#but like the kind that’s a little ring of the other colour around the pupil

[artbyanaxolotl]

I know you guys like the security camera eyes family so I drew them (+original sketch cause I like how it looks)

[the-twst-cast-needs-therapy]

Honestly, I think it's unfortunate that the Octavinille trio does not have more animalistic features. I get that they drink potions to have human features, but I'd like to believe that they keep more than just the teeth. Savannahclaw and Diasmonia have cool animal eyes, why can't Octavinille have them as well?

I am also a big fan of making the Tweels look a lot more terrifying in their merman forms. I need these mfs to look like they're chomping on shipwrecked humans like a 5 course meal. I need them to be creechur.

Anyways, slight redesigns for the Octavinille trio:

A design breakdown:

Azul:

-Pointy ears: I honestly don't know why, but I felt like giving him some! I also think his chibi sprite has them, which still confuses me.

-Octopus pupils: If other dorms can have cool animal eyes, so can Octavinille!

-Skin: the skin around his cheeks is a soft yellow and has a kind of ring pattern, that can be found on some octopus species. I thought it would add some flair. On top of that, his hands and feet also have some darker colouring to reference his octopus form.

-his octopus form is close to the cannon one, but I thought colouring his hair tips to resemble a pen dipped in ink would be a nice detail (as well as adding the iconic shell necklace)

Tweels:

-i love love love their fin ears, there definitely keeping them as humans. They're a little bigger in their mer forms (one of Floyds ears got bitten off during an altercation with a stranger), their ears are transparent

-a lot of their cannon mer form elements, such as the markings on the face and their blue hue have been kept for their human design. I think their mer forms are pretty, but as stated previously, some animalistic features would have been nice. I love the idea of the tweels looking more terrifying in ther human forms and being even scarier in their mer forms. I changed their eyes to look more animalistic in their mer forms. I definitely wanted to keep the heterochromia and had to depart from the usual Moray design for eyes.

-their teeth are sharp, but I think they're even more defined in their mer-forms. I think their jaws also open quite wide in their mer-forms

-contrary to the cannon, I don't think the Tweels would be super fit in their mer forms. I'd imagine them to be quite lanky and bony (to up that horror factor)

-im a really big fan of them having webbed hands! I think they'd have them (to a reduced degree) in their human form too!

[graphedpaper]

Modern-Day Vampire Yandere

This is kind of crazy but after watching that tiktok about a Lyft driver claiming to have seen these attractive vampires in New Orleans I couldn't stop thinking about a realistic and modern vampire lover. I usually don't like non-human yanderes at all, but here me out plsplspls, this is what I've been fantasizing about before I fall asleep.

You two first meet when you're moving into your new apartment, near your university. When you pass him by, you admit he's attractive with his tall frame and regal aura, but nonetheless a man with an odd sense of style. Not his clothes per se, or even his hairstyle which is messy black hair tied back low, but his strange coloured contact lenses that were currant with a white-blue ring around his black pupils and, his overall vibe... it was odd. You two keep bumping into each other and his strange mannerisms are short glimpses through his charming act. He seems to have taken an interest in you, inviting you to all sorts of different outings, which you refuse because first of all, you're busy with studying, and secondly, he seems sketchy. However, he doesn't get the hint and he persistently asks you to hang out with him until you finally succumb to agreeing.

He takes you to a rave, which you've never been to. You're overwhelmed by the crowd, the lights, the loud electronic music. You cling to his toned arm as he pushes through the people to introduce you to his friends. To no one's surprise, his friends are also just as attractive as they are odd. All of them, with similar eye color to your neighbour. They comment on how much they've heard about you before you're even able to introduce yourself, to which you look at your neighbour, confused for clarification. However, the atmosphere makes it impossible to dwell on one subject for long, and you forget about it, deeming it as insignificant. You observe how all his friends aggressively flirt with the people around them, dragging them away to an unseen part of the dark space only to return without them, a euphoric expression spread upon their faces. You prudishly turn away from this sight, assuming they were getting high or hooking up for a quickie. All of them do this throughout the night, except for your neighbour, who remains next to you, his arm always protectively wrapped around your waist or shoulder.

You soon start to feel exhausted, and tell him you're going to retire for the night. His face turns into an odd expression and insists he'll leave with you. As the two of you trudge home to the apartment, one of you clearly drunker than the other, you confront him about why he invited you, and if it was out of pity that you seemed like a loner. He smiles down at you, his godly features shining in the bright streetlights of the city. He shakes his head no, and you can see his mouth moving, yet his words seem incoherent to you. His attentive gaze falls upon your inebriated state, and he scoops you up with ease, bridal style, all the way to the apartment. When he realizes you're unable to open your door, he takes you to his place, and lets you sleep in his bed for the night.

When you wake up, you realize that he carried you to his own bedroom to let you sleep, and you thank him immensely. You still feel slightly drowsy, memories hazy, and your neck is a little sore from a cut that you got in the rave, but you feel grateful to your strange neighbour for taking care of you like this.

Day by day, thoughts of him invade your mind, playing with your heart, until you realize you've developed a big old crush on him. It was so sudden and so confusing that you couldn't wrap your head around the concept. He wasn't that weird, and everything about him was just so, so, so attractive to you. His caring nature, his flirtatious yet respectful tone of voice, even his odd red eyes. Now, whenever you see him, your smiles are no longer out of amicable politeness, but a deep longing for him to notice you in the way you notice him.

Amid your own blinded attraction for him, you have no clue that your crush on him isn't one-sided, but mutual, and the fact that he's fallen for you eternally the moment he saw you moving in on that fateful first day. If you loved him the size of the ocean, he loved you the size of a thousand infinite universes. It felt like this attraction was written in the stars, pre-destined, a fate woven by the gods.

You're shyer around him, a little bashful and embarrassed, and he picks up on your obvious shift in behaviour immediately, no matter how careful you think you're being. The next time he asks you to an outing, you reject his offer, causing a pitiful expression to form on his face. When he starts to turn away from you, you hurridly grab his hand and laugh, clarifying you'd like to go somewhere with him a little more calm, and a little more private, to which his face lights up.

[edensrose]

╰₊ 𝒍𝒆𝒕'𝒔 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆, 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚 𝒂 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆 𝒈𝒂𝒎𝒆◞ ₊˚:

. ˚◞♡ 𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒏 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔◞ ₊˚﹕how I interpret these characters and write for them in my works.

. ˚◞♡ 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒘𝒆 𝒔𝒖𝒍𝒊𝒎𝒐◞ ₊˚﹕

˚◞❀˳ long, white hair that looks like clouds around him with how soft it is

˚◞❀˳ his eye colour changes in accordance to the sky's colours, he often does not have irises or pupils

˚◞❀˳ fair skin, pointed ears, white lashes — sometimes he tops it off with white / blue eyeliner and simple, clear gloss 

˚◞❀˳ has large white wings that he can summon at will

˚◞❀˳ tall, very tall. I range him from 8 - 9 feet 

˚◞❀˳ wears white and blue robes, most likely has a feather drop earring and a crown which minics feathers along the sides but joins at a jewel at the centre of his forehead

˚◞❀˳ he is kind-hearted, calm and collected, typically seen with a gentle smile on his face. his voice is generally soft and rarely does he raise it. definitely one of the valar who babies the maiar the most. tries to avoid conflict but that does not mean he’s incapable should conflict arise

˚◞❀˳ in his free time he ventures to a little section of Ilmarin where there are bird baths and feeders, it is there that there are a variety of small birds which he loves to talk to 

˚◞❀˳ a tenor in terms of singing vocals 

˚◞❀˳ naturally, he can control the air and elements of the sky. ranges from manifesting little clouds in his hands to creating roaring winds and storms 

˚◞❀˳ most likely has attachment issues due to melkor. he honestly just wants his brother back the way in which he remembers him 

˚◞❀˳ fights with a sword and most likely has trained some of the maiar in swordsmanship

. ˚◞♡ 𝒎𝒆𝒍𝒌𝒐𝒓◞ ₊˚﹕

˚◞❀˳ long black hair, honestly very hard to maintain but hey, he manages to do so. a bit curly, very very voluminous 

˚◞❀˳ pale violet eyes, sometimes he makes it so that the whites of his eyes are black, other times he has slits for pupils 

˚◞❀˳ warm, tanned skin, pointed ears, black eyeliner around the lids of his eyes, long and sharp dark nails. most likely has some form of elongated tongue which is most likely also black

˚◞❀˳ tall, I range him from 8 - 9 feet 

˚◞❀˳ piercings along his lobe and helix, mostly ring piercings

˚◞❀˳ he has two forms in specific, his ‘normal’ one which includes what I have mentioned above and his more terrifying one in which his form becomes warped and monster-like. he becomes taller and his mouth splits to bear sharper teeth, his eyes become black altogether and there are various dark markings all across his body 

˚◞❀˳ difficult to describe his outfit, so here’s a link of what I imagine him to be in 

˚◞❀˳ as expected, he is cunning and deceptive with a warped, blunt sense of humour. he may not seem to take much seriously but that only adds to the deceptiveness of his character. short-tempered and harsh, yet will somehow still keep that unnerving, smug smirk. reckless, uncaring, but surprisingly calculated when it comes to a lot of his schemes 

˚◞❀˳ spends a lot of time in working out new inventions and devices, especially when it comes to his creations

˚◞❀˳ a bass in terms of singing vocals 

˚◞❀˳ his powers are corrupted versions of the rest of the valar’s

˚◞❀˳ his weapon is a large club, however, he can alternate when it comes to weapons

. ˚◞♡ 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒐𝒔◞ ₊˚﹕

˚◞❀˳ long black hair which is straight and nearly kept. sometimes he’ll throw it up into a high ponytail sometimes with a dark hairpin

˚◞❀˳ viridian eyes

˚◞❀˳ pale skin, slightly pointed ears. black eyeliner around his lower lids and wears black lipstick, however, only on his upper lip 

˚◞❀˳ height of  8'5''

˚◞❀˳ wears rings on his fingers and his nails are dark. sometimes wears a black veil that starts below his eyes, most likely has silver accents. he wears dark robes which are styled after hanfus especially. has standard lobe piercings with tassel-drop earrings but also has piercings on the helix of his right ear 

˚◞❀˳ monotone and blank, even his voice sounds flat. he isn’t one to show emotion often, however, that does not mean that he does not experience emotions. he is straightforward and blunt, having a very firm belief in what is right and wrong. typically, he appears to be rather irritated and it wouldn’t be too far off from the truth. won’t hesitate to debate with someone and most likely has a knack for proving people wrong

˚◞❀˳ reads in his free time

˚◞❀˳ has a soft spot for gorgumoth, who is huge and looks like a man-eating hound, but is honestly just a big puppy around námo

˚◞❀˳ most likely has a kiseru which he sometimes smokes from, depends on just how stressed he is 

˚◞❀˳ baritone in terms of singing vocals 

˚◞❀˳ powers include some level of foresight and aura absorption ( this is temporary and he ensures that it is not harming whatever he took it from ) with this he can make physical manifestations 

˚◞❀˳ associated with crows in particular

. ˚◞♡ 𝒊𝒓𝒎𝒐 𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏◞ ₊˚﹕

˚◞❀˳ medium-length white hair which is very very floofy and honestly just full of sporadic curls, sometimes he puts his hair in a bun 

˚◞❀˳ bright violet eyes, he alternates between irises and no irises or pupils

˚◞❀˳ fair skin, very pointed ears which bear piercings along them. sometimes wears gloss or white mascara 

˚◞❀˳ height ranges around 7'5" - 7'11"

˚◞❀˳ he has a variety of silver bangles around his wrists along with silver head chains and ring chains on his hands. his outfits consist of layered white robes, typically fashioned after hanfus like his brother, however, his are far more flowy

˚◞❀˳ calm yet cheerful and honestly a little outgoing. he's more on the pacifist side and honestly is such a ball of sunshine when standing next to his brother. such a sweetheart, very compassionate and honestly can even be seen as a little silly at times. however, he takes his duties very seriously and is always ready to lend a helping hand

˚◞❀˳ one of the only people that can read his brother despite námo's blank expression

˚◞❀˳ very emotionally intelligent and is honestly the therapist friend of majority of the ainur 

˚◞❀˳ tenor in terms of singing vocals 

˚◞❀˳ most likely has some sort of pet ferret, or perhaps a mouse, one of the two 

˚◞❀˳ powers included illusion manifestation and manipulation, dream / sleep inducing and can sense the desires of those around him 

˚◞❀˳ carries around hand fans most likely, in fact, they can even double over as weapons

. ˚◞♡ 𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒐𝒏◞ ₊˚﹕

˚◞❀˳ medium-length auburn hair that curls at the bottom and honestly looks quite soft from afar

˚◞❀˳ golden eyes, he often doesn't have irises but maintains slitted pupils 

˚◞❀˳ warm skin tone, leaning towards tanned. red eye shadow and eyeliner but also doubles down with black eyeliner as well. depends on his mood but usually he goes for black lipstick which can alternate to red. dark, long nails

˚◞❀˳ height of 7'5" 

˚◞❀˳ I'll link his outfit here as it's a bit difficult to explain for me but couple these with heeled boots

˚◞❀˳ sarcastic but also with some level of bluntness. he has zero patience and honestly looks irritated majority of the time. he seems exasperated with everyone's behaviour. he's a huge perfectionist and sometimes it projects onto others, which only further cements his irritability. he's very intelligent and calculating but is emotionally inept 

˚◞❀˳ another dog dad, he absolutely loves all of his 'puppies' ( aka, werewolves )

˚◞❀˳ overworked most likely, he does a lot around angband and while melkor is very capable, a lot of the planning does go to mairon 

˚◞❀˳ sometimes when he's mad his hair catches on fire 

˚◞❀˳ tenor in terms of singing vocals 

˚◞❀˳ makes little trinkets and inventions in his free time 

˚◞❀˳ power set includes manipulation and manifestation of fire 

˚◞❀˳ he uses his powers mostly in combat but he can settle for close range weapons pretty well

. ˚◞♡ 𝒆𝒐𝒏𝒘𝒆◞ ₊˚﹕

˚◞❀˳ curly white hair that bunches around his shoulders, so much volume 

˚◞❀˳ deep brown eyes that have flakes of gold in them

˚◞❀˳ fair and warm skin tone, he has little wings behind his ears and a large pair of white wings from his back. he wears a few beaded bracelets. has a drop earring on his left ear 

˚◞❀˳ height of 7'5"

˚◞❀˳ white robes with gold accents, they're rather neat and put together as to not get in the way of his training. always carries his sword on him and a few other weapons 

˚◞❀˳ he seems to be very serious and sometimes even unapproachable, but that couldn't be further from the truth. he's actually beyond kind and compassionate. while he does take all of his duties very seriously he can be quite adorable sometimes, akin to a lost puppy in areas where his duties are not needed. he has a lot of patience but a strong sense of justice 

˚◞❀˳ has trained a lot of the maiar when it comes to weapon usage and combat 

˚◞❀˳ during his free time he flies around or hangs out with the birds 

˚◞❀˳ it's difficult for him to just sit back, relax and do nothing. he always has do be doing something, sort of leaning towards a workaholic

˚◞❀˳ baritone in terms of singing vocals

˚◞❀˳ his powers include the manifestation and manipulation of light along with some semblance of control over the air 

˚◞❀˳ naturally, his main weapon of choice would be a sword but he is skilled in various weapons

[lord-of-the-wasteland]

// making a pinned rq.

basic DNI: proshippers, pedos, racists, LGBTQA+ phobes etc. - oc, canon character interactions are all okay - doesn't have to be FN but FN is preferred since I might not know every other media - please keep interactions sfw I want to create a safespace for everyone to enjoy - no gore or death threats, bruises or small mentions of blood etc are okay but keep it mild - no drug addict/drug abuse jokes, I've heard them all and I don't find them funny so I won't react to them sry

appearance: he has a damaged left ear with two visible cuts and chunks from his ear missing. [visible even when masked] furthermore Donnie has a lot of scars hidden underneath his mask, noticably two bigger ones across his left eye, one across his right eye, two scars each one on the left and right side of his chin, one scar running across his mouth and one more on the left side of his cheekbone. his eyes have a dark sclera and are duo coloured, being red for his iris [outer circle] and yellow for his pupils [inner circle] his face is most of the times covered in black war paint around the eye area. [think of Mad Max Furiosa or the warboys] warpaint is often running across his mask, like straight down from his eyes. ear rings can be applied to his right ear. very optional however. can transform into a badass nitro-fueled monster form. this monster this bears something that resembles his mask and armor, wereshark and other monster elements are mixed into it but mostly shark. the monster form is taller and more massive than his human form, also angrier lol.

armor: either base style or oasis colours, I will probably sometimes draw superstyles or own colours as well just so you know. his mask has very jagged teeth, this is just the way I prefer to draw them anyway. shoulder pauldrons with large spikes on both sides. a tad bit bigger than the in-game model. he has clawed gloves with metal clawtips at the end of each finger. armor plated shoes with spikes on them as well bandages or barbed wire can be wrapped around any armor part. wasteland warrior symbol can be applied to any part of his armor, not just the chest.

personality: my Donnie is a bit on the more serious side and it's very hard / yet not impossible / to break his bad guy personality. he CAN be soft or sometimes even silly-coded, however it takes a lot to get through to him. please try and find out lmao. he's actually decently kind to his henchman / wastelander crew, he would not insult them unless they screw up big time. easy to provoke so please have fun with that given fact lmao. he's often out there alone and not really prone to stick around other people, occassionally he does enjoy a little company however just to talk to or wind down. he's also quite fond of hugs or other physical touch.

[steventhusiast]

WOO MORE TAG GAMES! keep em coming never stop tagging me! this time i got tagged by @xenon-demon :D and it’s 15 questions

are you named after anyone? not that i know of

when was the last time you cried? i’ve cried a fair bit recently hmmm i think during therapy last week

do you have kids? no i am just a little guy (21) and do not know how to interact with children under the age of 10

do you use sarcasm a lot? to be honest, not really? i do enjoy a good sarcastic back and forth tho

what sports do you play/have you played? i’ve never really been into sports.. living up to my truth as a gay stereotype

what’s the first thing you notice about people? i think accessories? i’m pretty bad at recognising faces and other physical attributes at first but i’ve realised recently with my current friends like the identifier i used for them when we first met was like ‘the girl with the winnie the pooh pencil case’ or ‘the girl with the cool disney princess backpack’

what’s your eye colour? so grey-ish blue but i have a ring around my pupil of like an orangey-brown that is kind of cool

scary movies or happy endings? i am a big baby so happy endings. especially if it’s a satisfying happy ending and i am emotionally attached to any of the characters. i do REALLY ENJOY depressing movies though so… but scary movies? absolutely not i hate the feeling of waiting for a jumpscare to happen

any special talents? i don’t think so. just an average little guy right here

where were you born? so so very scared of doxing myself bc the uk is SMALL so bottom half of england

what are your hobbies? reading and writing, playing a lot of video games (rn ive been getting back into truck simulator that shit is SOOOO calming, and i’m also a big valorant guy and a big minecraft/cosy games guy). i guess also like consuming media? idk not many hobbies to be honest but i wanna try and find a not screen related hobby over summer that i can do when i’m anxious like i wanna learn how to crochet or something

do you have pets? yes i have a dog he is the best boy ever and he turns 12 rly soon. he’s a little old man and the fur on his chin has gone grey bc of it

how tall are you? 5’4 and proud. perfect hug height for taller people

favourite subject in school? before i got to choose gcses and stuff? english, but once we got to choose, media studies <3

dream job? am another fuck capitalism i don’t dream of labour girlie, but i want to work in some sort of design position. maybe something in publishing design? or creative advertising? idk i dream moreso about future experiences than where i will make my money to live

not gonna tag 15 people bc i’m sleepy but here are a few (sorry if you’ve done this already) @beep-beep-robin @spectrum-spectre @italiansteebie @stregoniconiconii

[shiftingwitholive]

⭐️ bio ⭐️

~ general details ~

☆ Name: Olive Payne

☆ Nicknames: n/a

☆Age: 15

☆ Birthday: 24th may

☆ Gender: female

☆ Pronouns: she/her

☆ Sexuality/romantic orientation: bi

☆ Height: 5'6

☆ Allergies: none (technically pollen bc hayfever)

☆ Genetic/Medical conditions: my weird undiagnosed knee situation

☆ Ethnicity: white

☆ Nationality: english

☆ Accent: northern british

☆ Languages spoken/read/understood: english, little bit of french

☆ Language DR is in: english

☆ Relationship status: single :(

~ appearence ~

☆ Faceclaim: me actually! i dont normally just look like myself with the smallest little improvements like clear skin and things

☆ Hair colour: brown with highlights

☆ Hair texture (curly,straight,etc): curly. but it will always be nice and defined and not messy as heck if i dont apply 2469 products to it and do a very specific process bc i cannot be bothered with that

☆ Hair length: mid back but i have curtain bangs at the front

☆ Skin tone: my skin is still pale but not as corpse looking as real life

☆ Eye colour: bro my eyes (in my cr) are so hard to explain. theyre both kinda greyish but ones more blue toned and ones more green toned, and theres a ring of brown around my pupil

☆ Fingernails: longer and not as bitten down

☆ Jawline: gawd please no more baby face im sick of it. not wanting thr most structured jawline in the world just a bit more than what ive got going on rn

☆ Body shape: good figure, not willing to go too deep into this but ik what i look like

☆ Tattoos: none

☆ Piercings: ears and seconds

☆ General Aesthetic: when im not in school uniform its kinda downtown girl esque

☆ How others see me: pretty, kind,cool, interesting

☆ Extra things (any freckles,scars,etc): i have freckles across my nose and cheeks, i dont have the scars on my arms, all clothes will fit me how i want them to and i dont have to put effort into make up, it just appears on my face!

[revunant]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE. Repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own!

NAME: Jean Damon or Jean Ramsel, verse dependent.

NICKNAME: Prince, Wolf/Old Wolf, Moshka, Pupman, Worm, Piss Wizard.

TITLE(S):  Havik, the Forest Gate Butcher, Sarat Ilqum - Returner, Cihenim Lis'ekt - One Who Walks the Voidspine (aka Spinewalker).

AGE: 41, in main verse.

SPECIES: Human*. Has a not insignificant amount of god blood in him. In that it was introduced to him, not that he has any relations. His ability to shift into a dragon has no bearing on his species, because he gains it via a tonic he takes fortnightly.

SEX: He's dude.

NATIONALITY: British (English), the child of first-gen immigrants from the Republic of Ireland and Kazakhstan.

INTERESTS: Won't really let himself have them, and also hasn't had much time or opportunity to develop them. His interests align with his work, mostly, though he sometimes finds himself sitting with a guitar in his lap; sometimes finds himself singing, too. It's something that always feels so wrong and uncomfortable to do, and he tries hard to avoid letting anyone witness it. He likes doing things for people, fixing things, building things. He's also got a restrained interest in plants; the sunroom he spends a good amount of his time in is full of cuttings and propagation stations, and of course the plants from which the cuttings were obtained.

PROFESSION: Unemployed, but he's a roboticist, specialising in prosthetics/general body augmentation, with a side of AI.

BODY TYPE: Greyhound coded. Most of his muscle is in his legs, some amount in his shoulders and back, and he's kind of scrawny. In his main verse, he's put on some mass in the last couple of years thanks to finally not being malnourished all the time, and is pretty safely in the Healthy Weight zone, but previous to that he was a bony little thing. Long legs, sort of has an hourglass figure going on (slutty little waist, comparatively broad shoulders and wide hips, thankfully not very dysphoric about the latter at all). Now that he's actually being fed, he's got a bit of softness to his lower stomach/butt/thighs, but he's still kind of undereating despite Teddy's best efforts.

DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: Two robotic prosthetic limbs (left arm and right leg), mostly a sort of bone-white colour, but with accents of charcoal grey. Right arm has a tattoo that runs from the back of his hand to his bicep - a dark teal, simplified snake. A few years after he got that, it was added to, and the snake is now surrounded by bluebells and sage flowers. He's covered in scars, but the most recognisable are the ones across his back, the X-shaped one that takes up most of his chest, and the claw mark across his left eye (that also took a notch out of his ear).

EYES: Dark slate grey, central heterochromia (has a ring of brown around the pupil). Tend to appear brown or even black in some lighting. Some verses have replaced an eye or two, and those replacements are very rarely the same colour (usually bright blue, white, yellow, or orange).

HAIR: Dark brown, dyed but very close to his natural colour - is actually pretty salt-and-pepper, but he doesn't want anyone to look at him and think man that guy must've been stressed. About tit-length in main verse, thick and wavy, somewhere between 2B and 2C. WC-068-B has completely straight, "dead" hair, resulting from a combination of brain damage, psychological trauma

SKIN: It's clear he's meant to have a sort of medium olive-tan complexion, but years upon years of not going outside very much (and even then, mostly at night) and also being Kind Of Dead has made him a bit paler and greyer than he's meant to be. Kinda pallid and corpselike, with dark circles.

POSTURE: One of two modes, depending on whether he's afraid (submissive, obedient, thinks he's being watched and judged) or afraid (submissive, defensive, thinks he's about to be harmed). The former, he's bolt upright, almost uncomfortably so, like his spine's been fused together. The latter, he's hunched almost to the point of being curled around himself, which is kind of the point.

HEIGHT: 5'7"/170cm. Taller in verses where both of his legs have been replaced, e.g. Sigma and Vespa. WC-068-B is 7'8". Draugr is 4'0 at the shoulder.

VOICE: Soft, of average depth, always a little bit hoarse/gravelly. Fairly devoid of emotion due to his flat affect. Has a kind of implacable English RP, except for the fact that it's clearly north of the trap/bath split (pronounces laugh as laff, and not larf.) Very rarely gets loud; would rather hiss than shout.

SIGNATURE OUTFIT: A black, closely fitting turtleneck, can be either long- or short-sleeved. Slim fit but not tight fit slacks, often wool or corduroy, some shade of tan/brown/olive green. Black jacket with a furred collar. Brown leather brogue ankle boots. Usually there'll be additional layers between the turtleneck and the jacket; cardigans, flannel shirts, sometimes oversized, tucked in t-shirts.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: In main verse, Teddy, and probably soon to be Vincent. In a lot of other verses, it's...probably also some form of Teddy. Oops.

COMPANIONS: His dog(s). Against all odds, Mercedes. That's kind of it.

ANTAGONISTS: Pieter Gravesen. Jean would deny this, of course. Also Hrana T'sarit, all the members of which are now dead - the most prominent in his life were Margot Zetkin, and Vaughn Damon (his own father).

STRENGTHS: Obviously, cannot be killed in a way that matters. Incredibly durable and determined, able to ignore incredible amounts of injury and pain and exhaustion and endure. Most forms of torture are ineffective against him. Very good at reading people, though will often read intent where it's not there, which means it's difficult to pull the wool over his eyes unless you already know how to do it. Very charismatic in the sense of lying, manipulating, gaslighting, blackmailing. Skilled with machines, generally pretty handy, good with most weapons you could arm him with. Very intelligent, if not necessarily wise.

WEAKNESSES: The regular human weaknesses, like how being shot in the head generally kills him, much to his chagrin. Very vulnerable to cold. It's very easy to pull the wool over his eyes IF you know the way to go about it; he can be manipulated without much effort at all if you use the same pathways Pieter hardwired into him. Emotionally, he's very stubborn and bad at communicating, tends to internalise and prevent himself from feeling things until it seriously negatively affects him, and is very afraid of everything all of the time.

FRUITS: Stone fruits. Likes nectarines and yellow-fleshed plums.

DRINKS: Black coffee, usually instant. Taken for fuel rather than flavour.

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES: Vodka, usually cheap. Taken for self-medication rather than flavour. He also tends to reach for whiskey and absinthe when there's no vodka around - will only drink cocktails/spirits with mixers when pressured to.

SMOKES: Cigarettes, preferably Richmonds - but in mainverse he's semi-kicked the habit; he only smokes when particularly stressed and nothing else is cutting it.

DRUGS: Ketamine - he was frequently sedated during his stint with Pieter, and he finds it both comforting and helpful for productivity to be a little bit to the left of his body but in a way that he control (because he's usually a little bit to the left of his body even when sober). Has a very small cocaine habit, but only when he deems it strictly necessary. Despite having an addictive personality, he's also very rigid and stingy with himself in terms of doing something to indulge himself, rather than for a concrete purpose, so he only tends to partake in substances when he can justify it.

DRIVER'S LICENSE: Suspended, deemed unfit to drive. Mad about it.

TAGGED BY: @bleedinghearth (fank u :33)

[reblogthiscrapkay]

tagged by @fragiledewdrop. Thanks for giving me something to do at midnight when I should be sleeping but I accidentally went into a beer and poke coma at like 5:30.

Rules: answer the questions and tag fifteen mutuals.

1. Are you named after anyone?

Not specifically. My mom said she named me about “strong women” and that’s clear when you see the list of names she considered.

2. When was the last time you cried?

I kind of don’t remember. I think I cried just a little a few weeks ago because I was feeling a lot of residual grief that wasn’t super specific. And I think I was werewolfing.

3. Do you have kids?

No.

4. Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Not especially. I think I lean more on being witty than sarcastic, but very few people are immune to a well timed “Really?!”

5. What’s the first thing you notice about people?

I don’t know. Usually whatever is most distinct about them. Clothes, maybe.

6. What’s your eye colour?

Blue. Specifically a teal color with a ring of green and a thinner ring of amber around the pupil.

7. Scary movies or happy endings?

Both. I think I also just like scary movies with happy endings. Mostly I like ambiguous endings though.

8. Any special talents?

I’m really perceptive. Part of the “witch” rumors about me has to do with how I look and dress but it also genuinely comes from the fact that I can read people and predict outcomes with startling accuracy.

9. Where were you born?

At a hospital in the city in Massachusetts that my family is from, 30 minutes north of where I grew up. Hence, eternal jokes about how I’m not a real Connecticuter.

10. What are your hobbies?

Traveling, reading, watching movies, going to the theater, sewing (but mostly for practical purposes), pretending I’m going to get good at bass guitar

11. Have you any pets?

No.

12. What sports do you play/have played?

When I was a child I did martial arts and swimming. In late elementary I did a little bit of floor hockey. In college I took a foil fencing class. And that’s literally entirely it.

13. How tall are you?

5′5.5″

14. Favorite subject in school?

I’m an English teacher so it feels wrong to any anything other than that, but I also disliked almost every English teacher I had in high school. I loved science though (specifically chemistry and biology) and really should have taken more social studies classes since I really love the subject. I also liked chorus and art, but I didn’t take them every year. Spanish was fine too. Really, I liked everything but gym and math except my algebra 2 class was okay.

15. Dream job?

I kind of have it? I’m a high school English teacher at a travel-themed school with a diverse student body and I teach World Literature and a course I created about marginalized people. I guess my dream job is my current job with a better principal. 

I would tag, but does anyone do these aside from me?

[oneofthosesimps]

Lost in Blood

pairing: sukuna x fem!reader I nsfw

word count: 4013

summary: after you kill your next victim sukuna fucks his heir in your belly

warnings: BLOOD ( it's not yours but there's a lot of blood, like a lot), blood kink, angst, death, murder, rough sex, sub/dom, dirty talk, belly buldge, breeding kink, two cocks, double penetration (in one and two holes)

authors note: if you are uncomfortable with the idea of blood or the idea of you killing people, this fanfic is NOT for you!!! this is coming from the deepest corners of my head. if you've watched American Horror Story and remember the countess sex scene with her vicitms, this fanfic was inspired by it

all credits to the artist of this pic:

ゲオブバビ/Geobubabi

-----

Screams fill the room, cutting through the air. They resemble the knife in your hand, which slides through the flesh beneath you. You watch it tensely as it draws its lines, forming wounds of varying depth. Deep red blood emerges from them, running in thick drops along the pale skin and then slowly pooling in puddles. Green emeralds stare at you, vein-streaked and wet. Tears flow like waterfalls from the large eyes, roll down the roundish face and get caught in the dark hair. Mouth wide open, a high, croaking voice makes your ears ring. You look at the woman below you and tilt your head slightly, contorting your face as the blade of the knife cuts deeper and a large gash forms on her arm. Her voice makes your head ache, almost explode. It drowns out the sound of tearing flesh. One too high note from her and you ram the knife into her arm, piercing it completely and scraping the dark floor on the other side of where she lies. She cries out loudly, trying to wiggle her limbs and squirming under you.

"Let me go!" her voice shrieks at you, and your hand clutches the handle of the weapon. Behind you, you hear a deep, dark laugh. At the small sound, the little hairs on your skin stand up and the butterflies dance inside you, which puts a smile on your face. You stare into her eyes, which look back in pure pain. As she eyes you, her face changes, becoming panicked as she sees your eyes and realizes what lies hidden deep within them. With one smooth thrust you ram the knife into her chest, right in the middle between her breasts. It slides through the flesh and bone like butter. The brown-haired woman spits blood, which speckles her pretty face. Her breathing changes, becoming shallower and more frantic, and she gasps. You watch her begin to fight for her life and pull the knife out of her. Blood gushes from the wound, splattering towards you as your hand snaps back down and the knife disappears into her body again, this time further to the left of it. Apparently, you hit her lungs completely. Her gasping gets louder and you see in her face that at the latest now the moment has come when she has understood that she can't survive this anymore. You sigh softly and look at her sadly. She lasted shorter than your last victim. The blood spreads over her body, flowing out of here like a stabbed pig. It looks so beautiful as the fabric of her white kimono turns dark. Her eyes search your face again, slowly glazing over as you stab her body again and again. Blood splatters on your face, arms, legs, and kimono as the life crawls out of her. The screams have long since stopped, she looks past your head, mouth open to a soundless scream. You stop as soon as her eyes lose their shine and the twitching of her body ceases. That is always the most significant moment. The feeling is impossible to describe when you see someone cross over into the beyond. Your mouth twists in dissatisfaction, this was way too easy. Other people are so terribly weak and whiny.

You feel a strong presence moving behind you and a warm shiver runs down your spine. A wide grin appears as Sukuna kneels beside you and leans down to you. Four big eyes look at you and make your breath catch. His pointed teeth flash at you, "Did you have fun, my little human?" You nod at him, unable to speak due to his beauty, "You did so well." His large hand rests against your cheek and he strokes it gently with his thumb, smudging the drops of blood. Your eyes close in pleasure and you snuggle up to him, enjoying the coldness he radiates. Again, he laughs, quieter this time, and pulls his hand away. Immediately your eyes open again and you look at the god in front of you.

His gaze wanders over your face, red smears on your cheek, before he looks to the dead woman at his feet. Countless wounds decorate her still-warm body, her blood slowly stops coming out of her, forming a lake in which she bathes almost weightlessly. Two of his fingers pick up some of the red liquid and he licks it off while his eyes land on you again. Your eyes widen and you lick your lips as you watch him do it. "You want some too, little human?" You nod at him and open your mouth, sticking out your tongue. His eyes take on a darker colour at the scenario before him, his pupils widening and pushing out the red.

"So greedy," he murmurs, stroking your head, running his hand through your curls, "But her blood is dirty and bitter. You deserve better." You pull a slight pout at his words as he takes the knife from your hand. Your eyes watch him open his mouth and run his tongue over the blade, licking it clean. He turns the weapon so that the sharp edge rides over the muscle and slides in a clean cut through it. Your face shows your astonishment as his hand settles on your mouth. He pulls at your lips and opens them.

A blush rises to your face as his lips settle on yours and his tongue runs between them. He explores your mouth cavity, playing with you, and you moan. His arms wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him as your small hands knead the fabric of his kimono. The metallic taste of his blood mixes with your saliva and overwhelms your senses. The kimono slips off his shoulders, exposing his bare chest. Greedily you suck the blood from his tongue and a low murmur comes from him. One of his hands slides down your side and rests on your thigh. He caresses your tender skin, wipes aside the fabric of your clothing and his nails scratch over your leg. You caress his chest meanwhile, running over his muscles. Your fingertips trace the black lines before your arms wrap around his neck. You press closer and your teeth bite lightly into his lower lip, pulling at it. When he breaks the kiss again, he leaves you breathless. Your head buzzes and you cling to him. "More?" he murmurs against your ear, kissing the spot just behind your earlobe.

"Yes, please," you moan in a trembling voice. His wide grin settles on his face and his eyes glint. His left arm around your waist pulls you away from the fading warmth of the dead woman beneath you, his right hand around your thigh grips tighter. He lays you down, right next to your victim and he looks down at you. The loose belt of your kimono unbuckles. A low growl comes from him as he sees your naked body lying in front of him.

In the middle of a pool of blood, your petite limbs writhe. Your curls lie around your face, framing it and giving you a kind of halo - so he is right about you being an angel. Your pink cheeks and sparkling eyes shine so full of life, a total contrast to his appearance. Your breasts jiggle slightly with each movement, while your nipples harden as they touch the cooler air. His gaze wanders lower and saliva gathers in his mouth as he looks at the lips between your legs, his hard cocks pushing through between the fabric sides of the kimono. Blood rushes into them, making them stick out hard from his strong body. He loves it when you look at him and your eyes glaze over slightly, your mouth opens and the blush on your face deepens. He especially loves the expression you take on once you see his fat cocks. Every time you look at him as if they could never fit in you and every time he convinces you otherwise.

"Mmm, you look so beautiful," he murmurs, his nails scraping across your waist and stomach. You whimper and your hands form fists as they grip the now fully soaked fabric of your kimono. His fingers wander over the thin and sensitive skin above your cunt, caressing it, making you wince. A moan escapes you and you throw your head back as he caresses the soft lips. He strokes satisfied along your slit, smearing your juices all over you before his thumb lands on your clit. Your moans grow louder and your eyes roll up into your head as he slowly massages the little knob in a circular motion. After watching you all day, his patience is short now. Almost naked, covered only with the thin fabric of your kimono, you have taken lives again and again. None of his imagination makes him hornier than this sight.

"How wet you are already, little human," he taunts, eyeing the twitches of your body, "This can't be all because of me, can it?" His name drops silently from your mouth and his body vibrates with laughter. He increases the pressure on your clit and your lower body twitches uncontrollably again. Already, a knot forms in your stomach and the feeling is truly amazing. A tingling sensation spreads from your core, flowing to all corners of your body and you open your legs wider for him. You angle them and your own hand spreads your labia, leaving bloody fingerprints. The sight makes Sukuna's cock drip and twitch against his belly. He looks closely at how his thumb massages your clit, how your hole shines and turns white because of all the juice. His long nail keeps stroking your swollen lips, making them turn red and swollen. "Fuck, it's not all because of me. Your little cunt gets wet when you kill, right?" His body bends over you and his left hand dips into the puddle of blood beside your head to brace himself. He looks at your half-closed eyes and licks red drops from your cheek.

His finger moves from your clit further down and he puts only his fingertip into your tight hole. With this small movement you push your back through and moan loudly. He dips it in and out again and stretches your hole as good as he can. Sukuna has to moan as well when shortly after three of his fingers press into you and stretch you better and further, "You are such a naughty little girl." He spreads his fingers, pressing against your tight, soft walls and you stare dumbly at him as he begins to thrust into you in this position. Satisfied, he watches your face, noticing every little movement. Tears form in your eyes and your brow furrows as his middle finger sinfully massages the rough spot inside you.

Again, your legs twitch uncontrollably and your hands reach for his shoulders. You dig your nails into his skin and he enjoys the pain. “Deeper”, he groans. His eyes stare at you lustfully as your nails dig into his flesh and muscles. Your fingers leave deep scratches and in some places, blood comes to the surface. The knot in your stomach tightens as he doesn't stop. Your body tenses before you groan loud and long. You stretch out towards him, your vision exploding black and your eyes turning white as you twist your eyeballs.

As you come off your high, his long, broad fingers pull out of you. He pushes off the ground and grabs your thigh. A bloody handprint forms on your leg, which he smears slightly as he grips harder. His eyes settle on his fingers, from which your juice flows in thick drops. He catches them with his long tongue and moans with pleasure, "Better than any blood I could drink." Once he's done, he grins again and your legs wrap around his waist, trapping him. His tall stature above you looks down at you, "You were such a good girl today, you deserve a reward for that, don't you?"

You nod at him and your gaze falls on his large hand, which is gripping one of his cocks and pumping it lightly in his hand. The thick veins stand out and his seed begins to drip from him onto your lower belly. You have to bite your tongue to keep from losing your mind again right away. He puts the tip to the red lips of your cunt and feels the heat you radiate. Slowly he pushes into you and tears your hole. Despite all the fluid between your legs, which has increased again due to your orgasm, and the stretching by his fingers, he barely fits inside you. All that lube doesn't stop it from starting to burn and your walls from starting to pulsate. You whimper in pleasure and close your eyes. The mixture of pain and desire is like a drug.

"Such a good girl," Sukuna whispers to you and places his hand on your belly, feeling his dick bury itself inside you. As he bumps the back, his balls twitch and he moans out. Seeing your little body in front of him, taking his cock so well, drives him crazy. You've hardly gotten used to him, squeezing his cock, but he can barely stand not to move. Normally he would wait longer, give you time, but today it is impossible.

"I'm sorry pet, I can't be that patient with you today," he mumbles and wraps his arms around your waist. He lifts your body up and your bare chest meets his. This changes the angle and he slides a little deeper, stretching you wide and pressing painfully against your cervix. You can't stifle the cry as you sit in his lap and he burrows deep inside you. Without pausing for a moment, he lets you bounce up and down on him a few times. His lips are on your jiggling right breast and he sucks on your hard nipple, licking it and biting it a little too hard. Again, you scream out, the pain moves through your upper body. Fuck, he wants to fill you. He wants to fuck you stupid and leave you almost unconscious. His left hand slaps your ass cheek, he reaches into the fat and spreads your ass apart.

His other hand rub soothingly over your bloodied back before his right hand moves to his second cock. This one is waiting painfully hard for attention. He pumps this one up and down a few times as well, but the feeling hardly eases. His pre-cum gets smeared between your ass cheeks and serves him as a lubricant. You press tighter against him as you feel the fat tip against you again, this time further back. Your eyes squeeze shut as he uses the mixture of blood and juice to push painfully into you. Your little asshole is still way too tight and every inch forward makes your body twitch.

"Fuck," he lets out a long moan as each ring of your anus clenches around him, taking him in. He grits his teeth to keep from thrusting right in one go, "So small and tight. I should have taken this hole right away."

"Su-sukuna," you gasp against his chest, and his gaze falls back to you. He loses his control when he sees your red cheeks, when he sees you looking at him with your eyes half-closed and your tongue sticking out. Your face shows the most different emotions and features when you are near him but seeing your fuck face makes him proud every time and moves something deep inside him.

In one smooth thrust, he pushes into you a second time and you yelp. Deep inside he's sorry, but his head is too fogged with lust to grasp those thoughts more clearly. He growls loudly as your walls twitch wildly, milking him. Saliva runs down your chin and you claw into the skin of his chest, leaving deep marks here as well. You're so incredibly full and stretched. His cock forms a small bulge on your belly, which is further enhanced by his second cock in your ass. You have never seen anything so beautiful. How beautifully thick it will look when Sukuna has shot all his baby seeds into you.

"Show me how much you love this," he speaks in a dark voice. He could scare the shit out of one, but luckily only you see him like that and you would never be afraid of him.

With trembling hands, you hold onto his shoulders again. Your weak legs tighten and you push off of him, moaning loudly as his two cocks pull out of you before stretching you to the max again as soon as you let yourself sink back down onto him. His hands stabilize you as you move, while his eyes move back and forth between your face and where you are joined. His hands clasp your waist tightly again and he squeezes too hard, which is why he leaves dark marks.

"So big and thick," you moan, making him grin again.

"Just the way you love it, my little whore". You roll your eyes at his words and circle your hips to create more friction inside you. This time something else flutters in your belly. The feeling is short but intense and shoots right into your clit and cunt.

"Do you like that? Do you like it when I call you that?" You nod to him as his hands massage your waist, "Open your eyes and look at me."

You do as you are commanded and open your heavy eyelids. His eyes are by now jet black and look at you like dark obsidian. "I have never fucked a whore like you." Your eyes turn again and he smirks. "Never have I fucked a human who can take my two cocks so good and not tear right into two." Your body moves faster on top of him, the muscles in your legs starting to burn as you rock your body against his. But you keep bouncing on him and pushing his cocks inside you. Sweat forms on your skin and mixes with the blood. Sukuna watches a thick drop roll from your collarbone to your breasts and between them. His full balls slap against your ass cheeks and the sound alone makes the knot in your stomach tighten. He watches your next orgasm, which makes your body jerk, and takes over for you, fucking you through it as you give out. His speed is much more brutal and almost sends you over the edge again. This time your voice echoes through the room, his name falling from your lips again and again.

"Would you like me to pleasure you some more?" his deep voice vibrates against you. Your fogged head nods at him, even though your exhausted body is slowly losing its energy and strength.

"Of course," you hear him murmur with a wide grin. He pulls you off of him, leaving your holes empty and open. You moan out as you lose his physical contact. He forces you onto all fours, placing his hand in the small of your back, thus pushing your ass into the air. Your hands smear the blood beneath you. The image of what's happening tightens the knot in his stomach. Your ass stretches out to meet him, the hole stretched wide and looking for something thick. Your core is white by now. As your holes contract again, causing you to groan, creamy juice squeezes out of them and Sukuna almost comes. He just licks the liquid away with the tip of his tongue, clawing into your skin to control himself. Out of curiosity, he pushes his tongue into the dirtiest part of your body and his hips thrust forward into nothingness as your ass swallows him greedily, glad to have something shoving into it again. How he'd love to shove his cock back in there. Before he loses the last of his nerve, he pulls out.

He takes one of his cocks and pushes it back into your cunt, filling you to your cervix in one go. You moan again, enjoying the sensation. A feeling that he didn't know before comes out deep from his belly. He wants an heir. He wants you to squeeze his heir out of your little cunt. He wants to breed you round and thick, right next to the dead woman who was just full of life. When his second head joins his cock in your cunt, you lose touch with the earth.

At first with effort, he presses his cock to the other one inside you. You've never felt anything like this in your life. Sukuna behind you almost becomes an animal and lets out an animalistic sound, “You have to take it, my little whore. I want to fuck you pregnant, I want to push a baby inside you. You must suck up all my semen.” His voice is hardly recognizable, but his words leave you speechless. The thought takes over your head and a hot feeling arises in you. How it will be to carry his heir in you and then to be fucked by him. Can he then pump your belly even thicker?

Slowly he presses in to his other cock and splits you in two. Your screams grow louder and never subside as he fucks your brains out slowly, but with a steady rhythm. It feels like even the last vestige of your soul is leaving your body. Trembling fingers reach between your legs and you touch his wet cocks, which thrust into you again and again. The feeling alone makes you stretch your ass higher again, your back painfully pushed through. When Sukuna puts his hand in your hair and painfully pulls your head back, there is nothing more than mush in your head. His pointed teeth sink into your shoulder and he bites deep enough that blood oozes from the wound, which he licks away. "Such a good whore," he murmurs against your ear, "you taste so good, I'll never let you go." His words send a warm shiver down your body and pleasant goosebumps form, making your nipples hard again. His thrusts become harder, more brutal as he abuses your hole.

Your knots tighten as one body works with the other. Your voices echo through the room, mixing with the sounds his cocks create in you. A few more thrusts, then you come a third and final time for the moment. "Luckily, I decided to keep you back then," he growls as his balls pump themselves empty inside you. Two cocks at once fill your belly to the top, no one could keep that amount of juice inside, which is why most of it misses. He fucks you through his orgasm. As time goes by, his thrusts become less precise and slower before he pulls out of you and you hit the floor. Breathing heavily, you lie with your cheek in the remaining blood, most of it already drawn into your clothes or spread on you or him. Sukuna sits down backwards, bends one leg, and casually places his left arm over his knee. His gaze wanders over the living mess in front of him and his dead heart makes a little beat. He would make you walk around naked all the rest of the day to see your fat belly and his handprints on you. Again and again, he will come to you, bend you forward and look at your full, stretched hole. His pride could not be greater. His little human takes equal both cocks in her hole and will give birth to his heir. No, many heirs. Once you've turned around, forced your tired body to move, and can look at him again with wide dark eyes, a smile settling on your lips, he grins back, " A little break before I bring in your next victim, how does that sound?"

[inkykeiji]

hope you don’t stop running to me, cause i’ll always be waiting

character: dabi | todoroki touya - raver!dabi

genre: extremely sentimental fluff + smut with a sprinkle of angst

notes: okay so essentially, this is raver!dabi, but like the piece isn't really focused around that. the piece is about this all encompassing, ravenous love the reader feels for him, and it really borders on unhealthy obsession; it's about how he's the happiest she ever sees him at raves, but it's bittersweet because he's so fucking high, and it kind of contrasts his love for raves and drugs with her love for him | title cred: cinema by benny benassi ft. skrillex and gary go

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, size difference, drugs, obsessive unhealthy relationship, extreme codependency, manipulation if u squint, minimal prep, a sprinkle of degradation

words: 6k

synopsis:

And he’s so fucking breathtaking—striking sapphires and stunning smile more spectacular than any piece of art you’ve ever seen, the combined melody of deep grunts and trembling groans rattling around behind his ribs better than any piece of music you’ve ever heard, endless words streaming from his swollen ruby lips lovelier than any piece of fine literature you’ve ever read.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

There’s nothing he loves more, no where he feels more at home, more at ease, more himself, than at a rave, you’re absolutely sure of it.

He sniffs them out like a hound, manages to find them no matter what city or country he’s in; loves them indiscriminately, regardless of how big or small they are; and drags you to each one he attends. Because he’s addicted to every single thing about them—irrevocably hooked on the pounding music that throbs like a beating heart, the marvelous colours that sear through the venue like vibrant flares of blood, the pretty pills and dazzling tabs and soft, soft powder—it all turns the party into a living entity, breathes life into the crowd, intoxicates him like nothing he’s ever felt before; and he’ll never be able to get enough of them, enough of how they make him feel, how they make him forget.

But he wants you there with him every time.

Sometimes, he’s hauling you into dingy basements full of wispy smoke and blaring speakers, staticky as they thrash out beats over a crowd, atmosphere saturated with sweat and the sickly sweet smell of hard candies. Others, he’s pulling you along on a lush field or cracked concrete tainted with brilliant flashes of crimson and violet, through thousands and thousands of people adorned in spiky fur and holographic latex until he finds the stage he’s looking for.

You don’t mind, though, unbothered by the pulsing music and the glistening crowds. You don’t mind, because this is your only chance to get these fleeting little glimpses of what true, pure happiness looks like on him—and you’re fucking addicted to it.

This weekend it happens to be a two-day-long EDM festival, set up far away from society in a large grassy meadow, embellished with wildflowers that dot the tangled jade strands with pops of pastel pinks and yellows and ivories—and it’s enchanting, whimsical, almost surreal in a sense. You can feel it, the atmosphere that drapes the masses of people scattered across the rolling hills, an energy unlike any other that envelops the patrons and lulls them into a state of soothing bliss.

He loves it. You love him.

And you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to accurately explain what the feeling of accompanying him to a rave is like; you don’t think the words even exist—the essence and aura, the feelings that swirl around in your chest, fuzzy and fluttery and fierce, transcending any and all languages. Because they’re something bigger, something better—they’re something higher, something stronger, something more than any word could ever describe.

No, there’s no way to define it, to portray it, nothing to encapsulate or summarize it, the genuine happiness that encompasses him, the way his pinched and stern features finally, finally relax, a special, gentle type of carefreeness seeping through the permanent mask of trepidation irrevocably sown into his strong face. It’s beautiful, mesmerizing to watch as they morph, the way his lips transform before your very eyes, from a firm, thin line into a loose, easygoing grin, sharp eyes liquefying as his lids droop a little, thin ring of sapphire outlining gaping onyx pupils, voracious in the way they observe, inhale, devour everything, blown and massive from whatever he’s high on—E or coke or acid; possibly a mixture of all three. You aren’t allowed to have any, of course, but it’s okay.

It’s okay, because as cheesy and stupid as it sounds, you’re high off of him—off his smell, spicy cinnamon and sweet campfire, laced with just a hint of Marlboros; off his taste, mint and smoke and sugar; off his touch, large hands caressing the natural curves and contours of your body, calloused fingertips rough and ragged as they drag across your soft flesh, skin pebbling with each graze.

It’s intoxicating, the way it invades your senses, overwhelms your receptors and has you yearning for more. It’s dumbfounding, the way your mind goes numb with him, infused with thoughts of DabiDabiDabi as he seeps and soaks and stitches himself into the tissues of your brain.

And you’ve never seen him more content than he is here, high out of his mind and entirely absorbed in the music, embraced in it like it’s a protective blanket, like it’s the arms of an old, treasured friend, like it’s home. Bitter acid creeps up your throat, blends with his saccharine spit ever-present and saturating your tongue, the thought that he’s only truly, genuinely, substantially happy when he’s high off his ass at a festival procuring a muted, blunt ache in the middle of your chest, dull blades that dig and burrow into your beating heart, shoved a little deeper with each bubble of laughter that escapes his lips.

Nevertheless, you can’t ever bring yourself to put an end to it, no matter how much it hurts him, hurts you both, because he looks so lovely, so elated—and you just can’t bear to take that from him, to take that from yourself.

Because he’s so fucking pretty like this, hair undone, careless and free as fluffy tufts of black bounce and sway with his movements, sticking to his temples and his neck—and he almost looks soft like this, strands of onyx hanging in his eyes and curling around his ears. Because happiness looks so good on him, so gorgeous on him, with those bright smiles that span his face, across his cheeks from ear to ear, and those stunning sapphire irises that glow with pleasure, contentment, bliss—and you wish, wish so desperately that you got to see it more often, that you had the chance to experience it without the drugs steadily coursing through his system, that they weren’t necessary, mandatory, in manufacturing these emotions.

But you’ll take what you can get. And he will, too—because you both love watching, both love feeling him this ecstatic, this relaxed, all his anguish and trauma forgotten, those chains that shackle him, that weigh him down and confine him, disintegrated by the synthetic emotions, burnt to ash just for a night or two.

And so, you aid, you help, you enable—because while you’ll take what you can get, you can’t ever get enough, either, eyes wide and unblinking as they place a pretty pink tablet stamped with a heart on his tongue, entranced by the way his lips close around your fingers and suck. And it’s so fucking hot, a rush of warmth flooding between your thighs and furling tightly in your belly. His eyes are shining as he stares at you, stuffed full of so much love it nearly hurts, and you want, you want, you want.

It isn’t long before drug induced euphoria is rushing through his veins and colliding with the constant, steady bass oozing from the speakers, vibrations travelling through the grassy earth beneath him until they reach his feet and flood his body. He tells you he can feel it in his chest, in his heart, in his very soul, seeping into his bloodstream like the sweetest poison, forcing a pleasant buzz through his limbs.

And it’s the best—it’s better than anything he’s ever felt, anything you’ve ever felt, hands roaming across bodies as music pours from the mammoth speakers, tracing soft lines and hard edges, fingers committing them to memory through touch alone; foreheads knocking together as he giggles into your mouth, as you suck his laughter from him and let it bloom in your chest, bright and buzzing and full of him, so full you feel as though you may burst; tongues dragging against one another as you both lick either side of a heart-shaped lollipop, sticky crimson candy sparkling in the waning sunlight, before he pushes his gum into your mouth, endless huffs of amusement spilling from one throat into another as you pass it back and forth—a game of sorts—smiling into the messy, slippery kisses, lips sliding and slurping and sucking.

Colourful beads embellish his arms, slender wrists and sculpted forearms peaking through the gaps, plastic droplets smacking together delicately with his movements. The brilliant colours are vibrant in contrast to his smooth skin, ivory tainted gold by the August sun, to later be painted by the lively splotches of aquamarine and lilac and lime and fuchsia as the lights dance through the night sky, spraying across the crowd.

His body glistens under the setting sun, varnished in a thin layer of sweat, gleaming droplets decorating his skin, catching in the beams and glittering like tiny diamonds. Strands of inky hair cling to his neck and white cotton hugs his torso, outlining the firm muscles of his back, the plains and contours that glide almost gracefully under scarred skin and soft fabric with each of his movements.

He’s a horrible dancer; truly, but he makes you giggle—which makes him giggle, large hands finding your waist and tugging you towards him, forehead bowed to yours again as he stares at you, cavernous pupils flitting from each of your features—your eyes, your cheeks, your mouth—with his lips slightly parted, as if he’s in awe. Tiny thumbs run over his clammy cheekbones, and his eyes close briefly with the motion, body swaying a little as he leans into you, further pressing his forehead into yours. His molars are grinding again, you can feel it, the rhythmic clenching and unclenching of his jaw under soft, tender palms, and you tsk softly.

“You need another lollipop, Daddy,” you tell him, and although you’re practically shouting over the music, it feels like your whispering, wisps of your adoring voice caressing his skin, curling around him and sopping into his flesh, warming him to the core of his soul. Little fingers are pressing into the hinges of his jaw as you speak, their gentle touch instantly diffusing the tension, and he nods.

The whine that catches in his throat when you pull away is one of the sweetest, most valuable sounds you’ve ever heard, and it makes your chest flutter, eyes flicking up to look at him through your lashes with a beaming smile. He’s still leaning towards you, slowly falling forward, a magnet drawn to magnetite, and you love it, you love it, you love it.  

“You look so fucking cute in your tutu, princess,” he’s chuckling as you root through your tiny bag for more candy. And you can tell he really means it, a dopey smile decorating his face, eyes shimmering with mirth, with drugs, with love.

A giggle slips past your lips, hands smooth down the tufts of tulle adorning your waist as you shyly murmur your thanks, his own smile growing. Lidded sapphires float around your body, slow and belated as they take inventory, words unhurried and sluggish as they tumble from his mouth.

“I-I should…Uh, I should put some sunscreen on my baby, sh-shouldn’t I? Don’t want your shoulders or that pretty face of yers to burn, y’know,”

You really don’t need to—the sun’s sunk halfway below the horizon by now—but you indulge him anyway, would never be able to deny him a fucking thing.

It’s fumbling, clumsy and messy in his inebriated state, but it’s still so cute, so considerate, so caring, rough hands slathering the thick cream across your skin, rubbing in awkward, blundering circles—and it sends sizzling sparks shooting through your bloodstream, alighting your entire body with a blaze that is so specifically him.

The sky turns from coral to navy all at once, and then you’re clasping onto him tightly, hugging your body to his as hands roam, as fingers tangle and tug and tow, as lips latch and lick. Salt mixes with his usual taste, tongue tingling with it as it laps at the dips of his collarbones. The sharp smell of sugar stings your nose, and you inhale deeply, face nuzzling against his damp neck. He smells sweet, like sunshine and burning hickory wood, like a summer breeze grazing freshly washed linen, carrying with it a sprinkle of cinnamon.

And you can’t stop, powerless to your urges and void of all control as you nibble at the column of his throat, as you suck the prettiest galaxies of violet and periwinkle into his flesh, as the tip of your tongue traces the jutting bones at the base of his neck, over and over and over again until they’re saturated in thick layers of your gleaming spit.

Because he’s fucking delicious, and it’s never enough—will never be enough, regardless of if you spend hours kissing, until your lungs are burning and your jaw is aching and your mouths and chins and cheeks are coated in each other’s sticky saliva.

Because you’re fucking greedy, needy, hungry, limitless in how much you desire, more and more and more.  

Because even when he’s pounding into you, it still isn’t ever enough. You want to consume him the way he consumes those pretty little tablets, want to breathe him in and hold him in your chest, in your heart, in your soul, forever. Not all of him, you promise, you swear, you’ll settle with just a piece—just a piece you can carry around everywhere with you, always. It’s the worst addiction you’ve ever suffered, it’s the sweetest heaven you’ve ever felt, it’s the only semblance of home you’ve ever known—you’ll keep chasing that high he gives you forever, keep chasing him as he chases drugs, and he doesn’t mind one bit.

And eventually, eventually it becomes too much to bear, just as it does every single night, this seething desire that roars and rumbles within you, rattling the cage of your ribs as it demands more. Eventually, it has you yanking on his arm, both hands clasped around one of his, shrill begs and pleads beginning to claw their way up your throat.

Strong hands manhandle you against him, a thick thigh slotting between your own, and you whimper, burying your face against his neck. With such a large crowd, and such thunderous music, and so many people higher than the clouds, no one can tell what you’re doing; no one can tell how naughty you’re being.

He knows exactly what you need, exactly what’s got you so restless, pressing his muscled thigh into your core and chuckling at the instant moan it procures.

“Daddy,” you mewl loudly against his ear, curled fingers giving another tug on his t-shirt, cunt already grinding steadily against his thigh. “I need you,”

He snickers, the sound vibrating against you, head tilting curiously and lips molding into a cocky smirk. “You need what, baby?”

And the whine that breaks in your chest is absolutely pathetic, bottom lip jutted out into a deep pout, grinding against his thigh becoming more erratic, more urgent. You hate that he’s gonna make you say it, face crumpled up in adorable irritation—his favourite expression on you, you’re sure, his smirk growing into a grin as a growl rumbles in your chest.

“Your cock,” shimmering eyes, glazed with want that reflects the flashing lights in their glassiness, stare up at him, blinking twice in enticement. “Please?”

He hums in thought as he pretends to think, to consider, as if his leg isn’t pressing further and further into your core as you aimlessly hump it, as if his cock isn’t already hard and pressed up against your hip and throbbing through his jeans, as if he isn’t grinding against you in infinitesimal motions, little gyrations of his hips that almost feel subconscious instead of intentional—as if he can’t help himself.

“Daddy!” you squeal, barely audible over the heavy bass, eyebrows scrunched in the way they always do when you don’t get what you want. “Now!”

Normally, if he wasn’t higher than the full moon hanging in the sky and flickering stars scattered in uneven clusters around it, such a bratty request would’ve earned you a hefty punishment—something that would’ve left your skin raw, cunt abused, and completely unsatisfied—because bad girls don’t get to cum, now, do they?

But tonight it only makes him laugh harder, cooing about how fucking cute you get when you’re all needy like this, like it’s the most endearing thing he’s ever witnessed, cobalt eyes shining with delight and adoration as he laces his fingers through yours, pulling you along behind him as he weaves in and out of the sea of bodies.

But the car’s too far, you’re whining as you trail behind him, a deep pout carved into your face, eyebrows knitted so firmly they weave creases into your forehead. I can’t wait, Daddy, I can’t wait!

And it’s true—you can’t wait any longer, you need him inside of you this very instant or you’ll fucking combust—a deprived addict vying for their favourite vice; a raving, ravenous fire that burns bright and blistering in the pit of your tummy, constantly starved for him.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before, this intense, insatiable craving; one that has your thighs clenching so tightly it’s painful, that burns through your veins and scalds the insides of your stomach, that has your blood bubbling and nerves buzzing, whole body feeling electric in his presence.

It’s a gnawing urgency, one that tears at the pit of your belly and roars in your chest, filling your ribcage until it feels like it’s about to burst, until it has you choking on botched gasps of air and his name, nails digging into his hand as you tug on his arm, pleading, begging, needing.

It’s going to devour you from the inside out if you don’t get what you want soon, if it isn’t fed with what it wants soon, expletive filth spilling from your lips in frenzied little huffs as Dabi tries in vain to drag you to the car—please, Daddy, I feel like I’m gonna die, need your cock, Daddy, need it right now, right now, right now, fill me with your cum, Daddy, I’m so empty without it; warm me with your cum, Daddy, please, please, pretty please, I can’t wait!

Such sentiments, woven together between threads of high whines and broken gasps, evoke a dark snarl ripping through his chest, his true persona cutting through the manufactured euphoria for just a moment—and then you see him, you see your Daddy, you see your home, blazing in his glassy eyes as he whirls around on you and crashes his lips to yours, large hands splayed on either side of your face, nimble fingers gripping your head so tightly it hurts.

But the pressure is welcomed, little hands pawing at his thick belt again, pathetic and desirous, and the sheer force has you stumbling backwards, feet catching on your own ankles as the two of you tumble to the ground.

“You are such a fucking brat, y’know that?” he’s nearly moaning between kisses, lips never leaving yours as he spits the words into your mouth, hips snuggling into their favourite spot between your thighs.

“You love it,”

“A spoiled little bitch,”

“Y-Your fault,” you giggle into his mouth, a large palm colliding with your ass half a second later, knocking a yelp from your throat, a pitiful little squeak that he readily swallows down.

Calloused fingers twist in the lace of your panties and he yanks, holes materializing in the delicate fabric, lithe digits hooking through them and unceremoniously jerking the ruined remains down your thighs. It’s graceless, movements inept and cumbersome in his attempt to remove them from your body, stubbornly refusing to break your kiss, hovering body supported by one hand and his knees. The material finally snaps, fingers tearing through it, like fire blazing through intricate spider webs.  A whine catches in your throat and he laughs darkly, tongue lapping at your neck, your jaw, your mouth itself, drenching you in sugar-infused saliva.

Lips part immediately, eagerly, ready to greet his tongue with your own, and he huffs another chuckle into you, breath scorching as it floods the cavern of your mouth, and God, he’s got himself such a good girl, such a good slut, doesn’t he?

The words are mumbled out, slick lips gliding against yours, a little slurred and stuffed full of sticky spit as massive, rough hands run up your thighs, grabbing healthy handfuls of your flesh and squeezing.

A sharp gasp escapes from your throat, hips instinctively bucking against his from the sudden pain, and he laughs, deep and sinister and reverberating against his ribcage.  

You can feel the dull thud of the music in the distance, bass burrowing its way into your chest, pulsating beat slithering through the pliant earth and oozing up through the dirt against your back. Magnificent glows of azure and amethyst blanket the festival in their embrace, bleeding into one another before they morph into and emerald and magenta, haloing the grounds and all of its inhabitants.

But all of those colours, the almost ethereal beauty of the party itself, is nothing compared to the sapphire gazing down at you, the ivory skin that almost glows against the grass and the pines and the night sky, the fluffy onyx tufts your fingers tangle in.

Teeth sink into his plush, scarred bottom lip and you suck harshly, taking it into your mouth, the tip of your tongue toying with it, laving over the supple flesh and dousing it in your saliva. A snarl clatters around in his mouth as he pulls his lip from between yours, teeth scraping against it in the process.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” you’re chanting, muffled by his mouth, muddled by his tongue as it aggressively pushes against yours. “Need’a, need’a,”

The words snag in your throat, evaporating into ghosts of the sentences they were supposed to be, fading into pathetically breathy moans.

And it’s hard to think, when you’re like this, when you’re ensnared in him, consumed by his touch and smell and taste, tongue shoved so far down your throat you’re choking on it, brain gone numb—dumb—from it all, incapable of knitting together words and forming a sentence. Instead, your hand snakes between your bodies to cup his cock, a loud moan hitching in his chest as he immediately grinds against your touch.

“Want,” you mumble, groping at him and forcing a whimper from his chest. “Now, now, now,”

“So fucking needy,” he’s teasing, none of his usually heat to his voice, peppered with moans and the sweetest giggles as he rests his forehead against yours. Reaching down, two slender fingers prod your hole, giggles fading into groans as his eyes shut. “Soaked, huh?” he asks, voice strained, your head nodding almost ferociously in response. “Always drenched for me, aren’t you, my babygirl,”

But you’re too impatient to be properly prepped, to be thoroughly stretched out, impetuous legs kicking and squirming from underneath him, whining and pleading for him to just fuck you already!

They’re uncontainable, the words barreling past your lips, high and cracked and rapacious as you beg—beg for him to fill you up, to make you feel whole again, to stretch and shred and slash you to pieces, to put you back together, part by painstaking part, to complete you.

And he’s practically keening at the sentiments, hips rutting ungracefully against your soft palm, cock twitching through the denim of his jeans.

“Alright, baby, alright,” he’s hushing you, words slurred, heavy and unhurried despite his frantic actions. “Daddy’ll give you what’ya need,”

“Wanna ride,” you nearly wail, little fingers clawing desperately at his broad shoulders, fingertips sinking into his flesh through the thin cotton.

“Ch-Christ,” he nearly chokes on the curse, head nodding in choppy movements as he allows you to push the two of you over.

Because, well, baby gets what baby wants.

Or, at least, that’s what he’s telling you as you straddle him, lilt void of its normal derision, replaced with a kind of admiration.

Nails dig into the toned, smooth planes of his chest as you sink down on him, an involuntary hiss escaping gritted teeth, features scrunching in a cute wince. A hitched expletive escapes his throat, lidded eyes falling shut as his head lolls to the side, angular jaw on display.

The stretch is a welcome one, feels like home, so familiar it’s almost comforting, little cunt throbbing as you split yourself open on his cock.

Cool, refreshing air rushes into your lungs the moment he bottoms out, cockhead pressed snugly against your cervix, and that ache, that addiction, that animal tethered to the very core of your soul is immediately satiated, immense pressure deflating and the strain on your ribs easing up.

It feels perfect, feels right, feels whole, and suddenly, you’re alive again, intense sparks shocking your system as they sear through your veins, invigorated and revitalized.

It doesn’t last long though—it never does.

Because you’re just as famished, just as voracious, just as avid as that entity birthed from obsession and addiction inside of you, satisfied only for a moment before you need more.

It isn’t slow, isn’t sweet or soft, because neither of you can take that right now, neither of you need that right now. And the very moment he bottoms out, the minute you feel him nudging against your cervix, your hips begin to rock forward, rough hands finding their usual place on your hips, aiding you in your motions as he bucks up, falling into an instantaneous rhythm together

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he’s panting out, bleary eyes watching you as his words knot on his languid tongue. “Bounce on m’cock, princess, bounce on it,”

The earth is firm beneath your knees, but you can still feel those faint vibrations travelling though the dirt. Blades of grass tangle themselves in inky tufts as his head falls back, neck arching, jade strands in a sea of black.

He’s so much louder when he’s this high, deep guttural groans rumbling in his chest, broken whines catching in his throat, growled out curses tumbling from his saliva slicked lips. Drool leaks from the corners of his mouth, dribbling down his chin, and you long to lick it up.

“You always look so pretty, s-so perfect taking my cock,” he’s babbling, voice soaked in awe, pupils blown and shimmering as they gobble up your reactions, your expressions—every little sound emitted from your throat, ripped raw and wrecked from the column; every little twitch of your features, the way your lashes flutter and eyes roll back with each roll of his hips; every little shake and shiver and shudder, tiny jolts of electricity, of him, exploding through your veins—calloused hands sliding up and down your thighs in a clumsy caress. “F-Fuck, princess, so gorgeous,”

You should be quiet—really, you should both be quiet, fucking in an open field and committing such a heinous act of public indecency.

But you’re powerless to stop the mewls and cries from prying past your lips, and he’s hopeless to quell the steady stream of words flowing from his own, increasing in pitch and frequency with each gyrate forward, with each rut and rub and grind of your hips.

“Feel good, Da-Daddy?”

And he’ll never understand how you sound so fucking sweet, so fucking precious, as obscene words flow from those pretty lips, punched out of your chest with each rock of your hips, core of your body intimately skewered by him.

He doesn’t answer, can’t answer, words dissolving into a fractured moan as he nods vigorously.

“Want you to cum, D-Daddy—ah—fill me up, please,”

The grin that splits his face is nothing short of spectacular—it’s nothing like those sharp smiles he gives his enemies, or those smug little grins he gifts his friends, or those tiny lopsided smirks that grace his lips when he’s teasing. No, this smile—this smile is only for you; a gentle quirk of his lips, parted just enough to see those gleaming pearly teeth, fluid as it stretches and wobbles with his ragged pants and snapping hips. It’s almost overwhelming, the emotion pouring from that single, simple action alone, has your chest stuttering and eyes blurring, knowing that this is something special, that this is something that is yours and yours alone. And this smile—this smile is genuine, true happiness. This smile cuts through all of the drugs and anguish and rage, shining bright and beautiful as it beams up at you.

And he’s so fucking breathtaking—striking sapphires and stunning smile more spectacular than any piece of art you’ve ever seen, the combined melody of deep grunts and trembling groans rattling around behind his ribs better than any piece of music you’ve ever heard, endless words streaming from his swollen ruby lips lovelier than any piece of fine literature you’ve ever read.

He’s walking art, talking art, living, breathing, feeling art—and he’s all yours.

You’ll never get used to this, you swear to God. Such amazement will never cease, makes fucking him a religious experience every single time, always so astoundingly exquisite. You’ll never get used to the way those dark growls claw their way up his throat, vibrating in the column. You’ll never get used to the way your name sounds on his tongue when he’s just about to cum, all pitchy and broken and punctured by hitched breaths. You’ll never get used to the way his thick eyelashes flutter, unfocused eyes rolling in his skull just a little—never fully enough to hide that brilliant sapphire from you—right before he stuffs you full of hot sticky seed.

And you never want to.

—

This is your favourite part, has always been your favourite part, will always be your favourite part, every single time. It’s terribly selfish of you—you know it is, know it’s awful and greedy and so, so obsessive—but you love it, love it as much as he loves the drugs and the music and the ostentatious lights.

Because he clings to you when he’s coming down, nuzzles his face into your very touch, practically purrs out his admiration for you as you pat his damp face down with an old t-shirt, brushing back the stringy strands of sweat-drenched hair from his forehead.

Because you’re his protection when he’s coming down, swathing him in your love, in your gentle caresses and your tender venerations—his very own guardian angel, keeping him from plummeting into the concrete and shattering into a million pieces, cradling him in your soft wings as you ease his feet back onto this earth.

Usually it’s scary, he’s telling you that night in the backseat of his car, eyes still glazed, breathing slow and shallow. Or, it was. It was scary, coming down without you—but not anymore. Because you’re here now. You’re here with him, and you take such good care of him, and he loves you, he loves you so much, he loves you more than anything on this planet—or any others.

He used to feel nervous, he’s babbling on as tiny fingers press into tight, coiled muscles, rubbing the tension out of them in small circles. Used to have memories… he trails off then, and you don’t push, never push, just humming your acknowledgement softly, whispered affirmations falling from your lips as palms smooth over his cheeks before caressing his hair, pulling mewls from his throat as he arches into your touch.

Bleary sapphires stare up at you, glittering in the dim light flittering through his car windows from the flickering lamp posts. He’s tired, he tells you suddenly, face somber, sober, but he can’t sleep.

“I know,” you murmur, petting his hair again. “Just try to relax,”

He is trying, he promises, vigorously nodding up at you, eyes wide as if they’re imploring you to understand.

But words keep spilling from his mouth—involuntary, automatic, reflexive—unfocused eyes staring up at the roof, then darting around the car slowly, distractedly, like there’s a million other thoughts surging through his mind—you can see them, swimming in his eyes, tainted with paranoia, with fear, even though there’s a steady stream of presumably unrelated words flowing from his throat.

He talks about anything, everything, nothing—all at once. He tells you about the festival as if you weren’t there, and you let him ramble, unable to stifle the small smile that forms on your lips. Because it’s cute, and he’s still so excited. He tells you how pretty you look, tells you about how good you ride his cock, how irresistible your cunt is, how much he loves stuffing it with his cum.

And throughout it all you nod and hum and coo, just like you always do, just like you always will.

And it’s nights such as these, at four and five in the morning right before the sun begins to creep over the horizon, navy sky fading into a faint amber glow the only indication that it’s coming—that you are careless with your words, that you are more honest than ever before, because you know he won’t remember it—or, if he does, he won’t bring it up until he’s high like this again.

Because his being high provides this limbo, this purgatory for the both of you to be open and raw and vulnerable under the guise of drugs, with the knowledge that you can always backtrack, always claim not to remember or that you said no such thing, if you ever need to.

You don’t ever need to, but the option’s there nonetheless, like a buffer of sorts—a buffer for him to be raw and real, a buffer for you to be less cautious, to be more reckless and let the words stream from your lips without fear of consequence or punishment; a shield for both of you to use against such susceptibility.

It’s become an unspoken agreement between the two of you, a pass. And that’s what makes these nights the best.

And you will always consider yourself one of the lucky ones, one of the privileged few that are allowed, permitted, approved to experience him like this—to watch that well-worn mask of apathy melt from his face as drug-laced happiness bleeds and burns through it.

It hurts, sends sharp spears searing through your chest, embedding themselves in the depths of your fucking soul, because you can only imagine what true happiness would look like on him.

Maybe it would be too much, you want to trick yourself into believing, desperate to find excuses for the drugs and the artificial euphoria, to sanction this type of behaviour. Maybe he would be too beautiful, too bright, too brilliant if he were truly happy—maybe he would burn out too quickly, if he were too happy, like a shooting star that flies across the indigo sky, sparkling and sizzling and stark in it’s stunning, gorgeous and ethereal and much too short lived as it fizzles out into nothing, into darkness and emptiness, only a moment later—gone forever.

And you suppose, if that were to be the case, that you could selfishly accept this fate—if only to keep him here with you for just a little bit longer. You could help him shoulder the crushing weight of that torture, that agony, that suffering that he’s constantly carrying, spine straining under it, if it means that you get to be with him for more, for longer, for eternity. You could handle that, if it means you get to be greedy, if it means that you get to have him, on this earth, living and breathing and beside you.

Still, you hope, very much so, deep down at the bottom of your heart, that he will one day find that true, genuine, sincere happiness that he deserves—and that it will stick, not just for a moment, for a few fleeting seconds, but for a while, for forever.

He’s quiet when you tell him this. He probably won’t remember it come morning, too high to remember much of anything, but he’s so honest when he’s like this, fucked up out of his mind, and words leak from his lips without his permission as he tells you, grave and serious, that he has…in you.

And you suppose…You suppose he’s right; happiness isn’t exactly a person, or a place, or an object—happiness is a sentiment, an experience, a collection of memories, adventures, evocations.

“Happiness is...it’s when I’m with you,”

[edensrose]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐫 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

( ❀ ) ˙ ˖ these are the outlines / headcanons that I follow when writing for the ainur or just referring to them in general on my blog. you are welcome to use some as well or dm / send in an ask should you have anything you'd like to add. I'll be including the rest of the ainur as I add them to the masterlist

valar‧₊˚࿔

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ manwë.

ʚ long, white hair that looks like clouds around him with how soft it is

ʚ his eye colour changes in accordance to the sky's colours, he often does not have irises or pupils

ʚ fair skin, pointed ears, white lashes — sometimes he tops it off with white / blue eyeliner and simple, clear gloss

ʚ has large white wings that he can summon at will

ʚ tall, very tall. I range him from 8 - 9 feet

ʚ wears white and blue robes, most likely has a feather drop earring and a crown which mimics feathers along the sides but joins at a jewel at the centre of his forehead

ʚ he is kind-hearted, calm and collected, typically seen with a gentle smile on his face. his voice is generally soft and rarely does he raise it. definitely one of the valar who babies the maiar the most. tries to avoid conflict but that does not mean he’s incapable should conflict arise

ʚ in his free time he ventures to a little section of Ilmarin where there are bird baths and feeders, it is there that there are a variety of small birds which he loves to talk to

ʚ a tenor in terms of singing vocals

ʚ naturally, he can control the air and elements of the sky. ranges from manifesting little clouds in his hands to creating roaring winds and storms

ʚ most likely has attachment issues due to melkor. he honestly just wants his brother back the way in which he remembers him

ʚ fights with a sword and most likely has trained some of the maiar in swordsmanship

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ melkor.

ʚ long black hair, honestly very hard to maintain but hey, he manages to do so. a bit curly, very very voluminous

ʚ pale violet eyes, sometimes he makes it so that the whites of his eyes are black, other times he has slits for pupils

ʚ warm, tanned skin, pointed ears, black eyeliner around the lids of his eyes, long and sharp dark nails. most likely has some form of elongated tongue which is most likely also black

ʚ tall, I range him from 8 - 9 feet

ʚ piercings along his lobe and helix, mostly ring piercings

ʚ he has two forms in specific, his ‘normal’ one which includes what I have mentioned above and his more terrifying one in which his form becomes warped and monster-like. he becomes taller and his mouth splits to bear sharper teeth, his eyes become black altogether and there are various dark markings all across his body

ʚ difficult to describe his outfit, so here’s a link of what I imagine him to be in

ʚ as expected, he is cunning and deceptive with a warped, blunt sense of humour. he may not seem to take much seriously but that only adds to the deceptiveness of his character. short-tempered and harsh, yet will somehow still keep that unnerving, smug smirk. reckless, uncaring, but surprisingly calculated when it comes to a lot of his schemes

ʚ spends a lot of time in working out new inventions and devices, especially when it comes to his creations

ʚ a bass in terms of singing vocals

ʚ his powers are corrupted versions of the rest of the valar’s

ʚ his weapon is a large club, however, he can alternate when it comes to weapons

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ námo.

ʚ long black hair which is straight and neatly kept. sometimes he’ll throw it up into a high ponytail sometimes with a dark hairpin

ʚ viridian eyes

ʚ pale skin, slightly pointed ears. black eyeliner around his lower lids and wears black lipstick, however, only on his upper lip

ʚ height ranges around 8'

ʚ wears rings on his fingers and his nails are dark. sometimes wears a black veil that starts below his eyes, most likely has silver accents. he wears dark robes which are styled after hanfus especially. has standard lobe piercings with tassel-drop earrings but also has piercings on the helix of his right ear

ʚ monotone and blank, even his voice sounds flat. he isn’t one to show emotion often, however, that does not mean that he does not experience emotions. he is straightforward and blunt, having a very firm belief in what is right and wrong. typically, he appears to be rather irritated and it wouldn’t be too far off from the truth. won’t hesitate to debate with someone and most likely has a knack for proving people wrong

ʚ reads in his free time

ʚ has a soft spot for gorgumoth, who is huge and looks like a man-eating hound, but is honestly just a big puppy around námo

ʚ most likely has a kiseru which he sometimes smokes from, depends on just how stressed he is

ʚ baritone in terms of singing vocals

ʚ powers include some level of foresight and aura absorption ( this is temporary and he ensures that it is not harming whatever he took it from ) with this he can make physical manifestations

ʚ associated with crows in particular

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ irmo.

ʚ medium length white hair which is very very floofy and honestly just full of sporadic curls, sometimes he puts his hair in a bun

ʚ bright violet eyes, he alternates between irises and no irises or pupils

ʚ fair skin, very pointed ears which bear piercings along them. sometimes wears gloss or white mascara

ʚ height ranges around 7'5" - 7'11"

ʚ he has a variety of silver bangles around his wrists along with silver head chains and ring chains on his hands. his outfits consist of layered white robes, typically fashioned after hanfus like his brother, however, his are far more flowy

ʚ calm yet cheerful and honestly a little outgoing. he's more on the pacifist side and honestly is such a ball of sunshine when standing next to his brother. such a sweetheart, very compassionate and honestly can even be seen as a little silly at times. however, he takes his duties very seriously and is always ready to lend a helping hand

ʚ one of the only people that can read his brother despite námo's blank expression

ʚ very emotionally intelligent and is honestly the therapist friend of majority of the ainur

ʚ tenor in terms of singing vocals

ʚ most likely has some sort of pet ferret, or perhaps a mouse, one of the two

ʚ powers include illusion manifestation and manipulation, dream / sleep inducing and can sense the desires of those around him

ʚ carries around hand fans most likely, in fact, they can even double over as weapons

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

maiar‧₊˚࿔

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ mairon.

ʚ medium-length auburn hair that curls at the bottom and honestly looks quite soft from afar

ʚ golden eyes, he often doesn't have irises but maintains slitted pupils

ʚ warm skin tone, leaning towards tanned. red eye shadow and eyeliner but also doubles down with black eyeliner as well. depends on his mood but usually he goes for black lipstick which can alternate to red. dark, long nails

ʚ height of 7'5"

ʚ I'll link his outfit here as it's a bit difficult to explain for me but couple these with heeled boots

ʚ sarcastic but also with some level of bluntness. he has zero patience and honestly looks irritated majority of the time. he seems exasperated with everyone's behaviour. he's a huge perfectionist and sometimes it projects onto others, which only further cements his irritability. he's very intelligent and calculating but is emotionally inept

ʚ another dog dad, he absolutely loves all of his 'puppies' ( aka, werewolves )

ʚ overworked most likely, he does a lot around angband and while melkor is very capable, a lot of the planning does go to mairon

ʚ sometimes when he's mad his hair catches on fire

ʚ tenor in terms of singing vocals

ʚ makes little trinkets and inventions in his free time

ʚ power set includes manipulation and manifestation of fire

ʚ he uses his powers mostly in combat but he can settle for close range weapons pretty well

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ·⊰ ꒰❀꒱ eönwë.

ʚ curly white hair that bunches around his shoulders, so much volume

ʚ deep brown eyes that have flakes of gold in them

ʚ fair and warm skin tone, he has little wings behind his ears and a large pair of white wings from his back. he wears a few beaded bracelets. has a drop earring on his left ear

ʚ height of 7'5"

ʚ white robes with gold accents, they're rather neat and put together as to not get in the way of his training. always carries his sword on him and a few other weapons

ʚ he seems to be very serious and sometimes even unapproachable, but that couldn't be further from the truth. he's actually beyond kind and compassionate. while he does take all of his duties very seriously he can be quite adorable sometimes, akin to a lost puppy in areas where his duties are not needed. he has a lot of patience but a strong sense of justice

ʚ has trained a lot of the maiar when it comes to weapon usage and combat

ʚ during his free time he flies around or hangs out with the birds

ʚ it's difficult for him to just sit back, relax and do nothing. he always has do be doing something, sort of leaning towards a workaholic

ʚ baritone in terms of singing vocals

ʚ his powers include the manifestation and manipulation of light along with some semblance of control over the air

ʚ naturally, his main weapon of choice would be a sword but he is skilled in various weapons

[amaya-writes]

The League of Villains Men and Their Favourite Physical Thing About You

A Week With LOV: Monday!

Includes: Tomura, Dabi, Twice, Kurogiri

CW: n/a

Tomura Shigaraki

Everything.

Tomura would never admit it, but to this date, he's surprised he found a s/o like you. You're just so perfect according to him, that he's pretty much obsessed with everything about you.

Probably stalked you before you got into a relationship.

Loves noticing little details about your body, like birthmarks, moles, scars, etc. Tomura usually traces or kisses these marks when he's thinking. It's more of a subconscious habit at first, but after a while, both of you get used to it.

If he really had to pick only one thing he liked about you, it would be your eyes.

There's just something so real about your eyes.

It's not even about the colour, he just loves staring into your eyes and reminding himself that you're not just a figment of his imagination. That you're not going to leave or be gone when he wakes up.

He was too scared of actually expressing his feelings at first, which was why he got used to studying your body language and eyes (the way your pupils changed, or eyelids crinkled or flickered occasionally) to gauge your feelings for him.

He also loves it when you wear eye makeup, especially the dark kind that make your eyes pop.

Dabi

Your hands.

Whether he's just holding them, rubbing his thumb against your palm, or kissing your knuckles, Dabi loves touching your hands.

At first, he didn't like the sight of your hands intertwined together. It would remind him of how you're seemingly perfect while he's burnt and injured. It was a reminder that you could leave if you ever wanted to, and find someone else who would replace him.

But over time, the sight became something he loved.

It showed that regardless of everything; his appearance, career path, and lack of mental stability, you stayed.

Dabi loves it when you wear long sweaters or jackets and the sleeves cover half of your palm, only showing your fingers.

Rings, bracelets, watches and any other accessory on your hand is also highly appreciated.

If you both are really close, and he fell in love with or is nearly in love with you, Dabi will probably give you his rings to wear when he's not around.

Probably stole bought you matching rings at one point.

Your hands are also a reminder of how 'clean' or innocent and pure his s/o is, and how he needs to protect or shelter you from his world of crime.

Because of his past, Dabi probably isn't very affectionate or soft with you, but you've gotten used to the signs that show he cares.

Like how he holds onto your hand in public, the way his thumb traces the inside of your palm to calm you down, how he'll latch onto your wrist if he thinks something dangerous might happen/when you're being stubborn and the occasional knuckle kiss when he feels like it.

When he's in a good mood or feels particularly affectionate, Dabi puts his hand against yours and turns his palm to side a little before folding his fingers and intertwining your hands.

He could just do it normally, but Dabi likes dragging out the moment to remind himself you're his s/o.

Twice

Your face.

Twice doesn't let people in easily, but when he does, he considers them family. This is why at first, he would probably say everything, but unlike Tomura it would be because he just loves admiring you because he's that smitten.

Sort of a simp? But he owns it.

Over time he realised that while he loves everything about you, it's actually your face that is his favourite.

It's not because you're attractive, even if you are, but it's because he's sort of used to glancing at your face every time his trauma acts up.

Knowing you are around calms him down a lot.

He loves kissing you all over your face when he's feeling particularly affectionate, or cupping your face in both of his hands and just admiring you when he's feeling particularly down.

Before you got into a relationship Twice would usually just stare at your face while his personalities internally fought about how to describe you. However, all of them were certain about one thing; you were attractive, and they wanted to be with you.

He isn't the type to stalk people, but he probably spent a lot of time just staring at you or spouting sentences that didn't quite make sense before you got together.

Is the most likely to get shy easily.

Kurogiri

Your hair.

Kurogiri is a busy man. Tomura obviously makes sure of that.

Because of this, it can sometimes feel like he doesn't have enough time for you.

He overworks himself quite a bit, so when you actually do get time together you like to spend the time just talking or lazing around the house.

This led to him getting used to running his hand does he technically have a hand? through your hair whenever you were cuddling or just talking about your day.

Running his hand through your hair, or just playing with its ends, calmed him down a lot. It didn't matter if you had long or short hair, Kurogiri just loved touching it.

Probably isn't the most affectionate person, which is why he likes to express his adoration or love by little things, like slowly playing with the roots of your hair as you slept, or curling the tips of your hair around his finger as you got excited and talked about something.

Sometimes when he's feeling particularly angry or sad he'll just sit beside you and bury his face in your hair. He loves how it makes him feeling like you're the only thing that exists around him.

[tommyspeakycap]

Can you do a jealous John stones please 🥺🥺🖤

jealous stonesy coming right up! feel like john is the quick to get jealous type :) this gif does things to me

Black Tie Turbulence

John’s hand is both a constant and comforting presence on your lower back from the moment you both stepped out the car. He’s careful with his feet to not step on the bottom of your beautiful long dress that was matched in colour to that of his delicately placed pocket square.

“Aren’t you two a sight?”

John leads the turn so you can both face Kyle and Annie, also both dressed to the nines and offering each of you a glass of sparkling champagne. “The heels are already a killer,” you joke, making Annie giggle immediately. Heels were a must for almost all black ties, but more so when your boyfriend is an absolute giant.

It was a charity ball that a good few England and their players had been invited to, mostly in order to try and sweet talk the donors into giving more of their money than they originally would. You had gotten used to these events and liked to think you had actually gotten very good at sweetly chatting the vendors into emptying the metaphorical pockets. John wasn’t the world biggest fan of these events, but he knew they had to come hand in hand with the joy of doing what he loves each and every day. Plus, he gets to see you all dressed up. That’s good enough for him.

“I’m gonna go see if I can grab another drink.” You tell John, leaning up to press a chaste kiss into his jaw. He nods, eyes following you intently as you walk off with your heels clinking and dress swaying. “Earth to Stones.” Harry Kane waves, clicking his fingers to get the defenders attention. John shakes his head with a soft chuckle. “He’s fucking whipped, mate.” Kyle laughs heartily, eliciting similar laughter from Kane and his wife.

You stood up at the bar as the tuxedo glad bartender went off to collect your order for you when an older man appeared next to you. He too was looking to order a drink. “I hear the sambuca shots are exquisite this year.” You suggest with a teasing grin and a sparkle in your eyes, very successfully gathering the full attention of the silver fox who you had turned to face. He chuckles, eyes meeting yours as his tongue hits out to lick his lips. He was probably in his mid fifties, so you didn’t feel gross for a little bit of flirting to get some cash for a children’s charity.

“I’m just joking,” you note softly, “But the whiskey is fantastic.”

He nods, a smile overtaking his pink lips and stretching his face to fill a happy 60 years worth of laughter lines. He seemed truly sweet, not that you were at all interested. But he wasn’t sleezy, didn’t have a wedding ring in and looked a little younger than you knew he was. A little bit like Patrick Dempsey, actually. “A woman after my own heart.” He responds, flagging down the waiter for two whiskey’s.

As you got to talking, you learned he was a CEO. You had always been in awe of the kind of money that John had immediate access to in his bank account, what with you still paying off student loans and such until John took went behind your back and payed them off with an insistence that “his girl shouldn’t be worrying about anything ever.” But this man had even more money than that, you suspected. He just screamed out overpriced whiskey, fancy holidays, houses on every continent and boatloads of cars that you hadn’t even heard of. Yet, he seemed very sweet. You told him about some of the work you had gotten up to on a year abroad doing aid work during your second year of uni and he had been extremely curious about it, genuinely listening which shocked you significantly.

John would have said it was because the way that you spoke, completely captivatingly as you got lost in your own stories. You made people feel as though they were part of the adventure, drawing them in and leaving them hanging on every word. Most would claim that you were the only reason John still got invited to these black tie charity events because he certainly wasn’t so good at wooing older men out of their money.

“You’re definitely a whiskey lady, then.” You nod your head at the statement from the older man, a small laugh as you remove your hand from his arm that you had reached for when he made you ‘laugh’ with his last joke. “Mhm…well travelled, beautiful, very elegant and clearly incredibly loved.” You furrow your brows slightly his words, eyeing him carefully in search of their meaning. He leans in slightly, his eyes soft with a kind smile of his face. He nods his head behind you, “He’s been watching you since the moment I stepped up next to you.”

Your eyes land on John when you turn around, trying to look as though he wasn’t watching the interaction intently with those fiery blue eyes. You giggle to yourself with a soft sigh. “You made an old man feel incredibly young again,” he begins with genuine joy in his eyes. “You could change the world with that heart. It’s that reason and that reason only that I’ll be making such a hefty donation. None of this wining and dining, fancy ballroom party they’ve thrown. Passion,” he pauses, “Your kind of passion for better is what this is all about. But I reckon you best get back to the man who looks like he’s going to eat me alive.”

His words were touching and incredibly sweet, but the end was also true. You could hear your boyfriend’s footsteps approaching at a pace that might make you question his fifa rating from last year. You turn yourself back around to offer a thank you for the donation in your name, but all you see is that head of salt and pepper hair disappearing off into the crowd. John has suddenly remembered why he hates these things so much. You’re very clever at getting exactly what was needed from these men and you had no shame at all for flirting with them. If you had it, why not use it? You always said.

Despite knowing it meant nothing, it still sent John absolutely crazy and though you’d never admit it, that was one of the biggest reasons you did it. He used to bring you these things as his friend before you had started dating, which was very coincidentally where he burst and told you he loved you when you had asked what had irritated him so much afterwards.

His jealousy wasn’t something you exactly regarded as a demon, a little bit more of a treat.

Seeing him hot and bothered, angry flush to his cheeks with his jaw set firm and his muscles tense in irritation. It was beautifully hot.

“Flirting with older men again, eh?” He says sharply, his eyes burning a hole in you with the fire of their irritation. You shrug nonchalantly and take a sip of your drink. “Not a big deal,” you hum softly in response, watching carefully as anger flickers through his eyes. He turns his back to you with a scoff and a shake of his head, grumbling something under his breath.

“We’re going.” He states. You roll your eyes. “Oh don’t be like that, John.”

“Like what, eh?” He presses, still not turning to look at you.

“All angry and shit, it’s not a big dea-“

John isn’t having it. He whips around quickly, using his large body to press you back into the bar and takes the drink from your hand with ease when you still, enjoying a sip of it before he places it down on the bar, out of the way easily with those long arms. His hands come down to hold onto the dark mahogany surface of the bar top, trapping you with your back against it between his arms and your front against his chest. “Not a big deal?” He challenges, being careful to wedge his thigh in between your legs, he presses it up against you.

“It’s all for charity, John.”

Your face remains unchanged as you look into his eyes, darkened by lust with his pupils swallowing the blue of his iris.

“I don’t care,” he rumbles, his voice low, reverberating through your ear where he had loved his mouth to, his lips and hot breath tickling your neck with each word he speaks. You open your mouth to response, but John sees this and ceases the opportunity he has primed himself for so you can’t speak before he does. The words are lost on your tongue, dying before they ever have the chance to exist when he flexes the muscles of the thigh between your legs, tightening and pushing it up against you. He swallows your squeaky whimper with his mouth over yours.

“You’re mine.” He growls against your lips, continuing to make his presence between your legs known, very very known. He does pull back k slightly though, his darkened smirk flattering to a soft smile as he tilts his head to take in your rosy cheeks. “My sweet, kind girl.” He coos, lifting both his hands to cup your cheeks, thumbs smoothing over the soft surface. You giggle at his words, blush deepening. “Seriously though, love,” he hums, “Hate the action, love the cause.”

That prompts another giggle, your head falling to rest on his chest gently. His hands strokes over your hair softly as his lips press down on the top of your head.

“Not mad?” You query, listening in to the soft and slow thud of his heart against your cheek. John has moved you effortlessly to the ballroom dance floor from the bar with only a few backwards steps, letting you lean in against his chest again. “Little bit, of course.” He replies.

John has his arms wrapped tightly around your body to keep you flush against him in every way, swaying back and forth in time with the music.

To any onlookers, it would appear as normal, mundane and incredibly sweet to see the relatively young couple enjoying each other so close on one of his few nights off. Truly, it was adorable when you factored out the reason for the proximity John keeps to your body.

“John?” You lilt, your voice a daring misfire between sweet and sultry. “Mhm?” He rumbles in response, keeping his cheek rested on the top of your head. “Your hard-on is pressing into my stomach.” He chuckles to himself, your words too quiet for anyone else anywhere near to eavesdrop on but enough to flush his cheeks ever so slightly.

“And I would much rather it was in some far more pleasurable places.”

John does not need those words explained to him, nor does he waste even a moment leading you hastily off towards the exit of the ballroom, sure that he could find somewhere in this venue suitable enough to let everybody hear just who you belong to.

[sopxhiea]

Lush

Alfie Solomons X Reader

Summary: Alfie finds himself in a party thrown in a finishing school that teaches ladies how to be proper in all senses of the world but a rare jewel of a wild young woman catches his eye.

“Sorry, is that supposed to impress me?”

Gold and silk.

It’s on the walls, coated in layers of sparkly paint as light reflects to the silk curtains. It’s on the tables, dozens of champagne bottles resting on top of the finest silk material while the sweet classical music fills the marble walls. The place reeks of the posh and their extravagant perfumes.

Alfie’s forcefully brought to the occasion.

Miriam, the old woman who’s appreciative of Alfie’s donations to the community, had decided that it was time for the man to make more public appearances. She’d forced the grumpy man into the crowd and the fancy outing as a way of branching out to the rest of the community for the Jews.

The night is organised by a bunch of English community elders for the new women’s school opened up right around the corner. It’s easy to recognise their pupils, all of them dressed properly as they greet as many guests as they can. Young ladies are all over the room, their lavish dresses flowing around their legs as they flash their kindest smiles to the people around.

Except you.

Accident, fate or bad luck. It was one of the three that had caused you to end up in the said school. Apparently, you weren’t a proper lady and also happened to lack the ability to act your age, or so you had been told after climbing a tree with your friend to get your hands on the fruit it so graciously had blessed you with.

It didn’t bother you in the slightest but there you were now, standing in a room full of bourgeoisie in a slim dress tailored by one of the maids who worked for the house you stayed in. Unlike all your other classmates, your face is absent of any smiles and the only thing that leaves your lips are snarky remarks.

Annabelle, who also happens to be your etiquette teacher, pinches your arms every now and then to either get you to act properly or to shut you up but it doesn’t work. You know her harsh movements are bound to create bruises on your arms but you don’t care, you hate every moment of the forced event.

You’re the odd one out, naturally.

Although you’re dressed properly with fine jewels and silk gloves, your fake laugh does not fill the air. You’re sulking, almost, as you listen to one of the elderly man talk about his business to your friends and you while you stand around. 

The crowd is made up of women with rich men on their arms, just what your uncle wanted you to be when he had put you in the school two months ago. They’re wearing their finest dresses, most of their hairs are kept in a short form as they plaster smiles on their paint covered faces, nails painted with vibrant colours while they laugh at a stupid joke the rich makes.

And there’s him.

He doesn’t stand out per se, just when you manage to observe him for a while. He’s wearing a suit much like everyone else in the room but there’s something rough about him, something rugged as you stare at the broad man. He has an elderly woman on his arm, she’s talking his ear off while his eyes roam around the spacious room. 

You don’t look away when his blue orbs meet yours.

He’s watched you all night and although you’d been sulking for most of the time, he still thought that you were the most beautiful woman he’d seen in a long while. He’d seen you make smart remarks towards some of the gentlemen, putting them in their place before you would walk to the bar to get some relief.

But this time, there’s a gentle smile on your lips.

He feels his breath get caught on his throat but he’s quick to recover while your gaze returns to the boring old man in front of you. Your dress is similar to the ones the girls are wearing but it hugs your body a little tighter, a fine pearl necklace graces your neck. Your hair is not short, opposed to most of the women around, but kept in wavy shape as it creates a frame around your soft features.

You seem like the youngest of them all.

But you also happen to be the wildest. In the last two months of you being there, all you’d caused was trouble. You’d not sleep and climb out of windows to disappear for a day or two. Your uncle would bring you back with a frown on his old face but you’d find a way to make trouble and piss the ladies off again. It was the only fun thing to do around the house you were kept in.

“It was very lovely to talk to you about your boring business.” you speak to the elderly man who’d been talking for the past hour with you and your friends, a smile rests on your painted lips. The man frowns at your words and is about to speak up when you wave at him and disappear towards the bar once again.

Alfie watches you as you move.

Your painted lips that had just been faking a smile now greet the transparent material of the crystal that holds the liquor you so badly need. You take a couple sips, a sheepish smirk on your lips as you feel someone approaching you from behind. You can tell who it is, his steps aren’t the most subtle or rhythmic.

Your small figure turns around swiftly turns around to face the pleasant stranger, a contagious smile on your lips as you look at him from head to toe. He sees the glint of wickedness swimming around in your orbs and he’s sure you’re the girl every cockney has been trying to get their hands on.

Alfie’s heard of a young woman who just won’t behave. As far as he’s concerned, most people think she should be married off to some boring bloke but the uncle won’t let them do it and he’s the only family she’s got. He’s heard of the wild dancing, the kind of moves that are nothing but filth and also the countless times of the escapes she’s made.

And there you are, the infamous wild lady, standing right in front of him.

“Hello, Mister.” you say, amused as you giggle at him. He copies your expression, a low smile on his lips while you feel his smell take over you, vanilla and rum.

“’ello to yourself, Miss.” he speaks, accent dripping from each word as you watch him, he’s even more handsome up close.

Your eyes drift along his tall form, he’s still tall even though you have your heels on. Your gaze lingers on his white shirt, it’s not as smooth as it was when he came in, or so you figure. He’s dressed sharp, his facial hair kept in a nice shape as the golden wires glisten underneath the many candles and chandeliers around. You don’t bother and be subtle as your eyes drink him but he’s doing the same to you.

You chuckle lowly as he takes a sip of the drink you’re holding, it’s much too strong but you’re only getting started.

“You, yeah, are makin’ quite the noise today.” he speaks, not a swear word within the sentence since he’s being proper for the occasion.

“As per usual.” you say, a sweet smile on your lips while you lean on the wall and he hovers tall above you, his face inching a little closer each time he speaks. “Interested?” you speak, wanting him to say yes because he seems to be the only one worth spending time with around here.

“I ain’t answering to that, love.” he says, head shaking at his own words and you watch him under the pleasant light as they create shadows around his face, he’s far too good looking for a bloke with his reputation.

Your eyes drop to his hand, decorated with lines and bands of rings and a crown tattoo, the rough skin makes you smile as your soft fingers trace his. His eyes flutter, the slow song filling the night and flowing out of the spacious house you’re both standing in. You blink a few times, seeing the glint of thrill in his eyes as you stare and stare, the night is long.

But your patience is non-existent.

“You’re no fun, Mister.” your words are barely audible as they leave your lips and he knows you’re teasing, his eyes flutter once more as a small whine leaves your lips and it’s all it takes for him to be envisioning your naked frame, although he’s already done it multiple times up until that point.

You try to be sweeter, appeal to his good nature to get what you want. You know that if a lady from the school is to leave today, with a gentlemen on her arm, it is allowed and you see it as your exit ticket to never return to the hell of a place. Your hands trace the head of his cane, feeling the cold material contrast the warmth of his hands. “What shall I call you?” you ask, danger swimming in your orbs.

“Name’s Solomons, luv.” he speaks, knowing that he needs to be proper and that means saving his name for the more intimate part of the conversation but you don’t seem pleased with the consideration from his part.

“No.” you speak, like a whiny girl and he thinks you’re the most charming whiny girl he’s seen but he waits for your painted lips to part and the sound of your sweet voice. “I knew that. Tell me what you like to be called.” you speak, voice smooth as silk as it delivers the words. He wonders what your voice would sound like if his head was between your soft legs.

There’s evident evil in your eyes but he’s drawn to it, like moth to a flame.

You half expect for him to tell you something absurd. This isn’t something you ask other people but in the rare occasion that you play with fire, the answers have been nothing but disappointing. They’d told you to call them baby, husband or sweetheart.

How pathetic, you thought.

“Alfie.” he speaks, voice low as his eyes don’t leave yours. A smile finds your lips and he stops himself from leaning in and kissing them.

“That’s a very good name.” you speak, satisfied for the first time in a while with a man’s answer. They seem too dull to you, most men are shallow and simply daft but this one seems to shine on you. 

“Fuckin’ flattering old me.” he speaks, amused as he shakes his head and clicks his tongue. You’re far too young for him but that doesn’t seem to occur to you as you ogle him.

“Old?” you speak into his face, your perfume surrounding him as you play with his crisp shirt. He’s close to kissing you senseless but he figures Miriam wants him to act proper for the event. “I don’t think so.” you speak again, answering your own question and he watches the light flicker on your face.

“What is a pretty little bird like you doin’ in the corner?” he speaks, breath almost fanning your face while you almost lose yourself in the smell of him. He seems promising thus far.

You look up at him with an open mouth, seeing as he’s interested. Your agape mouth turns to a smile soon after, this victim of yours seems like a proper gentlemen. The truth was, you didn’t really belong there from the start, it was your uncle’s masterplan since your deceased parents were far too gone to do anything. You’d be a proper lady and the school would tame you down, get you a goodie two shoes husband and let you be on your best way.

But you weren’t the little gentle kid they were expecting.

Trouble made life worth living, there was no fun in the four walls you slept in most days and occasions like these were your ticket for the exit. You knew you’d have to tell the head of the class that you’re leaving with a gentlemen but that’s the point of the occasion, to make sure the girls get to know the people around and maybe even snag a husband of their own.

“Talking to you.” you speak, eyes looking up at the tall, handsome man as he sizes you up. He’s already made up his mind to donate a good amount of money to your school solely because of you.

“Ya’ know who I am, lass?” he speaks, no swearing induced with his words because he sees just how young you are, even though you look younger than you are.

“You just told me. Mr.Solomons.” you whisper against his face, voice breathy as his eyes threaten to flutter. 

But you barely have a clue.

“I, yeah, am a bad fuckin’ man, luv.” he speaks, eyes locked into yours as his face moves. You watch the way his lips shift with each word and a blush rises on your cheeks. You giggle against his face this time, the music in the room constantly changes its melody.

“Sorry, is that supposed to impress me?” your voice is filled with amusement and laughter. It’s not like you’ve asked him to fuck you or take you home, not just yet. 

He looks at you with wide eyes, taken aback by the bravery of such a little thing. You don’t have an ounce of fear in your eyes as you smile up at him and he speaks before you can.

“I don’t think, right, you want to be seen with me, luv.” he says, very aware of the fact that half of the room have been watching you and Alfie for the last hour. But you’ve already been seen with him, so you see no sense in what he’s saying.

“Nonsense.” you speak, the reply is almost automatic and you don’t break eye contact.

He chuckles, it’s low and you’re sure it would be impossible to hear if you weren’t standing so close. You hear his deep voice as he shakes his head. “Fuckin’ hell.”

“You’re the only one worth talking to in this goddamn party.” you whisper without realising it. You don’t intend on telling the gentlemen that but the sparks in his eyes when you change your mind.

Fancy events like this did not interest you, you wanted something real. It didn’t excite you that the carpets in the venue were brought from Milan or that the fine silk curtains were hand-made, you wanted things to be real, raw and not pretentious like all the posh souls were making it out to be. Alfie saw that, mostly because he felt the same way.

You wanted to run away from this place, to talk with someone about the possibilities of what the night had in stock for you and walk on the pavement with bare feet and listen to their laugh and ask them what they really thought of the place they were put in.

Alfie saw that in your eyes, you were young after all.

While you fiddled with your freshly painted nails and tried to ignore the obnoxious color the maid had chosen for you, you let him size you up. You were dangerous in the most complex ways but he liked that, he worked inside danger anyway.

“Say, luv..” he spoke, the pet name making your eyes flutter as he looked down at your small form. You didn’t look out of place here in the fancy venue but it was clear to him that you felt that way. “Do ya’ dance?”

Alfie didn’t dance, that was easy to tell and you weren’t a big fan of slow dancing either, too much intimacy was packed up in it for you. “Only If I like the gentlemen who asks me.” you spat out, true and honest as he watched you like a hawk.

But before he could even get to say anything, Miriam appeared out of thin air. She had been watching Alfie for the past hour as he made conversation with the one girl Miriam hoped he’d stay away from. Her eyes were glistening with excitement and anger, all packed up in giant orbs as she stared at you with a smile.

Alfie cleared his throat when he realised the lady had come in and needed to be introduced. Your posture clearly straightened while he started to speak, uninterested but the deed had to be done so she would leave.

“This is Miriam.” Alfie muttered, almost like a little kid who didn’t want to do it but he soon realised you hadn’t told him your name. His eyes met yours as you looked at the lady next to him and she spoke up at last.

“And who is this lovely lady?” Miriam spoke, voice a little deeper than you’d expect but it suited her. You smiles and took her hand, shaking it like how businessman shook each others’ hands and Alfie smiled at your tomboyish attitude.

“Y/N.” you spoke softly, subtly looking at Alfie direction when he muttered your name under his breath. It sounded right.

“Oh! What a lovely name!” she exclaimed, making you giggle at her excitement for such a normal part of the conversation. You nodded at his words and thanked her like you’d been taught to do.

“Thank you. That’s very kind.” you spoke, a fake smile plastered on your lips while Alfie watched you under a heavy stare, you were perfectly conversing with the lady but it was obvious you wanted to be your own self.

“You two have been talking for quite a while. You don’t mind if I steal Mr. Solomons for a while, do you, dear?” she spoke, almost testing you but you had been trained by the best to not show any emotion. You nodded and smiled, realising that you were a little further down from the bar.

“Of course not.” your words were forced but the lady wouldn’t notice. You shot Alfie a charming smile before the lady dragged him to meet a couple new investors for the Jewish community. It wasn’t like they needed them, but Miriam thought that it was only natural for him to meet people who’d do the same thing as he was doing in terms of donations.

------

The venue was now filled with music, the lively kind. All the couples were tired from the endless slow dancing with the music they had put on so you had finessed the perfect plan to seduce the man who handled the live musicians and although all you had given him was a precious smile, he had started playing tunes you could easily dance at your request.

Most of the girls from your class were now on the dance floor, dancing the day away in the most proper way possible with more than two dozen young men around. No matter how big the opportunity was for them, most of them looked stiff as they moved to the music. They didn’t quite know how to move their bodies in a way that would make men their slave yet and seeing as that was what you were currently doing, you grabbed one of the girls and began teaching her slowly.

Alfie had been talking to a businessman who owned a few casinos up town. He was new to the world of being a gangster but the man seemed speakable enough for him to endure a fifteen minute conversation before he heard familiar giggles overlapping with the music that was being played.

And there you were.

You were an expert at getting yourself in trouble as far as Alfie could tell and the way you moved to the music was the sole proof of the fact. Your body moved to the rhythm, the kind of sways coming from your hips that would be enough to have any man floored if only you’d ask. Miriam watched as Alfie gulped at the sight, he was in deep trouble.

But one tug at his sleeve and he was back to normal.

He ignored the smile on your lips as your drunken state moved to the upbeat song, you were a little too fragile for any man around that night. Tonight was supposed to be about everyone getting to go home with a man on their arm, the sole purpose was to find the grown girls someone to tie their knot with so that the school could invite younger ones.

But you were sure you’d be the last to go.

Men liked to look at you, there was the innocence of a doll mixed with the deadly sins inside your small frame and that was enchanting but it wasn’t enough to keep them interested for the rest of their lives. You were stubborn and didn’t behave like a proper lady should, or so that was what you’d heard since you were a small girl. 

So you found no point in trying to act like one.

An hour passed in what felt like the blink of an eye and you stumbled on your way to the big sofa in the corner of the room. Some of your classmates were already gone with men in their arms to keep them company through the night and you had a look around to see who you could entice.

And to your surprise, the pleasant stranger was still here.

He had been watching you for the last hour with the old lady in his arm. She usually talked about giving back to the community and Alfie was all for that but there was something that kept pulling him to you. He had watched as you eyed every person in the room until your eyes landed on him, a small smile playing at your lips and he realised you weren’t as drunk as he thought you were.

That wasn’t you being drunk, it was you being nothing but trouble.

“May I?” your voice was soft against the air while you tried to get to the whiskey on the table but Alfie was blocking your access. You had walked graciously towards him before that and he was sure you wanted something.

“No fucking way.” he spoke under his breath and your eyebrows shot up at the words. He was amusing after all. 

While he blocked your hands from reaching the whiskey bottle, you shot him an innocent look and he felt as though he was playing with something a little bigger than himself.

“Why?” you asked with a dash of threat lying under. You could make this moment very difficult for him but it went both ways. 

“You, yeah, are too fuckin’ young to even be here, luv...” he speaks and you watch the way his eyes drink you up. You’re too young for drinking but now young enough to keep his eyes to himself, apparently. “...let alone be dancin’ the way you were.” he finishes his sentence and your amused chuckle fills his ears. It’s not what he expects to hear.

“Liked something you saw?” you ask, daring as you look into his eyes. He chuckles, he’s clearly taken aback.

He shakes his head instead of answering. Most of the people around are gone with their gentlemen and the party will be over soon, you figure you’ll be going to the cold bed you woke up in. He catches the faint sign of disappointment on your face and he’s smart enough to put two and two together.

But you seem far too dangerous for a man like him, he thinks.

Before he can answer your question, Annabelle comes around with a plastered smile and starts speaking in the tone you hate so much.

“Y/N! The party is over, dear. You best be on your way to your room.” she speaks, sizing Alfie up along the way. You huff and stare at the old lady. You didn’t think the party was a grand idea anyway.

“Alright.” you speak, knowing she won’t like it and Alfie enjoys the way a hint of smile plays on your lips while Annabelle turns furious for a second.

“What have I taught you?” she says, composing herself in front of the guest and Alfie watches the whole thing play out.

“Yes, Miss.” you say with a fake smile but you’re far from done. They both hear the words as you mutter them under your breath. “Your wish is my command.”

Alfie can’t help but laugh.

You know Annabelle won’t let this go but she smiles at the guest as a sign of kindness, something she hasn’t shown you in your time around here. Alfie turns to you to see the horror in your eyes and he can tell it’s because of the old grumpy lady who keeps bugging you.

And he decides to be the gentlemen.

You’re about to say goodnight and go to your room but he speaks up first to Annabelle, you don’t protest when his hand grabs your small one and caresses it while speaking.

“Actually, this one right here, yeah, will accompany me for the rest of the evenin’..” he speaks and catches the way your eyes light up but he’s composed while the old lady looks at you first and then looks at Alfie.

She’s sure it’ll be a disaster.

“Of course.” she says, wanting to get rid of you as fast as she can.

You watch her leave and Alfie’s hand engulfs your small one in the process. With stars in your eyes, you return to the kind gentlemen but he’s fast to speak before you can thank him. “We best be on our way, lass.”

And he leaves with you on his arm, unaware of the things the night has in stock for the both of you.

----

Tagging: @clairecrive  @parkbearum @sourirez  @vetseras​ @mollybegger-blog @babylooneytoonz @peakascum

a/n: I know i have been inactive but i have one more week of school before the winter break so i’ll be better, I promise!! and please let me know what you thought or/and if you’d like to be tagged!! <3 Happy december!

[lene-loki]

Never Too Close

Summary: After the events of Avengers: Endgame, (Y/N) Romanoff is mourning the death of her sister Natasha. She is unexpectedly finding comfort in the presence of someone who shares the pain of losing the people he loved.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff!Sister Reader

Warnings: Character Death, Spoiler for Avengers: Endgame, Angst, Grief, Suicidal Thoughts

Word Count: 2264 Words

A/N: I hope ya’ll liked this Imagine. Please let me know if you want to get tagged on future Imagines or Series that I want to write. This isn’t proofread and please excuse grammaticaly and verbal mistakes since English isn’t my mother tongue. And now please enjoy!! With Love, Léne xx

(Y/N) = Your Name

The pouring of the rain sounds like a faint whisper in the distance. When I close my eyes and listen precisely to the rustle I can almost hear the voice I long to hear. I open my eyes when the wind starts to blow into my ear, making my whole body shiver. A raindrop lands directly on top of my cheekbone and gets mixed up with a teardrop that escapes my eye. The wet droplet almost feels like a passing kiss. As if she is standing right beside me and kisses my tears away or maybe she cries from heaven herself and her tears end up on my face. I like to think that she watches me from above. Seeing my every move. Despite the rain a familiar warmth is spreading through my heart, making me feel safe and not alone anymore. My eyes blink the tears away, trying to focus on the words that are written on the wooden cross in front of me. The fact that her death is still so recent that she has to wait for a stone to mark her grave, makes me sob. I have looked so many times at that wooden cross that I started to hate it. She deserves a beautiful, carved stone. Not a dirty, broken cross where her name already starts to fade. But she has to wait. Her coffin isn’t set enough to put a heavy stone on top of the earth. I wipe the back of my hand over my tearstained cheeks before I kneel down in front of the grave. Everyday I bring a new kind of flowers by. Making the earth dissapear in a vibrant, little garden. It helps my own mental health to transform the place of grief into a little paradise for her. And I hope this is exactly where she’s at now. In a paradise. My eyes tear away from the flowers before I start counting them again like I always do. Because the number of the flowers is the number of the days since she passed away. My chest hurts, my heart starts to crumble inside when I once again think about the empty coffin under the ground. My sisters body dissapeard when she sacrificed herself to get the Soul Stone. Now all that remained of her is the memory.

Although it’s past midnight when I leave the graveyard I can’t help but to ring Clint out of his sleep - as well as his wife and his children probably. He picks up the phone with a yawn, his voice raspy from his deep sleep. He is the closest I have to family now and he knows. He always cared for me and Natasha and now that she’s gone he’s supporting me more than ever. Giving me a shoulder to cry on no matter how late it is. That is exactly whe he’s never annoyed when I call him at times like this. My loneliness leads the conversation as I tell him that I don’t know where to go. “Where are you right now, (Y/N)?” I shrug my shoulders even though he can’t see. “I think I’m near the Avengers compound.” My voice is barely louder than a whisper. My throats stil sore from my hour long crying at Natashas grave. “I can pick you up. You can stay at mines if you want.” He suggests and I can hear him fumbling with the bedsheets in the background. Ever since Natashas passing, I stayed at the Avengers compound in her former room. But sometimes it gets too much being surrounded by her memories and her whole life in just that little space. Everything in her room reminds me of her scent, her smile, her voice, the look in her eyes - especially that tiny twinkle in her iris that always appeared when she felt extremely proud of me. I have to pull myself together to not sob again and alarm Clint even more. As much as I want to escape from the compound for a little while, I don’t want to wear out Clints care for me. I feel like I already asked too much of him. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry that I woke you.” I swallow the lump down in my throat in hopes he doesn’t hear how near I am to losing it all again. He sighs at the other end. “You’re sure?” “Yes.”   “Okay, love. Don’t apologize for calling me.” His voice sounds so soft I could fall asleep immediately on the side of the road. He just has this soothing affect on me. I hang up after telling him that I love him and walk in the dim lights of the streetlamps to the compound.

Inside the building everything is pitch dark. The only light comes from Wandas room. It’s red and spreads in chaotic rays around the space of her own four walls. She surely is training her magic since she still hasn’t full control over her powers what burdened her more than usually the last couple of days. I decide not to disturb the Scarlet Witch and seek refuge in Natashas room. I really try to sleep but since Thanos happened my nights are as restless as my hurting heart. I’m still wide awake physically but dangerously exhausted mentally when I hear voices in the early morning hours in the kitchen. Wandas voice makes me wonder if she’s been awake the whole night as well. I leave the room in my short pyjama shorts and my plain white T-Shirt. I wouldn’t fall asleep anyway so I might as well just get up and start another day of inner misery. I round the corner to the kitchen island where Pepper placed a large bowl of exotic fruits on top. The blonde showed me a sad smile since she’s lost in her own grief. Pepper disappears out of the kitchen - leaving me alone with Wanda and a familiar brunette man which I recognize from Tony’s funeral. I can’t remeber his name but I recall the pained expression on his face and the devastated haze over his pupils. He seems like he always looks like pure misery. “Good morning.” I greet them both shyly since they haven’t notice me yet. Wanda immediately sends a heartful smile in my direction while the stranger’s corners of his mouth just twitch the slightest bit upward - almost to tiny to notice. I also perceive his new hairstyle. The last time I saw him he had messy, long waves. Longer than shoulder length and a full beard. Now he has his hair cut short and looking neat with his jawline covered in dark stubbles instead of the fullgrown beard. “Bucky, this is (Y/N). She is Natashas’ sister.” Wanda explains him in her thick, sokovian accent since he developed the same look of recognition on his face as me. Now the puzzle pieces click together. That is Bucky Barnes. Steves’ best friend and the other Super Soldier. His facial features unravel in realization. “Oh, right. Hello, (Y/N). Nice to meet you again and I’m... Sorry about your loss.” He frowns at the last part. “Thank you, it’s nice to see you again in less sorrowful circumstances.” I try to lighten up the mood a bit because I don’t want to start my day already with a bad encounter that reminds me once again how miserable I am inside. Unsure if we should shake hands, Bucky’s metal arm jerks briefly in my direction but he instantly lets it sink again - wrapping the room in an uncomfortable silence. “Well it was nice to see you again. I got to go now.” I excuse myself from the weird situation and leave without breakfast to go to my Natasha’s room. I still feel uncomfortable calling it my room since it was Natsha’s place to live for so many years. I didn’t completely lie to Bucky and Wanda since it’s a new day and time to pick up new flowers for my sisters grave. I change into comfy short, cotton pants and an old, blue pullover from Natashas wardrobe before I leave the compound.

I take a cab to the same  flower shop I visit everyday. Where even the owner knows me by name already. Today marks exactly thirty days since Natasha died. A whole month without my older sister by my side. I ordered a special type of flower for this occasion. A bouqet of beautiful Royal Azaleas - the most precious flowers of our native country Russia. As beautiful as Natasha and I like how it brings a bit of our home to her - making her little paradise even more exotic. At the graveyard I am so consumed in my own thoughts to where I’m going to place the Royal Azaleas on the ground in front of the wooden cross, that I don’t notice right away the broad figure a few feet away from me. He’s standing upset in his posture  and bent a little forward above a grave. It’s the back of his head - his freshly done hair and the colour of his shirt that gives him away and I realise that it’s Bucky. I decide against it to walk up to him since he’s mourning in his own world as well and obviously needs his space. My eyes tear away from the picture of the broken man in front of me and I finally walk straight up to Natashas grave. I crouch slightly to put my bag on the ground. I brought a little shovel to set the new flowers into the earth directly in front of the cross - making the Azaleas stand out from the rest. It is when I walk over to the well a few feet away from me to pick up the watering can, that Bucky notices he’s not alone. The can is filled to the brink and quite heavy in my hand as I carry it to Natashas grave, losing waterdrops on my way there. I silently water the flowers - careful not to drown them in the lack of strength I have in my hand that is holding the water can. The whole time I can feel his stare on me and I can almost feel his inner battle if he should come up to me or not. A few moments later he starts nervously walking up to me while I clean the little shovel to stow it away in my bag. “Do you still the need the watering can?” He asks hoarsely as he comes to a halt beside my bend over figure - blocking the sun out of my view which throws a few rays on the water droplets. Making them sparkle inbetween the flowers of Natashas floral paradise. “No.” I smile softly at him and stand up again. He returns my friendly grin and takes the water can but doesn’t leave straight away. He hesitates a second unsure of if he should leave me alone again, but somehow I long for company - not wanting to speak with the wind again and hallucinate about Natashas voice. “I lost everyone. Natasha was the only one left of my family. Although Clint supports the weight of my grief to make me feel like I’m not alone I still feel like it. I always felt like I’m alone in this world and deep down I don’t feel like I belong to the Avengers either. It was Natashas community. Not mine.” My eyes start to sting with upcoming tears while I open up to Bucky. I don’t really know why I do this. I guess I never felt so out of place and so lonely like I did in the past days and it scares me. Bucky clears his throat, his glance burning holes into my soul as he watches every slightest movement of my facial expressions. “I went through losing the people I love so many times that I lost count of it.” He blinks the tears away which threatens to fall from his eyes. “After Steve left to live the life with Peggy he always dramed to have, I officially got left alone. Steve was so much more than my friend. He was my brother.” He sniffs. “And now I’m searching for a sign - just something that keeps me in this life.” I let my tears run freely as I identify his words as my own feelings. And I realise that we are two souls hurting from the same experiences building a connection to one another through the desperation of having lost any strength to keep living. “Without wanting to get too close to you, I think you just as broken inside as me.” He speaks up. His eyes are swollen and red, still glossy from fresh tears which haven’t stopped being reproduced and leaking out of the corner of his eyes. I strangely feel comfort in the detail that his blue pullover matches mine. My heart starts to pick up a pace as I cross a vulnerable line between us and say: “I think you can never be too close to someone. I’m sure closeness is what we both need the most now.” I gift him a teary smile which he returns with a faint tint of red across his cheeks. Our encounter feels like a big step for the both of us - coming out of our shells we’ve been hiding in like anxious snails and I could feel it in the beating behind my ripcage that it was towards the right direction.