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twola · 8 months

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if you're still open to requests, HH!Arthur forced to endure the classic "only one bed" trope with a petite, bookish F!reader? still an outlaw but much more suited for infiltration than shootouts and analyzing difficult paperwork. maybe spectacles even, go wild with the idea!! love your other works ❤️

Accounting and Other Arts

Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

You're not one for gunshots or drunken brawling, as Arthur learns one night in Saint Denis.

taglist: @pinkiemme, @redwritr, @mykneeshurt, @bimbo-dollz, @cowboydisaster, @mrsarthurmorgan7,

Saint Denis reeks. The whole damned city. It either smells of horse shit and rotting garbage or of obnoxiously over-perfumed rich men and women traipsing about thinking that they are above the common folk.

The mare beneath him grunts as the dirt road turns to cobblestone, a high whinny as her hooves clack on the road. Arthur clicks his tongue to calm her down. Upon reaching an alleyway to the west of the market, he slides down from the saddle, grabbing his horse’s reins and tying them to a wrought-iron hitching post. He pats her mane gently as he eyes the alleyway. Stepping toward it, he strides past men and women heading to market, finding a quiet, shadowed spot and leaning against the brick wall of the alley.

“You’re late.”

Arthur snorts, pulling a cigarette from his satchel, and strikes a match against the arched brickwork in the alley. Lighting it, he eyes you from under the rim of his black hat.

Your arms are crossed over your chest, and you glare from the golden rims of your spectacles at him. Clad in a dark velvet vest over a maroon blouse, your matching skirt swishes as you stalk angrily in his direction.

“My apologies, ma’am.”

You scowl as you approach, looking up the alley past where Arthur leans against the wall.

“Y’get what you need?” He rumbles as he takes the cigarette from his lips, letting a plume of smoke float into the air.

You nod, pulling off your spectacles and tucking them into the breast pocket of your vest. “Tomorrow morning - the money’s going to be moved from the poker room back to one of Bronte’s safehouses. Be there a half hour before a half hour before six. Only supposed to be two men there.”

Arthur takes the cigarette from his lips and blows smoke to the side. “How much is the take?”

“If my calculations are correct, twenty-three hundred dollars.” You reply, straightening your skirts as you lean back against the brick wall in the alleyway.

Arthur drops the cigarette and grinds it under his boot.

A strand of hair escapes from your tightly pulled bun, and you huff as you tuck it behind your ear. You’ve been told the hairstyle makes you look severe, you’d take it. In this world of guns and robbery and stealing you live in, you feel the need to do anything to make yourself look serious.

Guns weren’t your weapons. Numbers were. You ran scams and cheated men out of money. You assisted Strauss in his loansharking.

“Where y’been stayin' here in town?” Arthur asks, his hands gravitating to his gun belt.

“Shitty little place off the docks. Not much, but at least we can rest there until you have to go out in the morning.”

He nods, holding out his arm down the alley, “Lead the way.”

A hot, heavy, night has fallen in South Lemoyne - stifling in its haziness and the heaviness in the air. You’ve stripped down to a chemise and your bloomers as you climb into the old bed, the darkness outside staved off by a solitary oil lamp on the bed.

Arthur’s boots scuff the dingy floor of the room you’ve been renting, the sound of him dragging the rickety old chair next to the small fireplace grates in your ears as you try to get comfortable in the lumpy bed.

Instead, you reach for the book that you’ve been reading from the bedside table, cracking it open as Arthur mercifully quiets down, pulling his hat from his head and placing it on the mantle as he sits down.

“Whatchu' readin’?” Arthur asks from across the room, pulling his boots off and tossing them near the door.

You look up at him over the rims of your spectacles, “I’m sure nothing you’d be interested in.”

He snorts, pulling his hat off his head and placing it on the table next to the fireplace.

“The Wealth of Nations.”

Arthur’s eyebrows raise, “That certainly ain’t one of Mary Beth’s pillow books.”

You shut the book and frown. “No. It ain’t.”

Arthur stares into the unused fireplace, rolling his shoulders.

“Get into the bed, Arthur. You’re the one who's gotta get up in the morning.” You eye him over those gold rims again, scolding in your tone.

“Ain’t terribly proper,” Arthur mutters under his breath.

“We’re both adults. And it ain’t like I take up much room. Just shut up and lay down.” You pull the spectacles off of the bridge of your nose and fold them up, leaning over to place them on the bedside table.

You unwind the tight bun you have your hair pulled into - your tresses falling in curls down your back, and completely miss the dumbfounded look he gives. As you shake out your hair, you shake out the severe look about you, your spectacles gone for the night.

It’s then, under the dim oil lamps of the saloon’s room, that he discovers that you’re beautiful.

The moment passes quickly as you begin to look up at him, and his eyes dart away as not to be caught staring.

“Get in bed.” You command, looking at him for a second longer before turning over in bed and reaching for the lamp. You don't wait for him to make up his mind, plunging the room into darkness when you turn off the light.

After what seems like an eternity, the mattress sinks down on the other side of the bed.

You awaken far before dawn, a shout from outside jolting you from your sleep. Thinking it’s a fluke, you close your eyes again only for them to snap open as shouting continues again.

A crash fully awakens you, and you begin to lean up on your elbow, looking toward the window a few steps away. A large hand finds purchase on your belly as your entire frame is pulled backward in the bed.

“Shh,” Arthur whispers, curling himself over you as he listens to the shouting outside. Glass breaks. Threats made. The sounds of a fight echo through the street, but now all you can think about is the fact that you’re tucked into Arthur’s body as he listens to the fight, ready to jump up and grab his revolver at a moment's notice.

Glass crashes again against the brick wall of the building you’re in, not terribly far from your window, and you turn inward from the noise. You may be a criminal, a fraudster, but you certainly aren’t one for violence. You don’t shoot and you don’t kill.

“ ‘S okay. I’ve got you.” Arthur mumbles, leaning over you to listen more intently to the scuffle outside. You bury yourself into his embrace, your face tucked into his neck as his hand pats your hair gently, ready to whip around and grab his revolver from the table if needed.

The fight in the alleyway dies down, fortunately, and as the agitated voices fade into the night, Arthur gently unwinds his arm from across your shoulders, his hand finding its way to settle atop your hip. Your fingers clutch at the worn fabric of his union suit atop his broad chest.

“Jus’ a drunken fight.” He whispers, patting your hip in a calming manner.

The men outside are the farthest thing from your mind at the moment. No, Arthur’s hand upon your hip and yours against his chest - that's all you think about. The rapid beating of your heart is all you can hear. This isn’t rational. It isn’t logical. But deep in your core, you burn. You’re driven by something completely different, animalistic, emotional, needy.

“Y’oka-” Arthur murmurs before you shove your mouth against his. It's only half a heartbeat before he’s kissing you back.

You throw your leg over his hip, and he takes a large hand full of your rear, pulling your hips against his. You are unable to hold back the moan from your throat as you feel his cock thickening against your lower belly.

For several moments, your bodies tessellate against each other until he yanks the hem of your chemise up to your belly.

“Christ,” he groans, and it’s just another moment before he rolls you underneath him.

“Y’ever done this?” He pants as he peels your bloomers down your legs, tossing them somewhere on the floor before his hand trails up between your thighs.

“No… but I have an idea-ah-!” Your sentence is cut off when you uncontrollably moan, a thick finger having immediately parted your folds and pressed against you.

Well, this feeling wasn’t something you had read about. You mewl into Arthur’s shoulder as his pointer finger moves back and forth between the seam of your body, pausing to circle the hooded nub that makes your toes curl.

Arthur sucks gently at your earlobe, his panting growing louder as his finger travels along your body, pausing for a moment once he’s reached the rim of your cunt, weeping slick as you want to die from the stimulation.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, and he growls in your ear as he quickly draws back and sits up on his knees, unbuttoning his union suit with the ferocity of a caged beast. You’re barely able to catch your breath before watching him tear his arms out of the sleeves, bunching the fabric at his waist, and pushing it down, baring himself completely.

Certainly, sketches in anatomy books had nothing on the real thing. Sketches weren’t hewn from decades of labor and violence. Sketches weren't tapered waists and the outline of solid muscles under pale, scarred skin that told stories of robberies past. And sketches assuredly were not so well endowed.

He’s back on you in an instant before you can even react - slotting himself between your legs as his mouth attacks your neck, sure to leave a mark that will show in the morning.

Arthur’s large hand moves to once more cup your core, and your breath hitches.

He presses himself against your thigh and you shudder as you feel how hard he is, how big is - Christ, how the hell was that supposed to fit inside you?

His finger pushes inside and your mind goes blank. You cry out wantonly as Arthur’s finger curls within your core, and he quickly begins to pump within you. Your back arches uncontrollably as he adds a second finger, and thrusts his hips against your body.

“Fuck, fuck. Y’sure you want this?” Arthur pants against your ear, unable to stop his hips from rutting against you. His cock settles in the crease of your thigh and god, he’s so close to where you need him.

Christ, maybe you should have taken Mary Beth up on one of her dirty romance novels.

“Y-yes, Arthur please-”

He presses inside you and there aren’t words for the feeling. No vocabulary to adequately describe the stretch, the filling, the connection one has when that last bridge is crossed. Though sex is simply an action, a physical coming together of body parts - the emotions that want to burst forth from your chest - you want to envelop him the same way he envelops you.

“Y’okay there? C’n I move?” He whispers into your ear, pressing his lips against your temple.

Are you okay, are you okay? All you can respond back with is a needy gasp as you turn your head to the side to find his mouth, desperately shoving your tongue inside as if to mimic the fact that he’s buried inside of you.

As your tongue delves into his mouth, you wish the thoughts flying through your head could possibly come out, but with him between your legs, his weight pressing you down into the mattress, his flesh parting you deep, all you can do is moan.

So much more than okay. How do people stand being apart? How can they not bury themselves in each other all day, every day? I want… oh god, Arthur, please, please move.

Somehow, he understands. His elbows brace himself on either side of your head as his hips retract, in a glorious swell of movement, he presses back in.

You whine needily into the column of his throat as he grunts, finding a rhythm as your legs wrap around his waist. Arthur grinds your hips into the bed, your small frame engulfed by his large one, and each thrust seems to take you further and further away. Gasping, tensing, shuddering.

A desperate noise leaves your throat, and if you weren't so preoccupied with how the tip of his cock keeps hitting a spot inside you that makes you want to scream, you’d be mortified.

“Come for me.” He orders, voice sex-hoarse and demanding, and your body immediately complies.

Every muscle, every tendon, and fiber of your body clenches at once, and your cry is loud and needy into his shoulder. Tears burst forth from your eyes. He groans into your hair in response, his rhythm faltering, and it’s only a moment more before he wrenches himself from you, his cock smacking against your belly as he jets his hot spend across your pale skin and hiked up chemise.

Arthur pants, nearly out of breath, for a moment, before leaning his forehead against yours and taking your lips in a slow, languorous kiss.

Your fingers card through his hair and one of his hands finds its way to your face, palm warm against your cheek before he finally pulls back.

Arthur immediately frowns when he sees the tracks of drying tears. “Did I hurt you?”

You shake your head, smiling, “When can we do that again?”

He snorts in amusement, rolling off of you and onto his side, “Let me go get our money,” he kisses your forehead, “Then I’ll get us another day here.”

“Sounds amenable.”

“You and them fancy words.”

Your smartass retort is drowned out by his kiss.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #red dead fandom #red dead fanfic #twolafic #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic

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beanghostprincess · 3 months

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I fucking love it when people draw one piece characters as women. (I love Oda but his gender bending needs a little work.)

Like they would be so cool like it's just a bunch of butches and dykes studs and just overall tough broads on the sea.

Buggy would have blonde hair like he did in one of the movies. Rocking a side shave or under cut , she's definitely wearing something that leaves little to the imagination. It's all for show really under all that makeup and boisterous personality she's still insecure and riddled with self-doubt but she's faking it till she makes it and she made it. Not the way she wanted but you know success is success. She's a warlord

Mihawk is so elegant, She keeps her hair in a bun. She always wears loose white blouses with ruffles in a black corset. Her nails are long dark and sharp, with a lovely burgundy shade. she's never chipped them, never cracked them, and has never broken in them.

I love trans man crocodile but trans woman crocodile makes me go feral. She's tall with broad shoulders and strong arms, She used to hate how she looked but becoming a pirate she started to appreciate her features making her look more powerful and intimidating. She has a slip dress and a long fur coat always smoking a cigar. Her voice is so soothing but so cold at the same time.

Kid is a hefty woman tall and broad, quick to anger and will to fight anyone and everyone. Everyone thinks she wears makeup but she doesn't. She never learned how she kind of wants to, but she's kind of scared at my ruin her image. Her lips are just naturally that red. When she lost her arm she made herself multiple prosthetics one is just a practical one that is just a regular looking arm but silver with floral detailing and then the big scary one that she wears for fighting.

The red hair pirates is just a boat of tough broads looking for adventure and freedom.

Shanks is gorgeous! She used to have long red hair but was cut with a sword, It was a spur of the moment kind of thing she did it when buggy broke up with her. She's tough she's kind, she's strong and she never wears a bra. (None of them do really except for Benn)She's so protective around children. Every time Luffy runs up to her she always picks her up. Luffy doesn't have the scar under her eye because the minute shanks saw her with a knife It was on site.

Yasopp she has a whole collection of guns in her closet she's never happy with just one every island they go to she has to buy a new pistol or musket. She stores them Nice and neatly with her other values like her wedding dress. If Luffy isn't being carried by sharks it's yasopp. She's not as big as the rest of the women on the ship but she can hold their own in a fight her body is covered in battle scars.

Luffy: Where'd you get that one?!

Yasopp: that's from a bullet

Luffy: and that one?!

Yasopp: stab wound

Luffy: and what about this one?

Yasopp: oh....that's from a C-section

You know what, I just- I can't imagine fem Cross Guild in a way that isn't @/vonguilli's artstyle. That's the only fem Cross Guild I need. Especially Buggy, damn. The IT Girl fr. I wanna look like her so damn bad. Icon. The moment. But I must say that Buggy with an undercut, Mihawk with her nails done, and transfem Crocodile make me go insane. My beloveds. I feel things (lesbian thoughts) for them.

I hate when people draw fem Kid all skinny and for the male gaze as if Fem!Kid wasn't literally made for the lesbians only. I want a tall and broad big woman. Big chest. Big attitude. I want her to be able to pick me up with one fucking hand. I absolutely hate some versions I've seen of her. YOU KNOW WHICH GENDERBEND IS SMALL AND PETITE AND SKINNY? LAW. LAW. Law should be skinny and depressed and with greasy hair and her nails and badly treated and she has small boobs and short messy hair and she's so tired of living. Dressing with tops and big pants and not caring about a bra. She has eyebags and she's just so lazy to live properly. I love canon fem!Law because I'm a weak lesbian but my perception of fem!Law is not the way some people draw her. I know you were talking about Kid I apologize I am a very annoying Law fan.

Shanks,,,, Mother is mothering. The girl cutting her hair after a break-up. Lesbian behavior. Dramatic milf. I feel so many things for this woman. And Yasopp???? Girl I am down bad please. Guns are not my thing. Women?? Pirates?? With guns?? Yeah, no, that's so- Damn.

I could talk for hours about my fav genderbend designs in my head fr. My favs (in my own lil head) are Buggy, Law, Usopp, Doffy and Sabo. Like- Women. Girls. You know? haha-

#I am SO normal #sososososo normal #could you believe there was this point in my life when i thought i didn't like girls #a fucking tragedy honestly #one piece #genderbend #fem cross guild #fem buggy #fem kid #fem law #fem shanks #fem yasopp

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themidnightcrimson · 2 years

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the human psyche—one. | w. maximoff

summary: in which a visit to your psychologist precedes the murder of your girlfriend and leaves you questioning yourself.

warnings: manipulation, murder, gore, sexual tension, mental distress (don’t we all)

this post is for 18+ only. minors: do not interact.

series masterlist.

"Do you ever think about hurting her?"

The question had struck you entirely off guard. The small dark green leather sofa on which you sat squeaked in response, the decorative buttons deepening until it felt like you were sinking into the furniture. You were cold—it was always cold in this office, which you felt was a paradox. The office of a psychologist should be warm and comforting, inviting and relaxing. All the other therapists you visited had colorful offices with bright yet natural lights and peaceful, abstract artwork hanging on the walls with lively plants in every corner.

This office was dim and cold. This didn't mean it was not stylish—the coffee-colored desk paired with the dark green furniture and classic paintings hanging on the walls uttered every sense of meticulous style. You had imagined that every piece of decor in the office was carefully picked out to go along with the adult, academic theme. Even the Victorian windows made you feel like you were sitting in an Architectural Digest magazine. Your psychologist was a good one, and a fashionable one.

Even her clothes were always tasteful. Today she wore a navy blue suit with a loose off-white blouse and a shiny golden square of a petite watch on her wrist. Around her fingers were matching rings, and in her hand was the pen with which she was writing notes in her journal. You'd always wondered what therapists were writing in your file when you visited them. Wanda never wrote as much they did, it seemed, and while with the others you could reasonably calculate what they were writing based on what you were saying in the given moment, Wanda scribbled at odd times. Maybe she just had a different technique, and maybe that was why you found her to be the best therapist you ever had.

You'd been with her for about two months which, compared to the others, was a very long time. You went from one-and-done visits to seeing this woman every week, and you'd even progressed from calling her Dr. Maximoff to simply Wanda, though intermittently. Strangely, the better you felt, the more you felt you needed to see her. It was supposed to be the opposite, but here you were, in for the second time this week. But you didn't feel better.

Your girlfriend was someone Wanda knew very well. Not that she had ever met her, but because she was the topic of most of your discussions as of the last few weeks. You had been with your girlfriend for a while now, and it had also been a while since her words of love had turned into words of venom. She was only a shell of the girl you had fell in love with now, but her possessive ways left you feeling incapable of leaving her. Also, you had no one else. She was really the only person in your life, and even though she was a terrible one, you couldn't leave her for the fear of being alone.

You had been telling Wanda about your last argument when your girlfriend had brought that exact point up. "What are you gonna do, leave me?" she had spat at you, rearing close to you and snatching your wrist bruisingly. "Who will you have then, y/n? Who? No one." Her words were still richocheting around your head like a bullet, fragmenting parts of your brain with each incessant hit.

Wanda had listened silently, letting you ramble on until your frustrations had turned into rage. You never thought of yourself as an angry person, but here lately...

"I'm so sick of her," you had said through gritted teeth. "I wish she would just... go away. I'd rather have fucking no one than to have her. She's such a bitch. She thinks she controls me, that I'm just a fucking charity case for her. God, I wish she would just..." You stopped, realizing that your fists were balled so tight that your knuckles were as white as the paper Wanda had stopped scribbling on. You could feel your blood pooling in your cheeks, your heartbeat thumping right in your ears. You were even hunched over rather unflatteringly, and realizing just how angry you had become, you finally took a deep breathe and straightened, relaxing against the uncomfortable sofa. The nearly unbearable pressure in your head faded, leaving you slightly lightheaded. "I'm sorry," you told Wanda, your blush of rage turning to one of embarrassment as you met her unreadable gaze. "I'm sorry, I—”

"Do you ever think about hurting her?" came the question from Wanda. Her head was cocked to the right, her eyes slightly squinted but still wide and absorptive. You always felt like she was a sponge, soaking up every drop of your presence. It felt invasive at times, as if she was standing right inside your head and watching your thoughts pass by, but you chocked it up to her just being a really good therapist.

"What?" you scoffed, and for some reason a nervous chuckle escaped your chest as if your lungs were trying to cough something up. You swallowed whatever it was down. "No," you sharply spoke. "No, of course not—why would you ask me that?" The cold room started to rise in temperature.

"It's only in the human nature to feel a need to protect ourselves and the ones we love, even if it’s from the ones we love," Wanda offered smoothly, her voice soft and drawing. "She is hurting you. Your natural defense may be to strike back."

"I-I don't want to hurt her," you laughed again, quickly removing the smile from your face. There was nothing funny about it, but you had a tendency to laugh in these nervous situations. But why were you so nervous that you had to fiddle with the collar of your shirt to breathe better?

"Y/n, it's perfectly normal to have intrusive thoughts. In fact, having a safe, open space to verbalize them can help them to go away." She tilted her head further, ticking the end of her pen against the notebook. She stood up suddenly, and your throat seemed to tighten.

She was so tall, you noted, as she walked around her desk with her hand trailing the wooden edge, her heels echoing in the spacious, silent office. She came around to the front of the desk, standing only a foot from you, and leaned against the edge of it.

"I may be a woman of the mind, but I am also a woman of science," Wanda began, her cool green eyes watching you closely as you looked up at her. She had never moved from behind that desk before, and now she was so close, and the light from the window made her face look so pretty. "A scientist must first gather his data, his evidence, before he can make any kind of hypothesis."

You squirmed in the sofa. "What kind of hypothesis are you trying to make of me?" you halfway accused. You never remembered saying anything to her about your intrusive thoughts, and therefore whatever suggestion she was making about was entirely rootless. It felt like an ambush, an accusation.

Wanda clearly saw that she had approached the situation entirely wrong by the nervousness on your face. Her face softened as she thought for a moment before rewording, "I can't help you unless you're honest with me, unless you help me know you better. I am a psychologist, not a mind reader."

A smirk carved the edges of her lips, and you noticed a strange glint in her eye. What did she mean by that? As much as it seemed Wanda could read your mind, you could never understand hers.

She added in a soft whisper, "Tell me the thoughts you have, y/n." Wanda then leaned forward, reaching out her hand and resting it on your knee—that's just how close she was to you. Her hand was warm and firm, almost able to wrap entirely around your knee. You glanced down to it, feeling heat spark all throughout your leg and through your body, bringing a slight sweat to your hairline. You couldn't help but imagine her hand sliding up your thigh—Wanda was a beautiful woman after all. She was keen, intimidating, mysterious. Her eyes always seemed to pierce right through you, and even though she had just said she couldn't read your mind, it always felt like she knew what you were trying to say without you saying it.

Something twitched across Wanda's lips as she watched you, unblinking. Then you started to think about what she had asked you. Had you had thoughts of hurting your girlfriend? You were not that kind of person, even though your partner was. She had never hit you, persay, but she was overall a self-righteous and unkind person who never minded grabbing you in ways that hurt whenever you didn't tell her what she wanted to hear. You thought back to the argument, when she had grabbed you and said such cruel words. You both were standing right in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in your apartment on the tenth floor of the complex. In that moment, you had been filled with so much grief, so much frustration, so much loneliness and suffocation, that you had, in fact, briefly imagined just pushing her right through the window. You remembered it now, as if you had only then realized your thoughts, and a wave of terror flooded you at the thought. You could never do something like that. It was only an intrusive thought, like Wanda had told you. It was normal. It didn't mean you were capable of such a thing, right?

Either way, there was no way on hell or earth you would ever admit to thinking such a thing. You would be locked away, probably, intrusive thought or not.

"I don't have those thoughts," you firmly told Wanda, noticing that her grip on your leg had tightened. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it was strong. Your heart was beating so fast in your chest now.

Wanda seems to finally comply, realizing that she couldn't get something out of you that you didn't want to tell. She took her hand away from your knee, and it felt like a noose around your neck had loosened. She only nodded slowly, finally blinking, to signal to you that she understood. But the nod felt like a different kind of understanding—not of your reluctance to talk, but of what you were reluctant to say. It was like a nod of approval, that her so-called hypothesis of your intentions had been confirmed, like she had stepped through the door of your mind, saw what she needed to see, and closed it with a sense of calm victory in being right.

For the first time, you left Dr. Maximoff's office feeling worse than when you had came.

After your shift at work, which was gruesome as always, your girlfriend wasn't home yet. You were guiltily relieved at the fact, so you took a nap of emotional exhaustion. It had been daylight when you went to sleep, and you were awoken by a flash of red light through your closed eyelids. You jumped awake with an adrenaline-fueled start, looking around to find the cause of such a strange flash of red light. You had expected to see a fire, but when another bright flash of red light filled your vision followed by a burst of bright blue, and then the sound of wailing sirens, you realized it was an ambulance or the police. You turned to see the lights coming through your bedroom window—they must have been right outside in the parking lot. You called your girlfriend's name, and when you got no response, you looked to your alarm clock to see that it was now the middle of the night—how had you slept for so long? Where was your girlfriend?

Disgruntled by all the noise and lights, you pulled your unusually heavy body out of bed and went into the living room to look out of the larger windows to get a better view of what was going on, but you were startled to see the sight of your windows. Through the red lights flashing right into your dark apartment, your window was smashed open. The shattered glass formed an opening the size of a body. Still confused from sleep, you walked towards the window, avoiding the shards of glass on the floor. You were standing right in the opening now, looking down at the flood of police cars and ambulances in the parking lot right in front of your window. Policemen and paramedics were all rushing towards the building, right below you, and your gaze followed them until your eyes landed upon what felt like a nightmare. There, on the ground, covered in blood and twisted and mangled, was your girlfriend.

It had been a week. The funeral was yesterday, and you still had not processed what had happened. Grief didn't come easy to you. You had just lost your girlfriend, the only person in your life, so suddenly. How was a human supposed to register that fully? It was already the most horrible thing to happen to you, but the worst part about it was that you were being questioned by the FBI. You weren't a suspect—yet—but you had been called in twice now to go over what had happened. You told them the same thing, that you were asleep and that you woke up, and she was on the ground ten stories below. They kept asking you if you heard a break-in, or how you didn't hear the smashing of the window. You had nothing to say to them, which made you look even more guilty. You were just as dumbfounded and confused as them as to why you heard nothing until the lights and sirens woke you up. They seemed to sort of believe you, but all the evidence was against you. The only thing they had against their suspicions was that they weren't able to find any fingerprints on her body to signal that she had been pushed off. It was good that they didn't find your fingerprints, but it was worse that they didn't find any at all. It made you look like an OJ case, but you didn't even own a pair of gloves.

You felt like it was only a waiting game before they came and got you. You couldn't even afford lawyers, for God's sake. You were just a cook at a restaurant, whose money all went to the expensive therapy you had been seeking your entire life. In fact, instead of lawyering up, that's where you were now—with Wanda.

Wanda had kept her professional reservations as you sobbed on her sofa. She sat behind her desk, as emotionless and observant as ever, choosing to keep quiet for most of the session and just let you talk. You told her about the entire situation, the accident and the questioning. You were tangled between grief and guilt with no clear reason for it all. Finally, you had no words left to say, and Wanda gave a few moments of silence to clear the air as you wiped your tears, finally calming down.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, y/n," she said empathetically. "You must be feeling so many things right now. Grief, guilt… relief."

Your ears perked at her choice of wording, raising your teary eyes from your clasped hands to look at her with confusion. "Guilt—relief?" you croaked.

"I know you loved your girlfriend, y/n," Wanda began with a sort of sigh, leaning forward and resting her elbows on her desk. "But you were a victim to her abuse. That abuse is gone now, and naturally your mind feels relief to never be under her cruel hold again. That, naturally, is the most confusing feeling to a simultaneously grieving mind."

You were wordless as your eyes fell to the floor. She wasn't entirely wrong—but it felt so wrong.

"As for guilt... it's the most common thread I see in my patients who deal with a loss." You couldn't help but notice a sort of patronizing tone in her voice, and you wondered if it had always been there. "What if they had been there? What if they had stopped it from happening? Sometimes they feel guilt to such an extreme that they manage to convince themselves that they are the reason for their loved one's death." She paused as your eyes caught hers sharply. "They feel almost as if their loved one's blood is... on their hands."

A strange feeling filled you all at once. Do you feel guilty? Do you feel like the cause of her death? Like you're the one who did it? You imagined yourself pushing your girlfriend through that window, the shattering glass flooding her screams before a sickening squelch on the concrete down below... You shut your eyes. You were beginning to become wildly upset, like you were going to puke.

Wanda could see this, and she quickly stood up from her desk chair and walked towards you, taking a seat beside you on the sofa. You felt tense at her closeness, and even more tense when she carefully took your hand and held it in hers. Her hands were warm again as they cradled yours, soft yet firm. Her shoulder brushed against yours, and you could smell her sweet cologne, and you felt dizzy.

"It's okay to feel what you are feeling, y/n," Wanda whispered close to you, almost as if she was right beside your ear. "These deep, ugly parts of the human psyche often go untapped for the entirety of a person’s life, but they are in everyone. Dark thoughts, desires, impulses—they reside in each and every one of us."

One hand left yours, and you felt it tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You turned your teary eyes up to her, eyebrows sewn together as you tried to put together what she was trying to tell you. Her face was inches from yours, those haunting green eyes burning into you. You noticed her eyes flicker to the lower half of your face, her tongue stroking her lower lip discreetly before she turned her eyes up to yours again and resumed the mask you had only then started to notice.

"It takes a high level of cognitive function and human empathy to be capable of feeling what you are feeling right now, y/n," she said to you almost desperately. She didn't feel like your psychologist right now, as her hand pressed your lower back and seemed to lean you closer to her. She continued carefully, "Only few on this earth can. You should feel proud."

You felt like you were in a daze in that moment, wrapped up in the heat radiating from her body, now leaning closer to her without her having to guide you with her hand. Then her words finally registered in your clouded head—proud.

You sharply stood up from the sofa, nearly slapping her hand away. Wanda looked up at you in feigned confusion and concern.

"Proud?!" you repeated. "You think I should feel proud that my girlfriend is dead and I feel like I did it!" You nearly choked on your words as your tears blurred Wanda's face and morphed it into something monstrous. "I didn't! I didn't do it! I didn't fucking kill her!"

You turned away, feeling as if you were going to fall over, as you opened her office door and stormed through it, slamming it so hard that the painting on her wall nearly fell off.

#wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maxmoff x y/n #wanda maximoff series #wanda maximoff x f!reader #elizabeth olsen #lizzie olsen #lesbian #lgbt #marvel #smut #nsft #crimsonween #dark!fic #dark!wanda maximoff

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sgstories123 · 1 year

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Soaking Wet

Lightning flashed outside Mr Tan’s flat, lighting up the dark sky. This was followed by a loud clap of thunder. It was raining so heavily outside that Mr Tan could hardly see the next block of flats from his window.

His doorbell rang. Who could it be? His daughter, Melissa, had called to say that she will be coming home late to complete a group project. He was not expecting any visitors, especially not in this weather. Dressed only in his boxer shorts, he did not even bother to put on a shirt as he thought it was most likely some salesperson that he could brush off with a “No, thank you.”.

“Hi, uncle. Is Melissa in?” It was her daughter’s friend, Faye.

Faye was Melissa’s best friend in school. She is a regular visitor to their home, either doing school projects or simply hanging out. She often have her meals there too. According to Melissa, Faye’s parents are often out for business so she feels lonely at home. She treats their place as her second home.

Faye was petite in size. If Mr Tan did not know that she was the same age as Melissa studying in polytechnic, he would have thought she was still in secondary school. Her chest was almost flat, with only two little humps. If she had kept her hair shorter, she might easily be mistaken for a boy.

Mr Tan looked at Faye. She was drenched in rain from head to toe. Her hair was dripping wet, plastered to her face. For the first time, Mr Tan realised that Faye actually had nice facial features. The wet hair made her look more feminine, contrasting against her pale, smooth cheeks. She looked like some Japanese AV actress especially with those large innocent eyes.

But it was the wet clothes that attracted most of Mr Tan’s attention or rather what the wet clothes reveal. Faye’s pink bra could be seen clearly through her wet, white cotton blouse. With her wet blouse stuck to her skin, Mr Tan could also see the clear lines of her cleavage. There were not big, but certainly more than mere lumps.

“Mr Tan?” Faye repeated herself.

“Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking what are you doing out in this weather. Melissa is still in school. Come on in. You are soaking wet.” Mr Tan replied. Immediately after uttering the last sentence, Mr Tan realised the sexual innuendo. Will Faye be soaking wet for him?

As Faye walked into the flat, he picked up a whiff of clean, fresh womanly fragrance. He also noticed that Faye did a quick turn of her head, casting a downward glance at his crotch and smiling knowingly.

Mr Tan looked down and to his horror realised that his cock was erect, its head just peeking out of his boxer shorts. Shit. He forgot he was not dressed. He usually puts on a pair of pants and a shirt when there are others in the house. Faye is seeing him for the first time in his boxer shorts, his man breasts sagging, and his beer belly protruding out unattractively. At fifty years old, it was perhaps to be expected.

“Sorry. I was not expecting visitors. I will go put on a shirt.” Mr Tan apologised. “Why don’t you go take a shower. You are going to catch a cold. You can borrow some of Melissa’s clothes.”

“Thanks, uncle.” Faye smiled at Mr Tan flirtatiously. “I will take off my clothes here. Don’t want to dirty your floor.”

Without any word, Faye slowly unbutton her wet jeans, pulling them off slowly to reveal a matching pink lacy panty. Mr Tan could just make up the small patch of dark pubic hair peeking through the lacy part of her panty.

As she pulled her jeans off, Faye’s slim and slender legs came into view. Though she was not tall, they were sufficiently long for Faye to do a sexy reveal.

Faye enjoyed how Mr Tan was staring at her body. She wants to be noticed by others and being a cock tease was just one of her ways to enjoy the limelight. She laughed to herself how men are all the same. She was just surprised that this worked on Mr Tan, her best friend’s father. Being older and more sexually experienced than her classmates, she had not expected that she had a similar hold on him.

Faye sat on a sofa, directly facing Mr Tan. She opened her legs wide, allowing Mr Tan a better view. She leaned forward, deliberately pressing her breasts together so that they appear bigger. She did a pout, slowly drawing a finger across her lips. Faye was now looking at Mr Tan’s crotch directly. It as a funny sight, a hard cock peeking out from a pair of old boxer shorts worn by an old, fat man.

“Right. I should take a shower before I catch a cold.” Faye stood up, ending her show. It was fun being a cock tease but she seldom go further than that. She walked into the bathroom, still gloating over her little prank. She wondered whether she should have taken a video or something and put it on social media. “Pervert old man lusting over teenage girl’s body” should make a great clickbait, she thought to herself.

She turned around and was surprised to see Mr Tan standing in the doorway of the bathroom. He had a glazed look in his eyes, his cock still peeking out of his boxer shorts. Fear crept up her spine. She knew that look. A couple of times, some of the guys that she was teasing were so overcome with lust that they wanted to fuck her, they had this look in their eyes. But she has always managed to get out of the situation by shouting or running away. This time, it did not seem she could run away or if there is anyone who could help her.

“Uncle, could you please let me take a shower?” Faye was desperate. “Melissa will coming home soon.”

But Mr Tan did not answer. He was simply staring at her. He inched closer and Faye stepped back, her back against the cold wall.

“Uncle, please. Melissa is coming back any minute. You should not be seen here like this.” Faye implored to deaf years. She was really getting scared now.

Mr Tan brought his face even closer to Faye. Holding her face with his hands, he kissed her hungrily. Faye tried to resist by moving her face away but Mr Tan was too strong. She tried pushing him away but again it was useless. He was just too big and heavy against her small frame.

“No, please uncle. I am sorry.” Faye started crying. “Please don’t do this.”

But Mr Tan did not respond. He was overcome by animal lust. Her pleas only made him more aroused. He pulled apart her blouse, the buttons flew across the bathroom, landing with a cling on the bathroom floor. He pushed up the pink bra, revealing the small breasts with tiny pink nubs.

“So pretty. Like a small girl.” Mr Tan mused.

“No, please do not do this uncle. This is rape. This is wrong.” Faye cried. “You can go to jail for this. Please just let me go.”

Faye pushed hard against Mr Tan but it was to no avail. Her weak arms pushed against the flabby body, only to sink between the layers of fat. Mr Tan did not even move back an inch.

Mr Tan brought his mouth down onto the little nubs, licking them and rolling them between his teeth. Faye yelped in pain as her sensitive nipples were being attacked roughly. Tears were rolling down her face now. She has gone too far with her game and she was now paying the price.

Faye pulled Mr Tan’s hair, to get him away from her breasts. Mr Tan stopped momentarily, looking at her still with the lust-filled eyes. He pulled her panties down and took his hard cock out of his boxer shorts. He seemed to have misunderstood her. Instead of stopping, he had thought Faye wanted him to move on to fucking her directly.

Mr Tan pushed his hard cock into Faye. It was tight and dry but he did not care. He pushed it in harder, ignoring her cries. Inching slowly inwards, his cock finally managed to get its whole length in her. Satisfied, some of his sense returned and he now realised that Faye was shaking uncontrollably. At first he thought she was just enjoying the sex but realised that she was crying.

“What’s wrong? Is it painful?” Mr Tan asked.

“Please. Take it out, uncle.” Faye sobbed.

“Don’t worry. It will become less painful. You are going to enjoy this.” Mr Tan bent forwards, kissing Faye again.

By now, Faye has given up and lost all resistance. As Mr Tan started to fuck her, her love hole expanded and adapted to his cock. It became less painful as her walls started to fill with her love juice. She felt it only slightly at first, but the tingly, pleasurable feelings emanating from her love hole got stronger. Without realising initially, she was moaning softly in pleasure. Instead of pushing Mr Tan away, her hand moved around his fat body, hugging him tightly. Her head sank in between his man boobs, her cheeks brushing against his sparse chest hair. What she found lubricous just moments ago, was looking sexier to her by the minute.

She lifted one of her legs over Mr Tan’s ass, positioning herself so that his cock can enter even deeper into her. She sighed with satisfaction, as Mr Tan pushed deeper and harder in the new position. She could feel his cock thrusting with ease through her love tunnel. Her love juices were flowing uncontrollably all over his cock.

“I am getting so soaking wet for you.” Faye whispered seductively. She felt herself falling in love with the older man.

Mr Tan grunted in response. He rammed his cock hard into Faye for the final time, erupting his love seed into her. “I will soak you in my cum, again and again, little girl.”

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chicinsilk · 2 months

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Pierre Balmain Haute Couture Collection Spring/Summer 1953. Gigi Terwalgne wears a navy wool skirt draped and hung at the hip, worn with a silk surah blouse with a small white collar.

Pierre Balmain Collection Haute Couture Printemps/Été 1953. Gigi Terwalgne porte une jupe en laine marine drapée et accrochée à la hanche, portée avec une blouse en surah de soie à petit col blanc.

Photo Philippe Pottier

#haute couture #pierre balmain #fashion 50s #1953 #spring/summer #printemps/été #gigi terwalgne #philippe pottier #fashion vintage

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lilac-ravenclaw · 17 days

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Hello! With finishing Hogwarts Legacy recently, I wanted to draw my mc, Raven Fawlty. Used Procreate to draw her, and I'm super happy with how she turned out. ✨🌙

More of my art on instagram, @artof.ravnbee and on DeviantArt @artof-ravnbee ! Thanks everyone🦅

General Info

Name: Raven Fawlty - { reason for her name for me } “Ravens” often represents ancient wisdom, transformation and intelligence. The name “Raven” means “dark haired or wise”. “Fawlty”… honestly this was a gimmick at first. As I love the show, Fawlty Towers with John Cleese. Ran in the 70s, with only a handful of episodes, but it was hilarious and it was the first name I could think of when creating my character.

Birthday: January 29, 1874 { The Raven was published in 1845 }

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

Sex/Gender: Female { she/her }

Ethnicity: Latina and English

House: Ravenclaw

Wand:

Stalk: Dark Brown

Wood type: Willow

Core type: Unicorn Hair

Flexibility: Reasonably Supply

Wand Length: 12”

Handle: Checkerboard - Blue

Patronus: Black Bear

The Black Bear is known for their adaptability and resourcefulness. Others will see her as a fierce opponent who will protect herself and those close to her. Only those close to her will know of that softer side she usually keeps hidden away.

Physical Appearance

Eye color: Violet

Skin color: Tan/light brown, with olive undertones.

Hair: Long length and black, usually worn in a braid.

Height: 5’1” (155cm)

Weight: 110lbs (49kg)

Body type: Hourglass and petite

Birthmarks: small mole on the face, left cheek

Fashion style: Loves wearing a comfortable trouser, but will still wear a button up blouse and a skirt. Doesn’t care for the traditional school robe, but favors a nice blazer/jacket when needed.

Accessories: Pierced ears for small earrings.

History

Place of birth: Somewhere in the UK

Childhood: Grew up in orphanage in London. Doesn’t know who her parents are, or her real name. She has a love for literature and took the name “Raven” after Edgar Allen Poe’s poem, The Raven. The orphanage she resided in was very strict and had a harsh living environment. The caretaker was mean to the children, much like a Miss Hannigan from the show Annie. So much so, that is how Raven acquired her last name “Fawlty”. A homonym for “faulty”, meaning of faults, inadequate, or wrong. (Which is also why the show, Fawlty Towers, got its name too.) Unknowingly to be a future Ravenclaw, took the insult of a name as a challenge to succeed and learn all she could and be the best version of herself.

Family history: Her father originally from South America and went to Castelobruxo, a wizarding school in Brazil. Being from the heart of the Amazon rain forest, he had a profound love for magical creatures. Which is where Raven gets her love for magical creatures as well. He had traveled all over the world and eventually made his way to Europe where he met Raven’s mother, was also traveling abroad as well. She had also attending Hogwarts in her youth, being a former Ravenclaw too. She loved astronomy and literature. It is unknown what happened to her parents, tho in my head canon they have since passed. **Keep in mind, Raven herself doesn’t know this. I just wanted to write this down to know where she gets her personality and interests come from ☺️**

Notable events/milestones: Raven always knew somehow.. she was different. Though, according to the wizarding world’s standards, it took a little longer for her powers to emerge. Even small things would happen here and there, without her realizing what had happen and that she was the cause of such strange occurrences. Until one day when the orphan keeper (the person who runs the orphanage) was “disciplining” one of the children and Raven stepped in to protect them and that enough was enough. She had forced a large shelf to fall over onto the orphan keeper… it was as if what she was thinking became a reality. Afraid of what would happen, Raven ran away, seeking shelter where she could. As Professor Fig was assigned the task of giving Raven her letter and bringing her to Hogwarts, it still took no time at all for Professor Fig to find Raven even though she was missing from the orphanage. She was hesitant at first but overall wasn’t scared at all, and actually was relieved to know there were others like her. A whole world like her just waiting to be apart of and that was the happiest day in her life.

Other notes: She had studied with Professor Fig for the duration of the summer before starting at Hogwarts. Having only gained her powers after the school year had finished. He had become the first father figure to Raven.

Psychological Traits

Personality type: INFP (Mediator) is a personality type with the introverted, intuitive, feeling and prospecting traits. These rare personality types tend to be quiet, open-minded, and imaginative, and they apply a caring and creative approach to everything they do.

Personality traits: intelligent, witty, adventurous, warm, courageous, emotionally intuitive, and quick-thinker

Introvert/Extrovert: Sometimes both. Loves to be around her close friends, but doesn’t mind spending time alone reading a good book or flying on her broom.

Hobbies: Star-gazing, tending to the magical beasts in the Vivarium, and literature.

Loves: All the creatures in her Vivarium, and flying on her broom.

Morals/Virtues: Values being compassionate and always being there for her friends/loved ones at a moment’s notice. Tries to do right by them and stand by their side when times are tough. She knows what it feels like to be alone in certain situations and doesn’t want her friends to go through the same thing.

Phobias/Fears: Being trapped in a “cage” and being forgotten.

Relationships

Love Interest: Sebastian Sallow… From the very beginning she felt like there was some sort of connection, but was a bit too oblivious to see it at first. He’s very charming and almost flirtatious with other girls, so figured she wasn’t any different. Sometimes she will catch him sneaking a glance in her direction during class, while studying in the Library or at mealtimes in the Great Hall. It was so easy to stand by him and help him find a cure for his sister without even a second thought. It may have been foolish, but Raven knows what it’s like to have no support when at your lowest. To feel like all hope is lost. She can understand losing your parents at a young age.

Parents: Deceased, Names Unknown

Grandparents: Unknown, Names Unknown

Best friends: Poppy Sweeting and Natsai Onai

Friends: Ominis Gaunt, Garreth Weasley, Amit Thakker, and Imelda Reyes

Rivals: Leander Prewett, not in a bad way. It's mostly a friendly competition when playing Summoner's Court.

Enemies: Peeves the Poltergeist, damn him for catching them in the Library!

Clubs: Crossed Wands and Summoner’s Court

If you’ve made it this far then thank you so much for reading. Hope you enjoyed learning about my MC✨💙

#hogwarts legacy #portkey games #hogwarts legacy mc #ravenclaw #ancient magic #hogwarts legacy fanart #procreate #digital drawing #ipad pro #character design #character sheet #character art #artists on tumblr

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neglectedbond · 3 months

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𝟑-𝟓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐁𝐄 𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐘.

𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐒:

Pluma:

Luna:

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒:

Pluma:

Depends on the perfume. She typically wears different scented perfumes (mostly flower-scented) that range from coffee, vanilla, orange blossom, peony, damascus rose, white musk, & bergamot. If she does not wish to wear anything her scent usually is earthy & coconut-ish.

Luna:

Luna usually smells quite nice & is mostly natural other than the shampoo (honey/herbal) & soap (fruity) she uses. Sometimes she uses baby cologne since it is subtle with the smell itself being either sweet or having that 'rainy' type of scent.

𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐎𝐍:

Pluma:

Pluma is a very formal person. Even if she were in a casual setting, she usually sticks out like a sore thumb due to the way she dresses. Most of the time, she is seen wearing a grey tailored suit with a black top underneath, a cropped jacket, high-tailored trousers & heels. This is usually accompanied by small pearl earrings, a necklace & a small handbag. However, this outfit is mostly during colder weather.

During summer, while still remaining the fancy woman that she is, she wears a blouse (long-sleeved), a high-waisted skirt (ankle length) & heels. For accessories, she wears, a pearl necklace, pearl earrings & a bag with brown handles & gold-colored embellishments. She doesn't like to show a lot of her body but makes sure that the fabric is thin & comfortable so that she does not struggle during this type of weather.

Her hair is usually down on her shoulders & styles similarly to the bombshell blowout with soft layers. Her hair is naturally black & she has never dyed it.

Luna:

Luna's favorite season is summer due to being able to wear the clothes she likes the most. While not revealing at all, they lean towards the cuter side of things. Usually, she wears white crop tops, burgundy ribbed cardigans, light blue jeans (sometimes high-waisted) & sneakers. Very rarely does she wear heels as she tends to get back pain due to her height. Overall, she wears very comfortable clothing during summer.

During colder seasons, she surprisingly doesn't cover much as she thinks the person won't be able to see 'her cute fit'. She wears a long-sleeve top, lace short-shorts, thigh-high socks, & platform boots. Sometimes she throws in a fluffy jacket, but most of the time she is just not dressed for these specific seasons & thus ends up getting a cold.

For accessories, she doesn't wear earrings as they tend to hurt her ears due to how sensitive they are. She wears necklaces or chokers & usually has hello-kitty hairpins on her bob-styled hair. Her purses/handbags are sanrio themed.

𝐎𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐒:

Pluma:

Small black wallet.

Picture of her son, Benicio.

Taser.

Luna:

Hello Kitty themed cellphone.

Lip balm.

Expired nail polish.

𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄:

Pluma:

She is one of those people who will not look at you if you get in her way or say something distasteful. She will speak to you, but she will not glance at you & her gaze will always be focused on something else. She is a very resentful person & tends to be quite cold if she does not enjoy the presence of those around her.

Motherly mannerisms. The way she moves is both elegant & graceful, but the essence of motherhood is always present in front of children. It might be subtle & some might not even be able to tell. When it comes to children, her touch & her movement are so gentle people often forget how cold she is. Of course, the darkness of her gaze always remains, so no matter how kind she could be, such a stare typically instills fear in children.

Luna:

Luna is incredibly animated, everything she does is seen through her body language, especially when she is excited. The little rub of her hands, the back & forth of her feet, the nervous yet full of happiness grin when someone speaks to her & the shimmer of her eyes when someone says they care.

Though she is very tall, she is surprisingly 'petite' in her overall semblance. Delicate & soft movements. Some of her female roommates thought of her as someone who was the protector, but in the end, she ended up being the one protected. Fragile & vulnerable, that is what most of her friends think of her.

𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒:

Pluma:

A small apartment with a sterile ambiance, every surface reflects the efforts to maintain immaculate cleanliness. A lone chair sits perfectly aligned with a minimalist desk in the living room, & a monochromatic rug lies beneath. No creaking floorboards, no hum of appliances & most of all, conversation. Everything about it is eerily quiet. The bedroom, with its perfectly made bed, exudes a sense of detachment, so much that it feels. . . sorrowful. It appears no one lives here, no one at all & yet, a woman is sitting at the edge of the bed, crying & staring at the picture of someone who is now long gone.

A toy, to be precise, a teddy bear with its fur now muted by the accumulation of dirt & time, remnants of a childhood that haunts those who loved him. It lays there, on a shelf, untouched & treasured as it continues to be a connection to a child who left too soon.

Luna:

There is a small room that is both welcoming & tinged with a very palpable sense of loneliness. The walls are decorated with faded posters & fairy lights that cast a soft, warm glow, creating a cozy & welcoming ambiance. At the center resides a well-worn bed where an array of large & small plushies remain, almost falling from the edges. Each one has its own story, some worn out from years of companionship, while others were vibrant & fresh from almost suffocating affection.

Tagged by:

@s-talking ( thanks ! )

Tagging:

@fangier / @withsight, @afacere, @wayward-sword, @lacedmagic, @un1awful & @royaletiquette.

#୭ 🕊.⋆﹙ 𝓟 ﹚: headcanon.#⋆┊﹙ 𝙻 ﹚: headcanon.#ooc. this was so fun!#it is technically three things. i just like keeping everything in paragraphs LOL #if you've done it you dont have to do it btw <3

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betaidkhoes · 11 months

Text

Nothing Burns Like The Cold (PART 1)

Dabi x FAB! Reader (Yandere & SMUT)

WARNINGS: Stalking! Slight Blood Mentioning & Murder

2.7K words

(Part 1/5)

! MINORS DNI !

You were a young petite woman, 20 years old, soft skin, beautiful healthy hair, blush cheeks, wide eyes... you we're the perfect target for a predator to pounce on you at night. You always had a fear of someone attacking you ever since you we're little. The serial killer documentaries you watched at school, the scenarios your mom used to tell you about that would keep your eyes wide open at night, the defense moves your father taught you when you we're 6 years old. Being a young woman in a villain society was almost an invitation it seemed. You we're so vaunerable, I mean what would the villains think you would do? Fight back? Of course not, you we're weak and that gave them a huge advantage. You always tried to be cautious of your surroundings whenever you were in a foreign area or whenever you walked home from work every night. But even in the most safest areas can the most gruesome crimes take place, infact it's the perfect area because no one would expect it coming... your job was a simple one, not much to say about, it helped cover the mortgage on your tiny apartment, cover taxes, food, furniture and so on basic human needs. Life was simple for you. Wake up, go to work, go home, eat, sleep, repeat. You never had a boyfriend or a relationship like that before, your parents never really let boys near you. They we're so protective over you because of the crime rates skyrocketing because of all the superpowers appearing left and right. They wanted to keep their only daughter safe, so it was natural to not let any boys in a 50 meter radius of you. Of course you still had a social life, a few friends here and there, they all come and go. You were a quiet girl, it's not like you we're very popular during your high school days, you would rather focus on studying instead of goofing off with the popular kids at parties and getting so high and drunk you couldn't even pronounce your own name. You liked your simple life though, you never really thought it would change. How wrong you we're...

They say things happen in your life for a reason, people come into your life for a reason and they leave for a reason, you never really believed that until that day, the day your world turned upside down and it seemed like you we're in the worse situation possible and you just wanted to die. Everything was on track that day, woke up, did your normal morning routine and went off to work. Your apartment was pretty close to your work building so you thought you should try and stay ecologically friendly and walk everyday instead of driving. You had your teacher bag packed and leaned over your left shoulder, a medium length skirt on, hair neatly tied up, and white blouse that loosely kissed your bare skin. You looked like a pretty angel walking on the stairway to heaven. You we're infact running a tad bit late, unfortunately your coffee machine decided to break down this morning so you had some trouble fixing it and walking out the door on time. You we're walking faster then usual to pick up the pace so you wouldn't be late for work. You we're wearing high heels so the chances of you falling were very likely, and the odds we're not in your favour today. The right foot accidentally bumped over the left foot when it hit a small rock on the side walk, you lost your balance and had to think quick before you fell on the rocky sidewalk and bruise your hands from the fall. Suddenly without even seeing him from the corner of your eye, a large slim dark figure caught you before the bridge of your nose touched the ground. The catch was so out of line it made your heart beat slightly faster then it had over the past 10 years of your life, you don't think it's beated this fast then since you we're a little girl running around at the park. You we're now in the arms of a complete stranger and didn't know how to react, you turn your head to look at his face but it was covered by a black hood. His arms lifted you back up on your feet as you regained your balanced. Your eyes never left his shadowed face for not even a split second, you we're much taken by surprise. You we're about to thank him but-

"You shouldn't be in such a rush, wouldn't want a pretty lady like you to get hurt now"

He slowly started to walk away while shyly waving at me from behind, not looking back. I couldn't see it but I feel the smirk he had on his lips while saying those words. My hands covered my chest as I was taken back by his words, it made my cheeks feel hot and I didn't really know how to feel except for when I snapped out of my vision and realized that I am still late for work. I fixed my heel that was slightly crooked and thanked him in my head and kept on fastly walking to work. When I arrived at my work I didn't get scolded too hard since this was probably my first and only time i'll ever be late. I was a goody two shoes like that. It kind of made me laugh to think that if my father was with me then he would've chased that man with his shoe all the way down the block. Anyways that was probably the first and last time I'll ever get that close to a man again. My body was pressed up against his chest so hard as if he was holding me for dear life, I bet if I closed my eyes and let all of the outside noise escape my ears, I could hear his heart beat. I'm still disappointed I didn't thank him, he was too far down the street by the time I came back to my senses, and I'm too quiet to shout at him just to thank him, I'm sure he heard my mental message I thought to myself. I get off work around

9pm-ish so it's always pretty dark outside when I walk home. Except this time felt a bit off for some reason, as soon as I stepped outside the building doors, a cold almost piercing wind current hit my body. Its almost as if it we're knifes, I knew winter was coming soon but I didn't remember the weather report saying it was going to be this cold this morning. The entire atmosphere made me uncomfortable, then that fear of someone coming up behind me any moment came into my mind. My adrenaline started pumping through my body, I knew I have to get to my small apartment quick and fast before something bad happens.

I rush home and lock all of my doors and windows, and for some reason, it felt like eyes were piercing through my glass windows and starring right at my body. I didn't feel safe for a second. After a few minutes I realized how quiet my apartment was and didn't like how loud the silence was so I turned on the news to keep my mind distracted. I made some shallow black tea to make my body stop shaking from the fridged air outside. I looked over at my small tv and my heart almost dropped into my stomach. There was a murder case on the news, there was an image of the suspect, it was blurry and had poor quality but it looked almost identical to the man that caught my fall this morning. He had a dark tone, black hoodie, and a tall slim figure, it was no lie that the description matched. The murder involved over 30 innocent people that we're burned to death, the news headline made me sick to my stomach and what scared me even more was the man in the photo... he had... he had to be. He had to have been that man today. A new slide came up and they revealed that the murderer is a known mass serial killer that goes under the name "Dabi". So simple yet it's a name most people won't forget.

"Dabi..."

That name, there was something that gave me the chills whenever I said it. At this point I was shaking... thinking over and over and over on how one of those innocent people could've been me today. I looked over at the time that the incident took place and it was only a few hours after our encounter. I grabbed my remote in a panic and turned off the television as I didn't think I could stand to watch anymore. They still haven't obtained a picture of his face yet his imagine burned clear in my mind. I didn't have to see his face to know it was him. I picked up the phone and called my manager informing him that I don't think I can make it into work tomorrow, I felt very dizzy and the bullet I dodged still left a scar in my head. My manager was concerned as I never took a day off in my life before but because I never had, she said it wouldn't be a problem.

"Um- one last thing Y/n... are you a-alright? You're breathing very heavy over the phone."

I was hyperventilating.

"Oh no I'm uh- fine, thank thank you."

"Are you sure becau-"

I hung up the phone immediately, I was too scared to even talk about what was running through my head right now. I tried to calm myself down but couldn't help but pace around my room, I wish there was someone I could talk too but the words just wouldn't come out of my mouth. I decided to take a ragged cloth and put cold water under it and placed it on my forehead to help with my dizziness. I walked over to my bedroom and laid down trying to fall asleep and forget this horrible tragedy. The next morning I woke up later since I didn't even shut my eyes until around 1am last night. I had dark circles and felt like I was going to throw up even though I didn't eat anything yesterday. I laid in bed for a few hours until I finally motivated myself to get up. It was a tragic shame what happened to those 30 people last night, but the bright side was I managed to live another day unharmed. I'm sure the police will catch him soon.

Guilty people can't always run forever, eventually karma will catch up to them and give them what they deserve.

I got dressed, took a quick shower, put on some comfy clothing and decided to eat something small, my stomach still wasn't feeling right. I knew what would do me good. Going outside. Nothing feels better then walking outside in the fresh air and clearing your mind. I put on my sandals and opened up my door and noticed a white piece of paper laying on my doorstep. I didn't pay attention to it and thought it was nothing but a piece of garbage and walked past it. Until a gust of wind blew towards me, it hit the back of my leg and so I decided to pick it up and throw it away, until I saw the small black writing on the inside. My curiosity got the best of me and I decided to open it...

"(Work address name) is this where you work... y/n?"

What the... what. I must've starred at the piece of paper for at least 5 minutes, I had a blank expression on my face. I couldn't look at it clearly, I couldn't make up an emotion. I looked around me and I looked back at the paper. I can't... I c-can't.. I- um, I didn't know what to think in that moment, the pressure was too heavy. I took the paper and brought it inside and read it over and over. It was my work address. It was my name. I don't understand. Is someone... watching me? I read online articles about stalking and stalkers but I didn't think this type of thing would be happening to me, especially since last night. The note freaked out all the cells in my body. It sent cold shivers down to my core. I couldn't express any feeling towards this. I quickly locked my door and shut all my blinds and windows... just like last night. That feeling came back to me, those set of eyes watching my body. I couldn't take it anymore. This note was the last straw. I picked up the phone and dialed the police...

*Beep* *Beep* *Beep* *Beep* *Beep*

Beep... beep... the sound kept repeating, I looked at my phone line and then came to the realization that my cord was cut. My heart skipped a beat, maybe even 2. At that point I panicked, I could feel someone lurking in my home. I started breathing heavily, my palms getting sweaty, I didn't have the courage to go around my apartment with a knife in my right hand and open each door until I find a surprise in one of them. I unlocked my door and ran out fast, I ran down the street trying to look for a pedestrian walking by so I could ask them to call the police. Then I saw an old woman turning the corner with her grandson, I ran up to them as quickly as I could and stood directly infront of them until they laid their eyes on me.

"Hello, can we help you with something?"

The young boy looked up at me with concern while his grandmother held onto his arm.

"Y-yes please... I need the police, I need h-help, there's someone.. there's a person, he's in my home... phone.. do you-"

The words couldn't come out of my mouth clear enough but the boy understood what I was trying to say.

"I- um we're sorry ma'am, we only have a phone at our house which is a few miles away. I'm sorry? There's a small shop a few blocks down."

I started really shaking this time not having a good gut feeling at all, the air around me seemed drying then the desert, I ran out of my house so fast I didn't even put on my sandals, my feet were bleeding and my sweat started pouring down my face like a bucket of water.

"N-no please... I think someone is watching me."

I whisper closely up to them not wanting them to panic and realize what I'm trying to tell them. I think whoever was in my house is now outside with me.

"We're very sorry Ma'am, I hope you find help?"

He started walking ahead of me quickly starting to worry about the safety of his grandmother, I watched as they walked away, gripping my hair with my clammy hands as I looked around me. The streets have never been more quiet. I could barely even start to see the young boy and his grandmother walking off. I knew I scared him but I don't blame him as I was starting to lose my sense.

"Excuse me, did you say you needed help?"

I turned around me with a growing smile on my face and happy that someone acknowledged my distress and could help me find a telephone to call the police. I looked up at where and who the words were coming from.

"Y-yes I-"

My smile dropped, my eyes lifted up widely and my arms fell at my side and my breathing stopped. I choked on air when I realized it was him.

#anime #smut #dabismut #fanfic #x reader #dabi x reader #female #female reader #yandere #mha x reader #mha fanfiction #mha dabi

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iverna · 1 year

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Holiday Subterfuge (CS one-shot)

Emma has been using her imaginary boyfriend as an excuse to get out of work-related socialising all year. But people are getting suspicious, so when it's time for the Christmas party, Emma makes a deal with a friend: he'll call, wearing his scrubs, pretending to be her boyfriend. It goes reasonably well until Killian Jones shows up. (Based on several prompts that sort of coalesced into... whatever this is. Yes, I wrote modern AU. 'tis the season, and all that.) rated G | ~ 2,700 words | read on ao3

This was a mistake. Emma suspected it was a mistake the second she agreed to it, but call her naive, she still had hope.

The plan was simple. She’s been using her non-existent boyfriend who works odd hours as an excuse to get out of after-work get-togethers, team-building trips, invitations to lunch, and every other bonding activity she hates. And it worked perfectly—he’s a doctor, so everyone is always full of understanding and admiration.

Until the annual Christmas party. Which she has known about for weeks in advance, and which they planned especially so that everyone could attend.

And Emma does not have a doctor boyfriend. She doesn’t have any boyfriend.

Enter Victor Whale, a friend of a friend, a man who is more than willing to accept a bottle of whiskey in return for pretending to be her boyfriend via FaceTime. The plan was simple: he calls wearing his scrubs, makes a bit of small talk, and she gets another year of peace and quiet.

Emma is holding her phone, watching Victor chat to her boss, Ingrid, when she becomes aware that someone’s watching her.

She turns—right into Killian Jones.

For a moment, she doesn’t quite register it. She’s used to seeing Killian in jeans and a sweater down at the docks, or in a t-shirt and loose pants at fencing practice. She’s never seen him in a suit before. It’s not a bad look—she’s pretty sure that no outfit in the world could make him look bad—but it doesn’t quite look like him, either.

“What are you doing here?”

He looks just as off-balance as she feels, but as she watches, he pulls himself together. “I was invited,” he says, and she realises that there’s someone standing next to him. A petite brunette, dressed impeccably in a blue blouse and corduroy skirt. Belle.

Belle, who has also begged off various work engagements due to her boyfriend.

She’s dating Killian?

Emma’s stomach is dropping, something that feels horribly like loss plummeting through her. She thought he was single. He flirts like he’s single. And yeah, she always rebuffs him, because that’s been their dynamic ever since they met.

And maybe, just a bit, because she wants to know whether he’ll keep trying.

So far, he has. Or so she thought. And it’s not like she thought he really means everything he says to her, but she did think—she assumed—well. She didn’t know he was taken.

By Belle.

And then her brain catches up to her, and she takes a closer look at him and the expression on his face and the guilty, trapped set to his shoulders and she realises two things: one, he didn’t expect to see her here either. And two, he’s lying.

He’s not dating Belle. Belle is doing the exact same thing Emma is, except she clearly didn’t think of the video-call compromise.

He meets her eyes, and he seems to realise that he’s giving the game away, because he straightens his spine and relaxes his stance, a smile on his face. Another lie. She’s caught it now, and he’s not fooling her. She smiles back blandly.

Belle is not quite oblivious to the byplay. “Hi, Emma,” she says brightly. “You two know each other?”

“Aye,” Killian says, a heavy, almost resigned note to his voice despite his apparent efforts. “Emma is in the fencing club.”

“Oh.” And then Belle’s eyes widen, and she stares at her ‘boyfriend’. “Wait, you mean this is the—?”

Killian clears his throat loudly. “I didn’t know you worked here, Swan.”

Belle closes her mouth, though her eyes are still wide, as if she’s processing some kind of revelation.

Emma has no idea what that’s about. What she really wants is to call Killian out right now, but that means giving Belle’s game away, and that wouldn’t be fair. She’ll get him later. For now, she just shrugs. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Truer words,” Killian mutters. Under his suave exterior, he still looks unsettled. Maybe he knows that she knows. Or maybe he’s worried that she’ll figure it out. He can almost never fool her during practice either. She can always tell when he’s feinting.

Granted, that goes both ways, but still.

“Emma?” a voice comes from her left.

She’s forgotten about her phone. The video call. Victor.

Crap.

“Uh, yeah.” She forces a smile as she turns her attention back to the screen. “Sorry, I got—uh, a friend just showed up.”

Victor smiles back. “Do they wanna say hi?”

“Who’s that?” Belle asks.

And that’s when Ingrid leans in with a bright smile and says, “This is Victor! We finally get to meet Emma’s mysterious boyfriend. He’s on call at the hospital tonight.”

Belle’s eyes widen. She glances at Killian, who has gone rigid. Emma, fighting back a renewed feeling of dread, angles the phone so Belle can see. “Victor, this is Belle.”

“Ah, yes.” Victor is all smiles and charm. “Emma’s mentioned you. She didn’t mention that you’re gorgeous. Wow.”

Belle blushes, though she looks rather like she wants to sink into the ground and disappear. “Thank you.”

“So what do you do exactly, Belle?” Victor asks oh-so-smoothly. Emma resists the urge to roll her eyes. He was bad enough with Ingrid; if he keeps this up, he is not getting the whiskey. He’s supposed to be her boyfriend, not trying to score with her colleagues.

Killian is glaring at the phone, and for a moment, Emma doubts her own assessment. There’s something in that frown, in his stance now, that looks… not possessive, but definitely protective. Is he jealous? Maybe he really is dating Belle.

But no. Killian can play the charmer with the best of them, but he’s a romantic at heart. There’s no way he wouldn’t have mentioned a girlfriend. And there’s no way he’d be dating someone if he wasn’t besotted. And if he were… she would know. Everyone would know, the same way everyone knows that David is madly in love with Mary Margaret.

She’s never imagined Killian dating anyone, but now that the thought has occurred, she can’t imagine him being anything other than devoted.

Even though she really has nothing to base that on.

But the idea of him dating Belle and flirting with her like he has been just doesn’t fit. It goes against everything she knows about him.

Until now, she never realised just how much she knows about him.

Victor is still flirting with Belle, oblivious to the daggers that Killian is glaring at the phone, and Emma has suddenly had enough. This wasn't part of the deal. “Okay,” she says, turning the phone so Victor’s looking at her. “I think I’d better go. Don’t want to keep you from your work, honey.”

“Always so considerate,” he drawls. “I’ll catch you later then, sweetcheeks.”

“Yeah.” She almost—almost—rolls her eyes, but that wouldn’t exactly help sell this relationship to her audience, so she manages a smile instead. “Bye.”

She ends the call. When she looks up, Killian is watching her with narrowed eyes, and Belle is still looking mortified. She seems to gather herself, and takes Killian’s hand. “I need to talk to you,” she says. “Excuse us a moment, Emma?”

“Uh, sure.” Emma stands there as they walk off together, feeling a little thunderstruck.

There’s no way. This is a ruse, the same thing she’s doing.

He’s not even Belle’s type.

“He seems very nice,” Ingrid says. Emma looks at her. She’s watching Killian and Belle walk off too, smiling. Emma clenches her fists. “You know him from fencing, he said?”

“What?” Emma forces her hand to relax. “Oh. Yeah. He’s, uh.” She can’t call him nice. Nice doesn’t even begin to describe Killian Jones. “He knows how to leave an impression.”

“I’ll say.” Ingrid turns her smile on Emma. “As does your Victor. I’m so glad I finally got to meet him.”

Emma can’t help hearing and confirm that he’s real behind the words.

And then her stomach lurches again, because… now Killian thinks she’s dating Victor. Meaning that pretty soon, David and Mary Margaret are going to think that she’s dating Victor. And probably August, and Ruby, and… crap. She’s going to have to confess before this goes any further. She can’t lie to her friends. This whole thing was never supposed to extend beyond work.

Which means she’s going to have to tell Killian that she essentially hired a guy to pretend to date her. Which is pathetic. She’s never going to live it down.

At least her colleagues are finally satisfied that Emma’s boyfriend is in fact real. She’s never liked work get-togethers; they always feel like an insincere waste of time. Hence the whole pretend-boyfriend thing. But at least the conversations don’t feel like a minefield tonight.

Eventually, she finds herself standing alone at the buffet table, and there’s a whisper of movement beside her as Killian joins her. “Swan.”

She feels her mouth twist. “Jones.”

He has opened the top two buttons of his shirt, his tie nowhere to be seen. Better, she thinks. More like himself.

“Enjoying your evening?” he asks, the picture of politeness as he takes a glass of champagne.

“Oh, yeah,” she says, unable to help the sarcasm. “You?”

His mouth quirks just before he takes a sip of his drink. “What’s not to love?”

“Uh-huh,” she says. “That why you agreed to come? You just love work parties?”

He looks momentarily taken aback, like he’s not quite sure what she’s getting at. “I came with Belle. Though, I wanted to—”

“You’re not dating her,” she says, and maybe she’s a little smug about it because she caught him out and that’s not easy to do.

He opens his mouth, closes it again. “Pardon?”

“You,” she says, poking him in the chest, “are not dating her. There’s no way.”

She expects him to deny it, to give her whatever story they came up with. But he lets out a sigh, bows his head, and looks up at her through his lashes. It’s the look he always gives her when he’s guilty and trying to persuade her to go easy on him, and she knows she’ll be in trouble if he ever figures out just how well it works.

“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid,” he says. “What gave it away?”

She shrugs. “You’re not her type. And there’s no way you wouldn’t have mentioned it before now.”

His eyes are sharp on hers. “You know me too well.” She can’t tell whether there’s something intimate in it, or whether that’s just wishful thinking.

She shrugs again. “I told you, I’m pretty good at knowing when people are lying.”

“I was going to tell you,” he says. “And in my defence, I didn’t know you’d be here. I had no idea you worked here too.”

“Right.” She never talks about work. She never talks about anything personal if she can help it.

“And speaking of things I didn’t know,” he says, and he sounds casual, but there’s something tense behind the words, “why have you never mentioned this man of yours? Victor, was it?”

“Oh.” Emma just about suppresses a wince. She should tell him. She has to tell him. It’s only fair. “Yeah. It’s, uh. Long story.”

“I’d love to hear it,” he says, and there’s a glint in his eyes that she recognises from practice. She was wrong. He’s not tense. The word is predatory. “I would love to know how you came to date a man who calls you ‘sweetcheeks’.”

She’s going to kill Victor. “That was—he doesn’t call me that.”

Killian raises his eyebrows. “I was there, love. I heard him.”

“Yeah, well, you call me—that.” Not the best comeback, in hindsight, but by then it’s too late to think of a better one.

He laughs, looking amused now. “If you prefer ‘sweetcheeks’, I can always—”

“No,” she cuts him off, annoyed.

She spots Walter and two of the other tech guys wandering over towards the buffet table, and hastily turns away. Killian follows her as she walks away from the table, with no aim other than avoiding people.

There’s no avoiding him, of course, not now that he’s smelled blood.

And she can’t even complain, because she started it.

“At first I thought I owed you an apology,” Killian says as he falls into step beside her, “for misreading the situation so badly and pursuing you when you were spoken for. But then, you never so much as mentioned the man, so how was I to know?”

Emma comes to a stop, staring at him. Pursuing? What does that mean? Pursuing implies catching, which implies… more than just idle flirtation. Right?

“And now,” Killian goes on, “having seen the man you’ve allegedly broken your golden rule for, I can’t help but think that either you’ve taken leave of your senses, or something else is going on here.”

That… sounds like something she should be offended by. “Excuse me? What rule?”

“The one about no relationships,” Killian says.

He’s right. She did say something about that. Once. Shortly after she met him.

And she did set that rule for herself, years ago, but… she almost forgot about it. It hasn’t seemed very important lately.

Weird.

(Not really that weird.)

“Oh,” she says. “That.”

“You’re not telling me that you, Miss Love Will Leave You Brokenhearted, broke that rule for him,” Killian says, his eyes narrowed as he studies her. That predatory gleam is back, the one he gets when he knows that something’s going on and he’s determined to get to the bottom of it. “I don’t know that I’ve ever met a more obvious candidate for breaking a woman’s heart.”

He’s right. He’s so right that it’s kind of scary. He’s got no business being that perceptive.

And what the hell did he mean by pursuing?

“I know,” she admits. “It’s—like I said. Long story.” She looks around to make sure nobody else is within earshot. “Kinda pretty much the same as Belle, I guess.”

“Ah.” It’s a long sound, and it seems to release the last bit of tension in his stance. He grins at her. “I had a feeling. It just seemed like too much of a coincidence.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” she says quickly. “Please.”

One eyebrow quirks up. “And what do I get for keeping your dirty little secret?”

She mirrors his expression, although she has to use both eyebrows. “Oh, blackmail, is it?”

“Don’t try to claim the moral high ground, love.” He looks like he’s enjoying himself now. “You want to make me, an honest man, party to your lies and deceptions. Surely that calls for some kind of recompense.”

“You’re already party to lies and deception,” she points out, “or have you forgotten why you’re here?”

“Belle has already promised me a favour in return.”

She is not going to ask what that favour involves. She is not. They’re clearly just friends. “Fine. What do you want?”

He considers. “I want you to give me a fair chance. If the answer is still no, that’s fine, but no treating it all as a joke or hiding behind the past.”

She feels her eyes widen. “A chance, as in… you and me?”

“Not a date or anything of the sort,” he says quickly. “I’m not going to blackmail you into that. I just mean… you always laugh it off. You don’t let yourself consider it.”

Right again. And if Emma is perfectly honest—something she can admit she struggles with—there have been times when she almost knew that he wasn’t just joking around. When she felt the maybe hovering between them. It’s just a lot easier to laugh it off than consider the possibility of… anything else.

But it’s Killian. She knows him—better than she even realised. She’s been right about him every single time so far.

“Like I said, if the answer’s still no, I’ll accept it,” Killian says, and she knows that he means it. “And you have my word that I won’t bring it up again.”

“No, that’s—” Emma shakes her head. “I mean, yeah. Okay. Deal.”

He beams at her.

* * *

He smiles more widely still just over a week later, when she ends their last training session before Christmas by asking him out.

(Once he's recovered from his shock, that is.)

* * *

Tag list (shh I didn't forget again) - @optomisticgirl @mariakov81 @courtorderedcake @tomeandflickcorner @spartanguard @snowbellewells @karl0ta @heavenlyjoycastle @queen-serena88 @stahlop @inkerii @bubblegum1425 @elegies @winterbaby89 @kday426 @sals86 @superchocovian @pirateherokillian @laschatzi @scientificapricot @kmomof4 @thisonesatellite @ilovemesomekillianjones @last-tsarina @thesschesthair @the-darkdragonfly

#cs ff #ouat ff #cs one-shot #cs crew #merry christmas etc #modern au #cs au #captain swan #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfic #ouat fanfic #fanfic #mine

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chic-a-gigot · 2 months

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La Mode nationale, no. 6, 12 février 1898, Paris. No. 21. — Toilette de dîner. Modèle de Mmes Balmain sœurs, 46, rue Ste-Anne, Paris. No. 23. — Toilette de jeune femme. Modèle de Mmes Balmain sœurs, 46, rue Ste-Anne, Paris. Bibliothèque nationale de France

No. 21. — Toilette de dîner en velours gros bleu. Jupe entièrement plate et unie. Corsage plat, à petite pointe devant et derrière, légèrement ouvert en rond et rehaussé de mousseline de soie bleu ciel terminée par un galon de paillettes d'acier bleui. Un collier de perles bleues retenues par des cabochons de saphir encadre le décolleté. Col pailleté avec chou de mousseline de soie bleu ciel 3 boutons fantaisie garnissent le corsage. Manches plates et unies.

No. 21. — Dinner ensemble in large blue velvet. Completely flat and plain skirt. Flat bodice, with a small point at the front and back, slightly open in the round and enhanced with sky blue silk chiffon finished with a braid of blued steel sequins. A necklace of blue pearls held by sapphire cabochons frames the neckline. Sequined collar with sky blue silk chiffon collar. 3 fancy buttons garnish the bodice. Flat, plain sleeves.

Matériaux: 15 mètres velours.

—

No. 23. — Toilette de jeune femme, en taffetas vert d'eau. Jupe toute plate et sans garniture. Corsage blouse en taffetas, garni d'entre-deux de dentelle blanche reliés par des motifs de jais. Nœud papillon en dentelle blanche. Manches à plis garnies dans le bas d'un parement de dentelle. Ceinture de taffetas avec nœud devant dans lequel on place un boucle byzantine en filigrane d'or avec pierres de couleur.

No. 23. — Young woman's ensemble, in sea green taffeta. Very flat skirt without trim. Taffeta blouse bodice, trimmed with white lace inserts connected by jet motifs. White lace bow tie. Pleated sleeves trimmed at the bottom with a lace trim. Taffeta belt with bow in front in which a Byzantine buckle in gold filigree with colored stones is placed.

Matériaux: 15 mètres taffetas.

#La Mode nationale #19th century #1890s #1898 #on this day #February 12 #periodical #fashion #fashion plate #color #description #bibliothèque nationale de france #dress #collar #bow #gigot #Modèles de chez #Maison Balmain sœurs

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levans44 · 1 year

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Damage Control - Chapter 3

She returns to work on Monday morning with tired lines around her eyes and a heavy weight in her chest. Taking the usual walk to her workplace in the Flatiron Building, at the busy intersection between Broadway and 5th, she turns the corner to find an unusually large gathering across the street from her building.

As she approaches the group, she could make out the fact that it was some sort of protest — not unusual given her company’s association with SHIELD.

Normally, she’d resort to the back entrance to avoid all the press and chaos, but the slogans are what slow her step.

No more supers!

Protect CITIZENS not MUTANTS

Her eyebrows furrow as she tries to get a closer look. Anti-hero sentiment had only risen after Thanos and the blip, but she’d only heard about these protests from co-workers until now.

BRING BACK SRA!

SRA: the superhero registration act.

The idea sends a nervous spark in her stomach — she was all too familiar with the politics of it all, the bureaucracy. Knows that the abolishment of the SRA after the siege of Asgard was the only reason why there’s a steady stream of federal funding going into SHIELD, into Damage Control. Knows that if they brought back the Act, her department might get completely shut down, and she’d lose a steady 9 to 5 that’s been keeping her afloat for the past four years.

Yet, something deeper inside of her, the side of her that she tries to conceal most times, compels her to change course. She walk straight over to the group of avid 20-somethings at the front of the protest, tugging nervously at the collar of her blouse.

Trying to catch the attention of New Yorkers too busy pretending to be on their phones to give him a second glance, the man collecting petitions watches with wide eyes as she approaches their table voluntarily.

Quickly surveying her surroundings, she ducks her head, scribbling her name down on the list.

“Thank you so much, would you like-”

She cuts him off, rushing in a hushed voice.

“No thank you, just uhm, make sure you guys stay on this side of the street. Security can’t disband you as long as you come too close to the building.”

He looks surprised, but nods appreciatively “We will, thank you.”

She turns around and scurries off into her building without a second glance, hoping she that no one saw her, and that her boss wasn’t going to be too mad about being late to work.

The elevator dings at level five: the Executive Floor. The automated voice of E.D.I.T.H., an A.I. system Tony had wanted to test out in her office, announced her arrival as the glass doors slid open.

Her workplace was structured as an open-office, quintessentially New York with all its high ceilings, exposed brick, and lots of sun. Tony, upon a small visit two years ago, had insisted on revamping the place with some 21st-century technology (hence, E.D.I.T.H. and a bunch of high-tech 3D printers that people still didn’t know how to use).

Throwing her jacket down on her corner of the office, she rushes into the general meeting office. The first thing on her agenda every day at 9 am? The morning briefing. Today, she’s over 10 minutes late.

She scrambles through the automatic glass door and all eyes fall on her.

With an apologetic smile, she slides down into a chair at her usual spot, next to her coworker and best friend, Robin Chapel.

She spots a cup of Starbucks already placed on the table in front of her and shoots her friend an appreciative smile, taking a sip to find that it had turned cold, but just as effective at helping her wake up a bit.

She tries to focus on whatever topic was being discussed by the rest of the group, a task that proves more difficult when her mind kept running back to that protest, and, of course, lingering thoughts of that weekend.

She’s interrupted by the sound of someone calling her name, maybe twice, but she doesn’t notice until Robin nudges her side. She perks up from her daze to realize that the rest of the table was staring at her expectantly.

“Hmm? Oh, sorry…”

Her boss, Anne Hoag, sits at the head of the table, repeating the question with disapproval growing in her voice.

“I said, do you have the Times Square writeup?”

“Oh, yes, yes I do…”

It takes her forever to find the files in the jumbled mess of documents in her bag, before she’s able to slide the crumpled sheets forward. Anne gives her another pointed look through thick-rimmed, black cat-eye glasses before collecting the report, and clears her throat before resuming the meeting.

By the end, her mind feels exhausted, and she’s only further discouraged when she checks the clock: only 9:40 am. She stuffs her belongings back in her bag, holding onto what little was left in her coffee cup like a lifeline as she makes her way out.

“Ugh, did you see those protesters outside again?” She feels Robin suddenly bump into her side as they squeezes their way out of the conference room.

She gulps, washing the nervous ball in her chest down with more coffee.

“Mhm, yeah.”

“I mean what do these people think we’re going to do, stop Captain America from saving people?” Robin rolls her eyes, letting out a snort.

She almost drops what’s in her hand at the mention of his name, and barely nods in response, quickly raising her cup to her lips for another nervous sip. Robin frowns, surveying her face intently.

“Hey, you alright? You seem really off this morning."

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine.”

Robin frowns and opens her mouth, but is interrupted before she can object.

“Is that a new necklace?” She points at Robin’s neck, where a shiny new piece of jewelry hung.

“Oh, yeah.” Robin blushes, hand reaching up to tug at the small, square pendant. “Anniversary present from John. He got us a table at that fancy French place last night. You know, the one on Lafayette?”

Despite the thought of last night heavily weighing down the back of her mind, she becomes genuinely gladdened by the sight of Robin’s wide smile, her enthusiasm about John. The three of them started working at Damage Control around the same time, but Robin and John, both being highly competitive people, had hated each others’ guts during the early stages of their career. She had wingwoman-ed the heck out of both of them for the first three exhausting years, and they were finally able to admit their attraction to each other just this last month.

“Anyways, what about you, how was your weekend?” Robin nudges her side as they walked down the office corridor, eager to move on from talking about her budding relationship.

Shit. Think fast.

“It was uh…” Mortifying? Humiliating? Traumatizing? She chews on the rim of her coffee cup, an anxious habit, before shrugging as nonchalantly as she could.

“Boring.”

Robin raises a sharp eyebrow. “Uh huh. I know you better than that, you know.”

She knows her friend would press on the issue until she got her to confess, but they are interrupted by a coworker from Robin’s department.

“Ms. Chapel? We need your approval for the new Madison traffic guidelines.”

“Ugh, alright.” Robin waves the employee off before turning back around, pointing a firm finger at her. “Don’t think we’re done talking about this” She mutters, keeping eye contact while walking backwards to her division of the office.

She gives Robin an amused eye-roll and a loud ‘mhmm,’ before starting to head for her own desk, ready for another long day of work.

Suddenly, she hears Anne’s voice call out her name from back in the meeting room.

Fuck.

She winces, loudly, dragging her feet back to the conference room and bracing herself for the worst. Anne isn’t usually the kind of boss to nitpick her employees’ behavior, but surely she had noticed something was off about her this morning.

“Yeah, Anne?”

“I need you to deliver some term sheets to an investor for me this morning. He’s agreed to funding this new subdivision for months but he always forgets to sign the damn documents.”

That’s it, just some signature deliveries? She lets out a rather loud sigh of relief.

“Sure, no problem, where can I find him?”

Anne lets out a snort, shaking her head amusedly “God knows, probably drunk off his ass flying over Empire State.”

“Huh?”

“Tony. I need you to get Tony Stark’s signature.”

Well, shit. She lets out a loud wince, which catches Anne’s attention. Her boss glances up with a raised eyebrow, peering at her questioningly over the thick frames of her glasses.

“Sorry Anne, but, is there any way you could get Amy to do it?” She asks timidly, referring to Anne’s secretary and the floor receptionist.

“Why, is there a problem?” There was that signature Anne look. A mixture of disappointment, judgement, and altogether absolutely terrifyingly stern gaze. Anne was a great boss if you heeded to her (normally) reasonable instructions, but you did not want to see what happens if you try and challenge her judgement.

“Uh, no, nope. I can go.”

The 40 minute drive to upstate NY is therapeutic in some ways, yet not so much in others. Initially, it felt to get away from all the noise and traffic, but as she drives closer and closer to the Avengers Compound, she feels a familiar sense of dread creeping up behind her. She reaches for the dashboard, hoping that some of her road trip favorites will help ease her stomach.

She halts in front of the giant gates of the compound while humming the last few notes of Queen’s Don’t Stop Me Now, which lifts her mood substantially, all things considered. Another one of Tony’s automated voices asks for identification as she rolls down her window, and lets her in soon after.

Anne’s request had been to deliver some files to Tony and talk over with him about investments. She wasn’t worried about renewing the deal with him — Tony was a self-proclaimed philanthropist after all, and he and Anne went way back. What she was worried about was… well, a little less work-related.

When she steps out of her car and walks in through the heavy glass doors, the distinct smell of greasy french fries is the first to greet her.

Next is Tony, still in his pajamas and fluffy bunny slippers, naturally.

“Manhattan!” Tony greets cheerfully, a half-eaten cheeseburger in his right hand.

She trails behind him up to the second floor, and briefly relives the horror she felt clambering down it a few days prior. When they reach the giant lounge area, she notices the McDonalds wrappers and drink cups strewn all across the coffee table.

“So. You’ve officially moved into the compound now, huh?”

Tony ignores her teasing, meaning around a mouthful of his Quarter Pounder. “Best way to get over a hangover, I’m tellin’ ya. You want one?” He point to a tall line of burgers stacked on the kitchen counter, which she eyes with disdain. At 11 in the morning? How does he do it?

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Suit yourself” He shrugs, taking another bite as he walks through the open living room, plopping down on a blue couch.

That couch. The last time she was here, that was where she and… no.

She suppresses her stray thoughts, and instead obeys Tony’s gestures for her to join him at his seat.

“Well, I’m sure Anne’s told you why I’m here.” She carefully sinks into the loveseat across Tony, starting to pull out the documents from her bag.

“Yeah, yeah, leave whatever I have to sign on the table.” He waves her off with a nonchalant nod. She slides the folder across the coffee table, careful to avoid puddles of grease and ketchup.

“While you are here, though, I do wanna talk about something else.”

Oh no.

She’s afraid to even ask, so she stays silent.

“What happened with Cap this weekend? I mean aside from the… y’know.”

She clears her throat, straightening up in her seat, and shrugs. Play innocent, she figures. Maybe he’ll stop asking that way.

“Well, whatever happened, that man won’t leave the compound. Been sulky all day.”

She’s about to roll her eyes at the image of a sulky Captain America until she realizes in horror that-

“Wait, he’s here?”

Too late.

She frantically follows Tony’s gaze, whipping around in her seat to see him, standing rather awkwardly in the entrance to the living room. Next to the stairs. Exactly where she had ran out on him the other day.

Great.

What was with this guy and terribly timed entrances? She’s never ran into him when she was at the compound for business with Tony before, but of course the one time she's praying he isn’t here, he is.

Guess karma really does have ingenious ways of biting you in the ass.

He’s covered in sweat, towel around his neck like he just spent a whole day at the gym.

God, is this guy ever not working out?

Something about his demeanor had changed since the last time she saw him, however, and once the horrified realization clears from his eyes, his expression immediately turns stoic, jaw setting.

Almost an expression he’d pull as Captain America, one that would never fail to intimidate his trivial foes, but she wasn’t one of them. She saw through the bullshit. The tired lines below his eyes. The hurt in the green of his irises. The insecurity beneath it all.

She almost feels a sense of guilt at how obviously unfamiliar he was to all of this. He had even told her, rather nervously so, that night before they…

But then again, so was she. This whole situation was anything but routine to her. But that doesn’t mean that she owes him anything. Never did, never will. Not even if he can’t realize that their night was not gonna remain as anything but a terrible mistake.

“Hey, Tony.” She’s surprised by how raspy his voice sounds as he nods discretely in the direction of her ex-boss, wholly ignoring her as he turns around, walking off in the other direction.

Tony lets out a low whistle even before Steve is out of earshot.

“Jeez, what did happen after I left?”

“Nothing, we just…”

She lets out a small sigh, unable to finish the sentence, eyes focusing on a small paper bag grease stain instead.

Tony lets out her name in that familiar, concerned tone, hands folded in front of him, elbows resting on his knees.

“Did you… did you do it out of spite?”

She flinches visibly, eyebrows creasing in something reminiscent of anger. “What? No, Tony I’d never– I just…” She lowers her head, covering her face with both hands and breathes in.

“It shouldn’t have happened, all right? I just… I don’t know how I let it get that far.”

He leans back, folding his arms and letting out a sigh.

“Maybe you should just talk to him. Trust me. He’s got no fucking clue what he’s doing.”

Neither does she, but she doesn’t tell him that. Instead, she looks up, eyeing the concerned look on Tony face one last time with pursed lips. Then, she stands up, smoothing down the front of her dress skirt, and gathers the rest of her files back in her bag.

“I gotta go. Don’t forget about the meeting today.”

To her relief, the concern on Tony’s face dwindles at the reminder. He lets out a disgruntled noise, as if he was newly informed that he had to attend the company-wide meeting instead of Pepper this time, who was currently occupied at an overseas press conference.

He rolls his eyes, wiping his mouth with a napkin he then carelessly tosses back on the table.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you out.”

Arms crossed, he stands in the doorway of the compound as her car pulls out of the driveway. He waves, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling settling down in his stomach, like he knows something was bound to go wrong soon.

And oh boy, was he right.

Damage Control Masterlist

#marvel mcu #mcu fic #mcu fandom #captain america #steve rogers #steve x reader #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends to lovers #eventual smut #eventual fluff #eventual romance #smut #angst #hurt/comfort

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interxstitial · 7 months

Text

𝙵𝙰𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙾𝙽 / 𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚂 .

TAGGED BY: @heartxshaped-bruises (thank youuu!) TAGGING: @lugoboi @luneblush (jaeun!) @likescrazy (asami!) @conlvbrisa (heechul!) @daemonry @entityforged (gyeongjae!) @itsacriime (HMMM JORDAN) @fadinglights (anthony!) @fooleds (christian hehe)

★ ⸻ 𝐁𝐎𝐃𝐘

Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Sixpack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Slender frame. Muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame (5 ft 4 or shorter). Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Thick ass. Small waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Average fingers. Broad shoulders. Underweight. Average Weight. Overweight.

★ ⸻ 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

★ ⸻ 𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐍

Pale. Fair. Rosy. Peachy. Gold. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth (facial area). Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scarred. Warm tone. Neutral tone. Cool tone. Tans easily. Prone to sunburn.

★ ⸻ 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Black. Blue. Red. Green. Gold. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Almond. Close-set. Wide-set. Squinty. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned. Deep set.

★ ⸻ 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑

Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Short. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Floor length. Buzz cut. Bald. Jaw length. Mohawk. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Golden brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Jet black. Ginger. Auburn. Dyed red. Dyed any “unnatural color”. Streaked. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows.

★ ⸻ 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐎𝐎𝐒 / 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 .

Full sleeve. Thigh tattoo. Shin tattoo. Wrist tattoo. Lower back tattoo. Hand/finger tattoo. Foot tattoo. Neck tattoo. Face tattoo. Back tattoo. Chest tattoo. One tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoo. Monroe piercing. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Industrial piercings. Earlobe piercing. Prince Albert piercing. Eyebrow piercing(s). Tongue piercing(s). Lip piercing(s). Tragus piercing. Angel bites. Labret. Stretched out ears. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

★ ⸻ 𝐂𝐎𝐒𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐒

Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Lip balm. Lip tint. Red lips. Pink lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Dewy foundation. Concealer. Wears make up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Never wears make-up.

★ ⸻ 𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓

Floral. Fruity. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturizer. Natural soap. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Metal. Rain. Grass. Ocean. Autumn leaves. Baked bread. Freshly baked cookies. Smoke. Campfire. Lavender. Trees. Pumpkin Pie. Musk. Rose. Gingerbread. Peppermint. Oak. Honey. Lemon. Vanilla. Coffee Cake. Mint. Raw hyde.

★ ⸻ 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒

Jeans. Tight pants. Over-knee socks. Tights. Fishnets. Leggings. Yoga pants. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Tight/formfitting dress. Cardigans. Blouse. Button up shirt. Band-T-shirt. Sports-T-shirt. Sweatpants. Tank-top. Cut off t-shirt. Designer. High street. Online stores. Thrift. Lingerie. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sun dress. Tie. Tuxedo. Cocktail dress. Highslit dress/skirt. T-shirt. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Jean shorts. Sweater. Sweater vest. Khaki pants. Suit. Hoodie. Harem pants. Basketball shorts. Boxers. Briefs. Thong. Hotpants. Hipster panties. Bra. Sports bra. Crop top. Corset. Ballerina skirt. Leotard. Polka dot. Stripes. Glitter. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Chemise. Patterns. Florals. Neon colors. Pastels. Plaid. Black. Dark colors. Neutral colors. Fur. Faux fur.

★ ⸻ 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐒

Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Boots. Cowboy boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stilettos. Bare feet. Loafers.

#games #v: golden.#//HMMMM HM HM HM :EYES:

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lvebug · 6 months

Text

FASHION / APPEARANCE STATS — TAG GAME

tagged by: @marshthing thx!!! 🫶

tagging: @lampllghter @surferspider @inhcursed @walkeddeath @flynnherbert @thanatologies & YOU!

BODY

Long legs. Short legs. Average legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Skinny arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Flabby Stomach. Soft stomach. Sixpack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Slender frame. Muscular frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame (5 ft 4 or shorter). Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Dirty nails. Flat ass. Average ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Thick ass. Small waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Short fingers. Calloused fingers. Average fingers. Broad shoulders. Underweight. Average Weight. Overweight.

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 141 cm-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

Pale. Fair. Rosy. Peachy. Gold. Olive. Dark. Tanned. Blotchy. Smooth (facial area). Acne. Dry. Greasy. Freckled. Scarred.

EYES

Small. Large. Average. Grey. Brown. Dark Brown. Black. Blue. Red. Green. Gold. Hazel. Doe-eyed. Almond. Close-set. Wide-set. Squinty. Monolid. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned. Deep set

HAIR

Thin. Thick. Fine. Normal. Greasy. Dry. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Straight. Smooth. Wavy. Floppy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Short. Shoulder length. Back length. Waist length. Floor length. Buzz cut. Bald. Jaw length. Mohawk. White. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Ombre. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Golden brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown.Jet black. Ginger. Auburn. Dyed red. Dyed any “unnatural color”. Streaked. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows.

TATTOOS/PIERCINGS

COSMETICS

Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Red lips. Pink lips. Dark lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colorful eyeshadow. Blush. Lipliner. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Shiny foundation. Concealer. Wears make up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Never wears make-up.

SCENT

CLOTHES

SHOES

Sneakers. Slip-ons. Flats. Slippers. Sandals. High heels. Kitten heels. Ankle boots. Combat boots. Boots. Cowboy boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Stilettos. Bare feet. Loafers.

#what if i givr andie a little lip piercing #idk if i hate that or not tho. maube she gets it post bite and if she ends up hating it she takes it out and it just heals over completely #IT CANNOT BE A MISTAKE TO HAVE CARED — headcanons #LOVE IS AT THE CENTER OF IT ALL — dash games

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regalityandcoffee · 5 months

Text

Alone (Charlie Dempsey x OC) (@ladyshipwildrose 's OC Maria!)

Summary: for @ladyshipwildrose After a long morning of training, Charlie comes back home to crash.

Warnings: Charlie has anxiety and depression and abandonment issues.

Enjoy <3

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

The papers on the coffee table had been moved.

It was the first thing he noticed as he shut the door behind him and toed off his sneakers.

Well, that and the fact that the apartment was frigid.

He yawned, setting his gym bag onto the floor and sinking into the couch. It was only 11 am. As lazy as he felt for wanting to take a nap, he had been up since 6 am, and 3 of those hours in-between he spent training in the Performance Center. He was exhausted, not just from his grueling regimen, but from the annoying, traffic congested drive back home.

He rested his head against the back of the couch. looking up at the ceiling, before his heavy lids closed shut. Still, with the little energy he had, he managed to croak out his new favorite three words.

"Maria, I'm home."

He waited. Seconds, then minutes went by. Nothing. No gust of wind, no flickering lights, no doors creaking ajar. The only proof of her presence were the out-of-order papers and the unnatural cold of the small apartment.

Charlie opened his eyes and looked around. Nothing. He sighed, thinking back to the night before. Messy sheets, sweat beading down his forehead, his hands gripping her hips, almost making her body warm as he moved atop of her. Last night, like almost every night with her, was the happiest he's been since moving back to the states.

Pretty curls, big brown eyes that turned to honey at golden hour. She couldn't even speak and yet she kept him better company than he could ever hope.

And yet... she was missing.

He stood up, and walked (well, at his current state it was more of a limp) down the hall to peek into his room. She wasn't on the bed. Or at the desk. Though she was an apparition, there weren't that many places she could be hiding. Her typical spots were under the bed or in the closet.

He slumped against the wall and tried again. "Maria?" He called, embarrassed at how hoarse his voice sounded. He listened closely.

Nothing. Just the sound of the A/C kicking on.

Good job, Dempsey. You drove away a ghost. Charlie ran a hand through his hair a tad bit too roughly, pulling out a few knots. He stripped off his gross gym clothes, and slumped back down the hall to the bathroom. He started up the shower and got in, scrubbing his body with soap and a loofah as the scalding hit water bore down on him. It wasn't helping to clean his darkening thoughts.

He shut the shower off and towel-dryed his hair the best he could. There was no way he was dealing with the noise of his hair dryer now. He walked back into his room, crawling under his sheets, not even bothering to put on shorts. The sheets were sticking to him, but at least he could finally lie down and rest his body.

It didn't take long for him to shut down and fall asleep, not even setting an alarm.

Charlie woke up in his dark room, a hot sweaty mess under his comforter. What time was it? He felt around the sheets for his phone when his hand touched something cold. He pulled it away frantically and rushed to turn on his bedside lamp. His heart skpped a hard beat, he tried not to get his hopes up.

But to his relief, the shape of a much too familiar figure laid on top of his bed.

"Maria?"

"Come on. Come here." he pulled up the messy comforter for himher and watched as she crawled to his side, her legs wrapping around his body yo snuggle against his chest. He welcomed the chill of her body immediately, wrapping his arms around her petite form.

She was curled up on top of the comforter, her head resting on her hands. Her long green tartan skirt revealed just a bit of her slim legs, her faded blue blouse not moving again her chest. But there was an obvious reason for that. Her eyes slowly opened under dewy long lashes. She looked as exhausted as he was. Gorgeous, but exhausted.

"Hi baby, I missed you. You're usually here when I get home..." he murmured, watching as she slowly propped herself up, the heels of her hand digging into the mattress as she rose slowly. Her body swayed a bit.

"Mmmph." She managed, her pretty pink lips contorted in a pout. She looked at him, her honey brown eyes looking as if to apologize.

Though her body gave off no heat, he had enough warmth for the both of them. He held her tight and drifted off back to sleep.

"There you are. That's good." He rolled onto his sideand held her close. He lid a kiss against her forehead, embracing her as he buried his face in the crook of her neck. Someway. Somehow, she smelled faintly of roses. She always smelled like roses. He smiled against her as she slowly tightened her arms around him. She let out another small noise, sounding damn close to a cat purring.

"It's alright, let's go back to sleep, okay?"

"Mmph."

A little bit more rest wouldn't kill either of them.

-fin-

#charlie dempsey x oc #works for friends

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