#im thinking her blood boiling only hurts her when the blood has been exposed to air through stab wounds n stuff

[ultimate-snek]

Hebichi, her blood literally boiling, about to stab herself: this’ll hurt you more then it hurts me :))

The guy she’s fighting: D:

[yeoldontknow]

hi kat! i've been following you since 2018 and i can't remember if you've ever done a drabble game while i've been here. this is really exciting for me and the first time i'm requesting something from you! can i have hero ! chanyeol and blind date au? hero is my favorite story of yours. it's the first thing i've read!

eee hi anon! im so happy to hear you love hero! i love it so much too ;~~; and wow! 2018 is a long time! this makes me so happy! 

send me a chanyeol + a prompt!

Verse: Hero + Blind Date Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female (not hero tho T^T) Rating: R Warnings: sexual themes; dark themes; oral fixation; angst; chanyeol is way way way too hot for his own good why did i make someone so powerful Word count: 1.3K

Resting your chin upon your hand, you slump into your seat as you twirl the base of your wine glass against the smooth table. Everything about your posture is certainly unflattering, the fabric of your dress straining against the shape your spine has contorted into, but you don’t really have it in you to care. 

This wasn’t your idea, your inability to say no to your overly supportive friend on top of your aversion to men - all men - making for a deeply uncomfortable evening. Perhaps, you think, you would have moved past this odd sense of unease if he had been on time, but one look at your watch and you’re starting to think thirty minutes spent idly waiting is plenty enough. 

You at least had the decency to be on time.

For the third time this evening, the waitress comes to stand beside your table, casting you a solemn expression as she refills your water. Feeling this pathetic doesn’t really look good on you, but you gave up an evening of true crime documentaries, popcorn, and soft blankets for shoes that make your heels hurt and lipstick that leaves darkened marks on the rim of your glass. The red smears fade from crimson to dull burgundy the longer you wait, tracking the passage of time just in case you had forgotten to check your phone. 

Falling back against the chair with a frustrated sigh, you tap your phone to check the time once more. Two more minutes have lumbered by and you offer her a smile, hollow, empty, grim. She smiles back, sweet and soft and pretty, and you wonder if she’s ever been stood up. 

‘I’ll bring you some cake,’ she says quietly. ‘Dresses like this deserve to be indulged.’ 

With a wink, she turns away and moves towards the kitchen. Folding your hands in your lap, you smile, softened by her kindness and letting a flush of warmth settle in your cheeks. You’d intended to ask for the check, but the cake deserves a chance and, maybe, if you are very lucky, she might stay by your table a few minutes longer to listen to your dejected ranting. Women are always supportive like that, united without needing to know one another’s names. 

Abruptly a man settles into the seat across from you, sliding the chair forward silently before casting you a serious expression. Crossing one leg over the other, he reclines in his seat, all poise and power, the light from the ceiling putting fire in the red and orange strands of his hair, and you feel your stomach drop into your groin. 

The collar of his fitted shirt remains unbuttoned, leaving a tantalizing patch of skin from his neck down to his collar bones exposed. Even the navy blue suit coat does little to mask the strength that waits beneath his muscles. Full lips drawn into a pout, he knits his brow together and considers you with a darkness that makes your thighs clench. 

‘Hoseok?’ you ask quietly, the silence between you both heavy enough your skin begins to grow tight over your limbs.

The man simply cocks his head to the side, scrutinizing you seriously. Wringing your fingers together beneath the table, you find his expression is akin to a wildfire, gaze roaming over your features with a hunger that makes you want to wither. He roots himself inside your ribs as he looks and looks, taking what he can from your small expression of shock, and you look away, deciding instead to study the shape and curve of his ears. This man pulls things from you, takes things from you, awakens the ugly feelings that live within your belly as though they are pretty, beautiful, worthy.

Looking at him too long has you ready to embrace the intimacy that comes with being ruined, and you want to remember yourself enough to punish him. He was late, you remind yourself, and if he wants to turn you into something monstrous than he, too, shall not be free of your wrath.

At the sound of the name, he merely shakes his head, expression falling into a curt frown. 

‘Chanyeol,’ he says abruptly, and disappointment floods you.

This man is not yours.

Wondrous things are never yours.

The waitress returns once more holding a ceramic plate full of chocolate cake. Eyes widening, she takes in your sudden partner, looking to you with joy. 

‘I’ll bring another fork,’ she says, holding her try to her chest with glee as she looks between you and Chanyeol. ‘Enjoy.’

Chanyeol doesn’t take his eyes off you as he reaches for your fork and cuts through the moist dessert, gathering a large bite. He eats it with vigor, humming in pleasure as he slowly slides the fork from his lips. Cocking a brow, he swallows slowly, seductive, mesmerizing, licking his lips with a smile that says he has an appetite that has never once been sated. Placing the fork back on your napkin, he exhales through his nose and runs his tongue over his teeth, your heart thundering against your sternum. 

What would you give to be tasted like that? To be savored?

‘It’s sweet,’ he praises, crossing his arms over his chest as he waits for you to eat. ‘I hope you like it rich.’

On instinct, your shoulders roll back, arching forward to present your breasts, your chest to him, hoping he will place his teeth, chocolate covered and sugar coated, right over where your heart beats. He’s all wrong - the wrong man, the wrong features, the wrong description. Hoseok is sunlight - that’s what your friend said. Hoseok is sunlight and bright smiles and high cheeks that catch the light. He cleans up well, carries strength in his hands, and grows dark only when it is a question of work, sex, and money. 

This man is made of moonlight, skin holding the sun that he has swallowed and carving shadows beneath the bones of his cheeks. His softness is an illusion, a mirage of kindness that once lived and wishes to live again, deceptive in its magnetism. Chanyeol eats the darkness, an inferno boiling in his blood, and you can smell him - the nothing that encompasses him and the musk that seeps from him, a contradiction, an impossible thing, here and gone the next.

If you look away, you fear you might forget him. And so you continue to look, mouth wet, core wet, all of you hoping to drip into his waiting belly. 

‘I’m sorry, who are you?’ You stumble over your words, childish and overcome.

But he does not seem to mind, simply shrugs his shoulders and keeps on watching you, waiting, seething. 

‘I seem to have the wrong table,’ he explains, ‘but you’re all laid out like a rich meal, some kind of magic. Why don’t you dine with me.’

It is not a question, but a statement. A command. Deep in the back of your mind, there is a whisper, a promise of endings becoming beginnings, and you lean into it, finding the fear that lives within your veins. He arouses all of it, the fear that so often gets masked as exhilaration, but he looks at you, sees you, unmakes you. 

You have an aversion to men, but you do not see him as one. Instead, you see him as a beast, a wild thing untamed, and the wild thing has chosen you.

The indecisiveness of your silence instigates his impatience. Uncrossing his legs, he leans against the table and casts you a look that speaks of gluttony.

‘I can smell your heart.’Thoughtlessly, your legs part beneath the table, and he takes in a long inhale, a knowing smile pulling at his lips. ‘It’s hungry just as I am. The way you’re looking at me is a sort of eating that feels limitless.’ 

Taking the fork once more, he drags it through the cake to gather a piece and holds it before the seam of your lips.

 ‘We eat the things we like, don’t we?’ he whispers, the deep rumble of his voice like thunder against your bones. ‘Dine with me.’

Opening your mouth, he slides the cake against your tongue and, at once, you agree.

Your heart is a hunger that turns the world into a spoon, and it has finally found its match. 

[hxseok-honee]

i found | part 29

a/n: o h b o y here we go- the BIG BOI CHAPTER! i’ve had the idea for this chapter since basically the beginning of the au, and after a long time planning and an even longer time writing and editing, she’s complete. a huge fucking thank you to my bby girl @deepseavibez (ALSO IT’S HER BIRTHDAY OMG MY BBY)- she’s the first to read any of my drafts and also be very honest and real with me about them, and im incredibly appreciative of her. she told me she needed at least 24 hours before she was allowed to speak to me again after she read this chapter bc she was just gonna end up yelling at me, which i love about her. i hope you enjoy it!! lmk what you think uwu~ [also i first had the idea for this chapter after listening to Violence by Tender! not on the playlist but a v good listen for this chapter if you’re into that]

previous | next

_______________________________

It’s been four weeks. Four weeks of whispering and pointing. Four weeks of uncertainty and confusion. Four weeks of being avoided by the one person in this school who had always sought him out first. He knows something is wrong- he knows it’s his fault. She told him that she doesn’t regret what happened between them, but everything she’s been doing is telling him that she does. Avoiding his gaze, being vague in her texts, barely speaking to him in class- it’s obvious that she lied to him when she told him everything was fine between them. It’s so obvious that he can’t tell what hurts more: the fact that she lied or the fact that she’s not even trying to hide it.

Yoongi’s barely been able to get out of bed in the morning these days, let alone sit through all his classes and see Y/n every day. He’s gotten so used to her warm presence that he’s almost unable to revert to his old self with her. He’s forgotten what it feels like to ignore her and only acknowledge her when he has to, and it kills him inside to know that she’s doing it without even hesitating.

And yet, he finds himself showing up to their shared classes every day hoping that maybe she’ll come around. Today is no different. Although she was acting the same in potions, he’s still holding onto the hope that she’ll have even the smallest of smiles on her face when she walks into transfiguration. So as he sits there, trying to prepare himself for what’s likely to be another failure, he finds himself wondering yet again what he could have done differently - wondering how things could have ended up like this. He’s so lost in his head that he almost doesn’t hear her reach her seat, the sound of her bag hitting the desk interrupting his internal despair.

Taking a quick glance at her and confirming that she’s, yet again, not going to acknowledge him, he sighs slightly and opens his textbook, wishing for what feels like the millionth time that things will get better soon. He mumbles a quiet greeting in her direction and waits until she’s hummed in response to start flipping his textbook open. He can hear people whispering behind them, and when he looks over his shoulder he finds that most of the people in the room are looking at him and Y/n. Even a month later, they’re the most popular topic of conversation.

Before long, McGonagall enters the room and silences the class, beginning her lesson for the day. They make it about halfway through the class before she gives them partner work, at which point Yoongi is groaning internally. Y/n’s managed to get through every set of partner work they’ve had without initiating any form of communication, only speaking when Yoongi directly asks her for help. Even now, she’s started working on the assignment without him, leaving him to stare glumly down at his textbook.

He finishes about half of the work before he gets to a question he can’t answer no matter how hard he searches through the chapter, so finally he swallows his pride and pokes her arm, frowning deeply when she flinches away from him. She doesn’t even look at him when she speaks, still staring down at her own textbook.

“What’s up?” Yoongi’s heart skips a beat at the sound of her voice, and he hates himself for it in that moment. Clearing his throat, he taps a finger on his textbook.

“I don’t understand number 12. Can you just show me where it’s explained in the book?” Keeping his eyes on the pages as she reaches over to flip through his book, he’s on the verge of sighing again when something catches his attention. There, peeking out just a tiny bit from under the sleeve of her sweater, is a mark. It’s almost impossible for him to see, but as she’s flipping pages her sleeve rises marginally, exposing her wrist to him. And the more he looks, the more he realizes it’s not just a mark- it’s a bruise.

His blood runs ice cold in his body as something else registers in his mind- he hadn’t just asked her about their relationship that day.

‘is anyone bothering you? there’s no one trying to mess with you, is there?’

Yoongi’s breath catches in his throat as he remembers their conversation. He had assumed she’d lied to him about regretting the night in the common room, but it was entirely possible she’d lied about something else. Dragging his eyes in her direction as if in slow motion, he takes in her appearance as she focuses on finding the passage in his book. He hasn’t looked at her properly in a long time, too busy trying to close himself off to her again, but now he does. What he sees has his fists clenching tightly in his lap, everything becoming so clear now.

Her skin is pale and her eyes are sunken in like she hasn’t slept in days. He can see a cut on the corner of her lip, still red as if it had happened that very day. It’s obvious she tried to cover it up before class, but the makeup is messy, as if applied with a shaky hand. Pulling his gaze down, he has to stop himself from reacting when he sees evidence of more bruising just under the collar of her shirt. As Yoongi stares at her, he wonders just what else she could be trying to hide under those long sleeves and that high collar, and his blood boils at the realization that she had probably flinched away from his touch earlier for a different reason than he had thought. His imagination is running so violently wild now that he can’t stop himself from calling out to her.

“You lied to me.” She freezes in her task, gaze finally lifting to meet his after so long. When she sees the anger swimming in his eyes, she swallows hard. Looking around and realizing that the same nosy people are still watching them as subtly as they can manage, she tries to deflect the conversation. Now isn’t the time to talk about this.

“Yoongi, let’s talk about this later, please-” Her words only incite his anger further, and she has to stop herself from jumping when he slams his hand down on the table, catching everyone’s attention.

“You told me everything was fine!” His voice cracks on the last word, his desperation finally showing as McGonagall starts to make her way over to them. Attempting to ease the situation, Y/n reaches out to grab Yoongi’s shoulder, but he backs away from her touch, choosing instead to reach out with his own hand and take hold of her wrist. Ignoring her protests, he grips her sleeve and pulls it up, exposing her arm to him.

He feels like his breath has left him entirely when he sees her skin, every inch of it covered in dark bruises. Handprints left by several people, scratches and cuts littering the surface of her arm from her wrist to her elbow- everything he had hoped was just his imagination is there, right in front of him. He barely has time to lock eyes with her, hers filled with frustration and his overflowing with disbelief, before she’s yanking her arm out of his grasp, standing out of her chair and successfully knocking it over in the process. He follows her lead, yelling after her as she turns on her heel and rushes for the door, ignoring McGonagall’s request for him to calm down.

“You can’t just keep ignoring me, Y/n!” Not even sparing McGonagall a second glance, he follows after Y/n, fighting the urge to yell at everyone as they start talking loudly now. McGonagall’s call follows him out into the corridor, but by that point he’s already locked onto Y/n’s retreating frame and he knows he won’t let this moment pass.

Catching up to her quickly, he reaches out and takes hold of her arm, almost giving in to the guilt that courses through him when she flinches at the pressure on her skin. Dragging her down the corridor and into an empty classroom, he releases her arm, the guilt so strong now it’s as if he were the one that had put those bruises on her body. Slamming the door shut behind him, he looks at her through eyes filled with pain, frustration, and - most notably - intense anger.

“Why did you lie to me, Y/n?” She’s turned away from him, and it’s so isolating that he just keeps talking, saying anything he can to get her to react to him. “Why didn’t you tell me that any of this was happening? You’ve never lied to me before, Y/n, so why now? Do you blame me for this?” It’s those words that trigger a response from her, so charged with emotion that Yoongi almost takes a step back when she turns to face him.

“Blame you? Yoongi, how could you think that I blame you for this?” She sighs angrily, running a hand through her hair, and Yoongi’s heart lurches when the bottom of her sweater rises just slightly and he sees more damaged skin there. He can feel the corners of his eyes prickling at the sight, the thought of what she’d been through running through his mind as he wonders where he’d been when this was all happening. Swallowing hard and blinking rapidly, he listens as she continues her rant.

“Yoongi, of course I don’t blame you for this. You didn’t cause this. I just didn’t want you to find out - is there something so wrong with that? Is there something wrong with me not wanting you to start even more fights? I’m fine, Yoongi-” All the self-control he had left in his body leaves him as he explodes.

“You’re not fine, Y/n! And it is my fault! I know that, you know that, everyone in this whole fucking school knows that! But you keep pushing me away- you won’t let me protect you! And for what? You want to stop me from starting fights, but I’ve just spent the last four weeks in a constant fight with myself, wondering what I did so wrong that you would push me away this much!” He’s breathing hard, so hard that he thinks he might actually pass out if he doesn’t calm down soon. But he can’t stop himself now- he needs to know everything now. She doesn’t step away from him as he approaches her, and he notes in the back of his mind that at least he isn’t scaring her. She’s a lot more resistant to his temper than anyone else he’s ever dealt with. Running his hands down the length of her arms as softly as he can, he keeps his hold on her as he addresses her, his voice low.

“Tell me who it was.” Her nostrils flare at his demand, and he knows he’s pushing her limits, but he has to know.

“No, Yoongi. I don’t want you fighting anyone-”

“Y/n, please-”

“I said no, Yoongi. I’m fine.” There’s something about hearing those two little words again, so obviously a lie. He’s so tired of hearing her push him away. Everything about the last month has put him on the edge of breaking down, and to have her do to him the very thing she always told him to never do - to have her push him aside like she couldn’t depend on him, like everything they’d been through had been for nothing - it pushes him over the edge.

He knows she feels it when her expression falls blank, her eyes staring up at him as if asking if he’s really about to go through with this. Still, he has to know what’s been done to her-

he knows he’s officially lost his mind and probably all of her trust, but he can’t let this go unhandled. So he pushes further, keeping a firm hold on her as his eyes stay locked on hers. And finally - at the reaction she gives, pushing against his grip almost violently - he knows he’s found it.

“Yoongi, don’t you dare-” He closes his eyes at her words, shutting her out as he locks onto the memory in the recesses of her mind. Fighting the urge to cry, he whispers out to her, broken and desperate.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.”

-

There’s too many. Too many instances when he should have been there and wasn’t. The first shove, the first grab, the first taunt. The Ravenclaw boy that pushed her aside as he passed her in the corridor. The group of Gryffindor girls that cornered her in the bathroom and clawed at her until all that was left was bloody skin and a crying girl. The Slytherins that hexed her in the courtyard, pulling her feet from under her and forcing her to float upside down in the air, exposing her underwear in front of a dozen people.

Every time, there was another there to save her. Despite her curses and attempts to stay strong, there was always another there to pick her up and hide her away. The Gryffindor hothead, the pair of Ravenclaws, her favorite Hufflepuffs. Her boys, always finding her before Yoongi ever could. Always there, wreaking havoc on those that dare to hurt their friend. At least she had them. But there, amongst all the moments, is a more recent one that floats in the forefront of her thoughts, almost overpowering in nature.

She’s walking down the corridor toward the library, quickly and almost fearfully as she checks over her shoulder constantly. She’s so busy glancing behind her that she misses what’s in front of her. Looking ahead of her and realizing too late that she’s being approached by two Slytherins, she swears under her breath and turns back, trying to get away. When she turns back, however, she sees two more Slytherins rounding the corner and heading right for her. Looking back and forth, she realizes she’d be alone in this even if there were 50 other people in the corridor with them - she can’t get out of this.

Before she can react, one of the Slytherins - the only girl - takes hold of the back of her head and yanks back sharply, eliciting the scream of pain she was looking for. Throwing Y/n against the wall, the other three hover over her as their smaller friend swings endlessly, connecting with Y/n’s body over and over again. But when Y/n manages to fight back, landing a particularly nasty hit on the girl’s nose, the three boys jump into action.

One of them raises his hand and brings it down across her face harshly as another pins her to the wall and starts sending hit after hit into her torso. Y/n feels something crack in her body, and she screams so loud that she thinks maybe a teacher will hear her, but the third boy is grabbing her by the back of the neck and throwing her forward, shoving her to the ground with much more force than needed. At this point, even a small poke would send her into a fetal position on the ground, but it’s not like they care. The girl grabs the back of her head again, forcing to look up at them.

“It’s not so easy now when this Prince isn’t here to protect you, is it?” Y/n’s breath comes out as a wheeze, prompting one of the boys to send another punch to the same spot on her ribs that she’s fairly certain has already snapped in half. She screams again, and, on the edge of unconsciousness, she hears someone who sounds oddly like Namjoon running down the corridor, yelling her name. Before slipping over the edge and blacking out, the girl whispers in her ear again, her words echoing throughout the memory violently.

“You should have been more careful.”

-

Pulling out of her mind, the first thing Yoongi notices is the overpowering guilt that’s filling him, almost as if all the emotion he once had is now draining out of his body and leaving him to deal with the consequences. Recognizing just how bad of a person he’s become in the last ten minutes, the second thing he notices is the feeling of hands on his chest, slamming down repeatedly as they push him away. Looking down and finding himself staring into Y/n’s eyes, his brain registers faintly that this is the first time she’s ever expressed herself violently- the first time she’s ever put her hands on someone. But he can’t bring himself to be upset by the fact that she’s hitting him over and over again; he’s too busy recognizing himself in the reflection in her eyes - eyes overflowing with tears, eyes that have never looked at him like he was an enemy until this very moment.

Allowing her to push him back, allowing her to keep pushing until he’s backed up completely against a wall, he lets her cry and push at his chest without even thinking of stopping her. He deserves this, he knows he does. He’s done the one thing she’s asked him to never do, so long ago when they weren’t even friends yet. He knows that, and he knows there’s nothing he can do to stop this. He’ll just stand here and accept the pain that follows because he knows he deserves it. She’s been chanting something through her tears this whole time, the words finally registering properly in his ears.

“I hate you- I hate you- I hate you-” Each one comes with another blow to his chest, her forehead finally coming to rest on his shoulder as she sobs, her fists weakening against his form as she tires herself out. Once he knows she’s done, he brings his arms up slowly, desperate to hold her but terrified that she wants nothing to do with him anymore. Wrapping her in his hold, he chokes back a sob of his own when she clings to him and brings him close to her. Keeping her in his arms, he slides his back down the wall until they’re sitting together on the floor, his arms around her as she sits between his legs.

Leaning his head on her shoulder, he whispers apologies to her repeatedly, repenting for what he’s done. He buries his face in the crook of her neck as the tears that have been hovering at the corners of his eyes finally fall, the dam breaking as he begs her to forgive him. They sit there together, crying as they both understand what’s happened to them the last four weeks- crying as they realize how much they need each other, how impossible it’s become for them to push the other away after all this time.

Once they’re both done crying, Yoongi lifts his head and looks down at her through red-rimmed eyes, brushing her hair out of her face and wiping the tears from her eyes as she does the same for him. He’s still whispering apologies to her, and she’s just nodding along, having already forgiven him without even realizing it. But he’s not done apologizing, and he’s not sure he ever will be.

“You can keep hating me if you want. I deserve it. I know I do.” He says it through a raspy voice, having abandoned any form of embarrassment left in his body. He just needs her to know how he feels, even if it’s the last time she talks to him. He has no idea that she’s just watching him now, running her fingers softly across his cheeks as tears continue to slip from his eyes.

Leaning into her touch, he doesn’t notice how close he’s getting until his forehead is pressed against hers and their noses are brushing. His breath gets caught in his throat, a feeling he’s well-accustomed to by now, but this time he welcomes it. He won’t let her get away from him this time. He won’t let her go another day not knowing how he feels.

So when he tucks a hand behind her neck this time, he knows there’s nothing left for him to do. Leaning in closer and pausing to give her time to push him away, he waits until he feels her grip on the front of his shirt tighten before he’s pressing his lips to hers.

The feeling that spreads through his chest is so sudden and violent that he feels like he might need to pull away, but he knows he wouldn’t be able to do it even if he wanted to. All he can do is press his mouth even closer to hers, hugging her to him while she runs her fingers through the hair at the base of his neck. He knows he hasn’t been able to really tell her how he feels about her, so he pours everything into the kiss, refusing to break it even when his lungs start yelling at him. She’s the first to pull away, finally overpowered by the need to breathe, but even then it’s only for a second before she’s leaning into him again, as desperate as he is to show him everything she feels for him.

Eventually they break the kiss, breathing heavily as they stare at each other, both uncertain as to what happens next. They sit there for a few minutes, just taking each other in. Yoongi runs his fingers through Y/n’s hair and she plays with the hem of his shirt. He leans into her and presses his lips to hers once more before pulling away and moving his mouth to her ear, whispering softly to her as her face warms, her hands running up the length of his arms and clinging to his shoulders and he holds her close.

“You’re mine now, Y/n - so get ready to deal with me forever, because I’m never letting you go.”

[arigatouiris]

revenge is a fool’s game // arthur morgan — [03]

pairing: arthur morgan x female!reader

word count: 1895

warnings: strong violence, emotional distress, mentions of torture, rape and sexual abuse, explicit sexual references, a whole lotta angst, cowboy stuff;

notes: i am so so sorry for the late af update!! things got carried away at work and i was trying to finish my peter parker story (sighhhh). anyway, this is a short chapter, but do expect an update pretty soon~

not following a taglist for this, i can’t seem to keep track of people who ask so just check on my masterlist~ 

masterlist in bio~

Chapter Three: Ain’t No Foolin’ John Marston

○

(y/n) woke up, just before day break, and panicked. She looked around inside her tent, and breathed slowly before realizing she was actually panting. Her hair was a mess—and she was glad she had cut it to a boy’s regular messy cut, but she wasn’t wearing her bandages. 

Without her bandages, her breasts would pop out. She was big enough to alert the people around her that she wasn’t a boy but a boy in disguise. Without question, she quickly took her shirt off and began to tie the bandages around her chest, tightly. Each time, she felt she tied a bit too tighter—forever compressing her chest to one without breasts.

She hated that she had to do this; she hated living in disguise. She would normally love scents and everything that came with being a woman, but now—now things were different and unforgiving. Her long hair that she had adored once before was trimmed away, and her cheeks were unmoisturized beyond control what used to be soft and smooth. She missed being a woman, but now she had no choice.

After tying the bandages around her, she put her shirt back on. Through the tiny holes in her bottle green tent, she observed that it was breaking day. She had a tiny mirror using which she fixed her hair—and turned into a boy again.

Through Dutch Van der Linde, she would find Colm o’Driscoll, and through Colm she would find a slight bit of redemption. Colm was someone she would take vengeance for herself. He had nothing to do with her brother, but had done something terrible to her. Words and lies were carved carefully to sting her in such a fashion that the sting would never heal, and what remained was a ghost of a person with an inability to move on from the pain caused. She had a plan, and no sympathy and no compassion came close to bringing her down from what she saw needed to be done.

“Riley!” 

She heard Susan Grimshaw’s voice call from outside. Her heart sometimes ached when she heard her brother’s name, but she was her brother now. 

“Come out here and gimme a hand, boy.” She didn’t sound mean, she sounded nice, as a matter of fact.

Riley stepped out of the small tent, looking timid. He blinked a couple of times and noticed Mrs. Grimshaw smiling at him. The smile reminded him of his own mother’s, but Riley tried not to think of anything regarding his past (her past).

“The horses need feedin’, boy. Here,” Susan motioned toward the stack of hay. “Take this to them horses over there. Make yerself useful here and you’ll belong quite alright.” Susan smiled and Riley nodded.

“My,” Susan sighed and said softly. “I sometimes forget ya can’t talk. Poor soul.”

The only reason (y/n) chose to leave Riley dumb was because her voice was far too feminine to hide. She was always told that she had a beautiful voice when she sang, but it sounded too much like a woman for a man.

While Riley was moving one haystack after another toward the horses, he observed that there were eyes on him. He paused for a second and noticed a boy watching his every move—unashamedly, not looking away even after Riley caught him doing so. The boy’s name, he could recall, was John Marston. He was around fifteen years of age, and far too aggressive for his own good. Riley watched him staring at him for a brief while before tilting his head a bit and getting back to work. It had been close to a few days since Riley joined the Van der Linde gang, and while even Arthur stayed out of insulting the boy, Riley noticed John’s hesitance in talking to him.

“Give him some time,” Hosea had said, when he first observed this behavior. “The boy’s got a nasty past.”

Nasty past, (y/n) thought before piling the hay carefully in the stack where it was supposed to go. I understand nasty pasts.

A moment later, Hosea approached Riley and grabbed the boy’s arm. Riley’s face turned pink—(y/n) still not used to being touched so freely by a man twice her age, but tried hard not to show any signs of discomfort.

“Need to talk to ya, son.” Hosea’s tone scared Riley. Instantly, he knew that it was something related to the confession he had made about the o’Driscolls.

Riley blinked at Hosea, while being led inside the white tent. Arthur was standing by the entrance, no expression on his face. Arthur noticed Riley and gave him a small nod, I think he understands that I’m a member here now, she told herself. He hated me before, she thought before blinking a couple of times. Arthur grunted once before straightening his posture. Dutch was entering the tent.

“So, son,” Dutch said before continuing, “You hate Colm,”

Riley didn’t nod. She didn’t hate Colm, it wasn’t hate. It was hard to explain without telling them some part of the story, and that was what he didn’t want to share.

“And you want him dead.” Dutch stated facts.

Riley blinked.

“The thing is, we don’t like him all that much either,” Hosea said, in a calculative manner.

“We’re teamed up wit’ em right now,” Arthur said, sighing. “Dutch and Colm had a… what ya call, a ‘partnership’ o’ sorts.”

Riley didn’t understand. He made a face, which conveyed his exact emotions.

“See Colm’s got a brother, Wyatt.”

(y/n)’s blood boiled. Oh, I know Wyatt o’Driscoll damn well, she thought before frowning. Hosea noticed the sudden change in Riley’s face, but chose not to comment on it. There were some stories each of them carried, with no want or need to divulge them. What he wanted to comment on was the fact that Riley’s wish to murder Colm intersected with their own wish to end their partnership.

“Wyatt’s got his eyes set on Dutch,” Hosea said, sighing bitterly. “Wyatt is plannin’ on handing Dutch over to the authorities for the bounty.”

“Let him try! I can rip his head off his skull and still make him see the end of it.” Dutch said, sarcastically, with a weird grin on his face.

What Riley didn’t understand was why they were telling him this. He knew that Dutch didn’t like Colm, and he knew that they felt the same way about all of the o’Driscolls, so why were they telling him this plan?

“We kill Wyatt first.” Dutch said.

(y/n)’s heart picked up pace. Wyatt was fourth in her list, ending his life meant getting closer to Colm. She nodded once before taking her notebook once.

Wyatt has this horse he loves. We get to his horse and we get to him. He’s a dumbass with very little that he cares about.

Hosea laughed as he read out Riley’s note. “This is why we needed you, boy! Somethin’ tells me you’ve been on the insides of the o’Driscolls’ party!”

It’s the other way around, Hosea, (y/n) thought bitterly, forcefully blinking tears away. Arthur watched the boy, before noticing the sun fall on the boy’s shirt. There was a dark patch in his chest, which looked almost made up. It was like he was wearing another shirt inside the one that he could see. Arthur blinked before clearing his throat and looking away, it wasn’t his business.

“Alright. We get to his horse. Can you identify his horse, boy?”

Riley nodded.

“Dutch,” Arthur said, before looking at Riley. “How can we know we can trust ‘im?”

Riley’s heart dropped. This was one question that he was hoping no one would ask. It was a good question, she had to admit, because how can anyone be sure that Riley himself wasn’t an o’Driscoll?

“Actually, that’s a great point. What if Colm sent you here and if this is all a trap?” Dutch spoke out loud.

Riley’s eyes filled with tears. He wrote in his notebook.

I had a sister. Colm and his brother raped her every night after saving her life one day. They raped her and ruined her life. She is no woman no more. I’m doing this for her. And I’m doing this for myself.

I’m doing this for you, brother. Rebecca’s voice was for herself only.

“I.. I’m sorry to hear that, son.” Dutch said, sympathetically.

Hosea patted the boy’s shoulder before saying, “You don’t have to say anything more than that, Riley.”

Arthur, on the other hand, was the most shocked. He didn’t once think Riley could have gone through so much. After having cared for Mary so much, he understood so much about how hard women had it for themselves. Their torture would always, always exceed the pain that anyone can give to a man. Women were strong, and hurting them came easy.

Rape, Arthur thought, was unforgivable.

He watched Riley get back to his chores, sad face and sadder eyes, and a soft spot bore in his heart for the boy. To lose a sister the way he had, must have taken more than just anger for him to come huntin’ after them o’Driscolls, Arthur thought.

○

That evening, Riley sat alone by the fire. He was thinking about what he had shared with Hosea, Dutch and Arthur, and he wondered if it was the right thing to have done. They wouldn’t have trusted me, (y/n) thought. Arthur is suspicious of anyone new, she sighed. A moment later, she felt someone sit beside her.

It was John. He had a scowl on his face, and his hair was a mess. From the past few days, she’s noticed that John was what they’d call, ‘a problem child’. He was naughty and barely did any chore around the camp. Susan would have to scream at him repeatedly to have him eat.

“I know you’re a girl.” John said, glaring at Riley.

Her blood froze. She suddenly felt very exposed, but this was a fifteen year old child and this old jibe was thrown off the window by Arthur the first time it had happened. Riley turned to look at John and glared back, trying hard to keep the glare on and not let the fear show.

“You’ve got breasts, and you ain’t got no penis.” John said, softly.

Riley shook his head and turned away, red faced—but in front of the fire, one couldn’t tell. She hoped John wouldn’t be able to hear her rapidly beating heart.

“They might think I’m some stupid hillbilly,” John said, “But I ain’t gonna ever call a woman a man.”

Riley took out his notebook and hoped John could read.

Go away, John. I don’t have to prove shit to you.

“Alright, ma’am. I know no one ain’t gonna believe me, but I know yer secret. Riley or if that’s what your name is. You ain’t a man. Yer a lady. A lady dressed like a hillbilly. Don’t know why an’ I don’t care. But you ain’t foolin’ me.” John said, before getting up and walking away.

Riley waited for a moment. He hoped no one heard this conversation, and he hoped no one cared for John’s words. Because of the way he behaves, no one took him seriously. However, John’s hunch, if it was a hunch, was right. Riley was no man.

(y/n) was scared for her life now.

[cadysu]

it honestly makes me so beyond mad when i hear stories of nurses/doctors/assistants (anyone really, but since im in a medical environment im going after them) insult patients behind their backs/refuse to help them due to something that is out of their control

my dental assistant sometimes says shit that i call her out on immediately because its fucked up and makes me angry. “Ew that man looks like a pedophile” “What the fuck is wrong with you???” “Idk he’s creepy looking he looks like the guy from that movie” “....no he doesn’t, he’s married to a wonderful lady, and hes just an old man who has been very kind to us so why are you saying that” “idk hes creepy im not seating him/talking to him”

like fuck off girl you chose a profession that interacts with people what is wrong with you

i cant list specifics, but i have a patient who is very obviously not neurotypical. He is a sweet man, but his disability (among other medical issues) makes him difficult to communicate with at times. So i always try to speak clearly, break things down, repeat back, etc. so he feels very comfortable. I dont talk to him like a child, i just use simpler words or repeat back things so he understands better. If the word crown confuses him/he says cap, ill say “yes the cap, we call it a crown” or whatever so he knows he’s right. Anyways im rambling because today my patient had some difficulty outside when he was leaving and his pants fell down briefly (i think maybe his walker snagged them?). Luckily, i think im the only one who saw so i hope he didnt get really embarrassed/upset, because i never said anything and was sitting a few feet back at my desk as he fixed himself quickly but ugh if the DA was there she probably would’ve laughed or called him gross and ridiculed him and it makes my blood boil (also obviously if he got hurt on the other hand, like if he fell or something similar i would’ve rushed to his aid to help him)

my mom witnessed the same shit when she was visiting a hospital- an elderly patient was calling for the nurses repeatedly but no one came and when my mom was leaving the person she was visiting she saw the man (a stranger) on the floor with his gown open/ leaving him helpless and exposed. She immediately rushed over, helped cover him and told him she’d get a nurse for him. When she went to get the nurse the nurses just groaned and yelled at him for getting up again/saying he should just wait in bed and yes my mom did chew them out (this is not the first time she’s done that) saying they flat out ignored him when they had nothing else to do

i get that patients can be frustrating; i have a few who like to belittle or are a handful, but jfc if you go in a field that requires bedside manner and youre supposed to be helping people then do your god damn job you sicko fucko assholes

[azaraspirit]

THIS TOO WAY TOO LONG TO WRITE BUT IM SO PROUD OF IT IM SORRY IF THIS IS CONFUSNIG BUT I JUST NEED AN EXCUSE FOR SHIRO/AZARA TO FUCK AND I WAS INSPIRED BY SHIRO MISSING FROM S3 I KINDA USED THAT FOR THE EXCUSE HAHA thats all you really need to know. Again, Azara is my OC. NSFW OBVIOUSLY.

Azara has never felt more alone than she did right now. Shiro was out there somewhere and she was here safe with the others. It should have been her. But he sacrificed himself to save her. Her entire body was a hollow shell, ready to crack.

As hard as they tried, no one understood the pain she was feeling. The other paladins weren’t close to Shiro like she was. They were more like siblings and she was his soulmate. All she wanted to do was to go find her significant other but she barely at the energy to get out of bed.

Azara had no idea where she came from or why she was floating alone in space but what she did know is she had a family here with the paladins but the most important person to her was gone. But the worst part was she had no idea if he was even alive. The mere thought of him dead or dying alone made her grip her chest and tremble.

Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. She didn’t even respond, her back to it. “Azara.” It was Hunk. “May I come in?”

Hunk stood there, worried for his friend. He understood she needed to be alone but the best way to heal was to have a shoulder to cry on and he wanted to be her shoulder. “I’m coming in.” The door slid open and he found her huddled in her bed wearing one of Shiro’s shirts. His eyes turned glassy. She really did love him.

“Hey,” he greeted softly, sitting by her feet. He rested a hand on her leg. “I can make you something if you’re hungry. Whatever you want.”

She didn’t speak or move. “Azara.”

“I’m not hungry.” she sniffed.

Hunk’s eyes fell to the floor. He wasn’t sure how to comfort someone in this emotional state. But he still wanted to be there for her. He felt closer to her than the rest of the gang. To be honest, he actually kind of liked her.

He looked at her again. Pain radiated from her. He just wanted to make her feel better. Hunk gently took her arm, lightly squeezing it. He pulled her up but she glared at him. “Hunk. what are you-” He cut her off as he pulled her close to him. Resting his cheek on her head, he wrapped his big arm around her. “Crying is the best medicine.” he spoke softly. “I know you’re fighting it.”

“H-Hunk, let go.” Azara would have fought harder if but he was right. The pain was overwhelming her. But for some reason she couldn’t cry. Until now.

The tears fell like a broken dam. “Hunk...he’s gone...he…” She sobbed into Hunk’s chest. He gripped her tighter.

“It’s okay.” he whispered.

She couldn’t admit it but Azara felt glad Hunk was here. He was her best friend out of all of the paladins.

Hunk kissed her forehead. “I’ll find him, Azara. I promise.” She continued crying. He wasn’t sure how, but he was going to. He had to. For Azara.

***

Some time passed and Azara fell asleep. Hunk was tired himself but he had a promise to keep. He gently lied her down and used his jacket to cover her. It might as well have been a blanket for her tiny frame. He gave her a long look before leaving.

Hunk met up with the others. They were grieving over Shiro too but not like Azara.

“How is she?” Coran asked.

“She cried herself to sleep.” Hunk said sadly.

“Poor thing,” replied Coran. “She’s taken this harder than any of us.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I made her a promise.” Hunk announced. “I promised her I would find Shiro.”

The others stared at him.

“H-Hunk, why would you say that?” Keith spoke up. “He could be anywhere. He could be dead.”

“I don’t care, Keith. You didn’t see her. She’s broken and I fear she won’t heal until Shiro comes back home. Even if he’s dead, we could have a funeral and give her peace.”

“Hunk is right,” said Allura. “We have to try.”

***

“Azara! Azara!” Hunk slammed into the wall because he was running so fast to her room. “Azara!” Her door slid open. He stood there, panting, resting on his knees.

“What? What is it?” she asked in alarm.

“Shiro! He’s here!” he managed.

“WHAT?” she shrieked. “WHERE?”

“In the main room!”

Azara stood up and shoved Hunk out of the way. “SORRY!” she apologized while running. She couldn’t believe it. He was here. Hunk found him. He actually found him. She could hear Hunk trying to catch up with her. She slowed down just a bit for the doors to open then slid to a halt. Her heart nearly burst out of her chest. There he was. He stood there surrounded by the others. He looked banged up but otherwise unharmed.

He smiled at her. God she missed that smile.

“Hey.” he greeted.

She bolted towards him and everyone scrambled back as she slammed into him. Shiro grunted as he fell on the floor. “I missed you too.” he chuckled.

Azara caressed his sweet faced. She wanted to cry. Shiro’s hands rested on her waist as he admired her. He feared he would never see her again. It was so overwhelming.

He opened his mouth to speak but Azara pressed his lips against his. His entire body melted from the heat. All of their intimate memories came rushing back in his mind and all he wanted to do was to be alone with her and make up for lost time. Shiro kissed back then remembered they weren’t alone. He pulled apart and blushed, looking at the others. “Uh, sorry.”

“I think we should leave them alone.” Lance grinned. “Anyone got a condom?”

“Lance!” Azara scolded.

He laughed. “OH come on! I’m kidding!”

Shiro and Azara rose to their feet, holding hands. “Lance means well, don’t get upset.” He kissed her temple. Her anger instantly vanished. “Come on.” He headed for the doors with Azara.

“You okay?” Azara asked when the doors closed behind them.

“I am now, now that I’m with you.” he answered.

She blushed. “I mean you were out there for a while...are you hurt? We can go to the infirmary.”

“Nah. I’m good. I just want to be with you.”

“I guess the only question is this: my place or yours?”

“Whichever one is closer.”

They both laughed. Shiro squeezed her hands. “Remind me to thank Hunk later for keeping his promise.”

“What promise?” he asked, looking at her.

“He promised that he would find you.”

“Sounds like him.”

Shiro fell silent as he let Azara guide them. He just wanted to feel her all over. To feel her lips. He wasn’t sure how long he was gone for but it was way longer than he wanted to be away from her. He felt determined to make up for lost time.

“Here we are.” They arrived at his bunker.

“Finally.” The second they walked in, he had her pressed against the wall. He admired her softly, seeing her red cheeks. He chuckled to himself.

“Well, what are you waiting for handsome?” she asked.

“Just enjoying the view.” he replied.

He gently brushed his thumb against her lower lip, his eyes glazing over with lust as well as Azara’s. Shiro kissed her like he’s never kissed before. His hands pinned her to the wall; hers on his. She moaned as she kissed back. Already, her hands started to lift up Shiro’s shirt. He gladly let it fall to the floor. She gazed at his chest, seeing scratch marks. Gently, she brushed over them. Shiro took her hand and kissed it. “Don’t worry about those. I’m fine.” He smiled and everything was okay again.

He kissed her again. And again. And again. He couldn’t get enough. “Is this this all we’re going to do?” Azara giggled when he let go to catch his breath.

He smirked. “I’m sorry. I just...really miss you.”

“I miss you too.”

He gently pressed their foreheads together, feeling her soft hair in his hands. “Let’s move to the bed shall we?”

Shiro didn’t protest. He lied down on his back with Azara on top of him. “You’re wearing my shirt.” he noticed.

“You need to wear them again. It doesn’t smell like you anymore.”

Shiro watched as she removed it, exposing her bare chest. All the blood rushed down to his manhood. It throbbed under his pants.

“My, my, someone is sure excited.” she cooed as he traced her finger along his abs.

“I’m not the only one.” Shiro could feel the heat radiating from her, her petals were hard as well.

“Are you coming up here or what?” she asked impatiently.

“I thought you would come down here.” Shiro teased.

“I want us to switch, dummy.”

“Oh, sorry.” They quickly switched positioned. Shiro forgot that he was on top most of the time unless Azara was rather impatient or demanding then she would take control.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much.”

Shiro leaned down to kiss her once more. He could feel her breasts pressed against his chest and it made his blood boil. Slowly, he began a trail of kisses that started from her lipd then down to her neck, her collarbone. He felt her shudder as he kissed one of her plump breasts. He chuckled to himself from her reaction. He kissed it a few more times before closing her entire tit in his mouth. Azara cried out and arched her back. Her breast tasted so good from being apart all this time. He sucked as  long and hard as he could, determined to leave a mark. He nibbled on her petals as well as brushing his tongue against them.

He finally let go when his jaw began to hurt. He gazed at Azara who appeared unraveled before him. He knew that was her favorite. It left her a mess every time.

“You okay?” he smirked.

“Shut up.” she grumbled.

Shiro laughed. A bruise developed on her breast. He might as well leave one on the other to match. He did the same to her other breast, making her gasps once more. He kissed, nibbled and sucked as much as his mouth would allow.

Eventually he let go, panting.

“Jesus, Shiro! My breasts are going to be sore after this!” complained Azara as she inspected the bruises he left behind.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, nuzzling her neck. “Please forgive my eagerness.”

Azara smiled. “You’re forgiven.”

He smiled down at her. “I love you, so much.”

“I love you too.”

“I never want to lose you again.” He practically purred into her neck, kissing her skin softly. “I won’t let that happen.”

Azara hugged him tightly. “Me neither.”

Shiro sat up to admire her. “Ready for the climax?” he smirked.

“You mean you’re finally done eating my boobs?”

Shiro laughed, gripping his stomach. “I wasn’t eating them!”

“You might as well have been.”

Shiro composed himself and held her pants in his hand. Her face went red as he unbuttoned and unzipped them. Her white underwear peeked out.

He took control as removed the last of their clothing. It felt so good having nothing between them as he laid on top her, just their skin and nothing else. He breathed slowly, embracing the moment. He lied there for the longest moment, hearing her heartbeat. She gently stroked his hair. Shiro swore he could have fallen asleep right then and there but then he remembered he had other business to tend to.

He rose up resting on Azara’s hips that felt hot between his own. God she looked so amazing below him.

He gazed at her with lust eyes, his hands resting on her waist. He was debating on how to start. Should he just plow through? Tease her a little?

“I’m sorry, I just...can’t decide…” he admitted out loud. He blushed, feeling dumb.

She gently felt his wrists. “It’s okay, take your time.”

His eyes widened. Her patience surprised him. He assumed she would be demanding considering how long they’ve been apart.

With his eyes closed, Shiro lifted himself up ever so slightly and cupped her woman hood with his hand. He felt her react underneath him as she gasped. Slowly, he began to massage and finger her.

Azara gripped the sheets as Shiro finger her. She arched her back again.

“My, my someone is mighty wet.” he purred.

She opened her eyes to see Shiro lick one of his wet fingers, looking back at her as he did so. He smirked. Shiro focused back on her womanhood. He was ready to enter her soaked walls. Blood rushed to his cock. It pulsated like never before; he could feel his cum wanting to burst but he forced it back. Not yet.

He locked eyes with Azara as he prepared himself. He wanted to see her reaction when he entered her. A few moments later he pressed himself inside of her. She gasped, gripping the sheets. Azara gritted her teeth. Shiro rode her nice and slow. They were so out of practice he didn’t want to overwhelm her.

Azara cried out his name over and over again. Her cries gave him confidence to pick up his pace. She held onto the sheets the entire time as he thrusted into her. He could feel the climax was coming.

He rested his palms on the bed for more momentum; he was holding her hips the entire time till now. He concentrated on her cries. They fueled him. He rode her even harder. Finally he released inside her. He gasped, never feeling so much cum release from him before. It slowed him down just a bit but he didn’t stop.

“Shiro...Shiro…” she moaned.

He opened his lust-filled eyes to see sweat beading down from Azara and himself. He thrusted her a few more times before slowing down to a stop.

Both of them panted heavily.

Shiro looked down to see he was still cuming from his swollen red tip. He lowered his head. “I hope we have another sheet set we can use…” he spoke.

They both looked at each other and laughed.

Azara rested a hand on his cheek. “God that was amazing. You did so well.”

“Really? I thought I was a bit rusty.”

She shook her head. “You were perfect.”

He kissed her hand. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”