t sure what time it is when Daniel stops by your chambers. He barely speaks to you, but you can tell something is different about tonight. He stays longer after, falls asleep in your bed, on top of the coverlet. You aren’t sure when you drift off, only that you do.

You aren’t quite sure what wakes you up. It’s late. Or maybe early. It’s pitch dark–you can’t even see candles in the windows across the courtyard. Mysteriously, Daniel is still beside you. You’ve awoken on your side, so you can’t see him, but you can feel the dip in the mattress and the pull of his body on the blankets.

But there’s something else. Your blankets almost feel damp, the linen heavy with an extra weight. You sit up, curious, and immediately notice a spot that pools around Daniel. It’s soaked down deep into the mattress, the spot dark, almost black, in the dark of night. You reach out and touch it, and though you aren’t sure what you’re expecting, it’s sticky.

“My king?” you ask softly, touching his arm. He hasn’t moved since you woke, and you have a sinking sense that something is horribly wrong. When he doesn’t rouse, you shake him. “Daniel?”

There’s no response. His arm is stiff. He does not move. Your skin is sticky. You shake him harder, so hard that he rolls over. For a moment, you believe he’s awake. But then you see the cloth sticking out of his parted lips. And the gaping hole in his neck.

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[soothinglee]

| shitty 808s - kim jongseob x gn! reader - 1.2k wc✔︎

my notes⎯ sorry for not writing in a bit- I got hit by a scooter and lost hearing in my left eye. anyway- enjoy! (ilovejongseobsm). also the reader is younger than jongseob- so they're the maknae! warnings⎯ lowercase intended, cursing, not really proofread, I don't know jackshit about making music- I do make it just for fun but I don't know it on a professional level. songs⎯ "take you there x no bs" | dj short and "trillions" | alicia keys

“dude this sounds like shit.”

“it’s literally only 808s. it’s not going to sound good.”

“tell that to carti.”

jongseob groans and relaxes his body into the creaky studio chair. from where he's at; body slouches and neck bent, he feebly grabs for the mouse, each time he reaches he just barely misses it- giving a pitiful grunt every time.

you slap his hand away playfully, scooting your chair over in his place to play with the track. in the 30 minutes you've been in the studio you only managed the 808s. ass, in your opinion but something to start the song off as a base.

"what are you doing?" he mutters, looking towards the desktop screen. the black background of the software lights up every time you move around tracks. the purple and blue sections reflect off his glasses, "stop pressing stuff, you're gonna mess it up."

a scoff leaves your lips absentmindedly, choosing to replace the pre-made 808s with a original. you play it back for a spilt second- nodding to yourself feeling content in your work.

"you should be thankful I'm helping you," you start, adding a few high hats some measures into the song, "today is my off day and youngji just came out with a new episode."

he rolls his eyes and reaches over to grab his water bottle, he uncaps it and throws the lid on your lap. you make no effort to move it, "you would've had to come in eventually. jiung needed you today to record your verse."

you reach over to twitch your hand infront of his bottle, as if faking him out. he jerks his body away from you quickly, the water shakes in his hand- some even coming from the top and onto his sweater.

"bro." it comes out weak and quiet, a frown forming on his lips but you're quick to talk over him;

"for him, I wouldn't have complained. it's different when I have to do it because it's scheduled then come in to help someone work on his song." you spilt the back ground voices you added from files and slip in theo's guitar solo along with a 4 bar bass drum.

at this point you haven't listened to what has been added, jongseob still hogging the headphones. though you have enough confidence in yourself, and as one of the main producers, to know that the song will be somewhat decent- and way better than whatever he had before.

"what even is your inspo?"

"'bambi', baekhyun."

he makes a face, "sexy, no?"

you shrug, clicking around on the application to add some reverb, "piece will love it, fnc will tolerate it, intak will be happy. what more is there?"

he doesn't respond.

the difference between the software when jongseob had it compared to it in your hands is insane. infront of you the screen decorated with rainbows of colors, the static lines tracking the sound range from lengths and size. it's beautiful.

you feel a heavy weight on your left arm and look down to see jongseob leaning on you, he lets out a tired breath, and reaches up to fiddle with the loose string on your sleeve.

"are you almost done yet? you're hogging my equipment and I have other stuff I need to do."

"is all you do is complain?" you ask, titling the song with a random phrase and saving it, "because if that's the case I'll just get keeho."

his grip on your sleeve tightens as he tenses. for some reason jongseob is afraid of keeho- the latter always picking on him and fighting him. you would ask why and how it started but in all honesty, you couldn't really care.

"no no no, it's okay. you can keep working."

a proud smirk graces your lips as you reach over to slip the headphones off his head. he lets you, reaching forward to give you better access, smiling when he feels your hands pat down the mess they left.

you bend down slightly, apologizing when his head falls from your shoulder, and blindly reach for the tower to unplug the cord from its socket. "alright," you mess with the setting once more, turning the volume up enough so it can be heard. "you ready?"

jongseob yawns, "about time." you smack him upside the head.

the song is only about 3 minutes long, but in that three minutes it sounded wonderful. even though you were on playing around with it, something to keep jongseob satisfied until he could figure out what he really wanted to do with it, you think it could actually be the final product.

as the song plays you would take a look at his face to gauge his opinion. he seemed to like it; bobbing his head with the melody, a soft smile on his lips. it made you feel somewhat better about missing youngjis' show.

"okay, what do you think?" you ask as the beat fades out, you pause it so it doesn't play again and turn your body towards him, knees knocking each other.

he doesn't say anything for a minute, staring at the poster on the wall behind your head. his face is back to neutral. you think about snapping your fingers infront of his face to wake him up.

after a while he takes in a breath and says, “buns, actual buns.”

“you’re only saying that because it’s not jiung working on the song.”

he doesn't say anything but nods in agreement. there's a cheeky smirk on his face. "if that's the case, I'll just delete the song." you move the mouse to press erase before a hand catches you before you do.

"don't." he says, a mild glint in his eye as he pries your fingers from the mouse. he gently places your hand back in your lap while maintaining eye contact, moving the device to his side of the table.

"so it's not 'buns'?" you ask, the smirk back on your face.

he hesitates and then says, "no it's still ass, but why would I delete it just to start over, waste of time."

you laugh and go to answer but your phone vibrating catches you off guard. you use your face to open it to read the message;

멘토르 (mentor) come to floor 4 pls, we're ready for you :)

"uh oh," the chair beneath you slides backward as you stand up to collect your belonging. the bottle cap falls from your lap as you hand jongseob his headphones, "duty calls, i'll be gone for about an hour or two, if you need me, don't. I'll be busy."

he laughs, watching as you put on your shoes. you places a kiss on his head as you retreat for the door. you hear the clicking of a mouse and muffled music from behind you.

as soon as you reach for the door knob a voice calls out. "yeah?"

jongseob, hood pulled back so that you can see the bangs of his brown hair, his glasses that reflect the sparkle in his eyes, and the big smile on his face says, "I know I give you shit but thank you. you saved me a lot of trouble."

you smile back at your elder, a content look matching his own, "hey, anytime."

you close the door and head towards the elevator.

⎯if you want to be apart of my taglist let me know!

→ thank you for reading!

[vnards]

Bear!Price pt 6

Price made light conversation during the ride to his place. He tries to ignore that itch under his skin to touch you. But he keeps things polite. He’s stays gentle with you.

He pulls up to his den house and turns off the car. He hoped you like the place. We’ll change whatever you want. Price tried to breathe through his nose and keep his focus. He counted to three before he got out the car.

“I like your place.”

John put his hands in his pockets to distract himself from rumbling happily, “I’ve been fixing it up a bit since I’ve moved up here.”

You looked back at him and smiled, “It’s nice.” Price was fucked.

“We should start our lesson.” He saw you beginning to stretch and get your hair out of your face. He could of swore you were doing it on purpose, but he couldn’t call you out on it. So he tried to look as politely as possible.

John walked to the porch of the house and took his jacket off. He felt eyes on his back and he tried not to preen under your attention like he did a few days ago. But this time was different. This time his purpose is to teach you to fight. Just in case.

“First things first,” He walked back over to you, rolling up his sleeves, “If anything happens where you feel unsafe, you call me.”

Your forehead creased, “Call you?”

He gives a firm nod, “Absolutely.” You must have saw how serious he was about this; about your safety. You showed you understood, your playful manner dropped for the moment. “If you ever feeling in trouble, I’ll take care of you.” That was more of a promise than he could ever mean.

There was a moment between you, a silent acceptance.

Price smiled, content and pleased. You followed suit. “Now,” He changes the subject and steps back, preparing his stance, “Show me what you got.” He teased.

Your smile turned devilish and a spark of adrenaline shot through Price unexpectedly. His vision became focused and fully on you.

You ready your own stance, much different than his, but he’ll correct that later. He spots your hand, noting the way you are about to throw that punch, uneven and unsteady. You swing and he feigns easily. “You gotta try better than that, sweetheart.”

Your smile becomes devilish as you try again. This time, your punch was faster, held more weight behind it. “Good girl. Again” He doesn’t think as he praises you, but your cheeks still tinge with color.

The next time you throw a punch, you connect it with a combo. If Price hadn’t ducked, you may have landed your strike. I smile in triumph as you notice his delightful surprise.

“My girl’s got some bite to her, huh?” Price taunts, dropping his guard for you. “Give me what you got.”

You accept the challenge with stride, going for a left fake-out combined with a low right, aiming for the body. She knows how to attack. Price’s breathing gets heavier the more you force him to dodge. He can’t deny the burst of energy that burns through him. He notices his senses becoming clear and in-tuned to you. A quick glance down to his knuckles, lets him know he still has his usual fingers, furless. Good.

You take advantage of his distraction, almost catching him off guard as you go for a body shot. You were fast. Price was faster. He was able to grab your wrists and bring you closer, pinning your hands to his chest. You smelled so much better up close. “Cheeky, I see.”

You shrug as you tilt your head up to look at him. “I’m a fast learner.”

Price tries to keep his cool and lets go of you, letting you step away and reset. The space between you both lets him breathe fresh air for a second before you notice how you’ve affected him. “The one thing you’ll learn from me is to fix your stance.” When you look down, Price pushes your shoulder and you stumble. “Your center of gravity is off.” He places his hand on your side to keep you upright. “If you’re gonna attack you need to know your defense is strong.”

You nod, giving him your full attention. Those eyes had him trapped. But, he stepped back, trying to remember this lesson is for you, not him. He almost could see you deflate before he continued, “Get back in your stance.” You do as instructed.

John takes in your stance again, this time beginning to circle to evaluate. You feel like you’re on display, a predator sizing up their prey. Price notices the shift, “You can relax, deer.” And you listen beautifully.

Price is pleased when you become more confident in your stance. “Good girl.”

<-previous part

masterlist ->

[scekrex]

Hey I was wondering if you could do Adam x reader where reader is a sinner who literally just spawned in the middle of an extermination so not only are they panicked about one somehow being alive, two the fact that they're body is basically completely different, and three that weird winged people are killing others. Adam sees reader and after a second or two of thinking and deciding that yeah they're cute makes up his mind and helps them. I hope you have an amazing day/night!

Thanks for request hun! I swear it was great writing it bc it was tricky to keep Adam as character accurate while also making him sympathize with reader. Here ya go, hope you like it xoxo/p

I’ll shelter and adore you more than anything

pairing: Adam x male!reader

warnings: language, mentions of death, low-key canon typical violence

note: not beta read bc fuck you I don't have beta readers

First it had all been black for a moment, a silent void that your soul seemed to travel through. Then there was light, at first it had seemed reddish, then it turned gold, the golden light transitioned to white and then you found yourself standing on solid ground.

What?

You reached for your head, your hands roamed over your skull, there was soft hair there, no sticky red blood, so liquid that coated your hair and made it all greasy. There was also no sign of your skull being cracked open even though that was what had just happened before the world had faded and turned black.

Your eyes roamed over your surroundings and panic and anxiety fueled you alongside confusion on why you were still alive.

There were winged people, they were fighting other creatures, in the hair, on the ground, all around you. Your body screamed at you to run away, to go seek shelter somewhere, to not get killed again. Which was weird enough because you had just died so why the fuck were you here and where was here to begin with. But your body didn't move, it felt like you were glued to the spot, as if your feet had melted and were now one with the ground.

A thing you noticed quickly was that all of the winged people wore black and white only, their wings matched those colors. But there was one guy, way taller than the others, he wore a purple robe with white details and golden sleeves, his wings were also golden. You assumed he was their leader.

You wanted to hide, from him especially, because if you were right and he was their leader, you were easy prey for them. You didn't understand what was going on, nor did you know where you were. Your arms reached for your legs, you tried to move, to get out of their view, to make yourself as unnoticeable as physically possible. But your body still wasn't moving. So you stood there, body violently shaking from fear and panic, what would it be like to die a second time? Would it be just as painful? Would you come back yet again and live through it all again?

“Fucking run you stupid bastard,” someone yelled at you as they rushed past your frozen body. All you could do was to look at them. Then your legs gave out and you collapsed.

Curled up into a ball your body was still shaking, vibrating even, and you felt hot tears streaming down your cheeks. That's it, you were going to die again, maybe even more painful than before. But most importantly: this time you were going to die alone, no partner by your side.

In the corner of your eyes you saw a shadow that was casted over you, a gigantic shadow with wings that were spread out, the winged creature was basically shielding your body from the few of the other winged creatures.

You saw how he leaned in, how his face got closer to your body, a dead serious expression was meeting your unsteady one. Fuck, he was going to kill you, wasn't he?

His lange hand grabbed your shoulder roughly and forced you to lay on your back, he eyed your face carefully before greeting you with a relaxed, “Sup?” You were too stunned to speak. You had expected this creature to kill you, to tear you apart until all that's left of you were little shreds. But instead he greeted you with a simple ‘sup’? Your body tried to get away from his touch, everything inside of you screamed to get away from him, that he was bad news. But you stayed, mainly because his grip on you was painfully firm, but you stayed. “Y’know,” he continued as he raised an eyebrow at you, “It’s pretty fucking rude to not answer.”

A weak and quiet, “Hey,” was all you could get out and while clearly not the answer he had wanted - he made sure you knew that by sighing heavily - he picked you up bridal style. His golden wings were still spread, you supposed he held them up in pride, claiming you as his very own personal trophy. “Where are we going?” it was more of an instinct than actual knowledge you wanted, you were pretty sure you did not wanna know where the two of you were heading to. Most likely he was carrying you in your death. “Dunno, away from the fucking battle for now,” was his response as he walked away from said battle. Why was he being nice? Was he being nice or did he just carry you away to brutally murder you? But if that was his intention then why was he leaving the battlefield? Why not kill you then and there? “Why?” you simply asked, it was all that you could get out, you were too caught up in your thoughts to talk in proper sentences. He looked down at you and for a moment there was confusion written all over his face before he understood, a simple shrug was the answer. “You looked fucking lost,” the creature carrying you explained, “Fucking scared and alone.”

Adam sighed as he forced his eyes shut, you had reminded him of himself after Eve had left him. He was alone, scared even. And then he had crossed the pearly gates and the loneliness continued, he was less afraid but still as lonely, still as broken as he had been on earth. And while you had ended up in hell he couldn't just leave you there, not when you had been looking so much like him when he had died. Adam had died alone, no one should die alone. Especially not someone as gloriously holy looking as you. Because for a sinner, you looked too much like an angel. The wings were missing, obviously they were, no sinner would be reborn with angelic wings, but he could picture you with a pair and he hated himself for it. Because hell was forever and for the first time he didn't like the thought of that, because it included you. The first man didn't quite understand where the sympathy towards you came from, maybe it was just that he had seen himself in you, maybe it was because you seemed different than the others. Has God made a mistake? Adam shook his head, no. God makes no mistakes and neither do angels. But yet he questioned why you looked so holy, so angelic while being reborn a sinner.

The inner conflict Adam was fighting against himself was interrupted by two cannibals that were walking right towards you. Adam rolled his eyes, one hand let go of you and his wing came up to hold you up instead as he raised the hand that had been holding you only moments and a golden battle axe guitar appeared out of thin air. He twirled the shiny looking Instrumental weapon, then sliced their heads off smoothly, Adam's wing had covered your eyes so you weren't able to see it, but you heard it. Heard the blade slicing through flesh, heard their heads hitting the ground. And as surprisingly as the weapon had appeared, it was gone again.

One of the black and white dressed creatures flew towards you, seemingly targeting Adam. “Sir,” the female spoke with respect as she landed next to the guy that was carrying you. She eyed you, then looked at the tall man. “No fucking comment about it, Lute,” he warned with a low growl in his voice and the woman straightened her back with a nod, “We are done, we need to leave.” The masked man looked down at you, you looked so beautiful against his golden feathers, so holy, so untouchable. Yet you were a sinner and he couldn't bring a sinner with him to heaven. So he carefully let you down, the tip of his longest feather ghosted over your cheek, it wiped the tears away. “Promise me to stay fucking safe,” he mumbled as he stood in front of you. You looked up at him with curious eyes, “Where will you be going?” And it was just then and there that Adam realized that you knew nothing. Without him you would've died on the battlefield. “Heaven babes, me and those crazy bitches are going home,” he hummed and pointed to the woman next to him. “And we're currently in…?” Adam's face scrunched up and he bitterly spoke, “Hell.”

Oh. Oh.

So he was an angel? What did that make you? A demon? And yet he had protected you, shielded and saved you. Your eyes widened at that and the man in front of you chuckled. “If you ever see my ladies again,” he once again pointed to the woman next to him, “As for Adam, I'll let these cunts know about you babes ‘n’ they'll lead ya ass to me.” You repeated his name softly, deciding immediately that you liked the sound of it. “The one and only, it's not every day that you meet the fucking og dick,” a cocky grin was sent your way and it took you a moment to process his words. “The Adam? Like Adam and Eve?” That caused the first man's expression to sour immediately, Eve was seemingly a sensitive topic, you took a mental note. “Yeah. That one.”

Lute was once again the one to interrupt, “Sir we really need to go. The seraphims will question why we were gone longer than agreed.” Adam once again rolled his eyes and grabbed your shoulders again, more gentle this time, “Stay safe babes, we'll be back in six months.” And while you weren't entirely sure what he meant by that - because back for what? - you nodded.

[love-lilly02]

The Challenge- Ch. 7

An- hey. (drops random half edited chapter that’s probably the shortest one i’ve ever written) see ya🚶🏾‍♀️

A total of two months, three and a half weeks and six days. 

That was how long you had been MIA. Each time another day was added to that count, you grew more restless than before. You wanted to go home, to sleep in your bed, eat american food, damnit just to have a different color shirt to wear. 

And yet you were still stuck here. 

Each day started off the same. You would wake up at the ass crack of dawn, eat something akin to breakfast with Nikolai and wait to see if today was the day you were going back. Instead, he would silently place a knife on the table— some days it was different— and walk out of the room. The same routine, every day. for the past two months.

It was enough to drive any normal person insane. and it had almost driven you insane, definitely would have if you weren’t in the military. 

You had managed to work up the courage to ask why he didn’t immediately send you back one day, why he tolerated you staying with him for this long. 

“If i send you back they do things different. Look at you oddly, treat you weirder. Here you can rest, regain your skills.” He had said, not pausing to spare you a glance. 

“I take you back when you ready.”

according to him, you had not been ready in a long time. 

you never really gave up hope. Not actually, you knew logically at some point he had to bring you back to them. And going back on your own was a suicide mission, one even worse than the thing that had gotten you into this mess. So you waited. 

If it took five months or seven years, you would wait. 

Kate Laswell was a woman of action. 

She knew this for a fact, it had been thrown back into her face so many times she lost body parts to count it. Which is why your disappearance bothered her so much. You were a person of action as well, it’s what prompted her to introduce you to the 141. So then why had you been MIA for the past three months? The thought sat there constantly, turning even the best days sour. 

That, and what you were doing to the team.

It didn’t take a genius to figure it out, although you did have to look a bit harder to see the changes. Especially in people like Ghost and Price, whereas Kyle and Soap might as well have worn their emotions on their sleeves. She wished she could do something to help, to find where exactly you were. Or if you were alive, even. 

All given evidence suggested otherwise. 

She had replayed the shitty camera footage of your disappearance, watched it frame by frame, pixel by pixel. Mutiple times, and she couldn’t figure out how there could be a way for you to get out of there. It just wouldn’t have added up. 

But she didn’t give up there, of course she wouldn’t.

She kept searching, looking for any sign of you. As a civilian, one of the russian’s captives, anyone. anything could come into play, you were a smart girl and everyone knew it. 

Unfortunately, that also meant you could cover up your tracks well. 

It took another month for anything good to come up. And that something good came as salvation always does.

In the form of a call. 

John had made an attempt to push the situation out of his mind, to allow you to handle your own business. His thoughts screamed at him to be more active, to do something more, but there was literally nothing for it. 

Or so he thought. 

The call came in while he was walking out of a meeting, silently dreading the mound of paperwork he would now have to do. When he saw the caller ID he had to do a double take, and he rushed to answer the call. 

“Nik?”

“Captain. It’s been a while, no?”

“Damn right it has. Makes me scared.”

His old friend laughed, and Price could imagine the way he was shaking his head.

“Yes, yes. But i have gift—what? okay, okay sheesh. I have… surprise… for you.”

Price just stared. “Is there someone else there? What’s goin on Nik?” 

There was silence on the other end of the line, then a lot of rusting. 

“Um. Hey.” 

Price almost dropped the phone. 

The process of getting you back wasn’t as hard as they thought it would be, but it certainly took a very long time. 

In reality it took two weeks. But to them each day felt like a decade.  

The entire flight took 11 hours, and they weren’t allowed to meet you halfway (something about using military vehicles for non military purposes. all four boys thought that was absolute bull shit but they couldn’t do anything about it) So they did the next best thing. 

wait. 

And they waited. and waited. Each time a chopper landed on the helipad they were rushing to the window, seeing if it was you. It got to the point that they had someone constantly surveying that area of the base, just so they could be immediately notified. 

And finally, finally you were back. 

It was a whole ordeal, theatrics that even soap had to roll his eyes at. The moment you got off the plane you were swamped with people asking questions, doctors trying to assess how you were alive and unharmed, people just staring in awe. 

But you ignored them all, scanning the crowd with a panicked expression. It didn’t disappear till you saw the four of them, standing far, far away from the mob of people surrounding you. 

Nik walked out behind you, placing a steadying hand on your shoulder. The two of you made your way down the ramp to the group, and Price smiled for the first time in a long time when he saw you. 

“Welcome back, kid.”

this was gona be an akward chapter anyways, i had NO idea how to write the reader's return. I'll make it up to you guys next time, pinkie promise

My Masterist

[angelwhisp3rs]

⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ nuance

Pairing: DI!Leon x Fem!Reader

Summary: Always at eachothers throats, they just don't know they've been doing that in a lot of ways.

Tags: Smut; fluff; p in v; oral (m); i imagined reader being 23-25 and leon in his late thirties; breeding kink; brush play (shh its hot don't judge it); reader is called bunny; daddy kink; enemies to ???; leon is a perfect soft dom; clit spanking;

Notes: hehe older leon makes heart go brr; also: i changed the characters in the header, bc jasmine and alladin looked whitewashed (i always put a filter on the header to tone down the colors on the collage bc i always think they look like a hot mess unfiltered). I wanted to apologize and explain to clear any misunderstanding, and i'm sorry to have ever caused any doubts, i aim to make this a safe space for everyone!

Minors do not interact!

Whenever they went on the field, the rest of the agency always wondered how they came back alive, seeming as if they could, they would the other by their own hands, no need for bio-weapons. They were always bickering, Leon with his cocky ways, and her with her serious and diligent one.

No one ever understood how they worked, but their results never lied: a mission that usually took weeks, was successfully squashed in days; their cases solved higher than anyone else’s in the whole organization.

Everyone kept teasing Leon for working with a “human leash”, while the women teased her for not trying anything with him, since he was so ‘perfect and dreamy’ - their words, she would rather be dead than ever say that.

It always bothered him how she was too correct. Always with a bun in her hair, and her squared glasses, she hated whenever they didn’t follow her plans, believing that Leon definitely had a death wish, and was pulling her into a suicide mission every time.

In her case, it bothered her that he was a show-off, always doing way more than it was needed, just to prove how “awesome” and “skilled” he was. While fighting with an infected with chainsaws, instead of just walking back, he just did a fucking flip. Why?? He saved the president’s daughter, for fucks sake, there was no need to prove people that the was the goat. That encounter always made her seethe, since when he ended the battle, she only looked baffled at him as his cocky smirk never fell once from his stupid, and way too handsome face.

On the field and in life, they always had their differences, wondering everyone how they kept being scheduled together, but with the interesting thing that life is, they managed to find just one place where they could meet their interests.

'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵'•.¸♡ ♡¸.•'

“Just like that, bunny”, he grunted breathless, hips moving to meet her face, holding her hair in place.

Fucking her pretty throat as her eyes got teary, he felt how thigh and warm it always was, always begging to be fucked with his big cock. Her hair was down, her cheeks all blushy and she behaved beautifully on her knees, Leon sitting on his bed as he drilled into her sweet hole.

“Love fucking you like this. Always the perfect way to celebrate the end of our missions”

She whined in agreement, her face wet, as her spit coated his member and his heavy balls, since he hadn’t fucked his pretty toy in so long. She gagged and rolled her eyes back, loving being used as a fuck doll, seeing that hunk lose himself in pleasure as he used her smaller body.

“G’nna give my bunny her favorite meal”

He grunted out, cumming in her throat and making her swallow it all, watching as a line of spit connected her abused lips and the pink head of his fat cock. He had a relieved and proud smile as he panted, pulling her up to sit on his lap and pressing kisses to her overworked lips and sensitive neck.

“So proud, baby. Daddy's little throat sleeve, aren't you? Gonna reward you for being such a good little girl” 

He spread her legs as she sat on his lap, her hips squirming on his hold, making him hiss as she ground her perfect ass on his spent and sensitive member. At that, he slapped her right thigh, making her whine.

“Don't make me punish you, bunny. Daddy just wants to play properly with his toy”

“Too needy, daddy, ‘m sorry” 

Leon taking pity on her, managed to lock her legs apart with his strong ones, letting his fingertips travel through her soft skin.

“I know, baby girl. Bunny always needs her little cunt to be played with, and I've been neglecting you, hm? Don't worry, gonna reward you for being such a good doll for me”

With a slight and feathery touch, he caressed her thighs, moving up to the top of her mound, and descending to her wet and puffy cunt.

“Will you let me stretch and play with this hole, baby? Till you are too sore to close your legs?”

She whined in response, nodding eagerly.

“Yeah, it's gonna feel so nice, isn't it, bunny? Then, I'll use you some more since you are gonna display yourself so nicely for me”

As he said his filthy words, his teasing fingers began to softly touch her pussy up and down, just barely there. She was creamy for him as if he taught her pussy to get ready for his thick dick.

She tried inching her hips up, desperate for more friction, but he put his fingers away, slapping her clit. This made her keen and throb around the air, the pain feeling welcoming on her puffy, wet button.

“Fuck… I knew you were gonna enjoy that. Little sluts love to feel pain, right? And I just got the prettiest one to play with”

He spanked her cunt again, making her sob at the friction, her hunger heightening tenfold since it's been weeks since she felt any contact at all. 

“Daddy, please… need you to play with my pussy”

“Behave and I will then”

Taking pity on the girl, his fingers circled her clit with a little more pressure than the last time, his other hand scissoring her lips open to grant direct contact with her. She moaned and tried to keep her hips from moving, squirming just a little as his fingers brought her into delirium. 

“Good job, bunny. Let me use you, daddy's just gonna appreciate his bunny's little cunt.”

He stayed like this for minutes, till she creamed on his fingers, her thighs almost cramping from being spread like that. After she came, he massaged her legs, kissing her cheeks and jaw.

“That's it, baby, made me so proud. I know you are sensitive, but can daddy play with you some more?”

He asked as he pinched and rolled her erect nipples, making her clench again around nothing as she squirmed on top of him. She nodded, and he grabbed something from his nightstand that she couldn't see.

“Saw this on a video and almost came in my pants. Kept imagining myself playing with my baby like that as she made a mess”

He moved her to lay comfortably on the bed, letting her spread her legs again. He pressed an adoring kiss to her clit, making her moan. He chuckled, groaning at her taste on his lips.

“As much as I wanna eat this pussy, don't wanna overwhelm you. Later I will, angel” 

Then, he grabbed what he had hidden from her sight: a makeup brush. The bristles looked soft, with a round top. She looked at him curious and kinda unsure: is he seriously planning to fuck her with his thin thing?

He chuckled at her reaction. “Not gonna do what you think I will, doll. And I promised I washed it thoroughly before you came, I didn't want to harm you. Do you trust me?”

She nodded, and it was the truth. As she trusted him with her life on the field, she trusted him to heighten their pleasures to highs she had never felt. She was always pleasantly surprised whenever he planned something new, so she trusted him to make it good.

Sensing her newfound trust, he tentatively toyed with her clit as he brushed it gently, her hips twitching at the new feeling, not feeling bad at all.

“Good, bunny?”

“Yeah, daddy”

Glad with her approval, he kept “brushing” her cunt as if he was a painter making his new masterpiece. He always pressed the item firmer on her swollen little clit, watching as her slick gathered on the item and her entrance.

He grunted at her moans and the sight. The video was hot, sure, but seeing this in front of him made him want to go crazy and fuck his cock into the sheets like a fucking teen.

She was sensitive already from the spanks and his fingers, and now the soft bristles made her pleasure skyrocket. He began rolling and going back and forth with it, and she knew that she was done.

“D-daddy!”

“That's it, baby, cum again. Let daddy keep having his masterpiece”

She groaned and held tightly onto the pillow underneath her head, legs shaking but not daring to close as he played with her, her heartbeat quickening by the second.

Soon enough, she came hard, seeing stars. It wasn't a completely different feeling or a potent sex toy, but the novelty and thought behind it made it so hot that she swears that she almost passed out.

He kissed up her legs, letting her lay down on her side as she shivered in pleasure, moving behind her and hugging her.

“That good, bunny?”

“Y-yeah, fuck. Don't even know why” She giggled, her mind pushed deeply into that sweet and welcoming submissive place her job never allowed her to reach, but the asshole behind always granted her.

“It looked even hotter to see. Cock throbbed so much I thought I would cum untouched.”

“Maybe you are losing your hand, daddy”

“Says the shaking bunny from a mere brush”

She giggled, turning her head back and kissing him. Her gentle hands moved to his hair to let her fingers caress it as his strong and big hands push her more into him, trying to be patient but his cock screamed for attention.

“Daddy, want more” She begged between the kisses.

“So do I, bunny. Let my fat dick kiss your womb, baby” 

He raised her leg to his hips, allowing both to keep spooning as he gently slid his shaft in her, groaning at her wetness and warmth. He put his foot down on the bed to use as leverage, and as he held onto her flesh, he began thrusting.

The position was so intimate that it made his mind think things that he never had before. And honestly, it made his heart ache the same way it had done previously with Ada. Fuck, he didn't want to think about that now.

He fucked her harder to make him forget about it, which wasn't hard since that was the first opportunity he had, other than her great blow job, to properly blow his load inside his bunny's hole.

She held tightly onto his hand, the other one supporting her leg up too, as she screamed and drooled in pleasure, completely cock drunk. He groaned at his baby's situation and moved his hand to her abused clit to rub it again.

“Can't hold it, you were so hot, baby… gonna blow my load deep into that delicious” thrust, “wet” another thrust, “thigh” another one, “cunt” he thrust harder.

She was babbling nonsense, feeling the welcomed pressure on her lower tummy again, begging him to cum in her and breed his bunny. Her voice and pussy tightening around him made Leon feel like he was about to explode, so he kissed her roughly.

Both came together as they shared a kiss, her legs shaking as they felt him coating her gummy walls with his much-needed cum. He gently lowered her leg, staying inside her as he kissed her neck, tending to her gently to not make her drop.

Sex was always the best way to find a middle ground, after all. Maybe tomorrow they would be back at screaming in each other's faces, but with their voices just a little strained, since right now they only wanted to scream in pleasure.

[tgmsunmontue]

Get your motor runnin' - 4/6

Bradley, a bit of a (very talented) grease monkey and Jake, who has been sent to see him because he's apparently the best mechanic Maverick knows.

A longer fleshed out fic at the request of @poetryandpickles based on their idea in this post. Likely going to be 5-6 parts and likely an excuse for lots of smut. Just as an FYI.

ONE TWO THREE

PART FOUR

                He has no choice but to follow Bradshaw, naked, follows his lead in leaving his sodden briefs lying on the pebbled floor of the outdoor shower but grabs his jeans and t-shirt at least. He can go commando. Won’t be the first time, even if it’s not his first choice. Then Bradshaw hands Jake a towel from a cupboard right beside the front door; clearly showering outside is something he does regularly. There’s jerking off material he’s likely going to come back to. He’s just had a top-five handjob. He didn’t think he’d get more than a quick handjob, maybe a blowjob if he was lucky. Had been fully prepared to take Bradshaw out to dinner if he’d accepted the invitation at face value. He’s really fucking glad he didn’t, was capable of reading between the lines and just cutting to the quick and peeling everything back to exactly what Jake wanted.

                Needed.

                More than he even realized.

                He lets his attention shift from watching Bradshaw’s ass walking away from him to have a quick look around; curious. It’s a tiny home, or container home, made of maybe three or four containers placed and joined together in a U-shape. He’s seen adverts for them, but he’d never imagined them quite this size or quite filled with this number of amenities. It’s clearly only a few years old, but minimalism is clearly Bradshaw’s preference, very few personal touches that he can see and he wonders if the bedroom will be any different.

                He finishes drying himself and wraps the towel around his waist, wonders whether he should just pull his jeans back on. Then Bradshaw is back and handing him a pair of underwear, gesturing to where the bathroom must be. He does it with a little smirk, like he thinks Jake is cute for maybe being a little shy after they’ve just jerked each other off, towel wrapped around his waist to cover up rather than being simply years of ingrained habit. He meets the challenge in Bradshaw’s eyes with his own, show me what you’ve got, lets the towel drop and pulls on the underwear, followed by his jeans. If Bradshaw is going to walk around in only pants, then Jake will do the same.

                Bradshaw is clearly comfortable being naked, or near naked. He’s pulled on a pair of jean shorts, which should not be as attractive as they are, but they leave his back bare and he finally gets a good look at the highly detailed tattoo on his back, which is an F-14, mechanical detailing so accurate it must have taken hours under the needle. There is also the leg sleeve tattoo, which is a completely different style from his back. While his back was all shades of gray and black and heavy detailed, the leg sleeve was a veritable riot of color, reminding Jake of a meadow filled with wildflowers, done in a watercolor style, no less detailed but not a single hint of black ink except for what he thinks is a fuzzy bumblebee just above his knee.

                “Hmm. Nice.”

                The blatant admiration voiced aloud has him feeling suddenly self-conscious, like Bradshaw is deliberately trying to unnerve him and Jake forces himself to ignore it, instead smirks and looks back. Lets his gaze move slowly up Bradshaw’s body from his bare feet and ankles, pale and delicate looking, to well muscled and toned calves, one of which is covered in ink, thighs covered in denim, slim waist and flat stomach, tan lines where he’s clearly been wearing or not wearing a wide range of clothing while working in the sun. He’s got broad shoulders and strong looking arms, ones meant for moving heavy things around rather than meeting fitness tests and he feels a little thrill.

                “Mmm,” he hums back.

                “So. Food?” Bradshaw asks, pushing himself away from where he’d been lounging against the bench of his kitchen, clearly comfortable in allowing Jake to just look his fill.

                “I could eat…”

…            …            …

                Bradley is glad to have something to do, drags out preheating the oven, putting the pizza on the tray, can feel Jake watching him before he asks where the bathroom is. He directs him with a jerk of his chin and a just down there on the left, mindful that it’s the one opposite his bedroom. He’s going to have Jake in his bed soon enough hopefully, so no reason to get concerned about his privacy now. He pulls out a bottle of beer from the fridge and drinks half of it in one pull before he grabs his phone and distracts himself.

                Then Jake is back and it feels a little awkward, both of them standing there looking at each other, not sure what to say or do. He offers him a beer silently with a raised eyebrow, holding out his own bottle as in invitation. Jake takes it as one, plucking the bottle from his hand, closing his mouth around the lip of the bottle and then just drinking the rest of the bottle. Then he’s licking his lips, sliding the bottle onto the bench and stepping in even closer to Bradley’s body.

                “So, come here often?”

                Bradley huffs, but it’s cut short because Jake’s mouth is covering his, body pressing close; there’s definite heat and desire, but not the same sense of urgency. At least not yet. He feels warm fingers on his sides, dipping into his waist band, a knee trying to insert itself between his and he shifts to allow Jake even closer, so they can press together and he smiles into the kisses, lets his own hands travel over the naked skin of Jake’s back, grips an ass cheek and grinds them together. It feels good, not exactly gentle, but unhurried in the way it can be between one orgasm and the next. Both letting their arousal slowly build up, to brush against them like waves on a beach to then recede, then return. Bodies pressing together, drawing away, and then coming back together with more force.

                “Shame we have to wait for food…”

                “Going to need the energy,” Bradley murmurs against his neck.

                “Yeah? That a promise?”

                “Yep.”

                They do eat, but only two slices each, bodies and hands wandering as they eat, not bothering with plates, leaving the rest of it on the chopping board. He can clean up later. Tomorrow.

                “Bed?”

                “Yeah. I’ve waited long enough.”

…            …            …

                Jake pushes him back onto the bed, both flattered and encouraged when Bradshaw’s legs spread open to give him room. He shakes his head though, if he’s going to do this then he’s going to indulge in something he doesn’t often get the chance for, because he has a feeling he won’t be disappointed, if the strength in Bradshaw’s legs are any indication. He already did some basic prep with this in mind, unashamedly going through Bradshaw’s bathroom cupboards looking for lube and condoms, using what limited time he had. It’s enough to start with.

                “Oh? Okay then… Take what you need.”

                Bradshaw leans back into his pillows, hands behind his head but he jerks his chin toward his bedside table. The top drawer is filled with things, lots of things, and Jake wonders briefly who Bradshaw uses the nipple clamps on. Or if he uses them on himself when he’s jerking off. The idea of it makes his cock jerk and he ignores it as best he can, reaching for the things he definitely needs, along with a thin rolled up towel tucked along the side. Practical.

                “You want any help with that?” Bradshaw asks, as Jake presses his own lubed up fingers into himself. He bites his bottom lip an shakes his head, watches as Bradshaw strokes his own cock, his eyes very firmly on Jake and he likes the attention. Likes knowing what he’s doing is clearly getting Bradshaw going. “You sure. I’d be happy to help.”

                “No, no I’m good…” Jake manages to say, voice rough.

                “Yeah you are. You look very good…”

                Jake moans at the words, hips flexing against his own hand and he watches as Bradshaw reaches for the a condom and rolls it down, then slicks himself with lube, all without taking his eyes of Jake and he’s reminded that Bradshaw works with his hands. Is probably unfairly good with them, along with looking like an underwear or pinup model, covered in grease stains and half-dressed. He knee-walks up the bed, straddles Bradshaw’s waist and leans down to kiss him, lets their cocks rub together even if Bradshaw has preemptively gloved up.

                “In a hurry?”

                “Just being prepared…” Bradshaw says, but his words trail off with a groan as Jake grinds their cocks together harder.

                “Good. Not going to make you wait.”

                He lets the head of Bradshaw’s cock slide between his ass cheeks, feels how slick it is with lube and then grabs one of Bradshaw’s hands and guides it to his own cock to hold it still and then sets about lowering himself down. He has to push through the initial burn of discomfit, but he’s good at that now, pushing his body to its limits. This doesn’t come close to any of his limits, plus the payoff sometimes comes close to the sensation of being catapulted off a carrier. Sometimes.

                “Fuck,” Jake says on an exhale, forcing himself to relax further as he rocks back and forth and rotates his hips in tiny circles, eyes closed as he lets his body grow accustomed to the cock inside him, as he starts to enjoy the sensation and feeling after the fact it’s been a very long fucking time since he’s allowed himself to do this. Prolonged leave, in order to relax and recuperate. And get fucked if he wants it.

                “Going to ride me cowboy?” Bradshaw asks and Jake opens his eyes to find him looking up at him, like he’s calm and composed and not even put out that he tightly encased in Jake’s body.

                “You’re kind of an asshole.”

                “You kind of like it…”

                Jake hates that he’s right, but he doesn’t say anything, ignores Bradshaw’s knowing smirk that he knows he’s got Jake’s number. Instead he grinds down and around with a twist of his hips and this time Bradshaw lets out a groan of approval and yeah. Jake can work with that. Soon enough their bodies are slapping against each other, skin sweaty again and Jake is very glad to be alive right in this moment. His skin, his entire body, feels all lit up, nerves sparking with pleasure. Bradshaw’s fingers are digging into the flesh of his thighs and ass, shifting and moving Jake in counter-balance to Bradshaw’s own movements. His thighs are burning, muscles unused to this type of workout but he doesn’t care, can ignore and compartmentalize the discomfit easily enough. Then Bradshaw’s hand clamps around his cock, almost too tight and his whole body jerks and shudders at the sudden unexpected pressure. It’s not gentle, both of them too turned on now and he curses as he realizes that Bradshaw is now thrusting into him with driving precise jabs while his hand works on Jake’s cock, clearly intent now on making Jake come and he lets himself sag forward, hands resting on either side of Bradshaw’s head and then he’s coming coming coming.

…            …            …

                Jake wakes up in the dark, and it is dark. No streetlights or ambient light from anything, thick curtains blocking any potential moonlight. Bradshaw’s deep regular breathing telling him the other man is fast asleep. He doesn’t want to do the awkward morning after thing, doesn’t know what they’d say to each other, what they might have in common other that bodies that set the other on fire. Fuck it had been good though. He grabs his phone and uses the dimmed screen to find his clothes, dresses as quickly and silently as he can. It’s three in the morning, but he feels like he’s had a full eight hours of sleep. Amazing what orgasms do for him. He slips

…            …            …

                Bradley wakes up alone, holds his breath and listens closely. Wonders if maybe Jake is in the bathroom or kitchen. His house isn’t big enough for him to be out of earshot, and he doesn’t get the sense that he’s here. Okay then, that’s fine and pretty much what he expected, even if it still sends little spikes of disappointment into his gut. He gets up and starts his day, deciding to finish up the work on the van he’d done in between doing work on Jake’s Camry yesterday. He tidies up the remnants of pizza, and when he steps outside he spies them, lying crumpled and damp on the smooth stones of the outdoor shower are both his and Jake’s underwear and he huffs out a breath, and goes to put a load of washing on.

FIVE

[freesia-writes]

Ch 18: Beach Date

~ Master List ~ Previous Chapter ~ WC: 1.6k

Fanart by @amalthiaph!!

The increasingly warm weather on the island of Xylo was a welcome reprieve from a particularly blustery winter, allowing the locals to venture forth from their cozy dwellings to enjoy the outdoors more. The Town Square was more active with events, the beach became increasingly dotted with people looking to enjoy the waves and sun, and the Tiki Bar was back to its usual bustle, including dejarik tournaments and the weekly karaoke night. Hunter was back to tying his hair up in a bun, utilizing a bandana out of either nostalgia or habit, and it was somewhat of a relief for him to don one of his looser tunic shirts and some blue shorts after being under the heavy butcher apron for a few hours. 

He’d led Lyra down the steps to a long stretch of beach, carrying a bigger backpack than usual and making some sporadic conversation as they walked. She had unintentionally matched his outfit, partly at least, with a loose beige long-sleeved shirt and an olive green skirt that brushed her ankles. Her brown hair was left down, holding that slight bit of wave as always, and she’d switched to sandals from her usual boots. She watched quietly as he pulled a thin blanket out from the backpack and laid it across the sand, gesturing for her to sit. When he continued to produce more snacks, drinks, and treats than she thought his bag could hold, she couldn’t resist a sheepish admission.

“I should have asked you what I could bring…”

“Nope,” he said, finishing his spread. “You did all the dinner stuff. Now it’s my turn.”

“Oh, is that how this works?” she smiled. “Well then I’ll have to start planning something good.”

Hunter was silent, trying to simply be present and enjoy the moment but unable to rid himself of the nagging questions in the back of his mind from their earlier conversation with Wrecker. They settled into snacking and light chatter, observing the people walking by and occasionally laughing at a raucous outburst from the tiki bar down the beach. The sun was sinking low in the sky, painting everything with beautiful peach tones, and the sea birds floated on the breeze, hovering above the people below with sharp eyes for any food left unattended. 

Their conversation was halting, with something unidentifiable beneath the surface, and Lyra’s body language was growing increasingly awkward. Once the snacks were thoroughly decimated and the drinks turned into empty bottles, Hunter shoved everything back in the bag except the blanket they were sitting on, and he leaned back on his hands, shaking bangs out of his face as he stared into the distance. Lyra was sitting cross-legged, idly sifting the tiny grains of sand between her fingers just off the edge of the blanket, and they fell silent for a while, each full of thoughts that they didn’t know how to share. 

“I haven’t seen a sunset like this in a while,” Lyra offered after a few minutes. 

“Yeah,” he agreed, lifting his head a bit to enjoy the slow fade of colors across the sky. “They’re different throughout the seasons here, it seems.”

“Part of the charm.”

“Mhm.”

More silence.

“Where did you get the chocolate-covered fruit? I haven’t been able to find that for ages…” she tried again.

“Omega brought it back from the agricultural island. I’m not usually much of a sweets person, I guess.”

“Whaaaaat!”

“I know... No idea why not.”

“Well we all have our flaws.”

“Heh.”

More silence. 

Lyra shifted, leaning to her side to prop herself up on a hand, and accidentally laid her fingers over the back of Hunter’s where they rested on the blanket behind her. She sat up again quickly, pulling her hand back and mumbling an apology, which seemed to make him further retreat into himself. The sound of a particularly boisterous karaoke singer reached their ears, drawing a little snicker from each and goading her into action. 

“Okay… What’s wrong?” Lyra finally said, turning to face him head-on. 

“What?” he said, his attempt at cluelessness falling wildly flat. 

“This all feels totally different. Awkward. Distant. I don’t know… I’m sorry to bring it up, but… Did I do something?”

“Um…” he paused, surprised at her willingness to point it out so directly. “No, I mean… Well, yeah. Okay.” He took a deep breath, noticing her anticipation growing along with the concern on her face, but when he met her gaze, there was an immediate softening that triggered a flutter in his chest. “Earlier… in town… with Wrecker. You seemed really quick to say we were just friends. I feel that way too. But… agh.” He faltered, rubbing his face in his hands before dropping them to regard her again. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Oh,” she said softly, seeming on the verge of something. “I’m sorry…” Her tendency to apologize was sometimes irksome, and he felt a mild chagrin that he quickly assumed had nothing to do with his own fumbling for words.

“No, it’s not… It’s fine, it’s just… I don’t know. I don’t know what… this…” he gestured between them, “...is. I didn’t think this would ever be part of my life, to be honest.”

“This?” Lyra asked, swallowing hard with undeniable anxiety.. 

“Yeah,” Hunter said with a self-conscious chuckle at his own complete and total befuddlement. “I don’t know how nat– naturally this thing goes… I just… I like being with you.” The increasing sheepishness of his confession was both adorable and enlightening, and her eyes widened for a second before a look of happy disbelief flickered across her face. 

“I… Wow. Um… Hunter…” Again, the unfathomable softness in the way she said his name was a soothing caress to his ears. “I freaking love being around you. Every time we see each other again, I feel lucky beyond belief. I just didn’t assume you had any interest beyond casually spending time together, because… well why would someone like you… Ah, nevermind. I just didn’t think anyone would see me that way, so I was just trying to enjoy any time we did spend together.”

He processed her words, a slow smile creeping across his face. “Why wouldn’t anyone see you that way?” 

“Why would they?” she chuckled, tilting her head down and allowing some hair to fall across her face. “I’m old, I’m boring, I’m a coward… What do I have to offer?” Hunter opened his mouth to respond but she continued. “I guess I just feel like those days are behind me.”

“Maker above, Lyra,” he laughed, his chest swelling with affection. “You talk as if you’ve got one foot in the grave. What does that make me, then? Elderly and senile?” 

She shook her head, and he heard a little snicker from beneath her curtain of bangs. “You’re amazing,” she whispered, letting out a breath that made her shoulders slump a bit as she fell silent. 

“Hey,” Hunter said, his voice smooth yet the tiniest bit shaky. He shifted a little closer, leaning down to try to see behind her hair. A silent, steadying inhale gave him a momentary relief from the quivers in his stomach, and he lifted a hand to her face, deftly brushing her brown locks away from her eyes and tucking them behind her ear with feather-light apprehension. His lips twitched as her pulse increased and her face radiated warmth. 

She slowly lifted her head, meeting his gaze with a sweet vulnerability that made his heart swell in his chest. He almost forgot his words as he closed his mouth, which was suddenly going dry, and tenderly caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. She tilted her head into his touch, closing her eyes for a long moment before opening them with a blissful smile. 

“I don’t know what we’re doing,” Hunter whispered, cupping her face as though he were unable to pull away. “But I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. And I want to keep enjoying it. As long as you’ll have me, and whatever it looks like.”

“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” she murmured, moving forward to sit between his legs. “But that sounds lovely.” She sighed, moving as though to hug him but stopping, unsure, at the last moment. He similarly tried to scoot around her but faltered with a chuckle. “Man, we’re really good at this,” she remarked, earning a huff from him as he came to a rest behind her. 

“We’ll figure it out,” Hunter said calmly, offering himself as a backrest as she gently leaned into him, tucking perfectly into the curve of his chest. “Our own way,” he added, haltingly reaching an arm around the front of her shoulders to wrap snugly against her and provide the most comforting hug they’d yet shared. The breeze picked up a little, but it had no effect on the warmth between the two of them as they nestled further into one another. 

The sky faded to blue, the first brave stars peeking through the velvet curtain above, and the party at the tiki bar was going strong. There were still some people enjoying the beach here and there, but the whole world felt different somehow. Hunter took a deep breath, savoring the salt in the wind and the scents of evening cooking, and gave Lyra’s shoulder a little squeeze with a hand, feeling a heavy, pleasant contentment that in this moment, everything was perfect. 

* * * 

At the tiki bar, the back curtain flapped quietly as the small figure snuck out for a quick break. Luciana tilted her head, scanning the beach and zeroing on Hunter’s form wrapped tenderly around Lyra’s. A small smile curved at the corner of her lips, and with a slow stretch of the arms and back, she returned to the counter for the next set of orders.

.

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[stagefoureddiediaz]

are buck and eddie wearing similar outfits in different colors like hello?

Hey Nonnie

I mean I guess - kind of!

we can't see Bucks trousers so it's hard to pass full judgement, but the sweater buck is wearing is made from a fairly heavy navy jersey and has cuffs at the wrists. Eddies is a knit lightweight sweater with raw edges and ribbing on the armscye (the shoulder - where the sleeve meets the body of the item for those who don't know!)

so they are similar but not really enough to draw more from it other than the fact that they're both wearing full sleeves while Tommy likely isn't (we don't know for sure until we see the scene - as Buck has changes out of the white hoodie from the other stills!) and that is all about creating visual connections and differences between the characters!

What we should be focusing on is the blue/green of it all - and especially the fact that there is something interesting happening with the green - because its a very yellow shade of green (it sits closer to yellow than it does to blue on the colour spectrum) and the light hitting it across Eddies back is making it look even more yellow and even golden! its really a very exciting thing and I cannot wait to see how the scene plays out because its clearly going to be a key one!

[honeysuckletoast]

Here's a brief description of everyone in the academy loop with Alma peregrine when she was a teen. This is how I imagine they look in my Academy fic.

Esmerelda Avocet 

Bird: pied Avocet

Age: late 40’s 

Nicknames:  Esme (most of the Ymbrynes who are older than her and Miss Bunting.) 

Nationality:  English, French 

 Eye color:  smooth vanilla toffee brown with gold flecks. 

Hair color: silvering black (earning her gray hair from jack) 

Hair type: wavy

Hair length:   mid back 

Build: bigger boned but lean. Agile 

Body shape:  hourglass figure. 

Weight: 138.5 pounds. 

Height:   5’7 

Skin color: ivory 

Distinguishing marks: none

Glasses:  yes. gold framed ones that have been fixed in the center twice. 

Scars:  has a bad shoulder scar that not even Miss Bunting knows where she got it. She won't tell anyone. 

Common colors worn:  black, gray, white, dusty rose occasionally. 

Daily outfit: shift, a stay (prefers this to a corset) petticoat underlayer, a black simple skirt with a white  lacy collared slightly puffed long sleeve shirt. Or a dusty pink wrap dress on Sundays. Black  boots with grey stockings,  and a  black cloak when she leaves the loop. Prefers simple clothing. Has a ring on a chain and wears it as a necklace under her clothing. No one knows where she got it or what it's for, not even miss bunting.

Amelia Bunting 

Bird: painted bunting

Age: mid 40’s 

Nicknames:  Lia (miss Avocet) 

Nationality: African American 

 Eye color: spring leaf green 

Hair color: shiny black

Hair type: kinky curls 

Hair length:  when braided would be about mid back. 

Build:  feisty string bean.

Body shape:  rectangle. 

Weight: 112.4 pounds 

Height:   5’3

Skin color: warm brown 

Distinguishing marks:  none

Glasses:  none 

Scars:  has an odd twisted scar on her ankle from walking into a tripwire/ fishing line as a teenager. Few scars from fights with townspeople.

Common colors worn: green, brown, white, mostly brighter colors.

Daily outfit: shift, a stay, petticoat underlayer,  light green and white blouse, a long light green skirt that has flowers of all different sizes embroidered on it. When teaching embroidery and sewing she has each girl embroider a flower onto her skirt as a test, and so her skirt is covered in them from each girl who came and gone through training. Brown boots but prefers going barefoot. Yellow stockings. Her hair in a bun with a green flower  pin 

Other: 

Roisin Gannet

Bird: Northern Gannet

Age: 17 years old. 

Nationality:  Irish 

Eye color: Pale cornflower blue 

Hair color: red 

Hair type: very kinky curly 

Hair length:  to her butt. 

Build: strong build. Very muscular 

Body shape:  hourglass figure 

Weight: 210 pounds 

Height: 6’4

Skin color: very pale white. 

Distinguishing marks:  Freckles, all over her body. Stretch marks.

Glasses: occasionally has used them after long sessions diving (gannets dive head first at ridiculous speeds, trauma to your eyes is snazzy) 

Scars:  has quite a few scars from her brawls, most under her clothing 

Common colors worn: green, blue, browns, greys and creams

Daily outfit: cream colored blue with either a dark green or pale blue skirt.  Corset and shift, Stockings  Black lace up boots and a clover brass pin for her hair to be pulled back.

Other:  has a  baby face, despises it. On the heavier side. 

Enid Finch 

Bird: American Goldfinch

Age: 17 

Nicknames: honeybun (her aunt) 

Nationality: American, English 

 Eye color:  moonlight blue 

Hair color:  light honey blonde. 

Hair type: slightly wavy 

Hair length:  mid back

Build: proportionate build, shaped like a agile dancer. 

Body shape:  triangle 

Weight: 140 pounds 

Height:  5’7

Skin color:   porcelain white skin. 

Distinguishing marks:  stretch marks on only her right thigh, that's it. 

Glasses:  none. 

Scars:  has scars from falling out of trees as a child. 

Common colors worn:  dark red, dark blue, dark green tan dark burgundy 

Daily outfit:  shift, corset and petticoat layer white long sleeve shirt with  red rose accents on the cuffed sleeves.  (Her aunt taught her how to embroider the roses.   Dark red skirt  with black boots with a slightly larger heel than usual for stability. A necklace with a rose on it (family last name is Rosee) from her aunt that also has her father and mothers wedding rings on them. Also had a metal hairpin to put her up into an upsweep

Other:  her aunt is very picky about buttons and looking clean, Enid carries the same  ideas. Her aunt wouldn't let her makeup, but occasionally wore  red lipstick, but stopped once Jack started rumors she was hooking up with random men in town. 

Myron Bentham 

Age:16.5 

Nicknames:  none

Nationality: English 

 Eye color: sandy brown 

Hair color: toffee brown.

Hair type: slightly curly. 

Hair length: Short and styled properly.

Build:  average looking teenager not really muscular that you can see but is a bit strong. 

Body shape:  rectangular. 

Weight: 165 pounds 

Height:   5’10

Skin color: also milky white. 

Distinguishing marks:  none 

Glasses:   has a pair of readers he only wears occasionally 

Scars:  a few from Jack that he doesn't care about, later down the line, one from Cathrine Glassbill he can't stand to look at. He keeps it wrapped up no matter what so he isn't reminded of her. 

Common colors worn: black, grey, white, burgundy

Daily outfit: dressy outfit, a white button up collared shirt always steamed and pressed out nicely. Black pants and a necktie occasionally. Sometimes wears a gray overcoat, mostly outside the loop.  Black leather boots and a brown satchel that he carries a lot of books in, mainly the ones he's reading and then one or two of Catherine's so they can read together in the afternoons. 

Other: 

Cathrine Glassbill

Bird: Barn swallow 

Age: 16 

Nicknames:  Cathy (everyone) Cat (Myron) 

Nationality: Austrian Hungarian

 Eye color:  dark oak brown

Hair color: dark dark brown, nearly black. 

Hair type:  straight 

Hair length:  surprisingly long. Down to her lower back if not braided 

Build:  muscular, mannish

Body shape: pear shape 

Weight: 145 pounds. 

Height:  5’9

Skin color: warm ivory 

Distinguishing marks:  none

Glasses:  none 

Scars:  hand scars from burning herself while cooking.

Common colors worn: dark red, brown, occasionally pink, dark green dark blue. 

Daily outfit: shift, sometimes a corset but prefers a stay to a corset. Light tan wrap dress with brown leaves. Typically has her dark red shawl on her and a brown apron. Dark brown horse riding boots. A necklace Myron gave her as a Christmas gift that has a cat pennant  he made himself (and was very proud of)  hair always braided in one or two braids. 

Other:  mannish looking and flat faced.  Always has her hair in braids, one day she decided to wear it down and everyone thought she was sick or hurt  and couldn't do her hair sense she had never left it down ever. She  never really unbraided it again in fear of causing chaos. 

Jack has taunted her about being so stoic and mannish, but she just kinda stares, nods, and goes back to whatever she's doing. Miss Avocet is still trying to get her to teach Roisin  this strategy.  

Eleanor- Grace Nightjar 

Bird great eared Nightjar (yes, the little dragon looking Nightjar)

Age: 15

Nicknames:  grace (she prefers  her middle name grace over her first name Eleanor.)   Leni (Millie, short for her first name, because when learned grace wasn't her first name she was fascinated. 

Nationality: Scottish, English, French. 

Eye color: pale gray, look blue when you first look at them though. Don't worry, while she's talking to you she will stare into your soul through your eyes unnervingly and you can see the gray hue.

Hair color: dark silvery black 

Hair type: wavy.

Hair length:  to her butt. 

Build: slightly stronger, but thin build 

Body shape: hourglass, leaning more towards pear. 

Weight: 102 pounds. 

Height:  5’6

Skin color: unnaturally pale. Like a sickly pale color

Distinguishing marks: very few freckles. 

Glasses:  needs them, won't wear them. 

Scars:  has multiple scars from picking, has a really bad habit of picking her scabs when she gets nervous. 

Common colors worn: dark grey, black,  dusty dark purple, burgundy occasionally. 

Daily outfit: shift, corset, her petticoat underlayer, dusty violet wrap dress. Black lace up boots  and her security cloak that's dark gray.  A flower hairpin Millie gave her, and a silver necklace from her late brother.  Wears her hair in a tight bun with two pieces framing her face. 

Other:  she sees better in the darkness. At night she's agile  and graceful, in the daylight she's clumsy. Miss Avocet is still trying to find suitable sunglasses for her. 

Jack/Caul 

Bird: Peregrine Falcon 

Age:15

Nicknames:  would probably smack you upside the head for giving him one.    Prick- (Roisin Gannet) 

Nationality: english

 Eye color:  coffee brown 

Hair color: shiny black

Hair type: wavy, fluffy

Hair length:  kept nearly trimmed and styled. 

Build:  pretty lanky, average guy 

Body shape: rectangle. 

Weight: 96 pounds (female pergeines are normally always bigger than male peregrines. This irritates jack to no end as he fears she will be taller than him.)

Height:  5’5 

Skin color: milky white 

Distinguishing marks: slightly crooked nose.

Glasses:  yes, they are gold framed and as he describes them “more elegant than you will all ever be”

Scars:  has multiple scars from him and Roe fighting, and a few from fighting with hawks. Buddy gets a sick kick out for starting fights with nesting hawks and falcons outside the loop. 

Common colors worn:  browns, white, occasionally red. 

Daily outfit: brown trousers with a tan button up shirt. Brown boots and cotton (have to be cotton) socks.  Occasionally a waistcoat that matches his trousers. His hair is styled into a backwards sweep, but never stays down and becomes wavy/fluffier by the end of the day. Usually wears his glasses. He also would never admit it, but kept and still wears a tiny brass pocket watch Alma brought him when she was really young. She stole it from her father when they were thrown out, and even if he depsies her, he keeps it as a reminder of what he deemed “the long gone days when life was still alright.” 

Other: 

Millicent Thrush

Bird: Song thrush 

Age: 14

Nicknames: Millie (everyone) Soleil (Grace) 

Nationality: Dutch, french. Bit of English mixed in 

Eye color: mocha brown 

Hair color: sunflower blonde 

Hair type: loose waves/curls 

Hair length:  mid back. 

Build:  slim, mousy 

Body shape: rectangle 

Weight: 117.5 pounds 

Height: 5’4 and half, that's very important to her that you don't forget the half. 

Skin color: ivory colored skin 

Distinguishing marks: n/a Literally perfect skin, never gets acne and no scars. 

Glasses: n/a

Scars: small burn scar on her forearm from bumping into the wood burning stove. 

Common colors worn: light pastel pink, yellows, sky blues 

Daily outfit: shift, corset,  petticoat underlayer, light  light yellow floral dotted skirt and a white blouse.  Brown short boots and thin stockings. Doesn't like jewelry, but wears a  really simple necklace Grace got her. Her hair is normally tied into a loose low ponytail.

Other: her teeth are slightly crooked but she doesn't care. Her smile is still contagious. Grace calls her Soleil occasionally since it means sunshine in French and Millie is french. 

Alice Treecreeper 

Bird Eurasian Treecreeper 

Age: 13 

Nicknames: won't respond to them 

Nationality: English 

Eye color: amber brown 

Hair color:  carmel brown 

Hair type: straight 

Hair length: just past her shoulder blades. 

Build: thin like a string bean 

Body shape: triangular. 

Weight:  97 pounds. 

Height: 5’2 

Skin color: light sandy color, very slight tan. 

Distinguishing marks:  small bridge of freckles on her nose. Occasional acne that irritates her. 

Glasses:  yes. Can't see in the distance without them. They are golden framed. 

Scars:  only a few acne scars on her face. and a birthmark on her hip bone, just a dark brown patch 

Common colors worn:  light brown and cream. Dark orange/ rust. 

Daily outfit:  shift corset, (no petticoat to fluff her skirt up) long rust colored wrap dress with brown accents. Always has her bag with her journal and the book she's studying (typically medical knowledge and enjoys romance novels but wouldn't ever tell anyone that)  brown loafers  and thigh high brown stockings. Typically always has her brown cloak while leaving the loop. Wears her hair simply down or in a low bun. 

Other: very introverted, but can and does enjoy her sisters. Better listener.   Wants  to be a doctor. 

Isabelle cuckoo 

Bird Common cuckoo

Age: 12.5

Nicknames: belle  (everyone) isa (Alma) Izzy (Alma rarely) 

Nationality: french 

 Eye color: warm brown 

Hair color: dark brown (she dyed it silver later) 

Hair type: she burns it straight, she loves the look of it straight 

Hair length:  nearly trimmed at her shoulders. 

Build:  lanky 

Body shape:  triangle. 

Weight: 116.5 pounds. 

Height:   5’6

Skin color:  cool brown 

Distinguishing marks:  has a birthmark on her ankle, looks like a lopsided heart 

Glasses: none but in the future she will be rocking sunglasses. 

Scars: none. Her mother chastised her early on for picking and making scars so she consciously avoids it now. 

Common colors worn: she wears every color of the rainbow, but mainly she loves  blues and purples, indigo being her favorite shade. Reds,  greens, anything but brown. She doesn't like the lack of life in brown. 

Daily outfit: shift, corset, an extra fluffy petticoat, dark red skirt with a silky creamy tan colored top that has red accents. Brown lace up boots with a sizeable heel and her hair either braided or pulled into a bun. She occasionally wears it down. Red stockings and a silver feather pendant necklace Alma gave her for her birthday. 

Other: 

Alma Lefay peregrine 

Bird: Peregrine Falcon. 

Age: 12 

Nicknames:  Al (everyone) 

Nationality: English

 Eye color:  forest dark green 

Hair color:  raven black

Hair type:  wavy 

Hair length:  butt length 

Build:  petite tiny little thing 

Body shape: hourglass 

Weight: 105 pounds 

Height:   5’1

Skin color:  pale porcelain 

Distinguishing marks: freckles on her nose in the summertime, they fade during winter. 

Glasses: yes, silver framed ones Miss Avocet gave her. They used to be Miss Avocet when she was a child. Alma kept them in perfect shape until jack caught wind of where they came from and how important they were to Alma, and smashed them with a book in front of her. Miss Avocet got them repaired by a peculiar craftsman and was able to put new (better) lenses in them and gave them to Alma as a birthday gift. She cherishes them. 

Scars:  multiple scars from Jack and Myron's torment and scars from a fight she got into with another falcon when she got too close to her nest one day.  

Common colors worn:  blue (dark and light) red in the wintertime, blacks and creams 

Daily outfit: shift, a looser fitting corset (doesn't like the constriction)  petticoat underlayer, dark blue day skirt with a white or cream colored long sleeve shirt with a ruffle collar. Her silver glasses and her hair braided  into a bun with two pieces framing her face. A feather hairpin that Isabelle made with one of Alma's molted feathers for her. Long dark blue stockings and black boots with no heel.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

If you don't mind yandere Vito alphabet please 🙏

A/N: This isn’t the full Alphabet but here’s a little teaser. Doing the full Alphabet in one go is difficult but if there’s a specific one you want let me know😭😭

Warnings: toxic and abusive behavior

Requests: open 24/7

Masterlist

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Every single person from the mafia Trilogy is willing to get their hands dirty. This is absolutely ridiculous to even consider.

Like if Vito killed for not only his country but for some random dude named Falcone, don’t you think he’d kill for you? His precious heart. I think he’d be more brutal than the rest tho….our soldier boy definitely knows a gnarly way to take someone out.

He refuses to do this in front of you though. He doesn’t believe a pretty lady like you should ever taint your eyes with seeing him slit that dude’s throat. That’s for him to handle downtown while you stay all cozy locked away in his apartment.

Probably will beat up a guy in front of you though but first he’d tell you to close your eyes or to go get in the car.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

I don’t think Vito wants children and all that yip yap like the Salieri men want.

Marriage is on the table tho.

Ultimately he wants to play the game a little longer so he’ll have more than enough money to take you out of Empire Bay and give you a better life. He wants a beautiful home in someplace nice quiet where there’s no chance of running into another mobster.

He’s going to give you everything that he couldn’t give to his mother before her passing. You’re going to have a beautiful life, even if you don’t actually want it with him. You have no choice. Vito hand picked you to be his companion. You should be grateful

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He definitely does get very jealous, it’s just not always easy to tell. He keeps the same resting bitch face at every occasion, so is he actually upset or is there no thought happening?

There are thoughts and it’s about which way he should dispose of the body.

I’d argue and say he gets more up in arms about you looking at someone or interacting with another man than the reverse happening. You’re attractive and he knows men look at you, doesn’t mean he’s okay with it but for you to look sends him in a spiral. Yeah it doesn’t matter that you just glanced in his general direction and you weren’t even looking at him….he’s pissed.

“Aye! What the fuck are you looking at, princess? Huh? You think he’s cute or something? Well let me tell you a cute little secret, you’ll be cleaning his blood off of my shoes tonight.”

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

Not exactly? He is Vito no matter what but maybe with you his heart is worn on his sleeves a little bit more? Like he grew up around a mama's boy he undeniably has a soft spot for the women he loves. You can get away with a hell of a lot.

More than most can with him. Your snarky comments and fighting doesn’t phase him. Neither does your immature and other kinds of behavior.

He still wants to spoil and take care of you the best way he possibly can. He especially loves physical contact with you. The times when you’ve yourself worn down enough to curl into his chest are his favorite times.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

He’s actually incredibly patient with you. Vito is rather patient in general, well compared to how he could be. His emotions are usually kept well under wraps and he does fair with stressful situations. This was something learned from being in the military. When you have other men's lives on the line, you learn to keep it light.

There are sometimes where this patience wavers and it’s usually during the times when you’re being incredibly difficult.

Having another meltdown after trying to escape for the fourth time this week. This man is becoming increasingly more frustrated and he couldn’t help but to snap at you.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Hell naw! That man don’t give a single fuck.

Why would he? He’s delusional about this entire situation, there is no rational thought happening!!!

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

The screaming and crying he expected. That’s all his sister did growing up lol. Jk.

The isolation tho,,,that would get to him. When he comes home from a long day, ideally he wants to be greeted with open arms and loving words. Not to be searching the house, only find you curled up in the closet.

This shatters his delusion for the moment and Vito absolutely hates it. Seeing you waste away in this isolation kills him. He has to literally drag you out and force you to do basic tasks. Why can’t you just love him like he loves you??? You can’t even just pretend? Why is this so hard for you?

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling?

He thinks of you like this pure little angel who could do no wrong. You’re absolutely innocent to him, even when you’re guilty.

You could spit on the mayor and he’d defend you to hell and back.

Very old fashioned in his thinking where he doesn’t believe women should do or be around certain things. He keeps his business very private, doesn’t share anything about the military unless it’s a lighthearted story, doesn’t kill or be overly violent in front of you.

He also even tries to not curse or smoke so much in front of you too but…he can’t help it.

With this said tho, Vito has limits and he will flip if you ever cross a line. He has some unspoken rules for your “relationship” and it can get rather complicated if you break them.