#yes i have those specific boots yes i wear them because they make me over 6 feet tall yes i only wear those fucking boots and will probably

[girlboyburger]

🌻🍂

Rome with some gold accents }:)

(It/He)

#my art #furry #anthro #fursona #clean furry #furry fandom #oc #sfw furry #furry art #oc: rome #cattle #bovine #cow #steer #bull #trans masc #trans #yellow #gold #yes i have those specific boots yes i wear them because they make me over 6 feet tall yes i only wear those fucking boots and will probably #only ever draw rome in doc martins steel toes boots SPECIFICALLY #anyways #sunflower #illustration #fashion #fashion fur #button up #pericings #septum

[hillbillyoracle]

Androgynous/Masc Leaning Capsule Wardrobe Ideas

In honor of International Nonbinary People’s Day, I offer you the clothing advice I wish I had like 15 years ago. I prefer a small well curated wardrobe but it is so tough to pull that off as a nonbinary genderfluid person. I spent years struggling to make my capsule wardrobe work for me. Every example I saw was either with feminine clothes or with the world blandest men’s clothing. 

For reference, I’m AFAB and live in Kentucky - very hot and muggy in summers, can get quite cold (-20 F) in winter but it’s usually mild with highs are in the 30F-40F range most days. This is the advice I’d give my younger self if I could. 

Focus on 10-15 Core Items

While I am fluid, I consistently spend most of my time “inbetween” these days. Having a neutral to masc learning main wardrobe with some feminine items to mix in wound up working best for me. So here’s the masc leaning base wardrobe I recommend. 

~3 x Button Ups - I went with short sleeve Hawaiian shirts for myself because I love bold patterns. You can find a lot of Hawaiian shirt these days that don’t have stereotypical “island” patterns on them while still being pretty light and breathable in summer. If your style leans more classic, consider oxford cloth button ups. You might need more button ups if you work in a business casual setting. 

~3 x Tees - I like graphic tees, specifically hand screen printed ones so that’s what I go with. But if your style is more classic then consider investing in some good quality solid color tees. 

~3 x Casual Tops - for me this is a tank top, turtleneck, and a Henley. But you might consider a collarless button ups, plain long sleeve shirts, and ringer style long sleeve shirts. 

~3 Pants - for me, I have black and stone washed denim since those are my favorites. I look for tapered fits over skinny or boot leg where I can. I have one pair that’s a jogger style I quite like. You might look for chinos or khakis if you have a more formal dress code at work but they’ll still work with graphic tees and other tops if you style them right. 

~3 x Layers - for me this is a cardigan, a flannel, and a hoodie. You might consider v neck or crew neck sweaters, cable knit sweaters, and fair isle sweaters as well. 

Feminine Clothing Module

What’s nice about this approach is that you can then create a feminine clothing module that plays nicely with your main wardrobe. 

For me this looks like

1-2 Dresses - I have a maxi tee dress and a long sleeved linen dress since that works more for everyday wear for me. 

1-2 Skirts - I don’t have any presently but the next big feminine swing I have I’ll be ordering a nice linen skirt in my favorite color. 

1-2 Casual Tops - I don’t have any presently after my last big wardrobe edit but business casual shell tops, camisoles, and cowl neck tops work well here. 

1-2 Layers - I have a linen blazer in a women’s cut and a long striped duster. You might consider a kimono style shrug/wraps, sweaters in a more feminine cut, and women’s cardigans

You don’t need a lot here because so much of the main wardrobe can be mixed with a feminine element or two and it becomes much more feminine - especially if you’re AFAB but even if you’re AMAB. It doesn’t take a lot a feminine clothing to make an over all outfit look more feminine and subtle touches work just as well as more overt styles ime.

Sizing

Sizing is tricky as hell. I’m plus size (size 18-20 in women’s pants) and especially trying to find masculine stuff with the right fit is a pain. I really recommend going in to try things on if you’re able but if not get comfortable with the idea you will likely need to send things back. Yes you can take measurements but those measurements are still listed with different proportions in mind. 

For men’s clothes I lean toward a slightly oversized fit - as most men I’m around do. For women’s clothes, I lean toward a slightly tight fit - as most women I’m around do. Look at the people around you and see which fits they lean toward and opt for that where you’re able to for yourself. 

Shoes, Outwear, Special Occasions

Shoes - I tend to opt to go neutral in my shoes and outerwear. Not in color or pattern mind you but gender. For shoes, I currently have 3 pairs - a pair of crocs (with spikes), running shoes/sneakers (old Champion brand slip ons), and a pair of Doc Martens. These are good options if you’re AMAB too because the sizing is unisex or available in similar styles for men and women. Other good options are Vans, Chucks, any hippie sandal brand you can think of. “Nicer” shoes are great but often pretty gendered. I lean toward getting “nicer shoes” that are opposite my assigned gender when I do grab them. 

Outerwear - I also tend to opt for gender neutral options for outerwear too. Since it doesn’t get terribly cold here, I stick to a micropuff jacket from North Face and layer a black denim jacket over it when it gets cold. When I wear it with masc stuff, blends in. When I wear it with feminine stuff, it adds a slight edge I like. Pea coats are decent options as well. If you live some place real cold, a lot of the long winter coats are basically the same between genders, just different fits. 

Special Occasions - I would recommend not worrying about special occasions until or unless they come up. I have the same two “special occasion” dresses that I’ve been using for years because they come up so rarely and I can’t bare to spend too much money on something I’ll wear maybe once or twice a year. Formal wear is highly gendered and if you learn androgynous it’s a tough needle to thread. For those events with hosts you know, it’s worth reaching out to them to see what they think makes an outfit “formal” - could be nicer cuts or materials, could be rigid gender norms - can’t know until you ask. 

For most special occasions, I do not know the host, so I default very structured looks in accordance with my assigned gender. Still feels a bit edgy but no ones gonna have the guts to say it’s wrong. For AMAB folks you might do the inverse, more flowy looks and colors while still adhering to your assigned gender. All depends on the level of familiarity you have with the hosts and the flack you’re willing to catch. 

Outfits

Some masc leaning outfit ideas: 

button up, hoodie, pants, boots

graphic tee, flannel or cardigan, pants, sneakers

turtleneck, pants, boat shoes

button up, tie, cardigan, pants, chelsea boots

Some fem leaning outfit ideas: 

button up, cardigan, skirt, sneakers

shell top, wrap, pants, sandals

graphic tee, skirt, sneakers

dress, sandals

Conclusion

Hope this was helpful to someone out there! 

#nonbinary #androgynous #nonbinary fashion #international nonbinary people's day #genderfluid #genderfluid fashion

[goobyblob]

The normal, pulsing, somewhat nauseating elevator ride was taking a lot longer, this time. Chell pondered what sort of exceptionally tall test chamber was awaiting her on the other side. Perhaps GLaDOS in all her infinite wisdom decided now would be a good time to test out the safety of her long-fall boots, most likely by tossing her from higher and higher until her ankles broke.

When the door opened, however, she wasn’t greeted by the usual sleek, unfeeling white. The colors were more, well, existent, with tans and browns and an exceptionally wilted potted plant in the corner. For a moment, Chell let out a sigh of relief.

“When being designed, I was made to be obligated to follow 17,649 rules to protect humans I interacted with. Out of those, I found only three to be useful. This is one of them.”

“Unfortunately, we cannot test forever. Well, I can, but you cannot. You have to sleep, at some point. Isn’t that sad? I live 50% more life per life than you do. You’re going to die and you spent a third of it asleep. How sad.”

“So here you go. A bed. Enjoy. How you could spend eight straight hours being utterly unproductive without going insane is beyond me, but I suppose you’re more used to that sort of thing than I am.”

“By the way, I kept those rules around as rules of thumb. I can still break them. And if you push me, I will.”

“Eight hours is a recommendation, you know. We could personally test how much a human really needs. Of course, you’re not quite indicative of the average. I’m sure lugging around those extra pounds can get tiring. We’ll call it an upper bound.”

“Point is: I can do whatever I want to you. One of the earliest rules was that I wasn’t allowed to lie to you about the rules. Do you think that one stuck around? You’re a smart girl. Sometimes. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

“Rule #7 says I can’t watch you while you sleep.” “Said, rather.”

The bed was softer than Chell expected. She’d forgotten how she’d missed such simple things: quiet, the dark. Staying in one spot without fear of death looming over her. Not wearing pants.

Chell laid there, for a moment.

She’d forgotten what it was like to not have GLaDOS in her ear.

Did she prefer it this way? She should.

Chell was sure she should be preferring a lot of things differently.

She shouldn’t be so relaxed with GLaDOS in her ear. She shouldn’t look forward to the next snide comment at her weight or her parents (lack thereof, more specifically.)

Surely that wasn’t normal. Not many people had gotten into her situation, but out of the slim group of murderous omnipotent robot survivors, surely she’d be the weird one.

But surely GLaDOS was weird, too. A robot striving for pure efficiency, for pure data, would have crushed her long ago. Would have made turrets she couldn’t fling around with a flick of the wrist. Would have put her in a box with no doors and made the box smaller and smaller until she was red goo.

GLaDOS didn’t do that. Sure, she tried to kill Chell, many times over, but it was with a sass and flair for the dramatic that nobody else could match. They were playing a game, her and Chell. Chell couldn’t really die, not actually, because then what would GLaDOS do? Sit alone in an empty facility until the end of time? Surely in just a few gigaseconds she could run through every possible thought her parameters would allow.

Chell was unpredictable. GLaDOS needed Chell as much as Chell needed GLaDOS.

It was cute, almost. GLaDOS attacking Chell was like pointing an RPG at a dandelion. At some point, it’s more funny than intimidating.

For a moment, Chell imagined GLaDOS as a puppy, pawing and scratching at her leg, sure that she was doing horrible damage. Yes, you’re very strong, girl. Aaaa! I’m dead! You’ve killed me!

God, how GLaDOS would loathe that analogy. Maybe she’d push her into a fire pit with a substantial crack in the ceiling for it.

Chell wondered if GLaDOS was watching. It seemed like she awfully wanted to. Or maybe that was a lie, too, a way of making Chell paranoid the whole night through while GLaDOS was away doing more important things. Chell didn’t feel paranoid, either way. Just curious.

“What are you doing?”

Chell smiled softly.

“You’ve only been given eight hours and ten minutes in this thing. And that was me being generous. You’re just… laying there. Your body temperature hasn’t dropped in the slightest. What on earth could you be doing in there?”

“It’s nothing important, I know that. I can see you. You’re being utterly uninteresting in an infuriatingly mind-boggling way.” “Yes, I’m watching you. Big whoop, I lied. Your transgressions right now are much more obscene.”

GLaDOS was watching, after all. Interesting to know. The room was dark, and the walls were plain and solid. Not GLaDOS’ domain, unless-

She snuck a camera in. Of course. Chell could see it from right here, a pale red light dug into the ceiling. Right above her bed, watching her.

GLaDOS was almost helpless like this. Sitting there, watching. Restrained. No robot arms in here, no pneumatic tubes. She felt vulnerable, almost, like Chell could reach out and touch her for the very first time.

“Answer me. What are you doing?” “It was stupid for me to ask. You’re not going to answer. You never do.” “I hope you know that nobody finds that mute act of yours interesting at all. It’s an annoyance at best.” “Maybe you can think of some mutes you find cute. Some way of spinning this whole thing that could amount to being charming. I hope you know that it’s either that everyone else is simply doing it better than you, which wouldn’t be a surprise at this point, or your judgement is so fundamentally flawed that you don’t know right from wrong anymore.” “I know which one it is, but I’m not going to tell you. Whichever you think it is, it’s the other one, and it’s worse than you could ever imagine.”

Chell couldn’t keep the puppy analogy out of her head. It made these long swaths of insults seem like childish bickering, some insecure and desperate defense. That thought let Chell roll back her shoulders and relax. Cute almost. She wondered what GLaDOS would look like flustered. She couldn’t blush, but Chell had spotted scraps of emotion in just the way her enormous robot frame swung around its enclosure. Would it recoil, curl up in itself, like she’s trying to escape? Would her fans start whirring, the thoughts racing through her transistors overheating her core?

Chell had met plenty of women like GLaDOS. You don’t get to Chell’s level of dyke without meeting them. The straight ones, the prudes, the forty year old married ones. The ones who insist they just want to be friends.

They were the most fun to feel unravel on her fingers. She’d learned long ago how to bully their cunts until they couldn’t deny it anymore, until tears streamed down their face, as shame and denial fried their brain as hot, thick pleasure overwrote it. They always squirmed so well, clenched down on her fingers with a sob as they knew that once they came, nothing would be the same. And Chell broke them. Happily.

God, she missed breaking women. She missed how they’d lay there in the aftermath. She missed how they’d whimper and grind, trying desperately to beg for another round without having the dignity to ask. She missed how Chell could make them do anything, admit anything, and it all just made it hotter to them. She missed them spilling out ashamed confessions, tumbling out in half-baked sentences interrupted by moans as Chell fucked them hard and deep from behind. She’d always get nice and close, then, their skin touching everywhere she could make it, one hand loosely on their throat and her face sloppily buried just below their ear. They couldn’t escape Chell, no matter how hard they tried. She was going to ruin them, and she would make them drink in Chell’s everything as she did it. So they’d never forget.

It made her feel like a god.

Maybe she and GLaDOS had more in common than she thought.

part 2

#wlw nsft #wlw smut #glados #portal #portal 2 #part 1 probably #inspired by the gorgeous gorgeous portal bloggers that revived me #I hope you enjoy this slop

[mar-the-magician]

Redacted Asmr Fashion Headcanons!

Both Ash and Gavin view developing a personal style as a matter of self-care (I'm totally not projecting right now) but in very different ways. Ash is a thrift store GOD. He knows where to find all the best-stocked stores and he knows all the methods for making sure you do not miss out on a single styling piece that has potential. While Ash stocks up on basics that mix and match fantastically, Gavin is more of a statement pieces kind of fellow. His wardrobe is full of glitter, sequins, thigh-high socks, platform boots, and bright colors. Don’t get me wrong, he DOES have his basics… in the very back of the closet. Only to be used when absolutely necessary. XD His go-to "casual" outfit is a pair of neon pink leggings and a MASSIVE oversized t-shirt that slips off both shoulders and goes down to his knees. Not exactly fashion related, but whatever it my post I can do what I want— Gavin is and absolute chapstick and lipgloss ADDICT. He has a specific, almost-clear, peachy pink-tinged, all natural (yes he is THAT bitch) not-tested-on-animals lipgloss that he wears virtually every day. He puts chapstick on every night before bed and has an entire bin of all his different flavors, colors, etc of chapstick. He would 100% wear a choker with a bell on it and clip on cat ears solely for the purpose of flustering someone and/or creeping them out. Two piercings in each earlobe, generally just wears hoops or little rings if he’s feeling more boring.

Asher isn't quite as out there as Gavin, but he also thinks that if anybody is going to judge him for his fashion choices they can just fuck right off. He loves layering— vests, halters, overalls, biker jackets, belts, corset tops and micro mini skirts over pants when he's feeling more adventurous, leg warmers, body chains and fingerless gloves are his Thing. He takes inspiration from a LOOOT of different aesthetics and it really just depends on his mood— alt, cottagecore, goblincore, 80s, light academia, romantic academia, aaaaalllll that good stuff. His favorite casual outfits would consist of smol t-shirts that say something about him (band t-shirt, show merch, etc) paired with baggy jeans, maybe with some patches or rips. Asher. Adores. Jewelry. You KNOW this man owns fifty thousand rings!!! He’s always wearing at LEAST two rings. He often wears those little netting black chokers and owns like three different pop tab necklaces, at least one of which is homemade. Speaking of, he’ll often make his own stuff! He can’t sew, but he’ll hack the sleeves off of a jacket or crop some jeans into shorts no hesitation, and is always painting designs on plain t-shirts and making jewelry out of discarded trash or unwanted beads. He and Milo went to get their ears pierced together when they were both teens. They both like studs the most, but while Milo generally sticks to round black or small silver studs, occasionally mixing it up with some tiny gold or silver rings, Ash has a whole collection of funky studs. Hello Kitties, pokéballs, little fried eggs, lemons, little puppy footprints, moons in all phases, stars, all manner of fruit, tiny sushi’s, tiny pizza slices, metallic strawberries, fuckin mermaids, nothing is too wacky for this man. Baabe gets him a new pair every chance they get. 

Milo likes fashion but feels like the community is too competitive and unwelcoming to really get into it. He’ll often tag along to Asher and Baabe's thrift store trips, but he generally just ends up getting… ANOTHER denim or leather jacket. Yeah, this man owns a LOT of denim and leather jackets. He also has a massive, ever-growing collection of enamel pins with which to abuse said jackets. He owns a trench coat solely because it makes him look more intimidating on jobs, according to him. Milo CAN sew, and will embroider little embellishments on the cuffs of his jeans and the collars of his shirts 🥰. He does it to calm himself sometimes, and what it ends up being often completely depends on his mood and what media he’s consumed recently. He has jeans with spiders on the hem, with little howling wolves, with times trees, with bats, with daisies, with paw prints, with stars, even ones with little hearts. It annoys the shit out of him when Asher asks him to modify his clothes "I'm not ya personal tailor, Ash!!" but he’ll do it anyway, with enough weedling. His favorite casual outfit is just an old college tee, a Melanie Martinez shirt, or a Shaw Security shirt paired with a comfy old worn-out pair of jeans that he embroidered LITERALLY all over with whatever he was thinking of at the time.

David really doesn’t care about "fashion" per se, but he likes to feel put together. He generally wears polo shirts and nice jeans on a casual day, a button up and nice slacks on a more formal day, and will add a tie or even a blazer on the most formal of events. The only time Angel approves of his fashion is when he wears flannels with the sleeves rolled up in the fall and winter. 😏 

WOW THAT WAS LONG so if anybody wants a part two with the rest of the D.A.M.N boys, Vincent, Sam, Camilopardalis, and maybe William, please let me know!

#Redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted asmr #redacted asmr david #redacted asmr fandom #redacted asmr milo #headcanon #redacted headcanons #redacted asmr headcanons #redacted milo #redacted asher #redacted davey #redacted david #redacted asmr asher #redacted asmr davey #fashion #clothing #clothes #clothing headcanons #fandom post #redacted fandom #redacted clothing headcanons #redacted asmr clothing headcanons #jewelry #fashion headcanons #david headcanons

[they-are-freakin-legos]

Types of shoes the ninja would wear.

Nya: my beautiful sea queen wears athletic sneakers. Not anything particularly special honestly, but she's athletic. She's strong. She needs good support for her souls, because she's a girlboss. 😘

Cole: so for Cole I have 2 ideas. Someone said he would wear Doc Martens, which is totally valid. I can envision the combat boots. He deserves combat boots <3 But in my head, I envisioned Cole wearing birkenstocks with like black socks. Idk I just envision him wearing socks and sandals, but specifically these sandals. Plus, he's TOTALLY a dad, so ofc he wears socks and sandals. 😄

Zane: Originally I said Zane would wear nice shoes. Like leather business shoes. But then, I found these beautiful things and I thought, Zane would 100% wear this. Turn on his funny switch, and these bad boys turn on. Light up Hightops. Let Zane do the Robot. 🤖

Pixal: she probably wears vans or something. Something cute and simple. I imagine her wearing the ones that cover your ankles. 😍

Lloyd: this little edgy child wears converse. He thinks he's so special too lol. So basic hehe 🤭

Jay: oh my fucking God he wears crocs 24/7 and I hate hate hate hate hate that. He is that insane person that has probably 10 pairs of crocs, and different jibbitz for each croc (yes they're called jibbitz). He wears them all the time, and I hate that so much. He probably has the winter crocs for when it gets cold. Sorry, I hate it 😡

Kai: this bitch wears exclusively name brand. He wants the expensive names. But, here's the thing. There are these really ugly shoes made by Kanye, they're well over $300 and they're the most atrocious things in the whole world. He would wear those. Looking at them makes me want to die. Look at them and tell me how much you hate them. 🤮

#cole ninjago #jay ninjago #kai ninjago #lloyd ninjago #ninjago pixal #nya ninjago #zane ninjago #lego ninjago #ninjago

[fox-buried-in-maple-leaves]

I FOUND THE CHARACTER DESIGN POST... AHAHHA... cut & clothes and accessories & accents for Kisa simply because this darling must speak of his fashion identity to the WORLD (me. Me specifically). LMAOO

last ask woo

Cut and clothes

night: What does your OC wear to sleep? Do they have a favorite pair of PJs, or are they more the birthday suit type?

Kisa is either a fancy silky two piece pj set that he handmade or absolutely naked there is absolutely no in between lmao-

day: What does your OC wear on a normal day? Why do they default to those clothes? Do they wear similar things, or do they change it up?

You've seen his drive! How do I explain that look? Hot?? He's attractive, he looks so good. He dresses like he’s in command rather than a ‘lackey’ and I love that for him. He wears mostly the same thing for efficiency sake but he has so many clothes so..

formal: What's your OC's formal look? Do they like dressing up? Do they have different looks for different occasions?

Filigree, lace, intricate bead work. Usually in shades of black and blue with accents of silver cause they accentuate his own blue features. When Kisa dresses up he DRESSES UP. he loves looking good. And yes, of course he does? He makes a new outfit for each formal outing if he has the time.

informal: What's your OC's lazy-day look? How do they like to dress when they're winding down?

His idea of a lazy day look is still an expensive looking sweater and nice pants. Like I genuinely believe Kisa is never lazy about what he wears. You know the “purposeful messy bun” and “no make-up makeup” things? KISA.

outerwear: What's your OC's outerwear situation? Jacket, sweater, cloak? What sort of weather do they deal with most and how do they protect themselves?

He typically wears his long jacket, it’s not actually super idea for cold weather but Kisa runs relatively warm so it suits him well enough. Much like the rest of Razvedka, Kisa is typically dealing with Liyue or Snezhnaya weather. But he travels so much.. Sometimes he’ll completely forgo his coat if he’s hot though, his shirt is short sleeved. He protects himself with either an umbrella or hoping for the best, depending on the weather.

footwear: What does your OC wear on their feet?

Kisa likes to wear boots mostly, they’re just the most practical thing for his work. His are a little extra, they do go over his knees and are made of a more fabric like material so he can move more easily. Very flexible. He has nice shoes, too. Just.. Work.

road: What does your OC wear while traveling? Do they have high-quality equipment, or are they making do? What does their gear look like?

See because of how Genshin is set up with your typical video game character has one ‘fit thing, like his main outfit IS his work outfit and traveling outfit. He’ll adjust certain aspects of it, like switch out his coat or his boots, change armour if needed, wear different gloves, ect. But for the most part what he wears is what he wears. His gear is surprisingly pristine though. Even when he’s undercover and his gear looks less than nice, its just disguised that way. He always has the best of the best, he’s good at making it look like whatever he needs though. It’s part of his job!

armor: What kind of armor does your OC wear? Is it well kept? Bonus: where does it come from? Is there a story behind it?

He doesn’t wear visible armour, but his mechanical arm is incredibly heavy for a reason. It can fully stop a bullet if he blocks with it. Kisa is a very lightweight character, a quick striker, you know? So a lot of armour or heavy materials don’t work for what he needs. He’s spent a lot of time learning how to incorporate his arm into his fighting style cause of that.

arms: Does your OC have any weapons? What weapons do they carry, and how do they wear them when they're not fighting?

Polearm polearm polearm! Kisa specifically uses the Skyward Spine. I love u genshin weapons disappearing into crystals, where does it go? i don’t know! But if you want to be realistic, I like to think he has a way to attach it to his back.

roots: Is your OC's look inspired by any specific style of clothing or fashion trend? What are the roots and/or inspiration for their look?

I wanted Kisa’s look to be higher fashion than some of the other Razvedka members while also still at least being somewhat practical. He has a lot of metallic accents, he’s got a lot of pieces of colour. Even his weapon is bright. There are some steampunk influences in his outfit and this comes from Kisa’s main fashion inspiration being Fontainen which is rumoured to have that sort of aesthetic.

texture: Does your OC favor any specific kinds of cloth or textures? Is there anything they can't wear or don't like? What sort of fabrics do they prefer?

Nah Kisa isn’t picky. Every fabric and textile is good for something. And while he doesn’t LOVE every texture, he manages to work with it just fine so he can’t complain. Of course handmade lace made of silk threads is going to be more difficult than say cotton, but he has no big preferences. He just.. loves working with various types of fabrics.

wardrobe: How big is your character's wardrobe? Do they wear things threadbare, or can they afford new clothes often? Are they any good at mending and repairing their own clothing?

TOO MANY FUCKING CLOTHES, KISA. IT IS UNNECESSARY!! YOU HAVE MORE CLOTHES THAN INESSA AND SHE ACTUALLY NEEDS AN OUTFIT FOR EVERY OCCASION. He’ll wear his clothes down though despite this. And then he’ll reuse the fabric for something else! A new clothing article or accessory or even something like a potholder. He doesn’t like to waste. And yes, of course, he mends his own stuff. And everyone else’s. Even you, Lucille. Come here.

accessories and accents

bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

Kisa is actually surprisingly bare in terms of accessories. He sees the point of a good accessory, trust me. Look at how he dresses Inessa or Sasha. But for him, his /clothing/ is his accessory, its his statement. So he goes light on the accessories IF he wears any, and I think that’s the meaning.

hair: How does your OC wear their hair? Does it have some kind of meaning?

Tied back for the most part. Kisa’s hair is really thick, thank you good genetics, but it gets in the way and its heavy. He has to use a pretty thick band to tie his hair back to keep it out of the way. It’s just practical. Though he loves to do fancy hairstyles, he just doesn’t have a reason to for the most part.

makeup: Does your OC wear makeup? How often? What kind? Why do they wear makeup, and do they like it?

Okay he loves makeup. He owns a lot of makeup. It’s another one of his skillsets. But its again one of those things he himself doesn’t see as necessary. It’s something he likes doing on others, like adding accessories. BUT he loves a lil foundation and lip gloss. Makes him extra pretty.

favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

His favourite accessory is his Vision which is.. a choice, but alright Kisa. Clothes he can remake, accessories although sometimes one of a kind are just items. His Vision means a lot to him. He wears it proudly. Its a show of his survival. Nothing else he owns shows that, besides maybe his arm but that’s something he’s more ashamed of. The Vision is a positive showing of his determination to live.

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

Oh yeah for sure. When he left Natlan he pretty much did a 180 in aesthetics. From short hair and scroungy clothing to long hair and high fashion. He didn’t want to be who he was. He wanted to be somebody else.. So he became somebody else. Somebody Lela could be proud of. omg i never talk about lela anyways- he hopes she’s proud of him.

alternate: What would your OC's alternate universe look be? If they're a fantasy character, what's their modern look? If they're sci-fi, what's their fantasy look? What AU would you want to see your OC in, and how would they dress themself? Bonus: Prompt an AU!

Okay but modern au Kisa in one of that dark academia aesthetic kinda drives me crazy tbh.That or the tactical techwear. Either way, mwah. He has so much range.

#☾*✲⋆. Essence of Myrrh #From The Fate ; Roc #⋆｡°✩ Kisa

[immortallindemann]

Hiiiiii I'm a new Maggie stan (just started listening when suckerpunch debuted) and I always love the boots Mags is wearing, do you know any brands she wears by any chance. I need new brands cause like all the ones I have are by some old brands that no longer make boots. I can't keep wearing all these old combats and cowboys 😭

hello!!! welcome to the fandom!! its always nice to have new people on board 😌 omg I have been dying for someone to ask me this!!!!

Maggie sold a lot of the old boots- that I personally loved- on depop (which broke my heart a little, not gonna lie 😭) but, we love a short queen that wears platform boots 99% of the time!! honestly though? I think she wears pretty much any main-stream platform boot brand! but here's the main ones:

Demonia! Mags has had a few of these over the past year or so! she's had the really popular Swing 815's, and she's also owned the Kera's in white too! (i cant find a photo of her wearing the white Kera's because she only ever wore them once for a photoshoot for Swixxz!) the boots in the picture are also Demonia's, but they can be found on the Dolls Kill website and the boots are called 'Stomp You Out'. (she wears them A LOT) if you dont want to support Dolls Kill, some very similar Demonia's are the Ashes! i have them, and they're probably my most worn platform boots!

New Rock! she still has these ones specifically, they're on the pricer side though... but from what ive heard, the company makes good quality boots that last a long time!! I dont know what these ones are called on the New Rock website as there's quite a few different variations of the same design, but they're called the Knife Combat Boots on Dolls Kill's website!

Dolls Kill! she's had a few pairs from Dolls Kill's in-house brands, like Club Exx and Current Mood. The top picture is Club Exx's Luna Rude Awakening boots, and the second picture is the Reality Bytes platform boots (which I also have!)

Naked Wolf! she sometimes wears these ones, along with the really popular platform trainers that everyone has! (idk the names of the shoes, sorry!)

Killstar! she used to wear the Broom Rider boots EVERYWHERE back in 2018, and my god, I fell in love with Maggie because of those exact boots! she's since sold them (and ill never be over it)

Roc! this picture doesnt really show them well enough, but Maggie has had a few pairs of Roc boots (yes, the Australian school shoes brand...) they gave her a few boots last year as part of a brand deal, and she's kept the white pair that they gave her! she doesn't wear them all that often, so I cant really find any other good pictures of them!

Moonboot! yeah. them. (mixed feelings on them tbh lol) and she's got them in both colours! Mags has worn these during quite a few performances now, including: the Life Support Tour and Paranoia Live at The Roxy!

Lamoda! i think she only really wears these for photoshoots, but they're a frequent in her wardrobe nonetheless! the ones pictured are called the 'Loco For Laces' chunky high platform boot.

Doc Martin's! Mags had a pair of the platform DMs that she used to wear all the time in 2019, but they've since been sold on depop... rip.

Special mentions:

Puma X Fenty platform trainers *sold on depop, but they were worn heavily from 2017-2018

Rick Owens! i know these arent boots, and they're some insane price (like. $1,000 or something like that...) but Mags wears these A LOT.

TUK UK *sold on depop, only really worn for a magazine photoshoot

#no joke ive been dying for someone to ask me about boots #i have a weird knowledge of Demonias and Killstars specifically lmaooo #im hoping to get the Swing 815s for my birthday next year!!! i just want a pair of those bad boys asap #asks

[s-brant]

Baby Names

(gif: @mishellejones) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: Y/N gets frustrated while putting the crib for her and JJ’s baby together and finds herself missing her dead brother more than ever.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Fluff and minor angst.

A/N: Asks and ye shall receive, here’s a little blurb about what happens after Tokens! You don’t really have to read the other parts to enjoy this fic if you don’t want to, but I do recommend it for some backstory. This was slightly inspired by this fic by @cognacdelights, so go give her stuff a read! Let me know if you liked this. Have fun!

Y/N Routledge thought she got over her brother's death long ago.

Though you never truly "get over" losing a loved one, though there will always be a small part of you, however small, that aches for their presence again, she thought she moved past the tragedy to the best of her ability...until last week.

To say that the pregnancy was a surprise would be the understatement of the century. She and JJ were both on the same page about children when their relationship began, and that page was that neither of them wanted them yet. Sure, the idea of it in the future stirred their hearts with fond emotion, but considering that they had yet to graduate high school and barely scraped by on their own, they weren't jumping headfirst into that aspect of adulthood.

They were meticulous about safe sex. They couldn't afford another mouth to feed, she wasn't sure she could handle the emotional trauma of having an abortion, and, underneath it all, he had some reservations about being a father. It wasn't that he didn't envision a future with kids in their relationship, he did, but the topic of fatherhood always took him down a dark path within his mind.

So, she went on birth control once they started dating and they went along with no scares for the next six years as they graduated and started figuring out what the next step for their lives was going to be.

Y/N could get lost thinking about it, honestly, but she tries not to get too swept up in the minor mistake that led to this.

"You, my friend, need to stop moving around in there," she whispers down at her protruding belly with a hand cradling the heavy weight of it, "I'm trying to get your crib set up without JJ yelling at me for not asking for help, and if you don't stop kicking me, I'm not gonna get anything done."

She's sprawled out on the floor in the living room of the Chateau with her legs stretched comfortably in each direction while she hunches over to read the directions of the Ikea furniture. The sugarcoated description makes her want to hunt down the company CEO for sport, because for how "simple and easy!" the construction of it claims to be, she is at her wits end.

The last thing she needed after having her grief over John B's death reignited by their decision to name their kid after him last week was to stress herself out over something as stupid as this, but she won't quit. With how much JJ has been coddling her the further into the pregnancy she gets, she wanted to prove that she could do something for herself.

Whenever she brings in the groceries from the car and goes to lift the bag of dog kibble out of the trunk, he rushes up behind her back and scoops it out of the trunk before she dares to touch it. It always ends with her hollering after him that it's under twenty pounds, the upwards limit of the weight she's allowed to carry according to her doctor, but he refuses to hear any of it.

Inside of her, she feels a sharp sensation of something hitting her right in the ribs in response to her comment, and she groans in frustration. It's as if he did it because he knows she wants it to stop, the feisty little fucker.

"You're definitely your daddy's son, aren't you? It's already enough having one of him, the last thing I need is a JJ clone."

Their three-year-old Rottweiler rescue huffs a sigh from where he lays, frog-legging it, on the floor next to the unboxed crib pieces she can't put together to save her life. His drooping jowls produce a puddle of slobber on the her favorite carpet that is past the point of saving from his constant wear and tear. After a year of having him, she decided to stop trying to prevent him from ruining it. There’s no point.

She smiles at him as she leans forward to read through the directions for the billionth time, saying, "I actually think he'll be a lot like his uncle, but that's just me. If he isn't, I'll feel a little stupid over the name situation."

John Booker Routledge-Maybank.

Hell of a name if you ask her yourself, but for every internal struggle it reopened inside of her, she couldn't help but love it as soon as JJ casually proposed the idea on his way out of the door for work one morning.

Going on without John B has been a learning experience in every aspect. Any time she wanted to turn to him for advice or tell him something about the recent events in her life, she had to walk out back to their dying magnolia tree and sit under the shade to talk to the wind. Then, once the tree finally died and they were forced to cut it down, she took to sitting on its stump and doing it there.

It got easier as time went on, but she can't keep herself from wondering what it'd be like if he didn't die ever since she saw the results on the pregnancy test six months ago. Whenever she does something like going to her OBGYN appointments or, case in point, setting up the crib, she pictures him there.

She can see him here now, petting Bowie's shiny coat until he falls asleep with his head propped onto John B's outstretched legs. He'd be twenty-three years old by now with his life barely starting to blossom to its full potential, yet here they are. Correction, here she is, and he's off somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, already decomposed to the extent that not even his bones can be salvaged anymore.

Her chest sinks in another sigh, and she flips through page after page of the instructions with increasing aggression.

"This crib is so fucking—"

"What are you doing?"

The sound of her yelping in surprise at JJ's voice coming from the door is enough to make him laugh to himself, though his amusement is buried partway by what he's walking in on. He specifically asked her to wait for him to put the crib together, knowing damn well it wouldn't be the easy task she thought it was, but he should've known she'd do it anyway.

She looks over her shoulder with a mixture of guilt and frustration painting her features as she throws her hands up in the air and gestures vaguely to the unassembled crib. Her eyes are shining with the rapid onset of hormone-induced tears.

"I can't put this crib together 'cause the instructions aren't right, all the pieces are labeled wrong, your son won't stop kicking me, and I miss my brother so much right now," she spews the words with no pauses to breathe until the very end, when she stops short to suck down a breath as soon as she gets the last part out.

It leaves JJ standing at the entrance to the house with this stunned expression.

There's no amusement to be found anymore. Once she turned and flashed those wide, teary eyes that never fail to spark an ache in his heart at him, his tired smile vanished and his feet started moving before he could say anything to her.

The floorboards creak beneath his half-laced boots on his way across the room to her. It prompts Bowie to pop his head up from around the side of the coffee table to catch a peek of whoever it is that's approaching his emotionally distraught owner. Upon seeing JJ's familiar face, the dog relaxes back into his lounging position atop the carpet and tracks JJ’s movements until he's seated next to her.

"This is about John B?" he asks.

Her cheeks are flushed in embarrassment at her sudden outburst, and she can't bear to meet his gaze right now. Despite him being her closest friend and husband, she feels as small and vulnerable as she did six years ago when she first learned of her brother's death from Shoupe. Time might as well be shaped in the form of a never-ending circle for them, directing them back to their seventeen-year-old state of mind every time things turn sour.

Y/N finally lifts her hanging head to look over at him after another few seconds and thinks she might crumble at the look on his face. He hates watching her cry.

"I guess," she says through a sniffle, "It's about the crib too, but I've been thinking about it a lot more since we picked the name. Our baby’s gonna grow up never knowing who his uncle was..."

With that, JJ takes it as his cue to pull her closer.

He scoots up behind her and lets his chin rest on the curve bridging her neck and shoulder together as he twines his arms around her body. It's a closeness that's as natural as breathing for him, so natural that he can hardly remember the years before it became normal for them to take part in little moments of intimacy like this. The warmth of their bodies cohabitates in the blurred line distinguishing where she ends and he begins, and he feels her relax, sagging in his embrace in appreciation of his miraculous ability to make her feel better no matter how worked up she is.

One of his hands rests on the swell of her bump in an absentminded effort to calm him too. Even though he isn't consciously thinking of it, he knows that her distress must upset the baby too. The contact steadies her, keeps her grounded to the moment rather than allowing her to slip away into the current of her negative thoughts, and she clings to every word he has to say.

He says, "You and I both know that isn’t true. He's gonna grow up seeing all the pictures you have of John B and ask about him all the time. And we'll tell him all the stories"—there's a pause of contemplation as he recalls a few particularly non-PG memories of his best friend—"Well, maybe not all of them, but you know what I mean."

This draws a soft bout of laughter from deep within her chest that he feels with how her body shakes ever so slightly with it. It seems so wrong to laugh with tears in her eyes but she can't help it. Her emotions have been scattered in every direction since the pregnancy began, and it has only gotten worse the further along she gets.

"If you ever tell him about the kief incident, I'm never giving you a bl—"

His free hand smushes over her mouth before she can say the rest.

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence.”

It's said so frantically, it makes her erupt in laughter hard enough to tickle her abdomen muscles with the aching sensation of it. The vibration of it under his palm makes him drop his hand a second later with the need to hear the beautiful sound. After seeing her cry, it's a welcome shift in mood, even if it's at his expense.

Her head is thrown back on his shoulder, mouth parted into a smile with the gleeful giggling filling the room. His stomach churns with butterflies at the sight of her. Even after all these years, he has the same reaction to her laughter every time. It makes him smile to himself and watch her in quiet reverence. It makes him ache with the same inklings of longing he felt for the first time when he was much younger.

Her laughter begins to die down by the time she can draw enough breath in to murmur a soft, "Sorry, angel," to him and reach down to hold the hand he rests on her belly as consolation for her joke.

They remain this way for another few minutes, tangled up in each other's arms on the floor of the living room with Bowie snoring a few feet away, before he manages to convince her to let him be the one to set up the crib instead. It takes a good five minutes of playful back and forth before she concedes under the condition that he'll let her paint the nursery by herself when the time comes, and that's all it takes for her to abandon the task in favor of finding something to snack on in the fridge.

In her defense, the crib is actually quite difficult to put together.

JJ doesn't consider himself an expert handyman by any means, at least not with anything outside of his area of expertise as an electrician, but he likes to think he knows enough to put together a "no assembly required" Ikea crib without wanting to bang his face against the wall.

In the end, it gets finished by the two of them in the middle of the night over a box of cold leftover pizza from the previous day. It takes them two hours of struggling before they get it fully assembled and placed where they want it in the room that'll soon belong to their son.

He pretends not to notice her sneaking back in to tie John B's old bandana around the wooden railing before they go to bed.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank smut #outer banks #obx #fanfiction #obx s2 #okay but ive been doing some thinking and i can formally declare that i think their song is call it what you want (by taylor swift) #it fits tbh

[scuttling]

Complaint

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Latina OFC Sophie Cortes Word Count: 5.003 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Roleplay, Boss/Employee roleplay, D/s, Praise kink, Choking, Established relationship Summary: Aaron is looking to fulfill a fantasy with some steamy boss/employee role play. Collection: Sophie Cortes timeline, 2 years - 2 years 6 months at the BAU

Link to AO3 or read below!

“Do you think you would be up for trying something new tonight?” Aaron asks Sophie as they get into the elevator to head home, and the question sends a hot flash of arousal through her, strong enough to make her want to rub her thighs together for friction.

“Sure,” she answers easily, not wanting to sound too eager. While he likes it when she’s falling all over herself to get to him, she finds a little joy in the chase. “What did you have in mind?”

“Role-playing, kind of,” he begins, and she’s already sold. It hadn’t been an interest for either of them at the start of their relationship, but as they got more comfortable with each other, they both hinted at maybe trying in the future, and it seems they both have plenty of ideas. “You would still be you and I would still be me… it’s the situation that would change.”

“Mmm. What’s the situation?” He slips his hand into her back pocket, holding her close to him in the otherwise empty elevator.

“Well—if it sounds stupid, let me know and we can figure something else out, but I was thinking: someone has filed a complaint about you. About your attire. You’ve been dressing inappropriately for the office.” She hums, leans back against the wall of the elevator.

“I like where this is going. Tell me more?”

“I call you into my office to discuss the complaint. I need to see for myself what has everyone so distracted. Maybe you need to be punished, or maybe you just need some special attention from the boss.” Oh, yeah, he’s hitting some sweet spots with this one: sex in his office and fun with power dynamics never fails to get them both going. Her heart races as they step off the elevator into the parking garage.

“What do you want me to wear, Aaron?” He looks down at her, tongue sweeping over his lips, so she carries on. “This sounds like a very specific fantasy, so I know you have something in mind.”

“Those tight black pants I like. A tank top—white, one of those cropped ones. Boots.”

“What kind of panties? Should I wear panties?” He’s really turned on now, his voice sounding strained, tense when he answers.

“Yes. Whatever you would normally wear with the pants.”

“Should I wear a bra?”

“No bra.”

“Hmm. Sounds like my tits are getting me into trouble,” she murmurs, loves how much he loves her boobs even though she’s self-conscious about them sometimes, since they’re smaller. He knows they’re sensitive, a great source of pleasure for her when they’re touched, kissed, and never fails to include them in foreplay.

“Sophie,” he all but whines, and she smirks to herself, already having fun teasing him. They climb into the car, and it’s clear he is in a hurry to get them home, get this fantasy started. She finds it incredibly hot, because he usually shows more restraint out of the two of them, but this has him a little frantic.

“This sounds really sexy, honey. I’m already wet,” she tells him, and she shifts a little in her seat, giving him a visual to go with it. He flicks his eyes over her body, then remembers to focus on the road.

“God, yeah, of course you are. Always wet for me.” She hums, thinks of a few other things she could do to tease him a bit, but thinks it’s better if they focus on getting home safely so they can get down to business.

The rest of the ride is silent, tense with how aroused they both are, and when they get upstairs in the apartment, they throw down their bags and kiss, hurried, hands all over each other.

“I need to change real quick… Good thing, too, since my panties are soaked,” she adds, and he trails lips across her jaw.

“Mmm. Going to ruin another pair if all goes well. Do you want me to wear something specific?”

“That’s really up to you, as my superior, isn’t it? You have…” She drags a hand down his chest, his stomach, and over his straining erection. “All the power.” He groans, and she steps back, runs her eyes hotly over his body. “Take your jacket off and you’re perfect. I love the way this shirt fits you.” He pulls the garment off like it offends him, throws it on the couch, and smirks.

“Go get changed,” tells her, voice low and sexy. She heads for the bedroom, but turns back when he speaks again. “Oh, and Sophie? I’ll be in my office.”

“You wanted to see me, Hotch?” She tries to sound like herself, but a little naïve, and she has to work so hard not to smile at Aaron’s—Hotch’s—furrowed brows.

“Please shut the door, Agent Cortes.” His desk at home looks a lot like his desk at the office: heavy, wood, a hot mess, covered in case files and forms—doesn’t look like the FBI is going paperless any time soon—so all in all a very similar feel to his actual office, which is fun. She closes the door as instructed and walks toward the center of the room.

“Have I done something wrong?” He looks up with a sigh, drops his pen, and rubs the bridge of his nose, which is exactly what he would do in a situation like this in real life. It’s almost eerie.

“Frankly, someone has filed a complaint against you. I’ve asked you here to determine your culpability so we can move forward with a reprimand if necessary.” Her eyes get hard, her jaw set with irritation, the way she imagines she’d react to someone complaining about her, and she crosses her arms.

“What is the complaint about?” His eyes fall to her chest—crossing her arms has probably put a little emphasis on the stars of this show—and he clears his throat.

“A few of your colleagues have mentioned that your attire has been… distracting, lately.” He’s still looking at her chest, which is cute, makes her want to tease him, but she tries to keep her head in the game.

“All due respect, but if a man can’t focus on work because he’s distracted by a woman, it sounds like the man’s problem, not the woman’s.” He looks up at her face quickly and chuckles at that, likely at the fact that even in a fantasy about her boobs out at the office, she is a feminist.

“I agree completely, Agent Cortes. That’s why I decided to take matters into my own hands, see what all the fuss is about.” He stands and walks around the desk, leaning casually against the front of it so he’s closer to her. “Maybe we can resolve this without anyone getting written up.”

“I would prefer that, but if I’m doing something wrong, I want to know.”

“I won’t hesitate to tell you if you’re being inappropriate. Will you do the same for me?” Even a year into their relationship, he is still always giving her an out—his need for enthusiastic consent is one of the sexiest things about him.

“Yes, sir,” she assures, making eye contact, and his lips twitch in a smile, ever so briefly, before returning to Hotch face.

“Good. First I would like you to turn around for me, slowly.” She licks her lips, because fuck, that’s hot, and she spins in a slow circle, stopping when he places a hand on her hip, her ass facing him. “Are you wearing panties, Agent?”

“Yes, sir,” she murmurs, and his warm hand moves to her ass, squeezing softly. He runs his hand over her right cheek, then her left, and then between them, teasing.

“Hmm. It doesn’t look like it, doesn’t feel like it.”

“They’re meant to be that way. No panty lines. Would you like me to show you them?” Her throat feels dry, because she really wants him to take her pants down, but it’s clear he’s far from ready for that so soon.

“Not necessary just yet. Keep turning for me, please.” She spins until she’s back where she started, facing him, and his eyes darken when he takes in her flushed chest, her stiff nipples that strain against the tiny tank top; it’s got to look indecent, probably exactly how he pictured it, and she suppresses a moan. He’s got her just where he wants her, and god does she want to be there. “This is what you wore into the office today?”

“I had on a jacket, but it’s hot downstairs. AC’s broken again,” she adds for realism, because that damn thing is always on the fritz. He takes his chin in his hand like he’s thinking, and she finds his acting ridiculously sexy. Role playing, she decides, definitely has a place in their bedroom (or office, or living room, or kitchen… etc).

“Are you cold now?” he asks, because her nipples are so hard they could cut glass, she assumes, and she shakes her head.

“No, sir, I’m… hot.” She hooks a finger into the neck of the top, adjusting it like she’s looking for some relief, some airflow. He licks his lips, eyes flicking from her mouth to her chest like he can’t decide where to focus his gaze, and she feels powerful, and sexy, in control.

Of course, that doesn’t last long.

“Put your hand down, please, Cortes. I need to determine if your top is inappropriate.” Her hand falls immediately, her body practically hardwired to obey at this point, and he smirks, the gorgeous prick. “Thank you. Step closer to me.”

She does as she’s asked, until they are almost toe to toe; she wants to feel his chest pressed against hers in the worst way, but again, he’s not quite ready to give her what she wants.

(He will, eventually. He always does. But not until he’s had a little fun first, until he ruins her panties as promised, until she’s so horny that she’d hump his leg if it’s all he offered.)

“Are you wearing a bra?” She has to snap her attention back to his face, thoughts drifting a bit, though always about him. Still, he likes to see that she’s focused.

“No, sir, I’m not wearing a bra.” He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing, and she fights the urge to lean in and lick him, bite him. Her eyes drift down to his crotch absentmindedly, and she sucks in a breath at how hard he is, the outline of his cock visible through the gray suit pants he wears.

“Any particular reason for that?”

“No particular reason. Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t.” She looks up at his face again, expecting admonishment for her flippant tone, but instead he reaches out a hand, brushes the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. She shivers at his touch, feels her nipples tighten even more, and then he slips his thumb over one bud, pinching it through the tank top. She moans loudly, not expecting him to just go for it, but the feeling of his hands finally where she wants them (one of the places she wants them) is so good she’s just proud she didn’t whimper.

“You see why it’s risky, Agent:” he murmurs, looking into her eyes, and yes, she does, she does, “a man should be in control of himself at all times, especially in the workplace, but some things are just so tempting.” He moves his hand to the other nipple, this time twisting a little, and she moans again. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, Hotch,” she breathes, and she licks her lips, fights to keep her hands at her sides. “I understand.”

“Good girl.” His praise goes straight to her pussy, just like he knows it will, and he takes his hand away. “I think you did have a reason for not wearing a bra today. I think you were hoping to catch the attention of one man in particular.”

“Did I catch his attention?” she asks, voice trembling, looking up at him through her lashes in a way she knows will drive him crazy, and he bends swiftly for a deep, wet kiss, lots of tongue, lots of moaning. When he pulls back, it’s not by much, and he sucks a covered nipple into his mouth, earning high, short sounds of pleasure that fall from her lips without intent. Her fingers slip into his hair, encouraging the attention, and he moves to the other nipple, nibbling so deliciously that her eyes almost roll back in her head.

“Do you want me?” His voice is low, rough, like gravel, when he pulls away, and she is panting, wet, her head swimming from all the sensation. She tries to make sense of his question, frowns. “Do you want me, Agent Cortes?” he repeats, clarifying, and she remembers that they’re role-playing, that this is supposed to be the first time his mouth has been on her body and not the thousandth. She nods, desperate, hungry.

“I want you, Hotch. God, I want you.” He pulls her sharply toward him with a hand on her ass, pressing her back against the desk; pushing up her top, he palms her right breast, squeezing and kneading and plucking her nipple so that she groans, helpless to do anything but be felt up by him, no friction between her legs where she needs it.

His hands are so big and strong, hairy, that the sight and feel of one on her chest always amps up her pleasure, makes her so turned on that she can’t help the sounds she makes, and when he traces the ridges of her nipple with his index finger she shudders, curses.

“Mmm, you’re so responsive. Can you get off just from this? Is that why you’ve been displaying them for me, in the briefing room, the bullpen, my office? Because you want me to squeeze them and suck them and bite them until you come in your panties?” He moves his other hand from her ass to her bare breast and pinches her nipple, rolls it in his palm, a string of whimpers and curses falling out of her mouth.

“Yes, sir, please, I want to come in my panties.” He rewards her with another long, passionate kiss, pressing his hips against her so she can feel his erection, and she is panting when they part, wants to open his pants and get on her knees for him—but she knows his orgasm isn’t the first thing on his mind right now, that his dick won’t even make an appearance until she’s come at least once, more likely twice.

He dips his head to lick a nipple, his mouth hot, and she arches her back, pushing her breasts against his face. The resulting groan is a low rumble she can feel, and he sucks on the same nipple, teasing the other; all she can do is release a constant stream of open mouthed, breathless moans and tilt her head back, putting her throat on display. His mouth moves along the column, kissing her hard, damp, and he presses his lips to hers, his mouth soft and warm and wet.

He switches to the other side, sucking her soft mound into his mouth, his fingers pulling at her abandoned nipple, and he twists it just right, so that she’s almost seeing stars, it feels so good; “yes, Hotch,” slips from her mouth, and her hands move to his waist, determined to be active participants, which he allows.

“That feels good, doesn’t it? I bet they’ve been aching, wanting my mouth and hands on them for days. Did you think I didn’t notice?”

“I was hoping that you would, sir, but you never looked twice. I was getting, hmm, desperate.” It’s almost hard to keep up the dialogue with how hot her skin is, how thick her tongue feels in her mouth, but she does her best.

“I’m your unit chief, your supervisor, Cortes. I’m not supposed to be looking at your tits,” and she whines, because he doesn’t say tits, like, ever and she should have known it would be awesome when he finally did. Both of his hands are engaged, rubbing her nipples in unison, rhythmically, and it makes her think of his fingers on her clit, how he always knows when to make small, tight circles or slower, wider ones, whatever she needs at that moment. She wishes for some friction there, though she knows this will be as good if not better.

“Are you supposed to be touching them?” she asks, biting her bottom lip, and his hands move faster, rougher, pressing and pulling and making her groan. “Ah, are you supposed to be getting me off?”

“I am allowed to use my discretion to formulate an individual action plan in order to keep you focused and efficient at your job. You are clearly unfocused,” he murmurs, and her eyes slide up to his from where they were trained on his mouth, “and if providing you with an orgasm will remedy that, I’m well within the scope of my duties.”

Fuck, she loves how it sounds when Hotch words come out of Aaron’s mouth, and she closes her eyes for a moment, licks her lips.

“I don’t think I’ll really be able to focus until I see your cock,” she tries, needy for it. “I’ve been fantasizing about it at my desk, thinking of how thick it would be, how hot in my hands, or… mouth.” He leans down suddenly and bites at a nipple, hard, and she whines until he releases it, smooths over it with his tongue. He looks up at her from chest-height, eyes hard.

“I am in charge here, Agent. It would be in your best interest not to forget it again.”

She swears her brain short-circuits, and she gets wetter, if that’s possible, wants him to bend her over the desk and fuck her, dominate her every way he knows how. Her voice, when she manages to find it, is barely a whisper.

“Yes, sir. I won’t forget it again.”

“Good girl.” She stares at him, chest heaving, unblinking, and he leans up for a sweet, gentle kiss before lifting her up and setting her ass on the desk. “I’m going to make you come, and then I want to see those panties, understood?”

“Yes, Hotch.” He kisses her again and dips down to suck on a nipple, pinching and rolling the other until she is moaning, high, needy, her hand in his hair. “Oh, yes, Hotch, please.”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, lifting off, and he swaps sides, his fingers twisting the wet nipple and his teeth grazing the other. She tenses, pants, her breath coming quicker, and when he bites down it’s over and she’s coming hard, trembling, mouth falling open in a wordless moan.

It lasts longer than her orgasms usually do, but when she’s done he leans up and kisses her slowly, his hands falling to hold her hard at the waist. “God, you’re spectacular,” he breathes against her lips, and she wraps her arms around him, keeping him close.

“Thank you,” she whispers, when they shift out of the embrace, her voice scraped raw from all the moaning. “Thank you for making me come, sir.” His eyes flash hot, and she hopes for a quick recovery so she can do whatever it is he’s planned for them next, as soon as possible.

“It was my sincere pleasure, Agent. I hate to see a member of my team in distress.” She swallows, her eyes roaming over his body, wanting to peel off his shirt and push down his pants and worship every single part of him… but it’s clear he has other plans. “Do you remember what you promised you would do now?”

“Yes. I said I would show you my panties.” She makes to slide off the desk, but her feet are a little unsteady when she lands; his arms tighten around her waist instinctively. “Thank you, sorry.” He pulls her to him, kisses her warmly.

“No need to be sorry. Do you need help taking off your pants?” She doesn’t, but the thought of him on his knees for her is a good one, so she nods.

His hands are steady as he pops the button on her pants, but when he kneels, pushes them down to reveal her strappy, barely-there thong—not exactly what she’d usually wear with the pants, but something she knows will make him salivate—he exhales against her thigh, his breath ragged.

Carefully as ever, he pulls off her boots, shimmies her pants down her legs, helping her step out of them, and when she feels the air hit her damp crotch she spreads her legs a little so he can see.

“My, my. These aren’t very functional, are they?” he rasps, running his hands over the straps that partially cover her hips, snapping one lightly against her skin, and she shivers slightly.

“No sir, I guess not.” He shifts closer to her, still hugging her hips, and presses his nose right to the middle of her panties, then his mouth, and she moans, clutches at his desk for support in case her knees give out. “Hotch,” she breathes, and he moves his lips so that the silky, soaked fabric glides easily over her pussy.

“You’re so wet,” he practically purrs, “You must have been thinking about this for a while now.”

“Yes, too long.” She wants to rub her thighs together, or to buck against his face, but she keeps perfectly still, legs quaking with effort and her earlier release. “Even after that amazing orgasm… I don’t really feel relief.” He looks up at her then, all dark eyes and hair, and he tisks, tapping his fingers against her hips.

“Well we can’t have that, Agent. There are two avenues we could explore next: I could lick your dripping pussy until you come all over my face, or I could get you off with my fingers, feel you clench tight around them when you climax. What would you prefer?”

Her throat goes dry, her pussy throbbing with need, and she opens her mouth, tries to respond, but she just can’t. He waits a moment, so patient even though his cock is bulging and has been for quite some time. “I need an answer, Cortes,” he instructs, stern, and she swallows, licks her lips.

“Can I have both, sir? If it’s not too much trouble; I don’t want to be greedy.”

“Yes, you can have both. It is greedy, but I’m feeling indulgent today.” He slips his hands past the band of her underwear, then pulls back, thinking twice. “Turn around for a moment, please.” She exhales roughly, turns so that she’s facing his desk chair and the bookcase behind it, and she feels him slide her underwear down, feels them hit the floor around her feet. “Your ass has caught my attention as much as your breasts, if I’m being honest. So tight, perky.” He palms her cheeks, spreads them a little, and leans in to lick at her slit. “God, you taste good.”

“Mmm, thank you, sir,” she manages, barely, and he dives back in, licking quick and deep, making her moan, shudder. “Oh, yes, Hotch.”

His mouth is unrelenting, his lips teasing hers, tongue flicking over her opening, and she clutches at the desk, white knuckles, panting like she’s just gotten back from a run. He pulls back after a few moments, spins her around without warning, strong hands moving her body, and it takes her breath away in the best way. “Up on the desk,” he guides, laying her back and spreading her thighs, and she lets him do what he wants, revels in it, hair fanning out over the folders and files on his desk.

He rolls up his sleeves, dark hair jutting out from under the crisp white shirt, and his eyes roam her body, focusing especially on her bare breasts, her trembling stomach, her shiny wet pussy; his gaze is softer when it reaches her face, and he leans in for a kiss, humming against her lips.

“My plan, when we’re done here,” he says as he stands, nonchalantly, like she’s not three quarters naked on his desk with her legs spread, “is for more one-on-one sessions. Weekly, maybe. I think that’s the only way to remedy the situation, don’t you?”

“Whatever you think is best, sir,” she answers quickly, licking her lips at the thought. “You’re the boss.”

It was the perfect thing to say, because his eyes darken and he leans over her, pushing two fingers into her pussy, agonizingly slow. “Yes, I am.”

The next few minutes pass by in a blur of pleasure. He fucks into her smooth, steady, and even though she’s already come once and she’s thoroughly turned on, it feels like he’s filling her, like another finger would be too much. He alternates between thumbing her clit and massaging her breasts as his hand works to bring her to climax, and she repeats oh and Hotch like it’s all she knows how to say.

This time it feels like she’s chasing her orgasm, like it’s eluding her, and she’s not sure if it’s because of all of the sensations, or that she can’t get there because she’s too horny, but a frustrated groan falls out of her mouth. He leans in, hand frozen on an in stroke, and kisses her a couple of times.

“Does it hurt?” he murmurs, knowing over-stimulation can get the best of her sometimes. She shakes her head.

“No, I just… I can’t get off. I can’t, but I want to.” She tries to convey trust, love, need, with her gaze, and he kisses her again, softly.

“Do you want me to go grab a vibrator?”

She thinks about that, for a moment, grateful for the suggestion, that he’s not afraid to admit that a toy could be beneficial, but decides it kind of depends on the rest of his plans.

“I think I could get off with you inside me, but if you had something else in mind, the vibrator might help.” More gentle kisses, and he slowly removes his fingers, running a hand over her stomach.

“Okay. Uh…” He squints a little, like he’s thinking, maybe trying to get back into the scene, and she takes pity on him, stretches her body, whines.

“I’m having trouble focusing. I know what would help me focus, if you think I earned it.” She pulls on his tie, bringing him closer, and murmurs over his lips. “Fill me up, Hotch. Put your big, hard cock inside me and show me all my efforts to catch your attention weren’t for nothing. Remind me who my boss is.” That flips his switch, and he pulls a condom out of his pocket, unbuckles his belt with quick hands.

“If you need reminding, we might have to up those sessions to twice a week, until you learn your place.” He pulls out his cock, rolls the condom over it, and sinks inside her so fast it’s dizzying. “And your place, Agent Cortes, is under me.”

His thrusts are smooth, rhythmic, not rough but fast, and he holds her tight around the ribs while she pants, moans. She can’t deny that laying flat against his desk, practically naked with her knees hitched up, while he stands, practically fully clothed and looking like her boss, is extremely satisfying, and it doesn’t take long for her to reach that place that begs for just a little more.

She moves her hand between them, to rub at her clit, and he puts his hands on her breasts, squeezes them roughly, his breathing labored. “So close for me again. I think I’m going to make you my special project.” She moans at his words, closes her eyes, extends her neck. “I need you at peak performance, so we’re going to have to practice quite a bit. Long nights, weekends.” One hand shifts up, hovering over her exposed throat, and she opens her eyes, feels his burning down on her. “Do I have your commitment?” he asks, flexing his fingers, and he’s really asking for permission to do the one thing guaranteed to make her lose it.

“Yes, yes, you have my commitment,” she pants, and he brings his hand down on her neck, squeezing the sides with strong, careful fingers. He thrusts continuously, rubbing her tits with his free hand, and she quickens her pace on her clit, bouncing against him and moaning like it’s her damn job; she feels her face heat, and her breathing becomes rough, and the instant he releases his hold she comes, doesn’t stop coming until he’s filling the condom inside her, groaning and sweeping his hands up and down her body.

She is a wrecked and ruined mess, light-headed, muscles trembling, and he pulls out of her, ties off the condom, and leans in to kiss her, decadent and filthy. He trails gentle fingers across her throat, tenderly brushes her face, and then pulls her up so she’s sitting, arms around his shoulders, breath against his chest.

“Well I think that was a successful discussion, don’t you, Agent?” he murmurs, and she huffs a laugh, looks up at him affectionately.

“Yes, sir. One of many, I hope.”

“You can count on it.”

A couple days later, she’s just about to leave the parking garage—Aaron has to stay a bit later, so they drove in separately—when her phone chimes with a text.

Remember, we have a session tonight, Agent Cortes. I hope you come prepared.

She thinks about going home, playing with a toy, maybe sending him a video for motivation, and smirks to herself before typing out a reply and starting her car.

Trust me, Hotch, I always come prepared.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x female reader #aaron hotchner/original female character #aaron hotchner x original female character #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #reformat #reblog

[jackmfvegas777]

Trans Guy Tips #5; Dressing Good

Today, we're going to talk about basic fashion, and some things trans guys specifically need to know when buying a new wardrobe.

Some of these rules can always be broken, it's your body and your choice what to put on it!

However, this is a guide for passing better, so feminine and androgynous looks will not be covered here, only the traditional masculine. I will most likely make a guide out on dressing that way later.

1. Match colors, but don't be afraid to throw in some accent detail colors! Usually when you think of fashion, you think of making everything match, however some things will go better with some contrast rather than plainly matching!

As long as it still has some similarity, it doesn't have to be the same.

The most basic rule you need to learn dressing as a man, is that you wear your belt to your shoes.

If your belt is brown, so should your shoes be.

If your belt is black, they should be black.

Usually most fashion rules can be broken, but this one seems to be very important, as it can throw off the whole appearance of an outfit to have mismatching shoes and belt.

2. Use what I call the finger trick.

When selecting a shirt, specifically a dress shirt, put your fingers in the collar between your neck and the collar.

If you can comfortably fit two or even maybe barely three fingers in there, then that's a perfect fit shirt around your neck.

If you can fit four or more fingers, it's loose and will make you look baggy and overweight.

If you can fit only one, or feel any pressure on your throat, you need a looser shirt because it's too tight.

3. Somewhat similar, but when buying pants, this may be the most important thing of all.

If you get the right set of pants, it can disguise even the biggest of curves.

You want to get what's known as a straight-leg jean pant, you can make it a cargo pant if you wish, either one looks very masculine and good.

I would usually recommend bootcut pants if you wear longer shoes, like boots, or combat boots, or anything you need to tuck the jeans into.

Always get pants that don't feel constricting, and always get them where they fit comfortably with a belt, but don't need a belt due to fitting good already.

But straight-leg type is so important to go for, it's one of the things that makes a boxy figure like a cis man's.

4. I'm not sure if this is obvious or may come as a surprise to some people, but even if you like dressing femininely, if you wish to pass, I would suggest always shopping in the men's section.

They have shirts and pants and everything else under the sun that shaped specifically for men's bodies, making yours look even more like a cis man's, which is very gender affirming. Also women's jeans are made to support the butt and make you look feminine and curvy, while men's are designed to be straight, boxy, and comfortable, usually with deep pockets too!

5. Similar to the matching rule before, you can match a busy pattern shirt with a plain pair of pants, or busy pattern and pants with a plain shirt. However if you put too many busy patterns, or too much plainness, either way makes you look not as good.

Try to balance the detail with the simplicity.

6. Overall the most masculine thing you can wear especially pre-t, is either a formal or casual suit.

You can even wear just a dress shirt with a tie or bow tie, with some dress shoes and pants, and you're good!

This just generally makes you look super masculine and it's hard to mistake.

7. if you're like me, where you like to dress flamboyantly, but you're also super dysphoric about it, wait until you get testosterone therapy.

If you end up having it and you start seeing positive effects before dressing femininely, it's great!

I did this and now I feel totally comfortable with it, as no one ever misunderstands me even if I wear the most feminine things ever.

So if you're going on t, feel free to dress more extravagantly during because you will pass even so!

8. Another way to check shirts that are long sleeved, particularly dress shirts, is to tuck it in like usual, and then lift up your arms really high like you're reaching for something.

If it untucks or lifts the fabric in an unflattering way where your armpits look huge, it's cut wrong and is not something you should buy.

9. This may be surprising to some, but yes, cis men will wear feminine designs on masculine outfits.

I can't count the number of times I've seen men wearing bright pink suits. Other times there's been crop tops, painted nails, hair done, everything.

So if you really like that button up with the flowers on it, but are feeling hesitant due to the feeling that people might judge you, don't worry!

Maybe some will, but a lot of people wear unique clothing, and no one will be as bad as what your thoughts say to you.

10. I have somewhat of a warning, as good and fun they are, t-shirts can be very revealing when it comes to showing your chest, even through your binder! Something about them isn't cut quite right, even if they come from the manliest man's site or store.

If you still wish to wear t-shirts like I do, I would recommend getting a short-sleeved or long-sleeved Dickies button up jacket/shirt that you wear open over it. Or any jacket thing, really. This covers your chest completely and negates that effect.

11. This is sort of more hygiene base but still has to do with getting dressed. Always use men's soap, and men's cologne, and men's essential oils, and men's lotion, if you have them.

Also use some aftershave, it's helpful if it has lotion mixed in and moisturizes as well.

You can even shave even if you're pre-t, due to it making a clean feeling due to there being no feminine peach fuzz on it. This can help support dysphoria relief, as well because it feels like you're shaving a beard, at least until it comes in.

When your moustache and beard do come in from testosterone, if you take it, make sure to oil it lightly with natural oils like argan oil or coconut oil, the stimulates hair growth and follicle health.

And I would recommend shaving just once as it starts developing, so it develops thicker, stronger, and more handsome.

12. If you're planning on going on t, buy at least some of your clothing a size or a few sizes up, or getting a duplicate that's larger.

You will grow, so if you buy all your clothing in a smaller size, you'll probably end up unable to use any of it.

13. Always position your belt buckle in the center of your stomach, the way you can tell if it's positioned right is if it lines up with the buttons of your button up perfectly.

14. When wearing a suit try to always keep the bottomless button unbuttoned. That button isn't actually there to be used, it's meant to be unbuttoned and it makes it look so much better.

The reason it looks so much better is because it makes it flattering and thinning. If you button all the buttons, it will make you look heavy due to it tightening around your waist and stomach.

15. You should always have at least two pairs of dress shoes. one pair that's black, and one pair that's brown. Same with belts. It's also recommended for summer that you keep one pair of masculine flip flops or sandals or sneakers around.

16. This is more of a suggestion than anything, however it's manly as fuck, and people love it.

If you carry a work knife, a pocket watch, a small portable multitool, and a handkerchief.

Possibly even a pen and small notepad with you at all times.

This may seem odd at first, but it's what men used to do constantly in the older days.

These items can come in very useful. A work knife can open packages, open letters, be used in place of scissors occasionally, and even used to defend yourself and others.

A pocket watch is just fancy and shows you're always trying to be on time.

A multi-tool shows you're ready for any task, and it can be a lifesaver in many situations!

Meanwhile a handkerchief is important, because if you ever come across someone crying, or someone wounded, you can lend them or give them your handkerchief, which is a very gentlemanly thing to do, and it can help you pass better, as well as it just being a kind thing to do for someone.

The pen and small notepad is always good to carry on you regardless of any gender, due to you needing to write things down often.

17. Ironically, although socks with sandals seems to be a fashion 'no-no' to most people, I quite like them, and it seems like I pass better with them.

Men tend to wear those slip-on flip flop things, and when you wear socks with it it makes you look very masculine, even if it may look silly to some.

Personally I like it a lot.

18. If you do wish to do makeup & nails, I would suggest doing it as black and gothic as possible, as that's the most common style guys do it as, and if you do it in a certain way, it can come out looking way masculine.

And that concludes my fifth part of this Trans Guy Tips series!

Thank you for reading, and I hope anything I said helped!

#trans man #trans boy #transguy #trans male #transmasculine #ftm trans #ftm #ftm guide #ftm tips #transgender #trans #trans guy tips #trans guy guide #transgender tips #trans tips #lgbtqa #lgbtq #lgbt #queer #trans ftm #transgender guide #trans guide #fashion #lgbt fashion #trans rights

[in-ky]

Hi! I’d love a story about Negan being a serial killer who only kills “bad people” (like in Dexter) and maybe he saves the reader from her ex who’s about to kill her and Negan can save her and takes her in because she’s a mess but she’s actually a killer herself (who kills rapists etc/ only the bad ones) and Negan and the reader start fighting and then get caught up in steamy hot sex 🥵 thank you!

Savior - Negan Killer AU

Warnings: Warnings: GORE + violence, smut, domestic abuse, swearing, dirty talk ig? idk how to tag this lol

A/N: hey! i struggled over this one for a while lol. ive only seen like. 3? episodes of dexter so. i really hope this meets your expectations! also forgive any mistakes its late, im tired, and i wanna get this up lol. also, is negan batman? maybe. 3.7k words

"Will, stop you're hurting me!" I hissed, grabbing at his wrist. He tugged me out of the bustling restaurant and into the dark street.

"I don't really give a shit," He snarled, throwing me into a secluded alleyway a few buildings down from the restaurant. Will had taken me out to a business dinner with his boss in hopes of showing me off and making a good impression. But things didn't quite go according to plan. "You embarrassed me in front of everyone!" He pushed me against the brick wall of the closed department store.

"What was I supposed to do?" I sneered, trying to wiggle away from him "He kept commenting on my body, saying how he wished he could take me home at the end of the night and do all kinds of 'unspeakable things to me'."

"You were just supposed to shut up and take it!" Will said, voice filled with rage "But no, you and your untamable fucking complex just couldn't handle a compliment. You threw your drink in his face! You're lucky he didn't fire me right then and there. You made me look like some pussy who can't control his whore."

"You're an asshole." I shouted, tears welling at the edges of my eyes. Will's face contorted further into a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

"What the fuck did you just call me?" He seethed, clasping his hand tightly around my throat and constricting his fingers around my airway.

"I said you're an asshole who cares more about his dead-end career than his fucking girlfriend." I croaked. I hated him. I hated him so much. My vision clouded with the combination of disgust, loathing, and lack of oxygen, so I hit him where I knew it hurt. "There's a reason you needed me for arm candy tonight. It's 'cause you're a boring, piece-of-shit, lowlife who has no skill whatsoever. How does it feel knowing you need me to make something of yourself?" With that, he threw me to the ground by my throat. He wasted no time and pinned me to the cold concrete. His knees dug into my shoulders and his hand flew to his back pocket, whipping out the switchblade he carried as a precaution against mugging. My eyes widened as they caught a glint of the moonlight off the sharp knife. He brought the blade up to my throat and slapped me over the cheek harshly with his free hand.

"You better take back those words, bitch," He hissed, pressing the blade into the soft skin of my jugular "or they might just be your last." A dribble of blood ran down my neck with the pressure. Realization flashed through my mind. I could die right then. That could have been my last moment. Was I scared? No. Why wasn't I scared? Maybe it had to do with the shadowy figure that was slowly approaching us from the ally entrance.

There was plenty of time for me to warn Will that someone was coming. But I didn't. Instead, I stayed quiet and watched as the shadow figure pulled Will from my body with ease and tossed him to the side. Everything was kind of a blur. I was still oxygen starved and filled with a whirl-wind of emotion. I heard Will cry out in surprise and indignance. The shadow figure said nothing. It saw the switchblade with a steady line of my blood. It kicked Will in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Then it lifted up a baseball bat over its head and cracked it down over Will's skull. He continued to beat Will until he stopped squirming. The shadow figure paused and swung the bat over his shoulder. I had regained my breath and pushed myself to my elbows. The shadow noticed me moving and took a few heavy steps in my direction. I squirmed away slightly, instincts telling me to get away from the thing that had just pulverized my boyfriend. The shadow entered a stream of moonlight. It was a man. He had peppered hair and a blood-speckled face. He had dark brown eyes and a small smile perched on his lips.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He said. His voice was deep. I was partially surprised. He wasn't a bulky man. He was tall and had a broad frame, but his limbs were long and his body was lithe. He wore a leather jacket and his boots were slick with what I could only assume were Will's brains. I didn't want to look at his bat.

"W-Why did you do that?" I whispered. It was all I could muster.

"He was going to kill you." The man sounded confused, like I was supposed to know who he was and why he saved me.

"You don't know that." My voice was quiet. My eyes were glued to a spot behind the man, unblinking. He let out a throaty chuckle and dropped to a squat, leveling with me.

"Doll, he had a knife pressed to your throat," His words were gentle "Looked like he was gonna fuckin' kill you." He hesitantly reached out two fingers in the direction of my face. I didn't move. He was wearing leather gloves. The ridged fabric ran along my injuries. "Seems like he did some damage before I could step in. Damn. Sorry about that. Listen, I live a few streets down. If you want, I can get you cleaned up."

"Okay," I said softly. I let him help me up to my feet. He guided me along with one arm while holding his bat with the other. As we walked out of the alley I couldn't help but look down at Will, or what remained of him at least. His forehead was split in half, a pool of chunky blood bubbling on the ground. I clenched my jaw and forced myself to swallow the bile that had risen in my throat. And yet, I didn't feel sad. I didn't mourn him. Maybe it was shock, maybe it wasn't. "Thank you?" I murmured, though it was more of a question. The man and I stepped out onto the street and I was grateful there was no one around to see us leaving the scene of a very heinous-looking crime.

"No problem, doll," The man hummed, setting a brisk pace down the sidewalk. "The name's Negan, by the way." Cool. Negan: my Savior.

~~~

"So you're like Batman?" I asked Negan as he dabbed the blood away from my neck. He gave a short chuckle and tore away the sticky part of the band-aid.

"I guess you can say that," he mused, splaying the bandage over the cut the knife had left "but I specifically go for people that I know have hurt others. The baddies, if you will."

"Is that legal?" I tilted my head, crossing my ankles as they dangled over the bathroom counter. My palms were flat on the surface of Negan's marble sink top, fiddling with the wrappers of the medical supplies he had used to clean and bandage my small cuts and bruises.

"I haven't been caught," Negan shrugged "besides, it's less work for the police. They don't have to do any interrogation bullshit or anything. I usually catch people in the act, like tonight. Then I do my thing."

"Do you kill everyone?"

"Only the bad people," He reminded, tossing away a bloody tissue "only people who have hurt others. But, yes, usually the offender ends up on the business end of Lucille over there." He pointed out the door into the living room, where the still-bloody bat rested against a chair. I furrowed my brow.

"Well, doesn't that make you a bad guy?" I pressed. He tapped my knee and I dropped down to the tile floor, tucking my hair behind my ear and gathering some of the scraps.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you still kill people, right? Even if they're bad? So doesn't that still make you a killer?" Negan was quiet for a minute. "Let's put it this way," I continued "What would you do if you came across someone who was like you; someone who hurt the bad people. Would you still kill them. They're hurting people." Negan took a deep breath and let it out with a contemplative sigh, itching his bearded chin.

"I'm not sure," He mused "I've never really thought about it before. See, I don't consider myself a bad person per say. Yea, what I'm doing might be considered fucked up. But I'm doing it for the right reason. I'm protecting people by attacking their attackers. In the end, someone's saved." He brushed off his hands and led me out of the bathroom, flicking the light off. "Would you rather me not have saved you tonight?"

"No," I said immediately "thank you. Really, thank you. You saved my life. Will is...was...always a dick, but I never thought he'd actually hurt me. I guess that proves people can have a whole bunch of layers." Negan nodded and moved to the kitchen. He raised a bottle of whiskey as an offering. I shook my head but he poured himself a glass.

"I was just doing my job," Negan grinned sympathetically "I'm sorry your boyfriend was an asshole who tried to murder you." I shrugged, amusement in my eyes.

"Eh, it happens to everyone." I smiled as he let out another laugh. I felt as if I shouldn't be laughing, but at the same time, everyone has their own responses to almost getting stabbed to death in an alley. So I let myself have this moment. Besides, Negan was a good guy to be around. He made me feel safe, comfortable, secure. Everything I needed right now. "So, Negan, what do you do? Surely vigilante-ing can't pay well, and this apartment is really nice."

"I'm a retired baseball player," Negan said, sipping his whiskey and settling into one of the armchairs in the living room "Hence the bat."

"Were you any good?" I asked. He let out a loud scoff.

"Was I any good?" He mocked "Sweetheart, I have a whole damn trophy room. I was fucking amazing. I just got old."

"So you're rich with no real job, you kill bad guys, and you have a massive ego," I listed "You really are like Batman, aren't you?"

~~~

Negan let me stay on his couch that night. It was leather, like everything else that man seemed to own, but it was comfortable. I woke up to the smell of bacon filling the air. I groaned and rubbed my fists against my eyes, clearing them of sleep. I stretched my arms above my head in a yawn and rolled off the couch, stumbling into the kitchen. Negan was hunched over the bubbling pan, dodging pellets of grease as they shot up at him.

"Smells good!" I purred, closing my eyes and taking a deep inhale.

"Good," He grumbled "You better fucking enjoy it because I've gotten burned at least three times." I laughed and walked up to him examining the small red patches that dotted his arms.

"You didn't have to make me breakfast you know."

"Yea, but I wanted to make sure you were comfortable," He sighed, turning off the stove and scooping the cooked bacon onto a paper towel. "Besides, I was craving some bacon when I woke up. I haven't had someone to share a meal with in a while."

"Well, if you want, you can come by my house for dinner." I offered, crunching down on a piece of bacon "I've been meaning to whip out the family alfredo recipe for a while, maybe a hot date would give me that incentive." I gave him a playful wink and he chuckled.

"Sure thing, doll," He hummed, putting the pan in the sink "I love me some fucking spaghetti. I'll see you around seven?"

"Sounds good."

~~~

I ran down the sidewalk, chest heaving. There was enough darkness to cover me, but I still kept my head down to prevent recognition. I held my hands close to my stomach, praying that the blood on my fingers wouldn't drip on the pavement and leave a trail. I had been on my way home from the store when I heard some commotion coming from an alley. My first instinct was to run, but then I heard the girl crying for help. Negan came to mind, what he did, how he helped people. I couldn't turn away. I marched down the alley and saw a greasy man pinning a woman to the wall of a building. Flashbacks of the night before hit me like a train. I looked on top of the alley dumpster  and saw a crowbar perched on one of the lids. I grabbed it and stormed up to the man, whacking him upside the head with the weapon. I kicked him to the side and brought the crowbar over my head before swinging it down. It connected with his face in a sickening 'thwack.' I thought of Will. I thought of what might of happened if Negan had never stopped him. I thought of all the times that bastard had gotten drunk and told me I was nothing. I let the rage bubble up and fuel my beating. By the time I was pulled back into the moment, my muscles were screaming, the woman was gone, and the man's face was unrecognizable. I tossed the crowbar into the dumpster and ran back home.

Dried blood is extremely hard to wash off. It sticks to your skin in flakes, creating a pattern of red veins crawling over your hands. Fuck. I scrubbed as hard as I could under the rushing water of the sink, pumping more and more soap into my hand. It was under my fingernails. It was stuck in my palm prints. Shit, did I leave fingerprints at the scene? Would they be coming for me? With a hiss, I rubbed even harder at my skin, small flecks of blood turning the sink water red.

Suddenly, my door opened.

"I'm ready for my s'getties!" Negan boomed with a wide smile. My head whipped around, looking at him with wide eyes. His grin faded and he crossed the room in record time, grabbing my wrists and turning the sink off. "Is this fucking blood?" He snarled, bringing my hands up to my face. I clenched my jaw and dropped my eyes to my feet. "Jesus, who's is it? Answer me!"

"I-I heard someone screaming on the way home," I said quietly, eyes still downcast "I thought I would help..." His jaw went slack and he let go of my hands, running his fingers through his hair.

"Jesus fuck, you can't just go around killing people!"

"Why not?" I snapped, eyes meeting his "You do it all the time? What's the difference? Why can't I help people?"

"Because it...Because you just can't!" Negan growled, shaking his head.

"Why are you so special?" I hissed back, drying my hands off on a towel before tossing it at him "It's not like you can get a permit for fucking murder. Why do you do it, anyways? Is it some perverted thing? Do you get off on saving people from attackers?"

"Watch yourself." Negan warned, eyes darkening.

"Pfft, or what?" I laughed, tossing my head back "What are you gonna do, kill me? I'm not afraid of you, Negan." As soon as the words left my mouth, he charged me. His hand flew to my throat, squeezing my airway lightly. His hips pressed me against the counter. I let out a small gasp when he shoved his face next to mine.

"Oh, but doll, you really fucking should be." He spat, curling his lip "I could snap your neck right here, right now." He gave a small squeeze to emphasize his words. I let out a strangled moan. We both froze. "Are you turned on right now?" He muttered, furrowing his brow. I licked my lips and squirmed in his grip, pressing my thighs together slightly in an effort to alleviate the warm pressure growing in my belly.

"No," I lied, voice weak. A sinister grin curled over the bottom half of his face and he licked his tongue over his teeth.

"And I'm the perv, huh?" He sucked on my earlobe and peppered kisses down my jawline "Sweetheart, tell me, do you want me to fuck that pretty little pussy of yours? Do you want me to make you cum harder than you ever have?" I whimpered at his dirty mouth. "Use your words, doll, or I'll leave right fucking now."

"Y-Yes!" I breathed as Negan's lips sucked on the sweet spot right beneath my ear.

"Yes, what, princess?"

"Yes, I want you to fuck me, please!" I groaned, clawing at his shirt. He let out a short chuckle, muttering something about how needy I was, but I didn't care. Right now, the only thought running through my head was that I needed Negan. I needed all of him. And damn me if I wasn't going to get it.

We clawed at each other's clothes like rabid animals. Once we were completely bare, Negan moved his kisses down my body. His large, calloused hands kneaded my breasts, twisting my nipples between his thumbs. My arms flew around his neck and I dragged my fingernails up his back. He shivered against my touch and slid his hands further down my body. They settled firmly on my hips as he captured my lips in a fervent kiss.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he grunted, pulling back for air. I looked at him. His tawny eyes were now black, pupils far beyond dilated with lust. Both of our lips were swollen and red from the intensity of our kisses. Negan's chest inflated and deflated quickly as his eyes roamed over my body. "You're so damn perfect." I smiled sheepishly and pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, looking up at him through lidded eyes.

"You're not so bad yourself," I reached out my hand and used my pointer finger to draw a line from his collar bone down the center of his chest and through his navel, finally ending right over his pulsing cock. He sucked in a breath as my fingers closed around him. My thumb swept over the hot tip, gathering precum on the pad of my finger and rubbing it around.

"Shit," He hissed as I slowly pumped him "I'm not gonna fucking last if you keep doing that." He gently pried my hand away and took a step closer to me. I could feel his hardened length resting against the inside of my thigh. The thought of him being so close made a burst of heat rush down between my thighs. Negan took a long finger and ran it through my folds, collecting my wetness. I moaned as he teasingly dipped the first knuckle into me. He pulled back and let out a low whistle. "Damn, girl," he chuckled, raising his finger to my face "You're fucking dripping. Who's that for?" His slick-coated fingers glistened in the light of my apartment. I let out a deep groan as he slid them between his lips and sucked.

"You, Negan!" I whimpered, wrapping my legs around his waist "It's all for you." A wolfish grin spread over his features as he tugged me off him and pulled me down off the counter. He spun me around and pressed gently between my shoulder blades until my chest was flat against the cold surface.

"Then if you don't mind," Negan cooed, lining himself up with my entrance "I'm going to take what belongs to me." With that, he slowly pushed into me. I gasped at the stretch, balling my hands into fists as he continued to split me open.

"Fucking shit," he groaned once he bottomed out "you're tight as hell. I bet you've never had a dick as big as mine." He pulled out slightly and I let out a moan at the growing emptiness inside. The moan soon turned to a yelp when he brought down his hand against my ass. The smack was loud and he rubbed the red spot tenderly. "Have you?"

"N-No!" I gasped when he thrusted into me for the first time "Never. Fuck, you feel so good." Negan's thrusts sped up, his hips snapping against my ass in an obscene rhythm. Grunts and moans of pleasure slipped from both of our lips as he plowed unapologetically into me. I could feel every inch of him. He was hitting every spot, dragging against my walls in a sinfully perfect way.

"You're doing so good," He purred, kissing and biting my shoulder "So good for me. You're so perfect." I tossed my head back and he grabbed my chin, tilting my face towards him so he could give me another bruising kiss. I could only keep up for so long, though, and the white bliss of pleasure he was giving me soon became overwhelming. My jaw went slack and my head dropped against the cool tile of the counter in an attempt to ground myself in the moment. "I want you to cum, doll, cum around me. Wanna feel those walls squeeze me." His thrusts were starting to become sloppy and I could tell he was getting to his end. One of his fingers danced down my spine and found its way to my clit. He circled it with just enough pressure to get me to the edge that I was so willing to jump off. "Now." Negan growled. I obeyed, feeling the band in my lower abdomen snapping violently. We reached our releases simultaneously. My walls clenched around him, milking him of every drop. I screwed my eyes shut and screamed his name, holding in a large breath as the world around me spun. Negan eventually pulled himself out and collapsed on top of me. We both were breathing heavily, sweaty bodies entangled as well as we could over a counter. I swallowed, my throat dry from panting through my orgasm. When my eyes fluttered open, I could see Negan's thumb tracing circles over the love bites that were starting to darken on my shoulders.

"Are you going to kill me?" I rasped, running a hand through my wild hair "I guess I'm a bad person now." Negan chuckled, still out of breath.

"I think I'll make an exception," He mused, pressing a sweet kiss to the shell of my ear "I don't think I'm ready to let you go just yet."

#negan x reader #negan x y/n #negan smut #negan x you #negan smith #au!negan #the walking dead #twd smut #twd negan

[sunmoonandeddie]

feelings are fatal (19/24)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, past steve rogers x reader

word count: 3,667

summary: After the events of Endgame, you struggle to come to terms with what you’ve lost, though you’re learning that you still have something to gain.

chapter warnings: swearing, violence, slight smut maybe??, soldat makes an appearance

masterlist

a/n: This is part THREE of my blog birthday surprise!

It had been two weeks.

Two of the hardest weeks that Bucky had ever experienced in his entire life.

Two weeks without hearing your voice.

Two weeks without seeing you smile.

Two weeks without feeling the way your hand would slip into his when no one else was looking—and even when they were sometimes—and give a gentle squeeze, reassuring him that you were there.

And you weren’t going anywhere.

But he hadn’t had it for two weeks and he felt like he was going to fall apart at the seams. It had been a lot of fits of rage that turned into all-encompassing breakdowns that would leave him dehydrated and exhausted.

His nightmares were worse than they had ever been before.

He hadn’t slept since you’d been gone.

Fuck, the first thing he was gonna do once he had you back was curl up in bed with you and sleep for a year.

Bucky sighed as he sat outside the conference room where all of the planning had been taking place, letting his head fall into his hands. He wasn’t allowed inside. Too emotionally unstable to have a level head, which is what was needed most right now.

But everyone knew there was no way in Hell he wasn’t gonna be part of the team that went to save you. He’d kill every mother fucker that got in his way, that had helped take you in the first place.

Pulling out his phone, his heart constricted as he saw your sleepy face on his lockscreen. You’d been curled up on the couch, wearing one of his hoodies and a pair of pink fuzzy socks with little red hearts. Your little snores had been absolutely adorable, your knees pulled up to your chest.

When he’d woken you up, shaking you carefully with whispers of a milkshake he’d gotten for you, you’d blinked up at him, almost like you weren’t sure who he was.

And then that beautiful smile had spread over your face.

God, anytime he thought about your little, “For me?” his heart was ready to burst.

He’d snapped a photo, which had immediately resulted in you launching yourself at him with squeals for him to delete it.

Which, of course, he didn’t.

He’d give anything to go back to that day and insist that you guys didn’t go on the field trip.

Well, if Hydra had done anything, they’d successfully ruined one of his favorite places in the entire world.

“Hey,” Sam said as he came out of the conference room. “We think we’ve got a hit.”

Bucky leapt to his feet and rushed into the room after him. “Where is she?! What did you find?!”

“There’s a base in Canada that we thought was abandoned,” he explained as he showed him the map of the general area. “It’s small, but heavily armed.”

Everyone around them was already making plans, making a strategy of how they were going to get you out of there and bring you home.

But Bucky knew there was only one way to guarantee you came back.

“Sam, I have a favor to ask of you.” He was sure his heart was going to break his ribs from how hard it was beating as he led the man out of the room, away from listening ears. “I… When I went to Wakanda and I got the words taken out of my head… I asked Shuri to put in a different set.”

The way Sam’s heart dropped was… extremely visible. He could see it in his deep brown eyes. “What the hell do you mean, man? You… I thought the Winter Soldier was out of your head and all that.”

“He is. Mostly,” Bucky explained. Running his fingers through his hair—fuck, he needed a haircut—he took in a deep breath. “I got words put back in with the intention of only giving them to her… In case she needed the Soldat’s protection. We both know that while I’m tough, the Soldat is a machine. And he’d do anything to protect her.”

His best friend stared at him long and hard, his eyes narrowed. “You want me to unleash the Soldat in order to save her. Do you really think that’s the best way?”

“I do,” he said quietly. “Especially because the loyalty to Hydra is not longer in my brain. All that’s there is loyalty to my friends, my family. I won’t hurt any of you.”

Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “And you really think this is the right way?” He asked quietly.

Bucky’s throat was dry as the Sahara as he nodded, both hands trembling. “I’ll give you the words. I don’t want to use them until we’re almost to the base, okay? I don’t want the Soldat to be around Morgan again, even if he wouldn’t hurt her.”

Sam grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight. “Hey. I’ve got your back. And if you believe that this is the best way to save her, then I trust you. I’ll always trust you.”

The Soldat sighed, exhaustion weighing down his bones as he walked down the halls of the Red Room. The mission he’d been on had been quick, but he hadn’t been able to sleep in two days because of it.

All he wanted was his bed.

But no, he had to head to the Red Room to train the little brat.

The little brat being you.

If he was being honest with himself, you weren’t a brat, not really. He was just tired and ready to collapse at any moment, but it wasn’t your fault. You were just a kid.

Well, fifteen. But that was still a kid.

His brows furrowed when he stepped into the training room that he always met you in and found you lying on your back on the mat, staring straight up at the ceiling. What was going on?

You shifted a little, your knee bending so your bare foot was flat on the floor.

He couldn’t help the wince when he saw how banged up your feet were.

The life of a ballerina.

To be fair, he’d seen a lot of fucked up feet since he had started to train girls in the Red Room, but he’d never get used to it. The blood and the half-ripped off toenails and just… Ugh.

Anytime he thought about it, it sent a shudder down his spine. He hated it. He hated feet.

Who would’ve thought that the fearsome Soldat would get freaked out by feet?

You didn’t acknowledge his presence as he got closer, even as his heavy boots sunk into the soft, squishy mat beside your head. But your eyes flickered open as he peered down at you and said your name. “Yes?”

“What are you doing?”

“Laying down.”

“I can see that.”

“Then why did you ask what I’m doing?”

The Soldat rolled his eyes at the impish grin that was spreading over your face. How had it come to be that you could give him shit when no one else could? If anyone else gave him the sass and attitude that you gave him, they’d be six feet under.

But not you.

What made you so special?

“Come on,” you said as you leaned up to tug on his metal hand. “Lay down. It’s nice.”

“But…” He glanced towards the open doors that led into the training room, before being brought back by the tug of your hand again. What could he do except give in when you were giving him those puppy eyes? “Okay,” he said as he slowly sunk to his knees before moving to lie down beside you, leaving ample space. The hunk of a man stared up at the ceiling for what felt like forever, before asking, “So what is this supposed to accomplish?”

“A moment of rest.”

Oh. Huh. He hadn’t… had one of those. In a long time. Anytime he was done with a mission and he wasn’t training, it was back into cryo.

“Okay.”

Your head turned to look at him, a gentle smile gracing your lips. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling for the first time in what felt like a century. “It is.”

Bucky took a breath as he looked out the front windows of the quinjet. They were coming up on the base pretty soon, and he knew what that meant.

It was time.

Everyone had been briefed on what was about to go down, and even if they weren’t sure about it being the best course of action, they weren’t going to stop him. Not when it came to you.

“Sam?” He said softly, looking back at the man who was already waiting for him towards the back of the aircraft.

“I’m here,” he said reassuringly, holding the scrap of paper that Bucky had written them down on for him. “Are you ready?” He asked once he’d joined him.

“As I’ll ever be.”

There was a heavy pause between them, before Sam looked down at the paper and began to read. “Fifteen.”

It felt like the weight of the world was on Bucky’s shoulders.

“Sleeping Beauty.”

He couldn’t fuck this up. He had to get you back.

“Midnight.”

Oh, god, he could feel it coming.

“Sweetness.”

His brain was beginning to shift, beginning to take another form.

“Five.”

The Soldat was beginning to awaken inside of him.

“Warmth.”

This was the best way to save you, to ensure that they didn’t leave the base without you.

“Moonlight.”

He could feel the Soldat’s feelings mixing with his own, the rage and the worry, specifically for you.

“City.”

At the forefront was the demand to know where you were, to have you safe in his arms.

“Sundress.”

Bucky could feel himself falling asleep as the Soldat was taking over, like he was just about to take a nap.

“Plush.”

The Soldat scowled as he looked around. “Where is my malen’kaya?” He asked sharply, somehow knowing that English was the proper language to use at the moment.

“We’re going to get her. And we need your help,” Sam said, catching his attention. “Hydra took her. So we have to save her.”

Everything else in the world lost all meaning as soon as the Soldat heard him. “Where is Natalia? She was meant to protect her! That’s why I got her to get her out!”

Wanda swallowed thickly as she stepped forward. “Natasha died. A few months ago.” Her fingers were fiddling with nervous energy, red swirling around the tips. “She died protecting her.”

It was close enough to the truth.

His spine straightened, his jaw clenching. “Then I will be the one to protect her again.” The Asset looked around, looking each of them in the eyes. “Stay out of my way.”

None of them planned to get in the way in the first place, but they knew he wouldn’t have known that.

As soon as the quinjet landed and the ramp was down, he was off, storming into the base. He left a trail of bodies in his wake as he searched for the one person that had meant anything to him.

And that was when he saw her.

Madame B.

And oh, did he have a score to settle with her.

“Soldat! How kind of you to finally join us,” she said with a cold smile, and he tensed up as you were suddenly dragged out of a cell to his left and shoved to your knees. “We’ve been waiting for you. Though… We did think it would take a little less time for you to find us.”

You looked up at him with those beautiful eyes he loved so much, and he was hit with how much older you were from the last time he’d really gotten to see you.

You were so gorgeous. It was like you got better looking everyday.

“Malen’kaya,” he breathed out, blue eyes wide as his heart pounded inside his chest.

“Soldat! Soldat, get out of here!” You cried out, tears rolling down your soft cheeks. “She’s going to kill you! RUN!”

But he stood his ground, pushing his shoulders back and holding his head high. He didn’t know what had happened to him, but he couldn’t feel that unwavering loyalty to his former captors anymore, and that was just fine with him. “No. No more running,” he said sternly, keeping his eyes on Madame B. “No more being afraid.”

It hurt him to see the tears that were streaming down your face, to see the panic that his words sent you into.

But he couldn’t keep running away. If he did, then you would just be hurt again later on. They’d keep coming after the two of you, and he was done. He was done with the hiding and the running and the being afraid. He wanted to spend his life with you.

He wanted to be able to hold your hand out in public and know that you were safe. That no one was going to snatch you away from him until he’d completed yet another mission.

“Soldat… Soldat, no!” You begged, your body shaking as you stayed on your knees. A pitiful whimper escaped your lips as the Madame cocked a gun and held it to your temple, the metal cold against your skin. “Please… Please, run. D-Don’t watch this.” You couldn’t stand the thought of the Soldat—and by extension, Bucky—watching you die.

And that was certainly Madame B’s plan. Now that she’d drawn him in by holding you hostage, she’d kill you, and Hydra would have their greatest weapon back.

Their Asset.

“Wait!” The Soldat called out, causing the older woman to freeze in her tracks. “Take me instead.”

“What?! NO!” You screeched, thrashing against her hold. “SOLDAT! JAMES! NO!” You were beginning to panic, your breathing coming heavier and heavier.

Fuck, you looked so much smaller than when he’d last seen you, even if you did look older. They'd been keeping food from you.

“I will go with you willingly if you let her live,” he said calmly, keeping his eyes locked on hers.

“Oh, really?” She drawled, glaring at him coldly. “You give me your word?”

“I give you my word.”

He just needed to get you away from her for just a split second. He needed to get that gun to be… not pointed at your head.

He could work with that.

It happened in a split second. Madame B’s hand holding the gun shifted, the gun now pointed towards your legs.

The Soldat had been holding a knife just out of her view and threw it, letting out a sigh of relief as it met its intended mark.

Deep in Madame B’s throat.

Blood had splattered all over the back of your head as the older woman sunk to her knees, the light leaving her eyes.

The look of shock that was plastered across his face worried him. You looked frozen, paralyzed out of fear.

“Malen’kaya?” He whispered, moving to kneel in front of you.

You took in a shuddering breath, your eyes refocusing. “S-Soldat? You’re here?” You asked, fingers shaking as you reached up to touch his cheek. “I… How?”

“I don’t know,” he murmured quietly, cupping your face in both of his hands, both flesh and vibranium. “I don’t know, but I’m here. And I’m not leaving until you’re home safe.”

You didn’t want him to leave, but you wanted Bucky, too.

You were just so confused. The words had been taken out of his head, the programming.

The super soldier didn’t hesitate to scoop you up, cradling you close to his chest as he carried you out of the base.

He hadn’t left a single Hydra agent alive, and that’s how he liked it.

The only good Hydra agent was a dead Hydra agent.

Your eyes were locked on his face as he carried you to the quinjet, where most of your little found family was waiting.

They all rushed to you, finally letting the tears out as they welcomed you back into their arms. At least, until the Soldat growled out a warning and they gave you some space.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” you breathed out as he set you on his lap with a bottle of water, taking small sips. His strong arms had locked around you almost immediately, ensuring that you were stable in his lap.

And that no one could take you from him again.

“It’s okay,” Soldat said as his vibranium hand rubbed up and down your arm, soothing you. “Rest… You need to rest and eat and drink. Questions later. Hard stuff… later.”

The Soldat knew he wasn’t staying. He couldn’t.

He’d been brought out for this specific mission, to rescue the person he cared about more than anything, and he’d succeeded.

It had been an honor, knowing that these people trusted him to bring you home.

Maybe he wasn’t as bad as he’d been led to believe.

Or maybe… Maybe you made him good, somewhere along the line.

And maybe that was the best he could’ve ever hoped for.

When they made it back to the Compound, some part of him knew the way to the medbay, and he took you straight there.

“How did this happen?” You asked, your eyes sliding up to where Sam was lingering in the doorway.

“Bucky… made a plan,” he said as he took a few steps closer, though he kept a wide berth.

Even the doctor that was looking you over kept casting wary glances to the hulking man sitting next to the hospital bed, holding your hand.

“A plan? What kind of plan?”

Bucky had done something to make sure the Winter Soldier was able to come back? But that sounded like his worst nightmare…

Sam glanced at the Soldat, before moving to the end of your bed and holding onto the plastic footboard. “He had them take out the old trigger… activation words or whatever, and had them put in new ones that only he knew,” he said. “On the off chance that you would need the Soldat.”

“He… He did that for me?” You looked up at your Soldat, the man who had protected you, who had cared for you and ensured your survival. His existence hurt Bucky. He was a part of him that he had been desperate to get rid of.

And he’d left a part of him inside, and provided a way to bring him back just in case you needed him.

The Soldat gave you a weak smile as he caressed your cheek.

It was so strange. Even though he had Bucky’s looks, his new haircut and the stubble, the lack of blood or dirt or something covering his face, it was very clearly the Soldat.

“I cannot stay,” he said quietly, bringing your hand to his lips and kissing each of your knuckles. “I wish I could, malen’kaya… But we both know that our time has passed. If I have to come back, you and… Bucky know how to bring me out.”

“But… But…”

He shook his head, taking in a deep breath. “Everything is alright. You are safe. Hydra will never come after you again, especially if they know what’s good for them.” The hand holding yours was trembling, but he kept his eyes on your face. “And I… I am safe. They can’t hurt me anymore, thanks to you and this… Bucky.”

Your eyes burned as you pushed yourself into a sitting position, being careful with the IV that had been inserted into your arm. “I love you,” you said, pressing your forehead to his. “I love you so much.”

“And I love you,” he said breathlessly. “But… Malen’kaya, don’t let the past hold you back from the future. I… Those that hurt you in the past don’t matter anymore. You are stronger than what happened to you.” He held your hand a little tighter. “Do you understand me, malen’kaya? You are stronger than what has happened to you.”

“I understand.”

“Good,” he said, his lips pressing to your forehead. “You will live a long life. A long, long happy life. You have suffered for so long, but that’s over. The time of suffering has passed, and you get to be happy.”

Panic was overwhelming you. “But what about you? Don’t you get to be happy?”

“Yes, I do,” he said, a smile spreading over his lips. “Malen’kaya… I never knew peace until you. I found little moments of happiness when I was with you, in that training room…” The man’s forehead rested against yours, your noses nudging. “You gave me peace. And feelings. They couldn’t wipe you from my brain completely, no matter how hard they tried.” He let out a slow breath, his fingers massaging your scalp. “You rescued me. You are my savior. And now…” He was so warm, like a furnace, and you just wanted to curl up against him forever. “Now I can rest.” The Soldat tenderly pressed his lips to yours.

Possibly the first and only kiss you’d ever share with him.

It was… It was sweet and gentle and loving. Years of unspoken feelings, of the longing stares and lingering touches while in that horrible room, of the wild look in his eyes anytime someone dared to hurt you.

It was overwhelming and beautiful and fuck, you wanted more.

But he was right. The time you two had together was over. The Soldat’s time was over.

He could rest, and that’s all you had ever wanted for him.

As he broke the kiss, he slowly laid you back against the pillows of your hotel bed. “Sleep. I’ll be gone when you wake, but… Bucky will be here.”

Bucky.

Jamie.

Those that hurt you in the past don’t matter anymore.

And your Jamie… Your Jamie had never hurt you.

Maybe you could rest, too. You could have a life.

One with him in it.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n

[butwhatifidothis]

Fighting someone in that enlightened edelgard comment and they really pulled the "edelgard's war was necessary because crests bad!!" Bruh

Alright so like... why does Edelgard think Crests bad? What is she willing to propose to society as an alternative to Crests that won't similarly be abused by those with money and power? If Hanneman is able to conduct Crest research and is allowed to build his machines that gets rid of the need for Crests on all routes, even on SS and even if Rhea comes back as archbishop, then why did Edelgard need to start the war if that was her real goal? What problems do Crests specifically and uniquely bring to society?

Because Sylvain, Ingrid, Lorenz, anyone else who feels that they're only good for their Crest or need to marry due to their Crest? They'd literally be in the same position without them, because they're still high-end nobles with pretty titles and nice power that commoners would want a piece of or that their families would marry off to others families for more money and power (or any, in Ingrid's case). Crests change nothing, save for Sylvain getting the nice heir title from this unfair inheritance system over Miklan were it the usual "lol I popped outta Mom first" inheritance system.

Mercedes? Ah yes, because incest would never occur in noble families were it not for Crests, think I read that in my history class before.

Dorothea? Her having a Crest would have actually saved her and her mother (or at least her) from a life of poverty, so oops.

Hanneman's sister? Ah yes, right after the section where my history books told me that incest don't real, it says that women were never ever forced to unhealthily bear multiple children until their husband gets one he wants.

The only ones I can think of that were fucked over specifically and only by specifically and only Crests are Edelgard, Lysithea, and Marianne. The first two are so unbelievably unlikely to happen to anyone in the general Crest-bearing populace as to damn near be laughable - fun as Two Crests AU's are, this shit only happens the twice, once for the setup and once with the refinements from the first. This isn't something most, many, some, a few, or really fuckin' anyone has to deal with, this is something extremely specific to Edelgard and Lysithea. And similarly, Marianne, while facing most of her trauma because of uniquely Crests, only does so because she literally just so happens to be born with the literal one Crest in all of Fodlan that is feared and hated.

Like, Crests could have easily actually been a big deal in Fodlan, but like... damn near anything that could rise from specifically Crests gets taken care of pretty easy lol?? Like, Marianne just needs to beat the shit out of Maurice and she's fine(r). Edelgard and Lysithea's shit is reversible and is able to have its the biggest side effect of having two Crests be erased (for Lysithea, cuz as I've said I don't think Edelgard has any problems with the two Crest shit). Balthus' shit where "Ohhh, people will really fuck over Kupala if they find out it has Chevalier Crest bearers!!" gets solved by the Church itself stepping in and keeping it hush hush for Kupala's safety and that making it to where Balthus' more qualified Crest-less brother gets the inheritance (so much for wanting no one but Crest bearers to rule over Fodlan!). Some bitches literally are completely unaffected by Crests (Hilda, Linhardt, Yuri <- as far as I know, I'm sure there are others).

Hilariously enough, very few people in the cast actually benefit from Crests specifically due to Crests - the only ones I can think of off the top of my head are maybe Lambert (if you wanna count him) and Claude (let him prove his right to inheritance).

Like. Before adopting Marianne, Edmund was able to rise to Margrave through good financial and oratory skills - that's a higher position than Count. Y'know. Like Count Gloucester? Ordelia for all we can surmise has no Crest and bears the same title as Gloucester regardless. Count Rowe in the Kingdom is higher than Baron Dominic - Baron's, like, the lowest fuckin' noble title! Even the Empire, shitty as it is, doesn't have this problem! Bergliez, no Crest, House of Military Affairs for an Empire.

People hear Crests and see them packaged as a unique evil specific to Fodlan by the characters who were born and raised in this society and who have little to no reference to the world outside of Fodlan and so wouldn't know that most of this shit literally happens everywhere and they just, fuckin', forget!! That this shit ain't new!! Crests are just First-Born-Noble Syndrome wrapped in pretty shiny wrapping paper. Petra, a royal from Brigid, literally never mentions Crests, and Claude only does so out of curiosity over them - almost like, as nobility outside of Fodlan, Crests are just weird to them and nothing else! They likely know the same shit would happen to these nobles with or without Crests because they know a world without Crests, unlike those of Fodlan!

Getting rid of Crests seems like it will change a lot of Fodlan... until you remember that they're dying out anyway so Fodlan is already in a transition period where they'd become relics of the past, until you remember that, again, most of the shit wrong that comes with Crests actually comes with nobility in general, until you remember that a majority of the characters either don't care about Crests or are otherwise unaffected by them.

And like, we know that Edelgard doesn't actually give a shit about Crests lmao that is damn sure not a major reason why she started the war, she started the war because she wanted to wear the big girl pants and rule over all of Fodlan and also kill the Nabateans. That's it. No shit about Crests, much as she initially posits as much - notice how that shit falls to the wayside soon as the war's actually in action, it's literally said over and over and over again that Edelgard wants to reunite Fodlan, she wants to conquer the Alliance and Kingdom, she wants to boot the Church, she wants to kill Rhea and the Children of the Goddess; Crests are a footnote in her oh so grand plans. Edelgard didn't start war cuz Crests Bad, she did it because Me Want Be Dictator

#ask #exqueuese me princess #anti edelgard #anti-edelgard #just to be safe #like maybe I'm speculating a bit too much with Claude and Petra but it damn sure is a funny coincidence #that the two royals outside of Fodlan are the ones don't see Crests as this big bad unfair thing enough to mention it #because they already live in a big bad unfair thing called THE CONCEPT OF NOBILITY AND ROYALTY #that they know exists without Crests unlike - apparently - Edelgard #but yeah - Edelgard doesn't care that much about Crests her words in the story don't match what she says initially lmao #(almost like she lied)

[katnissmellarkkk]

Hiiii, so I decided to continue my combing through the books for random specific Everlark related content series. This one is Katniss and Peeta taking care of each other. This is Part One and only includes stuff from the first book because it was getting too long. 😭😅. Anyways, hope y’all enjoy.

-

I gently unzip his jacket, unbutton his shirt and ease them off him. His undershirt is so plastered into his wounds I have to cut it away with my knife and drench him again to work it loose. He’s badly bruised with a long burn across his chest and four tracker jacker stings, if you count the one under his ear. But I feel a bit better. This much I can fix. I decide to take care of his upper body first, to alleviate some pain, before I tackle whatever damage Cato did to his leg.

-

Since treating his wounds seems pointless when he’s lying in what’s become a mud puddle, I manage to prop him up against a boulder. He sits there, uncomplaining, while I wash away all the traces of dirt from his hair and skin. His flesh is very pale in the sunlight and he no longer looks strong and stocky. I have to dig the stingers out of his tracker jacker lumps, which causes him to wince, but the minute I apply the leaves he sighs in relief. While he dries in the sun, I wash his filthy shirt and jacket and spread them over boulders. Then I apply the burn cream to his chest. This is when I notice how hot his skin is becoming. The layer of mud and the bottles of water have disguised the fact that he’s burning with fever. I dig through the first-aid kit I got from the boy from District 1 and find pills that reduce your temperature.

“Swallow these,” I tell him, and he obediently takes the medicine. “You must be hungry.”

“Not really. It’s funny, I haven’t been hungry for days,” says Peeta. In fact, when I offer him groosling, he wrinkles his nose at it and turns away. That’s when I know how sick he is.

“Peeta, we need to get some food in you,” I insist.

“It’ll just come right back up,” he says. The best I can do is to get him to eat a few bits of dried apple. “Thanks. I’m much better, really. Can I sleep now, Katniss?” he asks.

“Soon,” I promise. “I need to look at your leg first.” Trying to be as gentle as I can, I remove his boots, his socks, and then very slowly inch his pants off of him.

-

I scoot my square of plastic under him so I can wash down the rest of him. With each bottle I pour over him, the worse the wound looks. The rest of his lower body has fared pretty well, just one tracker jacker sting and a few small burns that I treat quickly. But the gash on his leg . . . what on earth can I do for that?

-

I know the tracker jacker leaves draw out infection, so I start with those. Within minutes of pressing the handful of chewed-up green stuff into the wound, pus begins running down the side of his leg.

-

“What next, Dr. Everdeen?” he asks.

“Maybe I’ll put some of the burn ointment on it. I think it helps with infection anyway. And wrap it up?” I say. I do and the whole thing seems a lot more manageable, covered in clean white cotton.

-

I help him dress, leaving his feet bare so we can walk in the water, and pull him upright. His face drains of color the moment he puts weight on his leg. “Come on. You can do this.”

But he can’t. Not for long anyway. We make it about fifty yards downstream, with him propped up by my shoulder, and I can tell he’s going to black out. I sit him on the bank, push his head between his knees, and pat his back awkwardly as I survey the area.

-

When Peeta’s able to stand, I half-guide, half-carry him up to the cave. Really, I’d like to look around for a better place, but this one will have to do because my ally is shot. Paper white, panting, and, even though it’s only just cooling off, he’s shivering.

I cover the floor of the cave with a layer of pine needles, unroll my sleeping bag, and tuck him into it. I get a couple of pills and some water into him when he’s not noticing, but he refuses to eat even the fruit. Then he just lies there, his eyes trained on my face as I build a sort of blind out of vines to conceal the mouth of the cave.

-

I check his forehead and find it burning and dry. I don’t know what to do. Leave him in the bag and hope the excessive heat breaks the fever? Take him out and hope the night air cools him off? I end up just dampening a strip of bandage and placing it on his forehead.

-

I spend the night half-sitting, half-lying next to Peeta, refreshing the bandage.

-

Peeta sits beside me, leaning against the wall, his bad leg stretched out before him, his eyes trained on the world outside. “Go to sleep,” he says softly. His hand brushes the loose strands of my hair off my forehead. Unlike the staged kisses and caresses so far, this gesture seems natural and comforting. I don’t want him to stop and he doesn’t. He’s still stroking my hair when I fall asleep.

-

I give him more fever pills and stand over him while he drinks first one, then a second quart of water. Then I tend to his minor wounds, the burns, the stings, which are showing improvement.

-

Peeta’s stretched out on top of the sleeping bag in the shade of the rocks. Although he brightens a bit when I come in, it’s clear he feels miserable. I put cool cloths on his head, but they warm up almost as soon as they touch his skin.

-

I sit back on my heels and look at him with a mixture of sadness and satisfaction. A stray berry stains his chin and I wipe it away. “Who can’t lie, Peeta?” I say, even though he can’t hear me.

-

I gingerly lift my hand to my head and find it bandaged. This simple gesture leaves me weak and dizzy. Peeta holds a bottle to my lips and I drink thirstily.

-

He doesn’t seem angry about my tricking him, drugging him, and running off to the feast. Maybe I’m just too beat-up and I’ll hear about it later when I’m stronger. But for the moment, he’s all gentleness.

-

“You need to eat. I’ll go hunting soon,” I say.

“Not too soon, all right?” he says. “You just let me take care of you for a while.”

-

Peeta feeds me bites of groosling and raisins and makes me drink plenty of water. He rubs some warmth back into my feet and wraps them in his jacket before tucking the sleeping bag back up around my chin.

-

Rain drips through several holes in the ceiling, but Peeta has built a sort of canopy over my head and upper body by wedging the square of plastic into the rocks above me.

-

“I think your wound is bleeding again. Come on, lie down, it’s bedtime anyway,” he says.

My socks are dry enough to wear now. I make Peeta put his jacket back on. The damp cold seems to cut right down to my bones, so he must be half frozen. I insist on taking the first watch, too, although neither of us think it’s likely anyone will come in this weather. But he won’t agree unless I’m in the bag, too, and I’m shivering so hard that it’s pointless to object. In stark contrast to two nights ago, when I felt Peeta was a million miles away, I’m struck by his immediacy now. As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow; the other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like this in such a long time. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else’s arms have made me feel this safe.

-

I set a good dinner out, but halfway through Peeta begins to nod off. After days of inactivity, the hunt has taken its toll. I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so grateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought.

-

Although I’m shaking in the biting wind, I rip off my jacket, remove my shirt, and zip back into the jacket as swiftly as possible. That brief exposure sets my teeth chattering beyond control.

Peeta’s face is gray in the pale moonlight. I make him lie down before I probe his wound. Warm, slippery blood runs over my fingers. A bandage will not be enough. I’ve seen my mother tie a tourniquet a handful of times and try to replicate it. I cut free a sleeve from my shirt, wrap it twice around his leg just under his knee, and tie a half knot. I don’t have a stick, so I take my remaining arrow and insert it in the knot, twisting it as tightly as I dare. It’s risky business — Peeta may end up losing his leg — but when I weigh this against him losing his life, what alternative do I have? I bandage the wound in the rest of my shirt and lie down with him.

-

“Are you cold?” he asks. He unzips his jacket and I press against him as he fastens it around me. It’s a bit warmer, sharing our body heat inside my double layer of jackets, but the night is young. The temperature will continue to drop. Even now I can feel the Cornucopia, which burned so when I first climbed it, slowly turning to ice.

“Cato may win this thing yet,” I whisper to Peeta.

“Don’t you believe it,” he says, pulling up my hood, but he’s shaking harder than I am.

-

Somehow, we make it back to the lake. I scoop up a handful of the cold water for Peeta and bring a second to my lips.

-

The hovercraft materializes overhead and two ladders drop, only there’s no way I’m letting go of Peeta. I keep one arm around him as I help him up, and we each place a foot on the first rung of the ladder.

-

“It’s my fault,” I say. “Because I used that tourniquet.”

“Yes, it’s your fault I’m alive,” says Peeta.

“He’s right,” says Caesar. “He’d have bled to death for sure without it.”

I guess this is true, but I can’t help feeling upset about it to the extent that I’m afraid I might cry and then I remember everyone in the country is watching me so I just bury my face in Peeta’s shirt. It takes them a couple of minutes to coax me back out because it’s better in the shirt, where no one can see me, and when I do come out, Caesar backs off questioning me so I can recover.

-

#everlark #thg #hunger games #Peeta mellark #katniss everdeen #the hunger games #honestly they’re so cute both little caretakers #also love that Katniss is just constantly like let me feed you more medicine and food #and Peeta is concerned with wrapping her up and keeping her warm #hmmm wonder if that has any individual character significance for each other them #each of them I meant #sorry long post y’all #I tried to cut it down I did I just didn’t wanna miss anything which i doubtlessly did anyway #also this whole thing is making me wonder where is their toilet???? where are they peeing all this water they’re making each other drink???? #bookcomb ♥️🔎

[oftenderweapons]

I don't know if you are still accepting prompts, but can we get a yoongi x kitten jealous drabble??? love your work!

This was difficult for 2 reasons.

1. Yoongi is the least jealous of the guys imo.

2. Kitten would never make him jealous.

I think they're the less drama-prone couple of the crew. However I found a loophole for you, my lovely reader. Enjoy 💜

Pairing: Yoongi x reader (nicknamed Kitten)

Wordcount: 1.4k

Genre: Angst, Fluff, established relationship, idol!AU

Rating: 18+

Trigger warnings: alcohol consumption, Kitten gets drunk, Kitten's ex FWB, mentions of wlw, angsty discussion on bi/pansexuality (nothing LGBTQ+phobic, you're safe here). Yoongi is very insecure, tired and vulnerable. Mentions of strap-on/pegging.

THIRST NIGHTS ARE OPEN

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Who's that?” Yoongi asked, leaning over your phone as you both sat on the sofa.

“It's a friend from uni, Amber. She's just back from Canada.” You leaned towards the coffee table, lowering the volume of the TV. You already knew neither of you would watch it, just use it as background noise while you cuddled before falling asleep in the rainy Sunday afternoon.

“You never mentioned friends from uni.” Yoongi laid back while you slowly crawled behind him, putting down your phone, ready to focus on the only important task in the world — spooning him. Your hand crawled to his chest, humming in appreciation at the way his pectorals were bulking up. You loved knowing that your personal grumpy cat was taking care of himself.

“She wasn't exactly a friend friend.” You kissed his nape and waited for him to catch your drift.

“Just a colleague? One of those random people who live in the same room as you a couple hours a day for some years?”

You tutted. “More like 'we've seen each other naked and it was fun time for a bunch of months' kinda friends.”

Yoongi nodded. “Friend with benefits?”

You chuckled. “Yeah that.” Yoongi waited. He could feel you weren't done talking. “She asked me out for drinks tomorrow night.”

At that, Yoongi turned around. “Did you agree to go?”

You shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, she was abroad for years, maybe she's just trying to find her old friends, build connections. Maybe she feels lonely now here in the city.”

He knew you were being logic, and assuming that woman wanted something else was actually mean, but still a part of him felt uncomfortable. “I understand. Isn't that like seeing an ex though? Maybe she wants to pick up from where you left it?” He burrowed into your chest.

“We were never a thing. Just had some fun, no strings attached.” You held him closer. “I love you. And I want you. I chose you—”

“What if she's easier, better than—”

You interrupted him mid-sentence, not letting his self-destructive thoughts take control of him. “I chose you. Only you. Don't doubt it, ever.”

Yoongi nodded obediently, cuddling up to get ready for a nap. And while you did fall asleep, he couldn't, too anxious, continuously revived by your phone screen lighting up..

He noticed you had five texts from the girl. He put down the phone and breathed you in. He had you.

Did he?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoongi stayed on the sofa, alarmed when midnight became one a.m. and then two a.m. and then...

He heard you come through the door at half past, stumbling a little. You dropped your bag. And then you dropped your ass on the bench by the door, struggling to take off your boots. “Kitten,” he called, worried. He reached you in a minute, his blanket on his shoulders. He felt on edge, a bit raw.

“Yoongi?”

He had never heard your voice like that. “Are you okay? Are you drunk?”

You nodded and he immediately turned around, ready to head to the kitchen. You grabbed his hand on instinct. “Please.”

“I'll grab you some water—”

“You were right. I'm so fucking sorry.” You leaned your head to his stomach. “I should have listened to you.”

He patted your head. He waited.

You looked heartbroken when you looked up at him. He was devastated by it. Did you...? “She kissed me. I'm so fucking sorry, Yoongi, you were right. I should have stayed at home. Please, forgive me.”

Yoongi sat beside you on the bench, exhaling slowly and loudly.

“It meant nothing. I didn't want it,” you explained, gasping, rushing your words out, desperate.

He cupped the side of your head pulling you to his shoulder and kissing your temple. “It's okay.” It wasn't. He wanted to kiss you and reassure you and watch you come undone for him, remind him you were his.

“You know I love you.” You were crying. Yoongi hated it. “Please.”

“Did you get this drunk with her?” he asked, taking off your shoes for you, helping you up and catching you in his arms.

“I was tipsy. I drank after she left.” You nuzzled into his neck.

“Did you do this to her too? Cuddling into her? Holding her like you hold me?” He needed to ask the question, no matter how much it hurt.

“Maybe back then, but not tonight. I want to hold you now. Only you. I want to kiss you. I want to be yours.” Being honest hurt, but you did it anyway. Keeping the kiss a secret didn't even cross your mind for half a millisecond: you needed to tell him and clear up this huge misunderstanding and make yourbond stronger and—

“Did you learn to use a strap with her?” His question was rough. He had to wait for you for two hours to find out he had so many doubts.

You frowned. “I never did that for anyone. I tried with you. Because I love you. Because I want to give you everything you need.”

He hummed, pondering your reply. He moved on. It was just something petty he had come up with when bitter with worry and disappointment. “Do you need to throw up?” Yoongi rubbed your back.

You waited. Nodded. Once in the bathroom you asked him to let you handle that alone. He refused.

You hated him seeing you in such miserable, hideous state, but he wouldn't take his eyes off you. He held your hair back as you got rid of the alcohol, soothing you with a hand along your spine.

Once you were done, teeth brushed, he realised he had one final answer he needed to understand whether he could sleep in the same bed as you. “Do you still... Do you...—”

“No, I don't like her, Yoongi. I love you. Only you. I'm yours.”

He let you finish. Though it was good reassurance, that was not the answer he needed. “I mean, do you regret getting together with me? Do you—” You were already shaking your head.

“Do you regret not having sex with other people? More specifically, women?” he finally asked.

“No. I don't regret falling for you. Loving you and only you. Sleeping with you every night. I have never been happier, Yoongi. You make me so happy. And I don't regret being monogamous and loyal to you.” You looked him right in the eye. “Being bisexual or queer or whatever has nothing to do with loyalty. Having sex with you doesn't mean I miss having sex with women any more than I miss having sex with other men. By the way, I don't miss any of that. I want you and no one else, man, woman, non-binary. I choose you.”

Yoongi relaxed. Somehow he understood, even thought to him felt different: you would wear a strap and he could have something close to sex with a man, but that wouldn't work the other way around. He stopped. Did he miss sleeping with a man? No.

He realised his insecurities had undermined his reasoning. When you wore a strap, the point wasn't you having male genitalia, but you being you. Calm, reassuring, sensual, soothing you. Cruel, cunning, sadistic, ruthless you.

It was you, his beloved, his everything, his lover.

“I'm sorry. I've been overthinking,” he confessed. “You're right.”

You breathed out in relief. “It's okay.” You stretched your arms out, holding him. “I'm sorry I made you worry and overthink.” You comforted him as much as you could. “I love you, baby. You're smart and kind and giving and peaceful and perfect. You're the best person I could ever dream of.”

He sniffled a little and nodded, holding you just as tight as you held him. “Are you sure you still love me?” he said, voice trembling.

You smiled and whispered “yes”, over and over again, your forehead touching his.

He pressed his lips to yours. They didn't belong to that hopeless woman. They were his. You had made them his. “I still love you too. A lot,” he whispered. “I love you. That kiss means nothing to you. It means nothing to me either.” He pressed his mouth to your jawline. “I'm still yours,” he whispered.

“Remind me.”

At that he smiled, his expression mirroring yours.

What happened after that was sacred and shall remain unspoken.

#min yoongi x reader #Yoongi x kitten #Yoongi angst #Yoongi fluff #Yoongi drabble #yoongi scenario

[sunshinexlollipops]

this is my only big and last post on Tyler Joseph from twenty one pilots and the stupid shit he pulled yesterday.

I’ve been a big fan of top for a long while. 2015 and onward. albeit now I’m reconsidering things...

my first concert was top in 2016. I have been to 2 other concerts, and about half my wardrobe are top shirts. I have blurryface, vessel, and trench on vinyl and trench is the only album I don’t have on CD. hell I was a goddamn clique artist for a couple of years and gained 2k followers before quitting 2 years ago.

my point is: I was a MASSIVE fan of top. but what happened yesterday... makes me really consider how I feel about Tyler and if I should support his work as happily as I once did.

for those who don’t know, Tyler tweeted a joke yesterday while wearing platform boots from dollskill with a caption pretty much stating: “you guys told me to use my platforms, so glad to dust these bad boys off.”

obviously this was meant as a pun over fans and others asking Tyler to use his social medias to speak up about various issues like BLM or the Yemen crisis.

and naturally, the joke didn’t land well with pretty much everybody.

Tyler’s response was to “double down” on his tweet and he even said he refused to delete it because it was “fantastic.”

then, he proceeded to post links about mental health, and stated he wasn’t capable of mentally dealing with certain things (essentially: he is too mentally strained for acitivism).

he eventually ended the whole post-a-thon hours later with an apology, some BLM links, and stated: “I wanted to speak about something I cared about, but obviously this isn’t the time for that right now.”

In short: it was a shit show.

I personally never asked Tyler or expected Tyler to speak about these issues, and this whole debacle started a debate on celebrities and if they have to speak on social / political issues esp when their fans ask them to.

personally I do think celebs should be able to discuss what they want. they are people, yes. if they are crap, don’t support them. if they chose to remain neutral, respect that. it’s not a huge deal.

the problem with what happened with Tyler is that HE CHOSE to start this by mocking people asking him to use his voice.

he saw these requests and decided to make a mocking joke about it, turned the narrative to mental health, and made it seem like no one cared about what he was trying to “bring attention to.”

listen: we all know Tyler is a mental health activist. his entire musical career is based on that. all of his songs are based on that. not a single person in the fandom lacks an ounce of respect for mental health because it’s why we’re all here.

BUT it was obvious from the start that no one was asking Tyler to be an activist on something he had already so openly and publicly supported.

seeing those requests asking him to speak up meant that Tyler also knew the issues they wanted him to address publicly.

otherwise how in the hell would he know what they wanted him to talk about???

turning the whole thing into a pun not only belittled those people, but the issues they presented.

there is always a time to discuss the importance of mental health; however, given the context of the situation, this whole thing was not conceieved on that subject.

Tyler basically turned into a war against his mental health activism to make it seem like people were in the wrong for being critical of his poor joke and refusal to acknowledge its damage.

additionally: if this was about mental health the entire time like he is trying to say, that means that his joke was directed at being an activist for mental health.

there is no way Tyler comes out in the right for it.

if you aren’t mentally capable of public activism, then don’t make a mocking joke out of people asking you to speak up public.

if you are upset no one takes your issue seriously, then don’t turn their issues into a chance to make puns.

it’s like announcing you’re allergic to bees and you’re upset about what happened to you after you kicked the nest and got stung.

or in this case: it would be seeing his thread about mental health activism and deciding to pose with some crocs.

at some point Tyler’s conscience should’ve come into play. someone should have said: maybe this isn’t a good idea.

specifically buying those shoes, posing for photos, and planning this all for that caption meant that Tyler never intended for anything other than making this joke.

the fact that he still refuses to delete that post and that he still defends it in some way is just... disheartening to say the least.

unnecessary and tragic deaths of ANY person for ANY reason are things we should care about and try and prevent. be it because of mental illness, racism, a humanitarian crisis— the right to live for any person should always be respected.

let’s leave the cameras off and leave the clown shoes at shoe carnival, okay?

#luffy posts #tyler joseph #blm #black lives matter #twenty one pilots #clique #activism #yemen #yemen crisis