#Clothes Stain Removal Service

[canisalbus]

For how much Machete is described by others as off-putting, he really is a beautiful dog. Does Vasco ever tell him so? That his eyes make him look earnest, his fur the most comforting shade of white like cream, the way his ears catch light like stained glass? If someone doesn't tell him so, he'd forever think he was ugliest duckling

I think Vasco definitely tries, sincerely and often, but Machete is very reluctant to accept compliments and positive feedback. Especially if it's about something as personal and innate as his looks.

[pkclaundries]

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[thisgirlnamedblusy]

Hiyya! I had a request of g!p Donna x reader but it’s their first time and it’s very gentle and sweet , I’m a sucker for fluff and smut 🥹 or Donna being very soft and needy, I dig I dig

Yess!!! Here it is!!! Thank you for your request!!! I hope you like it, and sorry about the language mistakes!! :)))

Spend the night

Pairing: Donna Beneviento x Fem! Reader

Warnings: G!P Donna, explicit smut, fluff, insecurities... Minors DNI

Word count: 5,534

Summary: You've decided that you don't want to be just a guest anymore...

N/A: Sorry about the language mistakes!! Donna requests are open!! I love you all :)))) Thanks for reading!!

“And then I told him: If you don't like the portrait, paint it yourself. Surely that nose of yours serves as a brush,” you said, amused.

Donna laughed sheepishly, as usual, shaking her head.

“Is this how you deal with your clients?” She asked with a low voice, always subtle, but with a smile adorning her face.

“Well, yes. At least with those who don't want to pay me,” you stated, playing with the fork.

“You didn't deal with me like that when I went to your study,” the lady in black sighed, taking a sip from her wine glass.

You sighed in amusement, raising your eyebrows.

Your job as a portrait painter didn’t prosper very well in that dark village, but at least it made you earn some money. Thanks to that peculiar job, you met Donna Beneviento. One of the village lords at the service of Mother Miranda herself. Donna was a shy woman, who hid her face behind a black cloth. Apparently, she had run out of the paint she used to decorate those strange porcelain dolls she made.

Donna returned days later, using that same excuse. You knew that it was nothing but an excuse since the Duke confirmed to you that he continued bringing her all those materials. Something had caught her attention about you, and of course, you couldn't help her from catching your attention too.

Donna was a complicated woman, with problems that had no solution. But at the same time, she was kind, shy and very far from what the villagers thought of her. At least she wasn’t that way with you.

The relationship grew naturally. You didn't know exactly why. She didn't usually talk directly to you. The Angie doll always was the speaker of your conversations.

Little by little, that absurd shyness faded until, after she revealed her face to you and you could contemplate her true beauty, you began to have a much more special relationship. The shy kisses and date nights didn't take long to come.

The lady never said that she was your girlfriend or anything like that, but you liked to think that way. As the months passed, you realized that you really were, and you wanted to be her girlfriend.

“Oh, Donna... This is...” you said licking your lips, enjoying, like every time you had dinner together, her amazing talent for cooking. “It's so good that I want to die.”

“Don't talk nonsense, (Y/N)” the lady in black said, with a slightly more serious look.

It's true that you had to be very careful with the things you said. Her mind was damaged, in part due to traumas from her past. Many times you forgot that there were topics that could cause small crises and could cause Donna to lose control. Death was one of those topics.

“Oh, well, I’m sorry,” you said apologetically, lowering your head. “I didn't mean it literally, you know, it's a way of speaking. What I want to say is that I love the way you cook.”

“I... Thank you,” she responded, blushing at the compliment. How could a dangerous woman in Miranda's service blush over something like that? She would never cease to amaze you.

“Scare!” A squeaky voice screeched too close to you, scaring you, making you spill some wine on your new dress, a dress you had bought especially for that romantic dinner.

“Shit! Angie!” You yelled trying to remove the stain from the white fabric.

The doll fled the place laughing childishly, taking refuge behind the living room desk.

“Angie... Please...” Donna whispered, standing up embarrassed, approaching you.

You got up too, ready to revenge, pretending to strangle Angie with your bare hands.

“Come here! Show your face! You little…” You said with anger, but also with a smile. You were more than used to the doll ruining all your dates.

“(Y/N)” Donna interrupted you, placing a soft hand on your shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I'll pay for the dress.”

“What? Oh, come on, no. Don’t worry about it,” you said, brushing it off, gently grabbing her hand on your shoulder, turning to look at her.

Her face relaxed immediately as you got closer to her, taking that opportunity to kiss her softly on the lips, to steal one of those kisses that made you thank fate for having met her.

Unlike the other times you kissed, this time you were much more reluctant to pull away, discovering a part of yourself that you thought would never appear: desire.

Donna withdrew shortly after, smiling tenderly and running a hand over your cheek, with a softness so burning that you thought at any moment the flames would burn your skin.

“Gross!” The doll protested, approaching you timidly. You rolled your eyes and glared at her, causing the puppet to change her path so as not to walk near to you.

“Angie, please. Behave,” Donna demanded, with a tone that betrayed shame and apology, while her hands joined yours and lowered, hanging harmoniously between your bodies.

“Don’t worry, Donna,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Also, I think this color suits the dress well.”

She laughed, kissing you quickly on the cheek and letting your hands go, heading to the table.

“I promise I'll turn her off next time,” she commented as she picked up the dishes. “I'm going... I'm going to pick this up.”

“Do you want me to help you?” You asked politely.

The lady in black shook her head, giving you another of her amazing smiles.

“No, tesoro. You are my guest,” she said affectionately, walking towards the elevator.

“Guest... Great...” You whispered, looking at the wooden floor, unable to help but feel a certain disappointment. It had been a long time. You didn't want to be a guest anymore.

“Silly, silly (Y/N). You're so clumsy, you've put the vine all over your dress,” Angie hummed when you were alone, which made you clench your fists tightly, approaching the puppet in a threatening manner.

“Yes, yes... Laugh while you can, you little devil. Have you heard Donna? Next time she will deactivate you,” you said in her dark voice, causing another of Angie’s loud, mocking laughs.

“You don't scare me,” the doll mocked her.

“Yet...” you said, putting on the most dangerous look you were capable of.

“Stupid, stupid guest,” Angie repeated, dancing happily around you. “Do you want some advice?”

“No,” you said seriously, with a firm tone, looking towards the elevator, waiting for Donna to come back.

“If you want Donna to move, you have to do it yourself. She never will,” the doll said, with a tone that resembled of a confidant friend.

“What? What are you talking about?” You asked, interested in that statement.

“It's just a comment,” she said indifferently, walking away from you when the noise of the elevator doors broke the tension of the moment.

“Do you want me to accompany you home, my love?” Donna asked, approaching you again, holding your hand lovingly.

“To home?”

You could fool yourself and think that leaving was a good idea, but that tender kiss earlier made you think about the things that still needed to be done, about the desire to really love her, even if it embarrassed you.

Donna nodded with a smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, sending a strange shiver through your body.

“Um, well, I... I, I'd like to stay a bit longer if you don't mind. It looks like it's going to rain,” you said shyly.

Donna frowned and tilted her head curiously, looking towards one of the windows and approaching it.

“Rain? I don't think so, honey, it's a splendid night,” she commented, studying the starry sky.

You clenched your fists, not being able to send a hint clear enough for Donna to get it. You knew it was going to be complicated, but you didn't expect it to be so complicated. Maybe it would be a good idea to go home... But on the other hand, you didn't want to do it.

“Now it seems that way and when you least expect it, boom! The storm of the century hits and I end up soaked from head to toe. And it's very likely that I would catch a cold, my body is weak,” you said in a nervous tone, your voice breaking because of the shame you felt for insisting so pathetically.

The lady in black looked at you curiously, as if something inside her mind was screaming for her to react. Donna was still too shy, and too naive. She wasn't used to the pathetic advances of ordinary people.

“You'll agree with me when I have a horrible fever and can't come here to see you,” you said, feigning real concern.

“Oh, okay, I...” Donna said, approaching you again, searching for something in your eyes that she didn't seem to understand. “Wait a moment. I'm going to call the Duke to take you home then.”

“Oh, God,” you sighed when she walked away again, feeling an unbearable helplessness.

“Donna!” Angie screamed, hanging up the phone when the woman picked it up. “Are you blind?”

“What? Angie, stop that,” the lady in black protested. “You're starting to wear out my patience tonight.”

“And you are starting to wear out hers,” the doll responded, crossing her arms after pointing at you.

You opened your eyes and an evil smile spread across your face.

“What? Why you say so?” The doll maker asked, looking at you with fear.

“Silly Donna, silly Donna. (Y/N) wants to spend the night with you. Silly.”

The woman stepped away from the phone, timidly playing with her hands.

“(Y/N)... Is that true? Would you... Would you like...?”

“Um, yes, I would like to,” you said, taking advantage of the unique opportunity that Angie gave you.

“Oh, okay... Okay... Well...” she said, looking away, getting closer little by little, looking for a place to look that wasn't your eyes. “I, I guess that's... Fine.”

“If it's uncomfortable for you, I'll leave,” you said, unsure of her reaction.

“No, no, wait, wait,” Donna interrupted, grabbing your hand as you made a gesture to leave. “I… Well, I would like you to stay.”

“Really?” You asked, not bothering to hide the joy her words provoked, cupping her face in your hands.

She nodded before your lips brushed against hers again, sealing an important deal.

“Okay...” the lady sighed, moving away from your increasingly hot kisses.

“Can you show me your bedroom?” You asked, perhaps with a too seductive tone. You knew that you couldn't be direct with her. You didn't want to be either.

“Oh, of course... I... Well if you're going to sleep with me you'll have to go down and... Of course, of course. You want to know where it is and it makes sense and...” Donna stammered, nervous as you had never seen her before, apart from her involuntary crisis, of course.

You decided to silence her as you knew best, with another of your tender, deep kisses, grabbing her waist and bringing her body closer to yours, demonstrating with your actions that everything was fine, that there was no reason to worry.

“Donna,” you said in a whisper, resting your forehead on hers. “Listen to me.”

She nodded softly, unable to hide the fear on her face.

“I just want to sleep with you,” you said, closing your eyes. “I have no ulterior motives. We won't do anything you don't want to.”

“Oh, well I... It's okay...” The lady in black murmured, sighing in relief.

After a quick kiss, you let yourself be guided to the unknown part underneath the house, a strange and claustrophobic basement. Through several corridors, you arrived at your destination.

“Wow... There are no windows here,” you said, looking at the curious bedroom. It was a dark place for a dark woman. Appropriate.

“I'm sorry. My parents built the house like this,” she apologized, sitting on the bed with trembling hands.

“I didn't mean that I think it's wrong, I'm just looking,” you sighed, rolling your eyes. You joined the woman, sitting next to her.

There was a moment of tense silence, as if neither of you really knew what exactly you were doing there. Donna cleared her throat, shifting nervously in her place.

“(Y/N)” she said with a low voice, almost inaudible.

“Mm?” You murmured, in the middle of your scan of the area.

“I... I want to do it,” she said, grabbing the sheets tightly, pulling them so hard that it seemed like they were going to tear.

“To do what? Oh,” you said, instantly embarrassed. You weren't really thinking about that, you just wanted to move further in the relationship. You couldn't deny that it crossed your mind, but you didn't think she wanted it as much as you. Did she?

“But... But I'm afraid,” she whispered timidly. “I… I… I’ve never…”

“Hey, Donna…” you said, grabbing her hand so she would stop ruining the sheets. “Calm down. I feel the same.”

“You? Have you ever...?”  She asked curiously, suddenly looking at you.

“Well, I really haven’t... You know what? It doesn’t matter,” you said, avoiding acknowledging a truth that embarrassed you. “What… What really matters is that I would like to share that moment with you, but I don't want to force you to do so.”

Donna smiled, shaking her head. You couldn't know what she was thinking, but you knew that she was terribly nervous.

“I just... I just know that... that I love you,” you said, being the first time you verbalized your feelings towards the woman in black. “And I want to live everything with you, I want to truly love you, share my entire life with you.”

“You... You... Do you love me?” She asked, with a wide smile on her face, with a look of genuine excitement.

“Yes,” you said dryly, accompanying her smile.

After a nervous gasp, she launched herself at your lips, kissing you messily, excited by that statement.

“I, I love you too,” Donna said, with a tear sliding down her cheek. The level her emotions reached was surprising. You wondered if she had ever had anyone who said those three words to her. The most logical response made you feel an overwhelming sadness.

“Donna...” you sighed when her caresses returned to your face, while you brushed that annoying tear away from hers, getting lost in her gaze.

Immediately and without warning, she moved away from you, as if something had scared her.

“What's wrong, sweetheart?” You asked, worried about that sudden action.

“There... There is something you don't know about me,” she told you, looking away, with her hands trembling in yours. “I... Well, since... You know... Miranda adopted me... I... Well, no, I haven't been the same... I...”

You interrupted her by putting a finger on her lips, understanding what she wanted to tell you.

“Shh, don't say anything else, honey. I already know it,” you said amused, moving her hands away so she wouldn't squeeze them too hard.

“What? Do you know about..?” She asked startled, breaking free from your hold. You nodded with a dangerous look.

“Do you remember our date at the river? The picnic?”

Donna nodded, blinking repeatedly.

“That day you were quite excited,” You joked, running a hand up her leg. “It seemed like my kisses made you very, very happy… I could feel it. Literally,” you whispered in her ear, making her nervousness increase.

“Oh, well... I'm sorry,” she said shyly, but with a mischievous smile discreetly appearing on her face.

“Don’t be. Everything's fine. I love you just the way you are, Donna… And I still want to take that step with you, if you agree, of course.”

The woman in black nodded just before your kisses caught her again. She responded by deepening hers as well, abandoning the play of her hands to travel directly to your cheek, caressing it gently, keeping your head next to hers, so that your kisses wouldn't dare to stop.

Silence became the main element in that room. There were no more insecurities nor stupid questions or statements, just your kisses traveling, tasting your lips.

You stood apart for a moment, staring at each other, as if trying to communicate without words. With an anxious sigh, you resumed your feat, kissing every spot on her face as you climbed on top of her, your legs on either side of her hips.

Her hands, normally shy and chaste, ran over your back, pushing you closer to her body, traveling down your hips, caressing you as if you were made of porcelain, as if the slightest touch would break you into a thousand pieces.

You couldn't help but gasp at the feeling of being treated this way, like the delicate and precious object you were to her. Your hands rested on her chest, brushing the black fabric of her dress while your mouth continued down her neck, causing a shy gasp and an incipient tension in her body.

“I... I would like…” Donna said, silent, elegant, shy. “I want… I want to look at you. You know, without… Without clothes.”

You opened your eyes and smiled. You didn't know anyone who would be kind enough to ask such a thing, to ask permission even if she knew she didn't need to do it.

“Fine,” you said, giving her one last kiss while her gaze was lost on your body.

Caressing her chest as you stood up, you brought your free hand to the restraints of your wine-ruined dress. The night breeze was present in that closed place. There was no chance the cold air from outside had gotten in there, you figured it was due to nerves. You had never gotten naked in front of someone and although your shyness paled in comparison to Donna's, you couldn't help but feel insecure.

The fabric fell to the floor and you had to fight not to grab it at the last moment and cover yourself. Even though you were afraid to look at Donna, to know what expression her face had, you did. Her smile was delirious, as if she were in a dream. The tension once again led to a rough grip on the sheets, while she tried to say something at the sight of your half-naked body.

“(Y/N)... I have never seen anything as beautiful as you in my entire life,” she sighed, reaching out to grab your wrist and pull you gently, bringing your trembling body closer to her “Your body… Your beauty is so… You are a miracle,” she said before running her fingers over your chest, looking at you from below, not wanting to lose even the slightest detail of what she was seeing.

“You are going to make me blush...” you joked, reassured by the soft touch on your wrist, by the hand that ran up and down your body.

“I'm just saying what I think...” Donna whispered in a sensual way, releasing your wrist and grabbing your body with both hands, pulling it until her lips made contact with the lower part of your chest, planting shy kisses on your skin, raising and lowering her hands so not an inch of your body was left without being worshiped by her.

You gasped at the pleasure of her touch, following your impulse to get back on top of her, climbing up her body as she looked for a way to continue her actions.

The kisses returned to your lips, this time with an incipient need growing between you, with a desire that made you deepen them more and more, feeling like you could almost melt.

“Can I…?” She asked. You didn't understand what she meant until you came to your senses. Those deep kisses had made you forget where you were, or what indecent feats her hands were carrying out. You noticed them right at the closure of your bra, waiting for your response.

“Of course you can...” You whispered in her ear, making something like a moan leave her lips when with a click, the garment released what it contained.

With an elegance that only Donna could have, your bra was removed from your body. Her delicate fingers played with the surroundings of your breasts, not wanting to run, repressing the desire they had to caress them, to feel them...

With a moan, caused by her fingers grazing your nipple, you pushed Donna so her back rested on the bed, staying astride while her desire to caress your entire body grew stronger and stronger.

“Wait,” you said, pushing her chest down, keeping your back straight over her, feeling a pleasurable cramp when you noticed the contact of her arousal with your body. “I think this is unfair.”

“Unfair?” Donna asked, moving to make the friction less unbearable for her.

“Yes...” You whispered, not letting the contact be lost as you ran your hand over her breasts, covered by the black fabric of her dress, perhaps with less care than her, hiding your desire in a pathetic way. “Get naked, Donna. I also want to enjoy your beauty.”

“Well, I...” She said with a shy smile, breathing hard, not being able to take her eyes off your bare chest.

“Don't worry, I'm going to help you,” you said, laughing, going down to her neck to kiss it tenderly, making her hands tense when yours began to get rid of the buttons of her dress.

Her pale skin was revealed to you. She trembled, but she didn’t cease the action of kissing you, caressing you, squeezing a neglected nipple between her fingers, causing an involuntary moan from your lips, a moan that bounced off her bare chest as your lips touched it.

Donna leaned up, letting the sleeves of her dress disappear from her body. Her arms reached for your head, grabbing it carefully, bringing it back to hers and kissing you passionately as she turned you around, switching positions. She was now reigning over you.

“You're beautiful, Donna...” you said when her bra disappeared in the tangle of kisses and caresses that had settled on the bed.

“No, I'm not...” She said, sighing, swallowing as if your words had made her uncomfortable.

“Yes, you are. And if I hear you say something stupid like that again, I'll grab my clothes and leave,” you threatened, catching your breath and grabbing her chin so she couldn't look away.

She laughed, still unsure of the sincerity of your statements.

Your hands ran over her breasts, making her gasp embarrassingly with each touch, with each caress, causing an involuntary movement of her hips, which she repressed by lying on top of you and kissing you in an elegant, delicate way, not wanting to lose that gentleness that made you fall in love, that kind and tender way which she treated you with.

Donna sat up as her hands went further down your body, running along your legs, bringing them closer to her mouth to kiss them carefully, slowly, going higher and higher.

You, taking advantage of her concentration, brought your hands to the edge of her dress, lowering it slowly, moving it away from her body forever.

When you saw for yourself what level of arousal you had caused her, you bit your lip, unable to look away.

“What are you looking at, tesoro?” She asked, amused, continuing her path of kisses along your legs.

“Oh, nothing...” you said amused. “Is it so hard… Just for me?”

“What do you think?” She responded, moving so you couldn't have a clear view of her erection. You knew she was embarrassed, even if it didn't seem like it.

“You’re flattering me,” you whispered, leaning in to kiss her quickly. You couldn't do it the way you wanted, because her hand pushed you, making you lie down on the bed.

“Let me flatter you the way you deserve...” she said in a voice so low that you barely heard it. Maybe she didn't speak so quietly. Maybe your heavy breathing was simply camouflaging it.

Her kisses went higher and higher, reaching the fabric that remained on your skin, separating you from the nakedness.

Donna paused for a moment, looking into your eyes, running a hand over your body; from your collarbone to the lower part of your belly. She seemed to be thinking about something. You didn't want to interrupt her moments of doubt.

“(Y/N), I want to make you feel loved, will you allow me to do so?” She asked, almost pleading, holding the edges of your underwear with her hands.

“Do it,” you said, your voice hoarse from desire, from the unbearable humidity you felt between your legs.

She smiled, lowering her hands slowly, studying the new parts of your body.

“Donna...” You said without meaning to, as if you were already feeling the contact you wanted so much.

That was like a signal to Donna, who went down immediately, kissing your navel and slowly going down to the required place, caressing your legs so that you wouldn't forget that, despite being a lustful act, love was the only thing she felt, and love was what she wanted to make you feel.

Her lips reached that area of ​​your body, delicately passing over your skin, kissing you softly, without revealing her lack of experience.

Her tongue sent an electrical current through your limbs as it made contact with your folds, licking them gently.

“Oh...” You moaned, letting yourself fall back, closing your eyes as you felt that pleasure so unknown to you, and to her. “Donna…”

She moaned into your body, without ceasing her feat, sucking just where you needed it, joining one of her hands to that mischief, separating what could bother her actions and touching and stimulating your clit carefully.

After a few moments of unmatched pleasure, your body tensed. Surely she thought adding a finger to the fun would be a good idea. It wasn't. Noticing how her finger entered only caused you to completely lose your self-control.

“You are delicious, my love...” Donna said, satisfied with how she had made you feel, continuing to caress you up and down, playing with your moisture on her fingers.

“Come here,” you said with a serious tone, pulling her wrist so you could kiss her and notice your own taste in her mouth.

After some messy kisses, the excitement returned to your body. You lay down on the bed, head resting on the pillow, dragging Donna by her hand so she was on top of you again, right between your legs.

Among the mess of your kisses, your hands became themselves again, reaching for Donna’s underwear, which was having serious problems hiding what the woman was ashamed of. You didn't want to wait any longer, and, above all, you didn't want to make her wait any longer. She had been kind, delicate, gentle with you. It was time to return the favor.

“Tesoro... I...” She said pulling away from your kisses as her erection was released from its prison. “I want I want…”

“Shh, don't talk...” you said, drowning her words with another deep kiss, as your hands brought her body closer to yours, making her dick meet your entrance for the first time.

“(Y/N)... I'm so...” She said trembling, moaning at the contact. “You are, you are perfect… your… Your body… I need… I want…”

“I said not to talk, darling,” you said jokingly, rocking your hips to increase the friction, causing a lustful gasp to echo off the walls of the room.

“Please... don’t, don't play with me. I need you...” Donna said, starting to sound terribly desperate.

Maybe you were trying to buy some time to get used to the idea of doing it, of Donna being the first. You wanted her to be the last too. Your shame could not come to light. If she knew for a moment how nervous you were, she would have stopped.

“Okay, Donna, make me yours but...” You said, avoiding her gaze, something she prevented by moving your chin slightly, searching your features for the shadow of doubt or insecurity.

“But...” She repeated, with the tremors of her body evidencing her anxious need.

“Be gentle with me, will you?” You asked, closing your eyes to drown out your fearfulness.

“Honey... I would never dare to treat you any other way,” she said, sighing, kissing you briefly, but tenderly, before checking for the last time that you were sure of that. “Are you ready?”

“Are you?” You asked back, laughing amused, noticing how her body pressed against yours desperately.

“No,” Donna responded, laughing and shaking her head before kissing you again as her hand moved down to place her length at your entrance.

Little by little the tip made its way through your moisture, entering you little by little. The feeling was much more overwhelming than you thought. You had already gotten the idea that it was going to hurt. It didn't worry you, although you couldn't help but make a strange face as she went deeper and deeper.

“Am I hurting you? Do you want me to stop?” Donna asked, her eye radiating concern, pausing her slow, respectful movements.

“No, don't stop, please...” you said immediately, caressing her cheek, shaking your hips, which made Donna moan at the contact.

“I don’t want to hurt you. I'm going to do it slower this time,” the lady whispered, holding your hand lovingly as she introduced her penis deeper and deeper.

“Oh, wow... It's... It's big,” you said, letting your body get used to the intrusion. She looked at you bewildered.

“I'm sorry,” she said apologetically, positioning herself better so that you both were more comfortable. You couldn't help but laugh.

“Oh, are you sorry? You must be the only one in the whole world who apologizes for something like that,” you said amused, closing your eyes, noticing how her body was dying to move inside you.

“Can I move? Please,” she asked you kindly, running her hands over your hips. You nodded, thus beginning a slow, soft rhythm, accompanied by kisses on your chest, on your shoulders, accompanied by her soft but anxious moans.

“It feels... So good...” Donna said with a brusque tone, with a marked accent that revealed that she was losing control of her emotions, in a good way, of course.

“Yes...” you moaned, unable to process all the pleasure you were feeling. Your walls stretched, adapting to her body in an almost prodigious way.

Your bodies were united, melted in a warm embrace. The soft, rhythmic movements of her hips followed yours. You were crazy with pleasure, you moaned like you never thought you would.

Donna was gentle, just as you asked. She gave you the time you needed, moving only when your hips told her to.

You couldn't believe how close you were to ecstasy.

Letting your desire control your actions, you wrapped your arms around her head, leaning down until you were on top of her again, her arms holding you, hugging you, her nails digging into your skin.

You moved your hips to give her pleasure. The sensation in your body was pleasant, you felt her inside of you. You felt you were hers.

 Donna kissed you quickly, holding back most of her moans. Her rhythm was still gentle, but the tremor you felt at your entrance told you that she wanted to get out of control. You weren't going to stop.

“Donna... Please... I'm so close…” you whispered into her ear, hissing when her nails dug into your back again.

“Me… Me too. I don't think I can hold it anymore...” she gasped, grunting with pleasure, letting your hips act on their own, increasing the speed with which she moved inside you.

“Don't stop, Donna... I'm so, so close...” you said, clinging to her body, dancing on her hips.

“Honey, I'm going to...” she said just before hugging you tightly, pressing you even closer against her body. You could feel her release inside you, her wet heat filling you, sending that familiar cramp through your limbs that made your entire body tense as a guttural moan joined hers.

“You know what, Donna?” You asked after catching your breath, getting into the bed next to her, still naked, still euphoric from the pleasure of your first time.

“Mm?” She murmured, stroking your hair, keeping your head on her bare chest.

“I would like to spend many more nights like this,” you said, rubbing your face against her skin, trying not to forget all the unique sensations she had caused to you.

“Maybe... Maybe you'd like... you know... Well, I've seen your house and it's quite small and damp,” Donna said, avoiding your gaze, making you smile and sigh.

"Yes, Donna, I want to live here with you," you said, sitting up to look at her face.

“Well, that's what I was going to ask you,” she said nervously, caressing your cheek.

“Great, deal then. Can I ask you something else?”

“What do you want, tesoro?” She asked curiously.

“Can you hold me, please?”

Donna laughed, lying down.

“I would spend my life holding you next to me.”

[dino-boyo-agere]

Fun sensory play to do when your smol/ with your little one:

.･｡ﾟ×ﾟ���ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ×ﾟ｡･*.ﾟ.✧.ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ×ﾟ｡･*.ﾟ☆ﾟ×ﾟ｡･.

1. Eating with your hands:

Especially food you would usually use utensils for is a really fun sensory experience. Just make sure to wear clothes that are allowed to get dirty and protect rugs & furniture.

My favorite are melons. Just cut whatever kind of melon you prefer in half, lay out a tarp on the floor/ table and dig in with your hands.

Pasta with tomato sauce or rice are really great to make a mess too!

2. Brushing you plushies, or your pet if u have one:

You could also brush your own/ a friends/ your CG's/ your little one's hair, which can be great for bonding! <3

It's super easy and I find the feeling of brushing hair/ fur extremely relaxing and comforting.

3. Playing with shaving foam:

It has a really soft feeling, is available in all kinds of scents and is great to play with in the bathroom or wherever you're able to rinse everything with water.

I like to play with it in the garden, I just wear my swimming trunks and cover my whole body in the foam, in the summer.

4. Playing with baby powder:

I'd advise to also do this in the bathroom or over a tarp, stuff gets everywhere.

It's fun to cover your body in the soft, comforting smelling powder and it's easily washable from skin and clothes.

If it ends of in the floor/ carpet/ furniture it can be removed with a vacuum.

5. Filling a tub/ bucket with different things to dig your hands into it:

This is a pretty easy and fast little sensory play, just pick whatever interesting texture you want and throw it in.

My favorites are: crumbled up/ shredded paper, sand, ping-pong balls, soft blankets, and cotton balls

6. Making playdough:

Making playdough is really easy and a fun sensory experience.

You basically only need 5 ingredients and are free to add any color and scent you'd like! → here is a recipe ←.

Make sure to lay out cling wrap on the surface you'll be working on and wear clothes that are allowed to get stained, food coloring is hard - sometimes impossible - to remove from certain services/ fabrics.

Also be aware that the food coloring will most likely stain your skin and nails for a few days, from mixing it in. You can wear gloves to prevent that, but that also lessenes the sensory experience.

All ingredients are safe to eat, since little ones can be very curious. If you choose to add scents, make sure to use food safe ones, in case you/ your little one decides to eat it.

.･｡ﾟ×ﾟ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ×ﾟ｡･*.ﾟ.✧.ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ×ﾟ｡･*.ﾟ☆ﾟ×ﾟ｡･.

That's all I can think of right now, feel free to add your own ideas too! I might add more later aswell.

Thank you for reading. <3

.ﾟ｡.･.*.ﾟ☆❗only interact if your blog is SFW���☆ ﾟ.*.･. ｡ﾟ.

[doomhands-jr]

The Devil's Advocate - Chapter 12

Pairing: Delinquent!Noah Sebastian X Pastor's Daughter!Reader

Summary: Noah is a delinquent with a lot of anger at the church. You're a pastor's daughter plagued by moral perfectionism, charged with overseeing the community service he's been sentenced to complete. You've never encountered true temptation before. How will you fare up against Noah, who not only isn't bound by the same rules of purity as you, but actively scoffs at them?

Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Nothing but fluff, baby.

Masterlist

Thanks to @flowerynerds for the banner!

Thanks to @throughwoodsanddirt for the beta!

___________

The New England winters tended to hone its inhabitants like an axe against a grindstone, sloughing off the weaker bits until you were left with only the hardest, sharpest edges of the soul. 

The anticipated nor’easter was due to hit sometime in the next few days. Local newscasters said it was likely to be severe. Currently, it was the calm before the storm. The weather was still, like all the substance had been sucked out of the air so the storm could dump it out again once it hit. 

On the ground, gray-stained slush clung to sidewalks and frozen lawns, still leftover from last week’s snowfall. The bitter December air stung at your nostrils and turned the tip of your nose red, and Noah Davis’s hot breath drifted out of his open mouth in billowing clouds as he looked down at you from where he stood in his door frame. 

It was early morning—three days after you’d spoken with Nick. The western edge of town had all but cleared out, having been comprised mostly of students, who had all gone home for the month-long winter break. 

Noah sniffed, blinking down at you and you cleared your throat. 

“I, um…I have your stuff.” 

You held out the clothes he’d let you borrow, freshly washed and folded, stacked neatly in a pile on top of your mittens. 

Noah stepped to the side and gestured for you to enter, which you did, apprehensively. Something about being in his space felt off-limits to you, yet he welcomed you in without hesitation. 

Briefly, you surveyed the space before you. A worn sofa and two overstuffed armchairs surrounded a stained coffee table littered with empty beer cans, paper plates, and ashtrays with the spent butts of cigarettes and, you suspected, joints. 

The mess was contained to the coffee table, however. The rest of the living room was fairly clean. A large-screen TV sat atop a dark glass stand. An array of gaming consoles and controllers decorated the shelves below it. It was off, and you could see a shadow of your reflection in the black glass of the screen. 

Noah cleared his throat and you spun around to look at him. He regarded you with intention, surveying you up and down, but his face didn’t betray whatever information he gathered from the act.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asked. 

“I’m good,” you said, and immediately regretted it because it wasn’t until after you spoke that you realized how dry your throat had become. “Water, actually.” 

He let out a breath somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle, moving to the open-concept kitchen space to fetch a glass out of the cupboard. “Have a seat,” he called over to you without looking. 

You took a seat on the brown tweed couch, shrugging off your coat and removing your mittens, and bundled them into a neat pile on your lap. 

The acrid smell of stale cigarettes stung the inside of your nose and you discreetly nudged the ash tray across the coffee table. 

Noah appeared at the other side of the table, a glass of water clasped in his outstretched arm and you took it gratefully, working hard not to look at him too much. 

Though this wasn’t the first time you’d seen him since your one and only sexual experience, it was still a shock to your system. Noah stood in front of you, looking regrettably Jesus-like with his long hair cascading down his shoulders. His clothes were unassuming—gray hoodie and black jeans, but they fit him effortlessly well. 

He took his seat on the armchair to your left, legs about six inches too long to fit comfortably between the chair and the end of the coffee table. He rubbed his shins, friction offering more warmth than the sputtering vents and the furnace that whined in protest. Even your ancient dorm with its concrete brick walls could stay warmer than the drafty rental Noah and the band called home. 

You noticed a distinct absence of sound or movement in the house. 

“Just you today?” you asked. 

“Folio and Ruffilo went home for the holidays,” he said, settling back into his chair and sipping from a mug of black coffee. 

You didn’t need to ask why he wasn’t doing the same—with all the baggage he carried from his family, you’d be surprised if they even exchanged Christmas cards. 

You bounced your knee, knowing there was a conversation to be had, but not wanting to approach it. 

“I’m surprised you’re still in town,” he remarked. 

This time you chanced a look at him. The coffee mug obscured part of his face, but his eyes still held the same intensity they always had. 

“My parents are on a missions trip in Africa,” you said. 

He quirked his head to the side, forehead wrinkling in confusion, and something about the crease between his eyebrows had you looking away again, too overstimulated by your own attraction to him. This was going to be harder than you thought. 

“What’s a mission trip?” he asked. 

“Missions trip,” you corrected. “It’s where groups of people go and build schools and stuff in small towns that don’t have enough resources.” You said this into your glass of water, thankful for something you could anchor your focus on. 

“That’s pretty sick, actually.” 

“Yeah,” you said, taking a sip to quell the tightness in your throat. “Yeah, I mean, it’s all sort of religiously-motivated though. The real reason is to spread Christianity.” 

You almost felt his face twist with displeasure. Glancing over at him confirmed it. He didn’t say anything though. He didn’t need to. You understood what that look was about and you felt the same. 

A few awkward moments passed while you tried to think of anything you could say that wasn’t the one thing you came here to say. 

“How were your finals?” Noah asked, coming to your rescue. 

“Good,” you answered too quickly in a rush of air. You cleared your throat and forced your next words to come out at a more conversational pace. “They were good. I think I passed all of them.” 

If Noah noticed anything off about your energy, he didn’t let on. Instead, he smiled. “I’m not surprised.” 

You gave him a questioning look. 

“You’re really smart,” he explained, setting his coffee on the table in front of him, sans coaster, “and you seem like the type of person to study hard.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair while he said it, resting his chin on the palm of his other hand. 

You smiled back because he’d clocked you. “Does that make me boring?” you asked, finally relaxing into the usual back-and-forth of your conversations with Noah. 

His smile grew wider, and you were stuck by just how sharp the corners of his mouth were. “I don’t think it does. I mean, if that was all there was to you, it might, but you have more layers than that.” 

“Like an ogre,” you said. 

His face fell and he blinked, waiting for you to explain. 

“From Shrek.” 

“Get out.” 

Your composure cracked, and through the fissure erupted a fit of giggles, surface tension finally breaking into something warm and homey. Noah snickered and at last, the shields were down—both of you disarmed and ready for what lay ahead. 

It took several moments for the energy in the room to settle where it needed to be. When it finally did, you regarded Noah with your full attention for the first time since arriving. 

He looked tired. The light bags that usually hung around just under his eyes had deepened into something sadder. Patchy stubble dotted his chin and upper lip, and his hair looked stringy and unwashed. 

“So,” he began, drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. 

“So,” you parroted. 

In the span of a few seconds, the air around you folded in on itself and grew twice as thick—dense with unspoken sentiments and the possibilities for what could come out of this conversation. 

He fixed you with a serious look, assessing your demeanor before speaking again. You’d been on the other end of that look before, but every time it happened, it struck you just how large and intimidating Noah’s presence was. 

“Should we talk about it?” he asked. 

You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning back in your seat. When you opened them again, you were staring at the ceiling. “No….” 

You heard Noah huff a laugh through his nostrils. That was good. At least he was amused by your discomfort. Without lowering your head, you shifted your eyes over in his direction. He smiled at you, and it took the edge off. 

“I promise I won’t make this any harder than it has to be.” You appreciated the gentle tone he took—a nurse soothing his patient before administering a shot. 

You said nothing, but no longer protested. He took it as his cue to go on. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

You exhaled deep. “I know,” you replied, unable to look anywhere but your hands. His apology didn’t make you feel any better about what happened. It was more for him. 

“I know you know,” he said. “But I want to explain why.” 

It was already too much. You squeezed your eyes shut and blinked them back open. You hated everything about this situation. “Why you ghosted?” 

“Why I’m sorry,” he said. 

You looked at him with trepidation. He had your attention, but you were still wary and unsure if you wanted to hear what he was about to say. You almost hated yourself for being stupid enough to give him the chance to apologize. 

If he got it wrong it would feel like reopening a wound. 

He took a deep breath. Somewhere behind his eyes, an unnamed heaviness settled in and you had to look away. The last thing you wanted to do was empathize with the man who hurt you.  

“I’m not the best communicator,” he began slowly. 

“Ya’ think?” You couldn’t stop the sarcasm from slipping out. His face went from soft and patient to something more frustrated.  

“Sorry,” you muttered. 

He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat before he resumed. “Things like honesty and vulnerability? They were weaknesses in my book for a long time. I could go into detail about why, but that’s not really important.

“What’s important now is that you know that I’m trying. I understand that I fucked up. I hate that I did it. I wish I wasn’t that person, but it’s a shortcoming that I’m learning to deal with.” 

“I also hate that you fucked up,” you said, matter-of-factly. You didn’t say it to hurt him, but it was true, and it was important to you that you no longer filtered your thoughts to protect his feelings. 

Noah, being Noah, saw the humor in your statement and huffed. “Your honesty is refreshing. If not a little cold,” he said. A half-smile painted his face and God, if you didn’t want to slap it off him so that you’d no longer have to look at it. 

Letting his face fall neutral again, he continued. “You’re not the first important person that I’ve hurt because of this,” he said. “But hurting you did force me to pay attention to how that feels, and I don’t like it. I’m tired of being an asshole, and I think, moving forward, I want to be more honest. Not just with you, but with myself. I think I’ve been fooling myself for a long time about what’s important to me, and I’m starting to realize those things don’t make me happy.” 

You resisted the urge to ask him what things he was talking about. You wanted to break out of the habit of giving him more attention than he’d earned. That had always been a problem for you with men, and you suspected it was what got you into this mess in the first place. 

You could see on his face that he almost expected you to ask him more, and when you didn’t, he faltered for a moment. “Good,” you said with a nod. 

He deflated, but ultimately melted into a smile. “Thanks,” he said. You could tell he meant it, and holy bricks, did that have you softening more for him against your will. 

A warmth blossomed between the two of you, slowly at first, but it grew with each passing moment. You could feel it in your bones, and despite your best intentions, you caught yourself smiling. 

You didn’t want Noah to have this pull over you. You couldn’t tell if you were relieved that he’d done a good job with his apology, or resentful because it would have been so much easier to write him off had he failed. 

“Was there anything else you wanted to talk about?” you asked, ready to be done with the conversation for the time being and beyond grateful it hadn’t stemmed into more intimate territory—you didn’t think you could handle that. 

“How are you?” he asked. “I feel like so much has happened since we last talked.” 

“Ha!” you said. “You could say that again.” 

Noah leaned back in his chair, shifting his weight to make himself more comfortable. “Tell me about it. Do you want to get some food? I’d love to catch up.” 

“Maybe another time,” you said, with only the slightest twinge of regret. It was for the best. “I’ve got laundry to do.” 

It was a lie. You had nothing to do, but as much as you wanted to spend more time with him, your intuition was telling you to go, and you’d promised yourself you’d start listening more. Something inside of you wasn’t ready to be alone with him for much longer. 

“I understand,” he said, voice dipping in enthusiasm, but clearly respectful of your boundaries. “What about tomorrow?” 

You didn’t have an excuse ready—the knee-jerk denial didn’t kick in at the idea. Perhaps that was a sign? 

“I…I can’t commit for sure, but I’ll think about it.” 

He seemed satisfied with your answer, offering a smile that was a little too sincere for you to handle and you had to get out of the room before you lost all sense of self. 

“Okay. See you around,” you said quickly, shuffling to grab your backpack and swing it around onto your shoulder while nearly tripping over the coffee table on your way to the door. 

Noah didn’t chase you—you knew he was going to give you whatever space you needed in order to be ready for him. 

And that might have been what scared you most. 

------------

The tip of Noah’s nose almost touched the mirror with how close he was leaning over the bathroom sink. He’d been dealing with a very stubborn ingrown hair in a painful spot right under his nostrils. It was angry and red, but it hadn’t quite come to a head yet. 

Perfect. Just what he needed. 

He leaned back to get a better macro view of himself. The spot was definitely visible, but he was more than likely fixating on the small flaw. He couldn’t help it though—he was nervous. 

Letting his gaze drift over the rest of his face, he noticed he’d missed a spot while shaving. Fetching his razor from the shelf in his bathroom cabinet, he ran it under water and brought it to his face, moving it slowly around his jaw. 

Fuck! 

He nicked the skin. 

At first there was nothing, but then red began to seep out from the tiny cut and Noah had to grab a tissue and dab at the small drop of blood that had gathered around the wound. 

Steadying himself with a deep breath, he grasped at the porcelain sink with both hands before facing the mirror once again. 

This was stupid. He was stupid. You were just someone he liked. There was no reason for him to be so on edge. This wasn’t even a real date, you were just meeting up for coffee. 

Exhaling slowly through his nostrils, he brought the razor to his face once again, this time successfully removing the hair he missed. He finished up with moisturizer, giving one last menacing look at the angry red zit above his upper lip and recognized that it was a lost cause. There was nothing he could do about it now. 

He reached for the bottle of spiced oil he usually wore and then thought better of it. This was a special occasion. He had a small sample bottle of designer cologne tucked away in the back of his sock drawer. Normally he wasn’t the type to reach for expensive brand names, but he was nineteen at the time and he liked the way it smelled, so he shoplifted it from an outlet mall that wasn’t smart enough to keep their shit in locked displays.  

Noah smiled bitterly at the memory. He’d done a lot of stupid shit in his youth. He supposed he was still in his youth, because hardly four months had passed since his last petty crime—the one that had led him to meet you. 

He understood why he did it all. But lately the desire to act out wasn’t there, and he didn’t know why. 

Perhaps these days, there was a greater incentive to earn his joy. He no longer needed to steal it. 

Dabbing a small amount of the cologne on his pulse points, he stuffed it back in the drawer and shut it away. He could reflect on his shifting morality later. Right now, he needed to figure out what he was going to wear. 

________

Noah exhaled into his palms, warm breath serving to heat up the red, frozen extremities. It was a short walk to your dorm, but the air was bitingly cold and the snow was already ankle-deep. The storm was due to hit sometime within the next 24 hours, but he still had some time before the sidewalks grew too treacherous to walk. He wore the nicest outerwear he owned—a black pea coat and pair of black leather boots, but they were no match for the harsh December cold. 

He raised his hand and rapped three times on your dorm. 

He heard momentary shuffling on the other side before you opened the door in a flurry. The first thing he noticed was the light dusting of pink across your cheeks and the way your chest heaved with labored breathing. Try as he did to keep his eyes focused on your face, he let them drop for only a moment to take in the sight of you in your plain white top and faded denim jeans. 

You looked clean, comfortable, and unassuming, and for some unknown reason, it did things to Noah. 

“Hi,” you breathed and all at once, the moisture in Noah’s mouth evaporated, leaving a dry, scaly desert in its place. One hundred percent of his brain power was devoted to taking in the sight of you until it was satisfied that it had catalogued every inch of your presence. 

“Hi,” he said once his speech returned. His voice came out softer than intended. 

“You ready?” you asked, grabbing your coat from the back of the door. He tried to peek inside your dorm room—wanted badly to glean any additional knowledge of who you were when you weren’t with him, but you didn’t afford him the chance, stepping out and shutting the door behind you in one swift motion. 

“Yeah,” he replied, and then he didn’t say anything else because he’d apparently never had a single conversation in his life and had no idea how to begin one. 

You and Noah walked in silence, boots leaving two pairs of footprints in the snow. You wrapped your arms around you as you walked, and Noah noticed you wore mittens instead of gloves. He liked it. He liked that you wore mittens instead of gloves and it stuck out to him because he couldn’t remember ever liking any article of clothing worn by a woman that wasn’t about what wasn’t covered.

You observed the surroundings while Noah observed you, every once in a while commenting on a specific tree or building you liked, pointing to it with a mittened hand and Noah briefly wondered if there was a limit to how much time he could observe you being yourself before he got bored. He hoped he’d never reach it.  

“What’s up with you today?” you asked as the two of you rounded the corner that led to the coffee shop. “You’re quiet.” 

“Sorry,” he said casually. “Would you like me to talk more?” 

It wasn’t sarcastic, but a genuine question, asked in the way a server would if they found out their customer didn’t enjoy the meal. Did you want him to bring something more appetizing to the table? 

“No,” you said, looking down at your boots. “I just…want to know what’s on your mind.” 

The only thing on his mind was how physically aware of you he was. To ease the tension that had been pulling on his bones, he took a step closer to you. He wanted so badly to reach out and touch you in some way—grab your hand or throw his arm around you or something—but he refrained.  “Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Just vibing.” 

You rolled your eyes, sighing as the two of you reached the entrance to the coffee shop and you pulled on the large brass door handle, gesturing for him to enter first. “Well, I take back what I said earlier then,” you said. “I do want you to talk more. I’m doing all the heavy lifting.” 

Noah smiled, tickled by how unapologetically honest you were. He liked this version of you. Not that he didn’t like every version of you he’s had the privilege of knowing, but something was different. You were less eager to please him. Almost like you wielded the sharper parts of your personality as a weapon, testing to see if its sting would scare him away. 

It wouldn’t. 

“What do you want to do after you graduate?” he asked as the two of you made your way to the counter. 

“Just jumping right in, then? No warmup?” you asked. Noah shrugged. “Grande cinnamon vanilla latte, please.” you said to the barista. 

“Medium black coffee,” said Noah. 

Noah was reminded of the first time the two of you went to this café together. You were wearing the same rubber boots and Noah was doing his best to flirt with you. He smiled to himself and pulled out his card to pay. You let him without protesting. Good. You knew you deserved it. 

“I’m not sure anymore, to be honest,” you said as the two of you slid over to the pickup window. “I used to think I would work at the church my dad owned. Be office personnel or something.” 

“That doesn’t seem like you,” Noah observed. 

You shrugged. “It was the obvious choice at the time. My parents both believe I belong in the ministry in some regard.” 

“Would you be a pastor one day?” Noah asked.

You let out a loud, bitter laugh. “I don’t think our church would ever be ready for female leadership. It’s so old-school.”

Noah frowned. He didn’t like hearing that. In his opinion, you’d make a much better pastor than any other religious person he’s met. You actually practiced what you preached. 

“So what do you think you’ll do instead?” he asked, trying to shift the subject away from religion. He got the feeling that those wounds were still fresh for you. 

You shrugged. “To be honest, I haven’t put much thought into it. I know I should, but so much has changed in the last few weeks—I’m still kind of wrapping my head around it.” 

“I get it,” he said, reaching to pick up the drink orders that had arrived. You led the way over to a small two-person table in corner of the otherwise empty café. Noah followed dutifully, trying his best to express with every single movement how completely present he was here with you. He was sure you didn’t notice, but that wasn’t the point. For him, it was about the intention. 

“You do?” you asked, sitting down. Noah sat across from you and indulged in a moment of unapologetic eye contact. 

“Mhmm,” he nodded. “I mean, not that I’m experiencing it or anything, but I know that when it comes to big decisions like that, I need a clear head. If there’s too much stuff going on in my life at one time, I don’t have the headspace to think about it.” 

Some of the tension in your shoulders slackened—not by much, but he was so hyper-aware of you by that point that he couldn’t miss it. He wanted to think it was because of him. 

Rather than responding, you sipped at your latte, closing your eyes and savoring it. He took another indulgent moment—this time, to observe how your face responded to the small moment of pleasure. It was almost sexual, he noticed, the way you tucked your lips between your teeth and smiled. He appreciated that this moment was clearly for you, but that you allowed him to witness it. 

His mind drifted, picturing himself drawing that same response from you with his touch. A hot coil tugged just behind his navel. Saliva pooled on his tongue and his thumb twitched with the urge to reach out and tug your bottom lip away from where it sat tucked under your teeth—until he caught himself. Lusting after you felt forbidden in a way he hadn’t allowed lust to feel since middle school. 

Noah sipped at his coffee, eyes trained on you until you were finished squeezing all the serotonin out of the taste. It was bitter, but in a good way—like he needed a palate cleanser to shock his system after the sickening sweetness of the last few moments. 

“What about you?” you asked eventually. “Are you planning to stay at your job?” 

“No,” he said. “The job is there to pay the bills while I try to find something else.” 

It had become apparent that he’d have to find something else sooner rather than later. As much as the piece work gave him time to think, all of the repetitive motion was taking its toll on his body. He came home at the end of every shift with back pain on his left side and he’d been having to spend more and more time in the gym evening it out. 

“What would something else be?” you asked, eyes trained on him and his neck grew warm under the intense observation. 

“I want my music to take off, if possible,” he said. “I’ve been working on a lot of new stuff. Actually, I’d love to show you sometime if you want.” 

“What kind of stuff?” you asked before taking another slow sip. 

“Different from what I usually write. More experimental. I like it, but I haven’t shown the band, so I’m not sure what they’ll think.” 

You nodded slowly, mulling something over in your head and Noah waited patiently while you found your words. 

“I think…,” you began. “I think I’d be okay with hearing it. If you wanted to share, that is.” 

Noah blinked a few times. “I mean, yeah. I’d love to share it with you, but why the hesitation?” 

You smiled bashfully, full lips still wrapped around the edge of your cup. “It’s hard to explain. And it sounds mean.” 

“Please humor me,” said Noah in earnest. He liked when you were mean. You deserved to be mean. He had a sneaking suspicion that you’d only ever been overly nice in the past and the more you dropped the façade and stopped worrying about being polite, the more he enjoyed your company. 

You licked your lips, staring down into your mug and smiled to yourself again. “I’m trying to be careful with how much attention I’m giving to men these days.” 

“Oh.” The word escaped in a breath from Noah’s parted lips. His eyebrows lifted up towards his hairline and he had to take a minute to digest this bit of information. 

Something that felt a lot like jealousy flared up in his stomach and he had to examine it. He didn’t like it, whatever it was. It felt hot, slimy, and thick, and it sat just below his ribs. 

“Other men too?” He couldn’t help but ask for clarification. Perhaps he was showing his cards by bringing it up, but he didn’t care. 

The way the corner of your mouth lifted in response to his question let him know that you caught on to the implications of his question. “If there were other men, yes.” 

“So there are no other men,” he stated, feeling a flicker of hope rise up in his chest. 

“They’ve all gone home for Christmas break.” The teasing smile never left your lips as you said it. 

Fine. You could play your cards close to the chest if you wanted. He was fine with that. Whatever. 

He liked it though. Underneath the frustration, he liked this version of you: empowered, a little bitchy, tongue like a whip, lashing him in penance for his sins. The sick, masochistic side of him wanted more. Needed more. [4] 

He took a deep breath to help him refocus. “So why the newfound caution? Not that I’m against it, it’s probably a good idea. But why?” 

You raised an eyebrow, wordlessly asking if he really wanted to get into it, and he did, so he held your gaze until you decided to grace him with the truth. 

“I think I’ve given men a lot of unearned attention. It’s come back to bite me many times over. I’m trying to learn my lesson this time.” 

Noah nodded. He knew he was one of the reasons. He was prepared to hear that. But then… 

“What other times have you done that?” 

You tilted your chin down, narrowing your eyes in skepticism. “You mean aside from you?” you asked. 

He couldn’t help but smile, appreciating how resistant he was growing to the sting of your candor. You weren’t afraid to let him know just how much he’d messed up. 

He nodded. 

Your eyes flicked up to the ceiling while you thought. You sucked on your teeth while your gaze drifted across the room, picturing invisible figures from your past and the moments they’ve wronged you. 

“My dad, for one.” 

He was hoping you’d say that one. 

“How?” Noah scooted forward in his chair, elbows resting on the table between the two of you. Part of him was eager to know how his fuckup had fared in comparison to other men in your life.

“Even just listening to him preach every single Sunday. Sometimes the sermons would be worthwhile, but a lot of them were just him spouting his opinions on how people should behave. I don’t like that he has the platform he has. He doesn’t deserve it.” 

Your face had morphed into a scowl as you talked. Noah could see the resentment you held for your father and he wished there was something he could do—some word of comfort he could offer, but he knew it wasn’t his place, considering. 

“Isaac, too,” you said, and Noah rejoiced internally. He’d been hoping you’d say that even more.

“What did he do?” Noah asked, training his face and voice to appear calm and unbiased. 

“Oh my god,” you said, setting your cup down in front of you and clasping your hands together with a newfound focus. “I forgot you don’t even know!” 

“Know what?” 

“Isaac donated the proceeds of the showcase to a pro-life organization.” 

Noah had to force himself to swallow the sip of coffee he’d just taken. “What?!” 

You launched into the story, telling him all about how you’d been lured into participating because he’d said he wanted to donate the proceeds to charity, and how he’d been respectful the entire time, despite knowing how you felt about the subject. How he didn’t tell you about it beforehand because he knew you’d protest, so he went and did it behind your back, and how you didn’t find out until right before you were supposed to go on stage and sing. 

“Which I rocked, by the way, and you totally should have been there to see it,” you said, crossing your arm and fixing him with a scowl. 

“Something came up. I’ll have to make it up to you somehow,” he said. He didn’t have the heart to tell you he’d gone, but was too much of a coward to go inside the sanctuary. 

“Yeah, I know. That Something apparently lives in my dorm and had a lot to say.” 

Noah’s eyebrows pulled together. “What?” 

Apparently he’d struck a nerve. Within the span of a second, you were back to being closed off from him, arms folded across your chest and chin jutting out while you stared out the window. He probably deserved that. 

“I forget her name. Madison or whatever,” you said. 

Internally, his body hissed at him. He forgot he’d been trying to use Madison as a distraction. He hated that he’d done it, but at the time it felt necessary. He wasn’t sure how he could explain that to you, though. 

“So yeah,” you said. “I’m done with men for a while,” you said, still staring out the window and bouncing the leg that was crossed over the other. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m really sorry,” he said. “I should have been there. It was…not my best hour.” 

He could tell you wanted more of an explanation, but weren’t about to beg for one. He’d tell you what really happened eventually…just not yet. 

 “What can I do to earn your favor?” he asked. 

“Be worth my time.” You said it without missing a beat and Noah had to hold back a snort. He was not expecting such a no-holds-barred answer from you and it hit him like a bucket of…not exactly ice water, but something warmer. Kinder. You were giving him the information he needed, unafraid of whether or not it would hurt his feelings. God, there was something about that he couldn’t get enough of. 

“Noted,” he said. “Still, I can’t believe Isaac did that.” 

“Yeah, well…,” you trailed off, mouth still pulled down into a frown. A few beats passed where neither of you said anything, and in the silence, Noah realized what he had to do.

He drained the rest of his coffee, then stood up and collected his things. 

“I should get you home then,” he said. 

Your face morphed into one of surprise. “What?” Noah wished he could take a photo of how you looked right then. Lips parted in bewilderment. Eyebrows pulled together in confusion. It was cute. 

“Your time is precious,” he said. “I don’t want to take up more than I’m worth.” 

“That’s not…are you serious?” you asked, turning to face him. He was already setting his empty mug in the dirty dish bin at the end of the counter. He turned back to face you and nodded to the door, gesturing for you to follow. 

You dumped the remainder of your latte into your mouth and stood, shoving your arms into your coat and hurrying to catch up. “What’s the rush?” you asked. 

“Trying to respect your time,” he said, smiling to himself as you struggled to match his pace. 

“Noah,” you said firmly, grabbing his arm and turning him around to face you. You didn’t say anything else but studied him with your jaw set firm. 

He stared back, face calm, but unyielding. The wind picked up, blowing a few strands of hair across your face. The skin at the back of his neck stood on end in the cold. His nose began to run, and he sniffed it back. 

“Why are you doing this?” you asked. In the back of his mind, he registered your hand still wrapped around his arm. 

“I just got back into your good graces,” he admitted. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”  “Overstay? Noah, we’ve only been hanging out for an hour.” 

“I know,” he said, resisting the urge to pull you in closer. “It was an hour I wasn’t sure I’d get.  I’m grateful for that.” 

“Okay,” you said, looking off to the side when the eye contact grew too intense. “So, what’s the problem?” 

Noah searched for the right words, trying to describe what until now had only been a vague emotion that hadn’t quite surfaced. 

“The problem is that I will always want more than I’ve earned,” he said, softly, like he was only just now admitting this to himself. “An hour is already more than I deserve. Any more, and I’d get spoiled. But I would love the opportunity to earn your company again soon.” 

You processed what he said for a few beats and then rolled your eyes, lips stretching into a begrudging smile and if Noah had the ability to freeze time, he’d use it right then and there to study every inch of your face. 

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” you said, sighing and hooking your arm through his. You allowed him to walk you back to your dorm. 

“Maybe,” he said, enjoying the pressure of your elbow against his. “Hopefully a harmless one.” 

“Is this love bombing?” you asked, short legs still struggling to keep up with his long ones. “Are you love bombing me?” 

“I hope not,” he said. “That would be really fucked up if that were the case.” 

“It would make you a terrible person,” you agreed. “You better not be love bombing me.” 

“I’ll watch out for that,” he said, smiling to himself. “What counts as love bombing in your book?” 

You grinned, as if this was a special interest of yours and you’d been waiting for someone to ask you that exact question. 

“Showering me with compliments, for one,” you began. 

“Noted. You look terrible today.” 

“Ha!” you said, nearly skipping with energy and warmth bloomed in Noah’s body at the thought he’d made you happy. 

“To be honest, I don’t exactly know,” you said. “I think people who love bomb have this skill about them–where they can pay close attention to a person, pick up on what they want or need, and then give it to them. But it doesn’t come from a good place, and they can’t sustain that energy. They do it until they get what they want, and then they leave.” 

Noah’s stomach twisted, the warmth that had previously inhabited it sucked away in a vacuum, leaving only tightness. 

He’d done that before. Many times. Fuck. 

As the two of you walked back to your dorm, Noah’s conscious weighed heavy on him. You continued talking about red flags, but Noah’s ability to actively listen was compromised with the weight of his guilt. 

He had a habit of justifying his past actions to himself–if women were naive enough to fall for simple flattery, they deserved it, he told himself. 

His stomach rocked again and he felt like he was going to be sick. 

He couldn’t change his past. He was well-aware he’d done things he wasn’t proud of, but he could change how he was going to act moving forward. 

This time, he was determined to get it right. 

“I guess this is where I leave you,” he said, unhooking his arm from yours. 

You stared at the door longingly, and Noah hoped that meant that you weren’t ready to leave. 

“You want to do this again sometime?” you asked, turning to him. 

Noah nodded, swallowing the sinking feeling in his chest for now. He could process everything when he got back to his apartment. “This or whatever else. Whatever works best for you.” 

“It can’t all be about me, you know,” you said. Your hand rested on the door knob, keys dangling uselessly from your fingers. 

“I know,” he said.  

Your face grew serious as you studied Noah, looking like you were still trying to figure out if he was for real. 

“Why are you doing all this?” you asked. 

Noah didn’t have an answer at the ready for you, so he simply shrugged. “Feel like it.” 

You continued to regard him. He couldn’t help when his eyes dropped to your lips—full and flushed with pink from the cold. He had a feeling he was letting his cards show, but he didn’t have much incentive to keep them hidden from you anyway. 

He brought his eyes back up to meet yours and caught the second your eyes flicked back up from his own lips. When you realized you were caught, you averted your gaze to your shoes. Noah did the same. 

“I, uh. I should get going,” he said, reaching to rub at a spot on the back of his neck. 

“Yeah,” you said, side-stepping away to break some of the tension that had been building for the last thirty seconds. You fiddled with your keys, finding the right one and using it to unlock your door, but made no move to enter. 

This was the hardest part. He didn’t want to leave. From what he could pick up, you didn’t want him to. But it was important that he did. He knew it. He wasn’t going to fuck this up by being impatient again. 

Just when he was about to say his final goodbye, you beat him to it. 

“See ya,” you said. And then in one swift motion, you grabbed the lapel of his coat, pulled him down, stood up on your toes and gave him a peck on the cheek. 

Before he even registered what had happened, you’d unlocked your door and disappeared behind it. 

It took all of Noah’s willpower not to follow you.  _______ All rights reserved to @doomhands-jr, 2024. Do not copy, repost or translate.

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[anticapitalistclown]

Clownie can I request lookism boys helping their s/o on their period. Like their s/o is having heavy flow and keeps ruining pants and underwear (samuel, gun, Jake, and any other characters you would like the add) tysm 😊

omg sure!

Samuel, Gun and Jake helping reader on their period, scenarios

Samuel

You were feeling terrible, your legs were numb, your head was giving you a stabbing pain, your ovaries were absolutely killing you and on top of that, you had the heaviest flow, all of that made you feel like you could die.

With all your efforts, you walked through your apartment in order to throw your stained pants inside the washing machine. A stabbing pain made you crouch down on the floor, just in time for your boyfriend to come in.

Samuel was fast, and he caught you with his arm, you grabbed at him and gave him an apologetic look "today I'm not feeling really well to go out, got my period, sorry" you never knew when or how your emotionally unavailable boyfriend would surprise you "I know" Samuel gave you a plastic bag, inside there were different chocolates and candies also a lot of sanitary products "I don't really know which ones you use, so I bought the ones with best reviews".

Your eyes became teary, you couldn't hide your emotions "Samueel" you sobbed "I love you a lot" Samuel sighted and smiled "what would be of you without me?" and there it was, his lil shit side of him, even though this time you couldn't deny that this detail was actually so helpful "thank you a lot" he denied "it's nothing".

You threw your pants into the washing machine, Samuel giving you some advice about how to remove blood stains, and then you both cuddled on the sofa, watching some TV and you enjoying your candies, maybe this man is the chosen one?

Gun

You are one of the few lucky ones that can visit his place, you are dating after all, and even though you both barely have been dating two months, the previous friendship and connection made him trust completely in you. So when Gun asked you to come over his place, you always appreciated that trust and went, even if your period is killing you inside.

You were talking to him while he was making dinner, in a moment a stabbing pain made you crouch down, your wince of pain alerted him, Gun rushed next to you helping you to stand up he was confused until he saw your hands traveling on your lower stomach, knowing the source of your pain made him feel more relieved "do you need some painkillers?" you nodded "sorry" you tried your best to not ruin your date, yet your body was betraying you, Gun rushed to the shelf where he keeps the medicine "if you don't mind I'll go to the bathroom" Gun nodded "sure".

You went to the bathroom, yet your period gave you another obstruction to make your date go well, you looked frustrated at your stained pants and underwear "shit" Gun knocked on the door "are you alright? I have a glass of water and the meds" he opened the door, but you stopped him "wait, things got messy" Gun sighted and opened the door, you forgot your boyfriend is stronger.

Gun arched an eyebrow, "this little stain is the mess?" you nodded to him with a pout, your cheeks red from the embarrassment. Gun gave you the glass of water and the painkiller "give me your clothes, I'll wash them, and I'll give you something from my closet" you gave him your clothes "if you're uncomfortable I can clean it myself" too late, Gun already took your clothes "do I look like some blood will gross me out?" you lowered your head "get in the shower I'll join you in a few minutes" you lifted your head your eyes sparkling, making him smile, Gun gave a peck to your forehead "I love you" you mumbled, he kissed your lips "get comfortable, I'm your boyfriend, ok?"

Jake

Jake's love language is acts of service, knowing that a little detail can just make your life easier, make you happy, motivates him to keep caring for you. So when you texted him, "I'm on my period :(" it just took minutes for him to appear at your place with all the supplies you needed: chocolates, painkillers, sanitary products...

You welcomed him with a big hug, his arms lifting you and taking you to the living room, I love yous falling from both your mouths "I love you, I love you a lot" Jake laughed and hugged you tightly "I love you a lot too" you gave tiny pecks to all his face, your man just felt so proud of himself for making you happy.

You ordered him to sit at the sofa, and you started to arrange the products he just bought "but I want to help" you scolded him "you helped enough, don't make me angry" Jake sighted "alright" he looked at how you arranged everything and then he spotted a little stain "babe" you kept organizing "hm?" "don't get upset, but you have a stain on your pants" you froze, your cheeks were burning and you just looked so upset "again?" you cried "this is the third I ruined today" oh poor baby, Jake's heart broke at your expression he quickly got up from the sofa and reached you, his hands caressing your cheeks "It's okay love, Sinu taught me how to clean blood properly, I'll wash it, fine?" you nodded "fine" he smiled "then we can cuddle" you hugged him "I need your hugs".

[room-surprise]

Mithrun in my modern college AU

(SEE THIS POST ON AO3)

Mithrun as he appears in the beginning of my modern AU, Show Me How to Get Off the Ground.

Caption reads:

Though the city they go to university in has a hot tropical climate, Mithrun doesn't like to let people see his body. This is unusual for an elf, since most elven fashion involves a lot of bare skin being on display.

Because of his desire to cover up and his cropped ears Mithrun is often at risk for overheating. Normally elves use their large ears to help regulate their body temperature. Despite this, at the beginning of the story Mithrun feels best wearing his leather veteran's jacket, an elven style T-shirt, sweatpants, tall-man style combat boots, sunglasses and any kind of hat that helps hide his ears.

The sweatpants are covered in stains that are hopefully just paint. He always tries to keep new pairs of pants clean, but they all end up looking the same in the end.

His preferred sunglasses are aviators, a style that was designed by the elven empire during the Great War to be worn under helmets. These sunglasses are characterized by dark reflective lenses, and metal frames with multiple nose bridges. Aviator style sunglasses attempt to cover the entire field of vision of the human eye, and reduce the amount of light entering the eye from any angle.

Mithrun's trauma in this story doesn't have a magical element, so his remaining eye is still silver, and his prosthetic matches it.

The veteran's jacket is something elven soldiers are given when they leave the military. Many veterans wear them all the time, either because they provide a sense of pride or comfort, or because they've become disabled due to their military service, and are so destitute that their veteran's jacket is the sturdiest piece of clothing they have left.

Mithrun's jacket used to have his name on it, but he removed it for security reasons. The name Kerensil is famous, so he is living in the East under the false name Mithrun Sharma.

(COLLEGE AU EXTRAS TAG)

[gyllenhaalstories]

SOMETHING TO RELY ON — DETECTIVE LOKI 🖤

summary: detective loki comes home after a long investigation, needing nothing more than something, or someone, to rely on.

warnings: i can’t write canon and accurate portrayals to save my life, mentions of loki’s work, fluff & comfort. 18+ NO MINORS. yes, even if this fic has no smut, i don’t want minors interacting with my content.

word count: 1700

gifs credits: @/magnusedom (cropped) / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: i have the selfish need to take care of this man and protect him from all the bad things in this world so this is exactly what i’m doing with this fic. no plot, only rambling. 🖤 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

“Oh, David.”

He grunted, rejecting what sounded like pity in your voice. It was a reflex, despite you telling him over and over again that you empathized with his hard work. He simply refused to let you feel bad for him.

And you refused for him to not let you do that. How could you not feel bad for your man? He looked dishevelled at best. His clothes were wrinkly, his coat was wet from the rain outside. His beard was unusually long. He smelled of cheap body soap, one labelled a manly tornado of masculine jungle and virile storm clouds.

David started to explain, calculating his words so that he would not speak in vain. He told you that he found a truck stop and used their showers before driving back home. His presence for the investigation was supposed to last a day or two, but he was required to stay on the field for about a week. Unlike his colleagues, he turned his back to the offer of a comfortable bed at the motel and a warm breakfast every morning. He stayed ready and awake for as long and as much as he could, in case of something happening.

You helped him out in silence as he spoke. How you had missed the sound of his voice without the bad network of the phone service struggling to pick up from the place he stayed for the past week. It could have been in the middle of the Bermuda triangle for all you knew, it cut you off too many times and prevented you from falling asleep to the gentle humming of David as he played in his mind songs that looped on the radio during patrol.

He let you remove his drenched coat. He watched you until you disappeared into the bathroom, he assumed you were hanging the coat in the shower where it could drip and dry without making a mess. He loved your attention to details, and how it mirrored his very own. He let you untie his boots so that he could step out of them. He let you do every small and big gestures to get him comfortable.

You offered him a fresh set of clothes, soft worn-out sweatpants and an old t-shirt that had been waiting for his arrival since the moment he walked out of the door. While he changed, you discarded of the dirty work clothes that he wore. You did not comment on how difficult it would be to wash away the dried stains of mud. He was probably kneeling outside in the rain, searching for a piece of information regarding the investigation. Day and night, you knew he devoted himself to his case.

“Love?” He called out for you. He blinked as he caught sight of you, being a busy bee from one room to the other around the house. You hands were full one second, empty the next one. Loki both loved and hated how this all came naturally to you. He loved the ways with which you both took care of each other. You handled the seemingly mindless tasks that weighted heavy on his shoulders while he provided you with a safe, strong presence and with arms to fall into when you needed. When he was actually there.

You finally reappeared in the living room. Your face lit up with a smile at the sight of him. He already looked better in the clean clothes. The shirt stretched over his broad chest, over his soft tummy. “Tell me the story of when you got this t-shirt.”

Loki grinned and looked down at the World’s best fisherman shirt. He explained how he picked it up from the lost and found box at the police station he worked prior to the current one. A cliché altercation between him and a box of donuts had led to him interrogate his first potential criminal with a prideful fisherman shirt. His retelling of the story always made the two of you smile.

It worked as a way to bring his feet down on the ground, to focus on what was important. As a bonus, it was simply entertaining to imagine Loki walking around with that shirt while trying to appear as almighty and professional. “Do you want something to eat?”

The corners of his lips curled into a smile and he followed you to the dimly lit kitchen. In a few swift movements, you had bread, peanut butter, jelly as well as a couple of utensils pulled out on the counter. The final touch was added by David’s arms wrapping around your waist from behind as you assembled his sandwich.

You spread the peanut butter all the way to the crust of the bread and on the other slice, you scooped strawberry jelly and made sure to get chunks of fruit too. Just how he liked it, just how you made it when you packed his lunch for mornings where he was too busy and tired to remember to take care of himself. You pressed the layers together gently and cut it in two triangles, handing him the bigger half.

He thanked you with a kiss on your cheek as he grabbed one of the triangles, taking a big bite out of it. He could easily guess you would have preferred to welcome him home with a big, warm meal. Although, in his mind at this very moment, he saw no difference between that sandwich and something that would have taken hours to make and double the amount of time to bake. And besides, he thought a lot about what he wanted to do during this break from the investigation. He needed to keep his mind and hands busy. This sounded like the right opportunity to invest crazy amounts of time into food you could cook together. Or you’d settle from ordering takeout from the Chinese food restaurant.

You cleaned up once you were both done eating, still with David holding you tight like a safety belt. “Want me to tell you about my day?” He hummed, agreeing. So you did just that, you shared the silly details with him as a way to make him feel included despite his long absence. Sometimes, you disliked sharing stories of your life with him. He was a creature of habit, it was hard to remind David that you were just telling about your encounter with a rude person at the grocery store and it was not an investigation. He would analyze your words, scrutinize your reactions, until you told him to relax.

He did not need such a reminder, at that very moment. Loki leaned his head on your shoulder, not minding how contorted his spine was to maintain him in that position. His eyelids were getting heavy, and so was he. He was half listening and half falling asleep on you.

For every night of the past week, you would have traded anything just to be crushed by his sleeping body and keep him safe and warm. However, you imagined it would be in bed and not laying flat in the middle of the kitchen if you even found the space for that anyway. “Come on, big boy. It’s time for your nap.” You turned gently in Loki’s arms, causing him to gain just enough consciousness to grunt in dissatisfaction. You draped his left arm over your shoulders and held him tightly as you both limped your way to the living room.

Any further, and David would have fallen down on the floor. You helped him to the couch so he could lay down. He shook his head slowly when you presented him with one of the throw pillows. He opened his eyes just long enough to lock his gaze with yours and he grinned when you understood his silent request. He sat up, struggling to stay still, until you joined him on the couch.

You stretched your legs up on the coffee table and you let Loki slowly rest his head on your lap. The sigh he let out made your heart clench inside your chest. He was killing himself trying to save people from dying. All you could do was stand by his side and help keep his head above water for as long as he would let you.

Loki saw it differently. He saw all of the love-filled gestures as a sacrifice as big as his. He appreciated each and every single one of them, and tonight was just the same. He appreciated how you peeled away the layers of stress, of turmoil and of fear. You did that by helping him with his clothes and also by keeping safe physically and at peace mentally.

“It’s okay, now.” You whispered as you placed your right hand on his stubbly cheek, your left one played with his hair. You were soothing both of your souls while trying to make up for all the time he spent away.

You repeated that it was okay over and over again until he, too, said the words to himself. He was okay. For now. And, for now, it was all that mattered. There would never be enough words and actions that could show you how thankful he was to have someone to rely on.

“You’re home.” You smiled down at him and watched him closely as he relaxed under your touch. You stroked your thumb over his lips, tickling his sensitive and chapped skin until his mouth parted open and his breathing slowed down.

He was seconds away from drifting into sleep. His eyelids were heavy. On your thigh, his head was heavy too with all its of horrors and sorrow. His voice sounded gentle and calm. “My love.”

A single tear fell from your cheek and down on the hand that was caressing his. Hearing the words in person rather than on the phone healed the pain that Loki’s absence had put you through once more. You leaned your head back to rest it on the couch and you closed your eyes too. Though it came with all sorts of tribulations, you were just as thankful as him to have someone to rely on.

[random-thot-generator]

Better Not to Know + Pt. 2

KYLE GAZ GARRICK x FEM READER

-

Summary: It's been months, but you've not been able to forget the stranger you hooked up with in a night club bathroom. Then again, it hard to forget someone who left such a lasting impression.

Warnings/Tags: no serious warnings, mild profanity, no smut this round, no use of Y/N

(Notes: This one wouldn't leave me alone either, so here's a second installment. Bit of a cliffhanger at the end. Yeah, I'm a literary sadist.)

banners & dividers by: @saradika-graphics

-

March comes in a like a lion, the wind and rain making it a misery to step foot out-of-doors. Small wonder that your boss decides to send you to pick up his dry cleaning for him instead of doing it himself. Why risk ruining his tailored suits and Italian shoes, when he could just send you, who bought your clothes off the clearance rack?

Umbrella clutched in your fist, you hurry along the sidewalk, dodging puddles and people as you make your way to the dry cleaners. You're relieved to see there's not a line, counting your blessings as you step through the door. An automated chime announces your arrival— bing-bong.

"Hullo. Can I help you?" A young woman with colorful tats sleeving her arms and teal hair gives you a customer service smile from behind the counter.

You pull the ticket from the pocket of your raincoat and slide it over with a tight smile. "Just a pick-up."

The young woman picks up the slip of paper, heavily lined eyes scanning the ticket before flickering over your damp, bedraggled form. "Be just a tick, luv," she murmurs, disappearing through a curtained doorway.

With nothing better to do, you drift over to a display of travel-size stain remover sticks, not bothering to turn around when the door opens, a gust of wind fluttering the hem of your coat. The automated chime sounds, drawing Tattoo Girl out of the back with what you assume is your boss' dry cleaning held aloft in one hand.

"Well, hullo, handsome!" she greets her new customer with a wide, toothy smile. "Got your uniform ready. Just need to take care of this lady first."

You don't look back to see who she's addressing, all your attention focused on fishing your boss' credit card out of your pocket. You do absently notice that the new customer smells nice. You catch notes of sandalwood and pine, a hint of musk, definitely masculine and strangely familiar. You also don't fail to notice how Tattoo Girl keeps glancing over your shoulder as she rings you up, the remnants of her wide smile still lingering.

"Here you go," she says, handing over the dry-cleaning bag and receipt, her eyes already focused on her more desirable customer.

"Thanks," you mutter, drawing the bag over the counter and draping it over your arm. Pulling the sides of your coat together, you turn, curious eyes flicking up to catch a glimpse of the man who has so distracted the pretty cashier, then almost trip over your own feet as you stumble to a halt.

"No bloody way," you breathe in a shocked whisper, staring up at the face that's been haunting you for the last five months.

His eyes widen at the same time yours do, recognition clear in his expression. "Christ, I don't believe it," he mutters, a mystified smile curving his sensuous lips. "It's really you."

You feel the same way. You can't believe it's really him, the gorgeous bloke from the club, Mr. Tall, Dark and Dangerous himself. "Um— wow. H-Hi."

His soft brown eyes register surprise but also pleasure as they lock with yours and his mega-watt smile appears. "Long time, no see, pet. How ya been?"

You gaze up at him dumbfounded, shaken all the way down to your sensible shoes. It's really him. Holy shit! "I, uh... I'm g-good. And you?" Christ! When did you develop a stammer?

He steps closer, his smile turning into something softer and intimate. "Been doin' alright." His eyes dart over your face, taking you in as if he still can't believe you're real. "This is bloody mad, innit? You wouldn't believe how many times I've..." He lets his words trail off, shaking away his dazed expression. "Ah, never mind. 'M just beyond chuffed to see ya again, pet. You look— lovely."

At least he's pleased to see me again, you think. That's a good sign, isn't it? You adjust the dry-cleaning bag in front of you, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

Tattoo Girl clears her throat, drawing your attention back to the counter. You glance over to see a perturbed little frown on her face, her eyes bouncing back and forth between you and the gorgeous man standing by your side.

"Oh! Sorry," you apologize, stepping away from the counter. You glance back up at him, feeling flustered and more than a little overwhelmed. Gripping the dry-cleaning bag closer to your body, you ignore the fact that you're probably wrinkling your boss' clothes.

"Ha. Making a right nuisance of myself, aren't I?" you murmur with a nervous titter. "It was, um, nice seeing you again, uh..." You give him a sheepish little grin, feeling terribly awkward and thoroughly embarrassed. "I-I'm so sorry. I don't think I ever got your, uh... name." God, how embarrassing...

He shuffles his feet and grins, looking a bit sheepish himself. "It's, uh, it's Kyle," he answers in a soft voice, holding out his hand. "Kyle Garrick." He dips his chin down to meet your eyes, giving you a teasing little smirk. "I don't think I got your name, either."

Taking his hand, you utter your name with a dazed expression as his touch sends warm tingles of awareness shooting up your arm. Neither one of you let go until the Tattoo Girl clears her throat again and sniffs in irritation.

Kyle's brows tick together in mild irritation as he shoots a quick look in her direction, then flicks his gaze back to you. "Would ya mind waiting while I take care of this? It'll just take a moment," he says, sounding anxious. "I'd really like to catch up with ya, maybe buy ya lunch or a coffee?"

Your head bobs in eager agreement. "Yeah, sure. I've got time."

Honestly, you didn't, but to hell with your boss. This is far more important to you.

Stepping out of the way, you wait by the door for him, your mind racing. As you stare at his broad back, your teeth worry at your bottom lip, wondering what he will have to say, then fret over what you're going to say to him. Is he just hoping to hook up again or does his interest go deeper than that? The way he's acting, it seems like it's more than that, but who knows? It's not like you really know him that well. Or at all, really. Jesus, this is nerve-wracking...

By the time Kyle has paid for his dry cleaning and is turning around, you have worked yourself up into a jittery mess. His smile dims as he takes in your nervous expression, concern plain on his face.

"Ya alright, pet?" he asks, stepping close to grasp your elbow. "You look like you're about to be sick."

Shaking your head, you offer him a weak smile. "No, no, I'm fine. I just feel a bit peckish," you lie, not wanting to make a scene. You can see Tattoo Girl staring daggers at the two of you, a petulant frown on her face. "Could we go ahead and get that coffee now? I think I need to sit down."

"Yeah, of course, love," Kyle murmurs, caressing your arm with a worried look. "C'mon, let's go."

He takes your umbrella from your numb fingers and opens the door, holding it for you as he snaps the brolly open over his head. Lifting his arm, he lays it across your shoulders, pulling you into his side as he shifts the umbrella to shield you both from the rain. Casting another worried glance down at you, he leads you to a nearby sandwich shop and quickly ushers you inside.

"Here we go," he murmurs, guiding you over to a table. He takes the dry-cleaning bag from you and drapes it over the back of a chair with his own. "Here, love. Let me take your coat," he offers as he steps behind you, and you're so flustered that you let him slip the coat from your shoulders before realizing your mistake. Quaking in your shoes, you turn to face him.

Kyle stands frozen, his mouth open to say something, his eyes now riveted on your waistline. You glance down as well then stare up into his shocked face, your hands going to your stomach to splay over the gentle swell of your baby bump.

A pained grimace twists your features as you whisper in a shaky voice, "I suppose I should explain."

-

part 1 part 3

[notquitecanon]

Sacrifice & Devotion // Din Djarin x Reader

Hurt comfort lil fic

here's a fun lil game of spot the dialogue I stole from criminal minds!

tw: no mentions of gender, mention and description of canon typical injury, mention of canon typical violence, reader is a bounty hunter, specifically a sniper, unedited, written in one sitting while I pulled an all nighter

fics where two idiots who are obviously in love are so terrible at pretending to not be in love that it circles back around to one of them thinking its unrequited/being so oblivious they still don't notice are my bread and butter

Summary: Reader and Mando both have insecurities that are starting to boil over and cause some heavy miscommunication. It takes a blaster wound for them to talk it out.

You had stalked off to lick you wounds before the Crest’s engines even cooled, finding a cozy rooftop with a good view of the city, dark enough to feel concealed but enough ligh to tend to yourself. 

Mando hadn’t been able to catch you, he had to deliver proof of service to your contractors. The waiting credits were much needed to repair the ship’s latest malfunctions if either of you wished to leave this system in the next rotation. 

Not to mention the med pac that would need replenishing after you were done. In favor of not bleeding out, you had started with the most severe, the blaster wound to your shoulder. The med scanner had informed you it was primarily superficial, but was at risk of infection. 

You sniffed, for something so superficial, the wound sure was leaking blood like a broken tap. The scanner had suggest a bacta infusion, but after your last hunt, the last bacta infusion was only half full. Still, even half would slow the bleeding and lower the risk of infection. You hissed after spraying it with a coagulant and then cursed with the auto-injector of the syringe delivered the half dose of bacta. Next, you moved onto bandages, wrapping the gauze in looping circles. 

Metal clinked quietly behind you, alerting you to your company. Mando hovered in the shadows until you turned halfway towards him, like he didn’t want to startle you but also didn’t want to attract you frustration if you hadn’t cooled off yet. 

His modulator didn’t hide the concern in his voice, even if he tried to, “Those are too loose, you’ll get an infection.” 

“Well, are you gonna lurk in the shadows or come help me?” You sighed, nodding to the other discarded cargo crate beside the one you had pulled into the light, “How’d you find me?” 

Mando looked around as he approached and sat beside you, like it was obvious, “Easily accessible rooftop, city views and eyes on the ship. Removed but still involved. Sniper’s paradise.”  

You tried to ignore the flush of heat up your neck, sometimes between the very few words Mando spoke it was easy to forget  how astute his observations could be. It always shocked you when he voiced his perceptions of you, and flustered you when they were correct. So you cleared your throat, “Where’s the kid?”

The bounty hunter chuckled before stepping to the side, revealing the pram, closed, “Little one’s been asleep since we hit atmosphere.” 

Mando waited a moment before holding his hand, “Let me help you with those.” 

You licked your teeth before offering the roll of bandages to him. His gloved fingers closed around it before unraveling your previous handiwork. Fortunately the bleeding had mostly stopped, but you didn’t miss how his visor paused on the stained smears of blood down your arms and across your clothes. It made you bristle all over again, which he obviously noticed since he quickly started wrapping the injury before you rescinded your cooperation. It pained you to say he was right, your wrappings had been way too loose. Still, the tightness made you flinch more than you were proud to admit, making you feel like a child at a doctor’s office. Especially with how gentle he was being, how sincere his apologies were with every flinch. Your frustration welled back up at his gentility, your jaw setting which only made the split of your lip hurt worse. 

“You’re upset.” He observed, taking the bacta gel and spreading it on a cotton swab so he could dab at the open slice across your thigh which gave him the perfect excuse to drop his gaze from yours.  Sometimes you wished you also wore a helmet, make it a little harder for Mando to read your emotions. Make him play body language trivia during every interaction of every day, “I shouldn't have left you alone. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you. You have every right to be upset."

Especially, if he was going to to read them incorrectly and break your heart in he process. Of course he thought that’s what you were upset about. The Mandalorian- all beskar steel, blaster smoke, and the worlds he balanced on his shoulders. 

You slumped your shoulders, ignoring the ache from your newly bandaged wound. You averted your gaze off to the Razor Crest, watching half a dozen workers frantically making two dozen repairs. Mando sighed, gingerly working the bacta into the gash with one hand, meanwhile you became acutely aware of his other gloved hand holding your thigh still. Gentle, yet firm, and his thumb was rubbing soothing circles against your exposed skin.  Mando took so much on himself and never expected any sort of reciprocity, didn’t know how to accept it. It filled you with anger all over again.

“Mando. I’m not mad at you for not being there to protect me.” You shook your head, glancing at his hand on your thigh before meeting his visor. You wondering if his eyes were as sad as his posture let on, quickly followed by a train of thought about his eyes that you decided to misattribute to the blood loss. 

“I should have been there. That sleemo never should have gotten close enough to touch you, much less do this.” He growled, taking the tube of liquid bandage and squeezing it across the gash. 

“Yeah, Mando, you should have been in two places at once and done my job for me. You’re right.” You groaned sarcastically, trying to snatch the tube out of his hand only to have him catch your wrist. Seeing your sharp look, he dropped your wrist but didn’t hand over the tube, instead finishing his application in silence. 

“Oh my stars- that was sarcasm Mando. I’m being facetious.” You were gobsmacked, did that helmet cut off airflow? Was his brain so oxygen deprived that he thought you truly expected that of him? How deep did this self martyrdom run? 

“You really don’t trust me, do you?” You finally asked, breaking  all contact to retract your legs from him. If he kept rubbing those circles on your thigh… you might do something dramatic, “I know I’m not a Mandalorian, and I’m probably not the best bounty hunter you’ve ever met, but if you can’t trust me to do my job then why let me keep tagging along.” 

Mando’s helmet was kind of doing a little spiral motion as if trying to follow your logic, “What? I trust you, of course I trust you.” 

“But not enough to do my job.” You snipped, “If you trust me so much why do your part of the job and mine before I even get the chance? Always swooping in to finish things, even when I have it under control. Why call me your partner if I’m basically a piece of cargo you have to feed? Why keep me around if I’m such a hinderance?” 

Mando actually flinched back at your sudden outburst, and you quickly looked away, maybe you had let more of your own insecurity show than you meant to. But it was all true. If he told you to take care of the perimeter, he’d flush out the inside and do a perimeter sweep before you even got to a good stakeout spot with your rifle. If you were both engaged in hand to hand combat, he’d recklessly rush his fight so shoot your opponent for you.  

The armored warrior was silent for a good long while, his visor watching you as you started to squirm under his gaze. You were about to interject, tell him to drop it and not worry about it, but as you opened your mouth he held a hand up to stop you, “I have no reservations about your skills. I trust you with my life.” 

Your eyebrows furrowed, reopening the cut through the one over your left eye, “Then-“ 

Once again, he interrupted you by saying your name quietly… reverently. You went silent. 

“When I went against the guild on Nevarro, you were the only guild member to stand with me. I never would have made it off planet with the child if you hadn’t intervened. You gave everything up to help me, you didn’t know me and yet you threw your life away to help me escape with the child. You could have earned enough credits to retire three times over by turning me in, you’ve had chance after chance to betray me, and yet,” He paused to look at you, really look at you, “You’ve risked your life time after time for the child, for me. You devoted yourself to this quest as if it were your own. How could I do any less than you?” 

His gloved hand reached for yours, his thumb grazing over your split knuckles from a up close encounter with a pirate, “Every time I allow someone to hurt you, it’s an affront to your sacrifice.” 

Your eyes softened, letting him dab that bacta cream across the marred skin, “Mando, we’re bounty hunters. Getting hurt is an occupational hazard. I knew the risks when I did what I did.” 

He was silent; his visor tipped away from you over to the pram where the Child slept, “You do too much for us.” 

“Hypocrite.” You teased, trying to lighten the mood. His confession had eased your frustrations, a balm to your own insecurities. Of course this had come from a place of protectiveness, how very… Mandalorian. Considering him for a moment, you angled your body back towards him. You knew all this duty weighed on him, and often there wasn’t much you could do to help, but at the moment, on your perfectly chosen rooftop, you knew what he needed. You handed him a new cotton swap and the small bacta patches that would prevent the cuts on your face from scarring, “Do my face so we can find some dinner?” 

He nodded quickly, taking the supplies and pulling you a bit closer to him, so close that you knee overlapped his own armored thigh, and you were close enough to count the scratches on his chest plate, even in the dim light. The slight lean taxed your sore core and back muscles, so you steadied yourself by placing a hand on his knee. He almost jerked, but cleared his throat, taking a moment to relax again. Your lip tugged up, he unconsciously moved closer. 

You let him work in silence for a long pause, enjoying the night breeze. He gingerly cleaned each cut and scrape, gloved fingers grazing your cheeks, the slope of your nose, your lips and a whole bunch of other places you knew weren’t injured. You tried not to let your breath catch, in case that would spur him to stop. 

Eventually, he stopped pretending to be using both hands, leaving his left one cupping your cheek ’to keep you still’. You leaned into the touch, allowing the softness of the moment before your next bounty or side quest came along. You liked when it was just the two of you, Mando talked a lot more, he was unintentionally one of the funniest people you knew.

You were shocked to find his company so enjoyable after all the rumors of him being only slightly more human than an assassin droid. Sure he was stoic, usually silent, focussed, but he was also kind, more compassionate than he would admit, and unwaveringly loyal.  Dank Farrik, he made it hard to stay mad at him. 

Closing your eyes (a big sign of trust for a sniper), you laid your hand over the one cupping your cheek, “Mando, I didn’t make this sacrifice expecting anything from you. I just wish you’d let me help you more, you don’t have to do it alone.”

“I hate seeing you hurt, more than I know how to explain.” His voice was gruffer than usual as he placed a patch over the split in your brow. Your hand on his knee squeezed gently. 

“I don’t need you to protect me, I need you to know that, especially at the risk of your own safety.” You reminded him with a softness to your voice that you seldom used to anyone other than the Child. A thumb brushed across the peak of your cheek before moving a stray piece of hair so he could patch a scrape under the corner of your eye. 

“I know that, ner kar’ta.” His tone matched yours: soft, gentle, intimate. Your head cocked to the side, but Mando wasn’t feeling up to explaining so he continued on, placing another patch across the bridge of your nose, “Still, I think I’ll stay on the job a while longer.” 

________

After dinner and chasing the pit droids out of the Razor Crest, it was time for some well needed rest. Mando had managed to scrounge up some light dosage pain medication when he stopped to replenish the medpacs. Not enough to leave you delirious, but strong enough to make you drowsy and a little loose with your thoughts. Nothing you’d regret, just a couple more direct than usual questions for you beskar wrapped bunkmate. You watched him putter around the cargo hold from your cot with half lidded eyes, as he went through and checked over everything the droids might have touched.  

“How much longer?” You couldn’t help but ask, wondering if your days with the Mandalorian were already numbered. Mando’s helmet turned towards you before sliding the circuit panel back into the wall. 

“Sorry, I’m almost done. Try to get some sleep.” He answered quietly, trying to minimize the noise he made as he moved about the small space. 

“Not that.” You waved him off, the motion much clumsier, heavier than usual, “Protecting me- a fool’s errand by the way. You said you’d stay on the job a while longer.” 

Mando sighed, moving towards his rack, the one with the closing door that he’d tried to give to you, but you refused. It was the only place other than the privy he could remove his helmet, you refused to let him give that away. He flicked lights off as he went, leaving only the dim glow of button lights to reflect on his armor. He was silent long enough that the darkness lulled you into a bit of a half sleep. Maybe that was his goal, still he answered you. Quietly, in that same reverent tone he’d said your name with earlier that evening. 

“Every single day for the rest of my life.” 

Exhaustion, blood loss, and narcotics dulled the effect of that declaration, but you heart still clenched at the sincerity of his voice. Your eyes wouldn’t open anymore and your thoughts were becoming increasingly sluggish with every beat of your heart. 

“Thanks, Mando.” You breathed, listening to the clicks of his armor being disassembled and neatly placed away, finally the hiss of his helmet being disengaged, knowing it must be dark enough he wasn’t worried about you seeing his face. 

“Din, that’s my actual name. You can call me Din when it’s just us.” He breathed into the night, barely registering in your mind, but you tucked away that information where you’d remember it tomorrow. You heart clenched again at his offer to you, showing how much he trusted you. 

“Thanks, Din."

-----

Ner K'arta - my heart

now that's what I call shitty writing

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

*Jade enters to see if the rumors of a certain fox beastman entering his dearest bird’s nest was true. Unfortunately for him, the sight of the two from Playful Land was, indeed, real. He whisks a startled Miss Raven off to the side with a fake smile.* Hello my dearest…would you please tell me why you have such unsavory characters brought here? Would you like for me to remove them right away? I shudder to think what would happen if they overstay their welcome and take further advantage of your precious, kind heart. *He bows low to look you straight in the eye* It would be my pleasure to be your bodyguard.

So tell me, do you wanna go?

Jade’s lip curled as he surveyed the state of the attic.

Normally Raven’s space was already a cluttered mess (“It’s not a mess,” she would often argue. “Don’t call it that. It’s organized chaos.”). It had somehow managed to devolve since he had last (ahem) “invited” himself over. Her book stacks had been knocked over, stains of a non-ink origin decorating loose papers.

A thin, hard mattress had been laid out across the room from hers. Upon it, Fellow and Gidel lounged, happily digging into plates of food they had secured from the cafeteria. Crumbs and other loose bits scattered around them—sure to attract ants. They had kicked their shoes off, exposing socks with holes like swiss cheese (Fellow’s big toe poked out).

Their belongings were hastily shoved into a corner pile. All mismatched, patched up clothes and the bare essentials.

How slovenly.

Jade returned his attention to the quivering young lady before him. Miss Raven stood at a stature much smaller than his (so much so thar he had to bend down to meet her at eye level). She stood up straight, the feathers in her shawl puffing. It was a bird’s attempt at intimidation, as he had come to learn.

“They are my guests. I have willingly taken them under my wing, so I would appreciate it if you didn’t interfere.”

“Oya, such kindness and generosity.” He grinned, revealing two rows of sharp, pointed teeth. “You truly are your uncle’s child.”

“Coming from you, that doesn’t sound like much of a sincere compliment.”

Jade chuckled softly. A large hand landed on Raven’s head, playfully ruffling her hair. “I say this out of concern for you. Both you and I are aware of your… tendency, shall we say, to fall for crocodile tears and pleading.”

“Thanks for the tip, buddy,” Fellow called from his seat. He spoke with a mouthful of roasted chicken. “But we’re all good. How’d ya think we wormed our way in here to begin with?”

“How dastardly of you. This fellow is quite dishonest, isn’t he, Miss Raven?”

Fellow stopped chewing. “… You NRC brats never change, hmm? It hurts to be gossiped about and have kids sling mud at my pristine reputation.”

“Pristine reputation? Pardon me, but I seem to recall a mass kidnapping and shady dealings with the criminal underworld.”

“Hey, you’re pretty shady yourself so I don’t wanna hear that outta you!!”

“J-Jade…!” Raven sputtered. “Are you TRYING to fuel the fire?!”

“Fufufu. I’m afraid that, as a merman, this concept of ‘fire’ is foreign to me. I haven’t the faintest clue what you may be referring to.” Jade folded his hands together and took another bow. “… However, if you feel unsafe in Fellow-san’s presence, my bodyguard services are still an option on the table.”

H-He most definitely is provoking Fellow-san on purpose! Then once Fellow-san explodes, Jade will rush in and play the part of savior…!

“I will never, EVER come groveling to you for help,” she insisted through her teeth.

A cruel laugh cut through the tension.

“Looks like you two lovebirds have a lot of feelings to sort through. By all means! Don’t stop on my account,” Fellow jeered with a smirk. “Giddie and I could always make do with free entertainment you go along with our meal.”

Gidel glanced up from the barbecued rib he was gnawing away at. Mild confusion swam in his droopy eyes. It seemed he hadn’t been paying attention for the last several exchanges, only tuning in when his name was mentioned.

“W-We are NOT a live soap opera for you to watch! And nor are we lovebirds!! Lovebirds are small parrots,” she corrected him with a frown, “and I am a raven.”

“I’m certain he was referring to another definition for the term,” Jade suggested, trying to be helpful—or intentionally infuriating.

“N-Nonsense…!”

Fellow rolled his eyes. He leaned over to Gidel. “… Is it just me, or are these two already arguing like a married couple?”

Gidel blinked at him, befuddled.

“Eeeh, never mind. I’ll explain it to ya when you get older. In the meantime, let’s enjoy the show!”

[buriedpentacles]

hi! since i've really leaned into witchcraft and spirituality, i became much more appreciative of the earth and i've been talking to her lots but i want to also become more sustainable in my daily life to help the environment even in small ways. do you have any ideas for simple things to do or habits to change to be more sustainable?

I do indeed!!

I think some the best things you can do for sustainable living is develop sustainable skills:

Learning to sew allows you to:

- fix holes in clothes

- adjust the height/seams/etc of clothes

- crop or add to items of clothing

Which means that clothes have a longer lifespan in general!

Learning to garden (even if its windowsill gardening!) helps you:

- spend less on certain herbs or plants (an easy way to start is regrowing spring onions in water)

- grow more native plants in your area

- encourage more insects into your garden

Learning to cook and bake can actually be super helpful because:

- you don't rely on takeaways or ready meals as often

- you can have more control over where your food is sourced and what you're eating

- you can meal plan and prep which saves time and money

- you can learn how to make your own jams, pickles, syrups etc! And you can get pretty creative with it!

Learning simple diy skills is super beneficial as you can:

- make things unqiue and suited to yourself (I.e. perfect sized shelves or a cabinet that fits perfectly in that gap between your bed and wall)

- restore thrifted furniture (staining to a preferred colour, cutting off legs to shorten it, fix the wobbly door etc)

- recycle old furniture, cabinets or similiar unused items into something else (I've turned a old cabinet into a small outdoor storage unit) rather than throwing them away

Learning basic maintenance for things you own is a money saver and:

- means you can fix your bike chain or replace your car's oil and filter without needing to call anyone or spend extra money

- can keep you safe and at a lower risk of motor accident (knowing how to do basic maintenance checks can help you see warning signs for damage)

- means that simpler things like clogged drains, non-flushing toilets, leaky taps etc no longer require calling and paying for a plumber

Of course you don't need to be an expert in any of these, I'm certainly not! But I can cook myself a decent meal, sew some new buttons on an old shirt or fix a hole in my jeans and restore an old wardrobe into something usable.

I love Pete Seeger's quote:

"If it can’t be reduced, reused, repaired, rebuilt, refurbished, refinished, resold, recycled or composted, then it should be restricted, redesigned or removed from production."

Basically it's so important to be aware of your consumption - avoid overconsumption, buy quality over quantity, thrift and reuse things, trade with people. Throwing things away should be a last resort or a necessity, rather than a "I don't know what else to do with it".

And, while recycling isn't quite the saviour people think it is, it is so important to get into the habit of sorting your rubbish correctly!!

Other important sustainable habits include:

Changing your eating habits. If it's feasible for you, try:

- reduce meat and dairy consumption (including fish, as they're massively overharvested)

- prioritise locally and ethically sourced animal produce (local butchers can be a great place to start for this)

- eat more seasonally (its not really feasible to only eat seasonal foods, but try to learn about them and incorporate them more)

- reduce food waste with composting, food donations, meal planning/prepping and learn to love leftovers

- invest in a tap filter and reusable water bottle (drinking tap water is not always safe depending on where you live so research first!!!)

- use public transport (or walk) where possible!

- connect with other people near you who also care about sustainable living: trade services and items and knowledge!

- learn about your local area and ecology!! I sound like a broken record saying this, but the BEST way to start living with nature, is to understand it. You can't help your local wildlife if you don't know it, you can't take steps to protect your environment if you don't know the threats.

All of these are just a few tips and ideas, they may not be feasible for everyone for numerous reasons but it's important to remember that it's not about being perfect, it's about *trying* and doing what you can.

There's so much more I could get into here, from foraging to activism to how and what to thrift vs when to splurge on new items but I think this post is long enough! Let me know if there's anything you want expanding or going into more depth on!!!

[angelsanarchy]

Alkaline: Euronymous x Y/N Series CH 32

Tagging: @ophelialaufey @madamemaximoff06 @forever-not-gonna-sink@ajmiila02@liquidsmoothdomme@shady-the-simp @auggiethecreator @tempt-ress @blacksoul-27 @shroomje

Oystein had woken up early the next morning and sat against the headboard watching Y/n sleep. She had already cleaned the smudged paint from her face so she wouldn't stain the pillow but he hadn't bothered. When she woke up and caught him staring she smiled at him.

She got out of bed, completely naked and walked into his bathroom before returning with a wash cloth and what looked like some sort of makeup remover. She started cleaning his face carefully and noticed what he was holding in his hand.

"You miss him." She looked at a picture of him and Pelle that she hadn't seen before that he must have kept in his nightstand. The way she said it was more of a fact and not a question.

"I miss how things used to be...before it all went to shit." He said simply.

"Everything isn't shit Oystein." Y/n sighed softly.

"I just feel like I'm losing control of all the things in my life." He confessed and she leaned forward kissing his forehead.

"I think we're doing pretty well. That's a plus." She reminded.

"You're the only thing that's going right and that scares the shit out of me. I'm just waiting for you to realize you're saddling yourself with a fucking failure." Oystein tossed the picture on the nightstand and Y/n shook her head.

"Hey I'm not going anywhere okay? You've got to stop thinking I am just because everything else is kind of shit right now. Whatever you want to do, I'm with you." She reassures him tucking some of his hair behind his ear. He looked at her a bit concerned.

"Y/n I don't know if you've noticed but I'm a fucking trainwreck. My band is on hiatus, Varg wants me dead and I've got a meeting with the landlord about Helvete which probably means I'm going to lose it. It's fucking hopeless." Oystein complain and Y/n could see he was really going through it. She got up once again and grabbed her bag from the couch before plopping down in front of him once again, rummaging through her stuff.

"What are you looking for?" He asked confused but she pulled out what he thought was a makeup compact. Inside was a folded up piece of paper.

"Do you know what this is?" She asked him with a smile. He nodded. She opened it up and he saw the scribble of the Mayhem symbol on the back of it.

"Is that-"

"The comment you left in the suggestion box? Yes." She smirked proudly.

"You carry it around?" He asked surprised.

"Of course I do. It's the only one I've ever gotten and its from you." She laughed.

"It's also the moment I knew I was falling for you." She blushed making him smile.

"Yeah? I don't even remember what I put on it if we're being honest." He admitted. She turned it around and handed it to him.

"Food is great, service is the amazing. Y/n, every thing you touch turns to fucking gold. All I want in the world is to be touched by you." She had memorized it and Oystein covered his face.

"Fuck that's cringey as shit." He was embarassed but she pulled his hands away from his face.

"Yeah it absolutely was but it was a very sweet thing to put in a comment box where anyone could have seen it. You let yourself be cringey and vulnerable just to tell me that I was special." She kissed his hands and he let out a sigh.

"Everything I touch is gold right?" She gripped the side of his face and kissed him softly. She could feel the tension in his body release as she wrapped her arms around his neck and he pulled her into his lap. He leaned his forehead against her head and she could feel him shaking slightly.

"So much has happened since Pelle killed himself...with burning down the churches, Varg talking to the media...Faust...he killed a guy in a park." He felt Y/n tense. He looked up into her eyes and saw shock and fear.

"No matter what I do, I'm trapped in all of this mess. I might not have created it all by myself but the last thing I want is for it to bleed out on you. They could come for me one day, Varg or the police, I can't let you get hurt in this." Oystein pressed. Y/n stroked his face carefully.

"Listen to me okay? I know you're scared. I'm scared too but the only thing I know is that when I'm with you, I feel like I can be whoever I want to be, do whatever I want to do. You give me the courage to try new things and be exactly who I want to be. You make me unafraid because I know I'll have you even if this all goes to hell." Y/n lifts his chin up and he nods at her.

"That has nothing to do with me. You were tough when we met." He gave her a soft smile and she placed her hand on his heart.

"Well then trust me when I say I've got you baby." She presses.

"And if they come at us with pitchforks?" He joked but Y/n leaned over towards her bag again and pulled out a handful of things.

"Mace, knife, taser..." She showed him what she was carrying. His eyes went wide when she hit the button on the taser.

"Fuck, you just carry that shit around with you?" He asked surprised.

"I didn't used to. I started when Varg started threatening me." She explained seeing Oystein's eyes shift.

"We aren't going out without a fight baby." Oystein knew he was the one that should traditionally be the strength in a relationship but nothing about them was traditional. He liked that he could trust in Y/n's ability to take care of herself. He liked that she could say things to him and put his mind at ease despite the shit show he found himself in on the daily.

"Can I ask you something?" Oystein finally spoke after a few moments of silence between them .

"Anything." She responds.

"Would you consider moving in with me?" He was trying to be careful with his tone so she didn't feel pressured but she held a confused smile.

"What? Why do you want me to-" She couldn't even get it out.

"You make everything better. Waking up to you, eating dinner with you, fuck- hanging out on the couch is just...I want you here all the time. I want to leave the shop knowing I'm coming home to you." Oystein explained and she cupped his cheek.

"Yeah? You like coming home to me?" She smirked.

"I do. I like coming home and seeing you walking around in your panties and one of my shirts." He pushes Y/n onto her back and lays her down.

"I like wrapping my arms around you while you cook something and getting to run my hands down your thighs." She closed her eyes as he ran his fingertips down her neck, over her tits all the way to her thighs.

"I like knowing that at any point, I can lay you on the bed and fuck you whenever I want to." He let his hand grip her throat and she bit her lip.

"This place isn't my home, you are." He leaned down and licked her bottom lip before kissing her roughly. She tried to catch her breath but his hand squeezed lightly before finally letting go and pulling back to look down at her.

"I would love to move in with you." She smiled up at him with red swollen lips that he was just practically chewing on.

"Yeah?" He asked surprised. She let out a laugh and put her hand on his as it rested on her breast.

"Yeah." She liked the idea that they could truly start something fresh with one another. Oystein had so much talent and always kept his mind open to new ideas. She wanted to start a new chapter with him.

[lorei-writes]

Upholstery

Cyran x Maid!Reader Fluff/Comfort ~1k

The three times Cyran comes back, all the same yet different.

Content Warnings: injury, blood (implied)

The settee near sighed, surprised by the weight it was so forced to accept; nevertheless, it still embraced its duty and the weary knight it came to serve, plush cushions lulling tired limbs. Cyran closed his eyes. His throat bobbed as it swallowed another thick complaint. He let it go, however, released his aching arms from the clutches of mandatory unrest – the velvet curtains were thicker than any armour, any shield, and he felt safe while enveloped in their shade.

The settee near sighed, surprised by the weight it was so forced to accept; nevertheless, it still embraced its duty and the weary knight it came to serve, plush cushions lulling tired limbs. Cyran closed his eyes. His throat bobbed as it swallowed another thick complaint. He let it go, however, released his aching arms from the clutches of mandatory unrest – the velvet curtains were thicker than any armour, any shield, and he felt safe while enveloped in their shade.

The door opened soundlessly.

Cyran did not leave his post.

A click and a clack, a servant’s shoes tapped away at the floor. The carpet briefly muffled their steps, only for the sound to return with ringing of a regiment of rings dragged along the curtain rod. Cyran’s brow creased.

“Five more minutes?”

“Not a minute more,” you replied, hands propped at your hips. “You reek, Sir Rose. Stay there any longer and the stench will penetrate the upholstery so thoroughly I will not be able to remove it, not even in a hundred of years.”

“But —”

The tapping intensified to cease in a blink of an eye. As lithe as you were, you faced him with all of your maid-ly might. It was only becoming of the headservant in service of the Third Prince of Rhodolite, Clavis Lelouch. “Should I hold it against you? Until the end of my – or your – days?”

No arguments could have been made. As fatigued as a caravan horse at the brink of its destination, Cyran ran his hand across his face to then brush back his dishevelled hair. He stretched out his arms and kicked his legs, red lights of the setting sun tainting the black leather of his boots. Cyran towered above you as he stood, yet as calloused as his palms were, as heavy as the sword at his hip was… there was no threat to him, those mellowed eyes that stared at you so incessantly betraying no signs of aggravation either.

“Well then.”

“Then —”

A clack and a click, and you couldn’t help but watch him leave, to notice the lightness to his step, some innate nimbleness that he possessed even in this state. You pursed your lips.

“Sir Rose!”

A hand at the door knob, Cyran looked over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“That purple…”

He rubbed at the stain on his cheek, neither exasperated nor amused, or much rather, locked somewhere perfectly between the two. “Prince Clavis,” he not-explained.

“… it looks good on you,” you whispered, but that he hadn’t heard. Footfall marched on down the corridor and you were left alone, the settee unharmed

***

Another day came, another night fell. The sun and the moon remained the same, however, as did the drawing room and the settee, and at least superficially, you and Sir Rose too. You lit a candle before setting it down on the table. Armed in soft cloth, you approached the window, a basin waiting at the sill your ammunition.

“It’s the first time I’m seeing a palace maid wash windows after the dark.”

You drew the breath in. Sharply. “Your eyes must not be working properly then, Sir Rose. It is most ordinary.”

“If you say so.”

When against the pitch black darkness of the night, glass can become mirror-like, provided that a bit of light lends it a hand. Water splashed as you wrung the excess out of the cloth. A shiver skipped along your spine and you begun your polishing, strange hesitation shackling your hands. It was unthinkable, most incomprehensible… so you pressed the cloth to the pane, dabbed the sweat off the reflection of Cyran’s brow. The knight reclined in his seat. He closed his eyes, as if merely squinted to let them rest, and took a deep breath. Wide shoulders lowered evenly at a long exhale and his hair seemed more brown rather than red, almost as if extinguished by the hurdles of the long day.

“Sir Rose?” you inquired, your hand frozen mid-caressing the glass.

“What is it?”

“Ashen shades do not suit you too well.”

“Am I offending your sense of aesthetic again?” Cyran laughed. “This will not ruin the upholstery.”

“You’d be wise to rest properly. Go and sleep,” you insisted.

“I refuse to be lectured by the only maid working the night shift.”

Water splashed as you let go of the cloth. “So you will go if I go? Then go! Go!”

Why did you scream? You did not know.

***

Cyran sat in the settee again, although it was also as if it had never happened before. As if you had never seen him before… Although perhaps you hadn’t. Not like this.

“You should be in the infirmary now, not here. That’s too much red for your complexion to look healthy.”

“It’s nothing I haven’t been through. I’ve got treated already.”

“But you’re still hurting!” you shouted despite your best intentions to remain calm.

“Then don’t throw me off the settee this time,” Cyran laughed. He laughed, and there was fire in his eyes, smouldering and longing, and a hint of fear in his voice, and even the blood that refused to leave the trenches of his nails seemed to ignite and —

And you yourself felt so cold as you cradled his head against your chest, perhaps taking on some of the frost that threatened to take him away. His hair hung lose over his shoulder and you brushed it away, coiled the strands around you fingers like copper wire. He was there in flesh and bones, real and physical unlike the reflection you’d nearly lost.

“I have one request to ask of you, Cyran,” you uttered after a moment of thought.

“Not ‘Sir Rose’?”

“No. Just Cyran.”

“Then ask away.”

“Never cease trying to ruin the upholstery, I beseech you,” you whispered, his good arm raising to embrace you by the waist the sole reply.

--

Tag List: @lancelotscloak @violettduchess @pathogenic @fang-and-feather @tele86 @rinaririr @keithsandwich @cheese-ception @bis-enti @claviscollections @queengiuliettafirstlady @sh0jun @lucyw260

Tell me if you'd like to be added to my tag list :)

[swampbrick]

Y’all have waited so patiently for me to get my shit together and format this post, and for that, I thank y’all endlessly (for not calling me out on my avoidant personality and procrastination xoxo)

Without further ado, I give you…

Swamp’s GhostSoap Recs

PART TWO

(electric boogaloo)

My qualifications to make this post are that I’m neurodivergent and have read over half the damn archive at this point.

If you see your fic featured here and don't want it included in a rec post, just shoot me a dm! Will remove any from the list without question or complaint at the author's request.

Notes: I tried to sort some of them out into some broader categories for easier perusal, however, some fics might touch more than one of these topics. I went with whichever category was the MOST relevant in regard to the fic's content. Fics in italics are under 10K words. Stuff involving religious guilt and heavy religious undertones are marked in orange. Some fics are privated by the author- in that case the link might not work for you if you’re on mobile, so just look it up by author and title once you’re logged into your AO3 account. Happy reading!

Random Fics I Enjoyed and Can't Sort Into Broad Categories

The Wedding Lt. by SomnolentPavana

Like Watching Paint Dry by Grangers_apprentice

Mission Briefs by BleedingTypewriter

Don't be Scared by the Starting Gun by Suliana

Afraid (of Changing) by EmpressCirque

HALO by Cryypticchaotic

Tough Love by The_neurodivergent_nerd

Smooth Sailing on Choppy Water by coderaven

Poison Apple by surveycorpsjean

Punch Drunk by Drolly

Tesco's Finest by Vanemis

If You Don't Stop, I'll End up Believing You by Hochseeperle

Assorted AUs

like the dust (that hides the glow) by ArcadeGhostAdventurer [soulmates]

In My Time of Need by WhisperedWords12 [omegaverse]

lotus flower by exavibus [tattoo artist x florist]

Damaged Goods by Red_Clegane [lawyer x prostitute]

Safety Hazard by Red_Clegane [president's son x secret service]

On Leave

No Reqiuem by ice_hot_13

set your teeth against my throat (give me something pretty to wear beneath my blood-stained clothes) by aetherealmoss

let these hills absolve me by flowersferns (THE SHEERP FARMING FIC SOBBING CRYING)

solemn prayer, poppy in my hair by congee4lunch

A Scottish Bastard's Smile by SnarlingGherkin

The Fairtytale of Manchester by MildLimerence

Injury and/or Discharge

all that's said in the low light by headlocket (my favorite fic of all time actually if you haven't seen my 9000 other posts saying so)

My frozen heart (would melt just for you) by Red_Clegane

Clue by Wispscribbles

I Woke Up Underground by WispScribbles

Vicissitude by crows_and_curses

Yours Sincerely by LeoDoesGames

i'm a fire and i'll keep your brittle heart warm by marviless

Affirmative, Sir by Wixiany

To Drive a Man to Madness by Crypticchaotic

This Is (Mostly) P0rn

After Dark by Sylencia (THE BDSM CLUB FIC WOOF WOOF)

If I ever saw you try to be a saint (I'd be appalled) by Xalethar

Chicago Whiskey by Serpentwyne

Make Me Bad by Serpentwyne

gimme just a little bit (more) by applepieces [09!ghostsoap]

Promise Ring by LXVERSOFFENSE

Want It All by TuxedoHummingbird

A Fool's Gambit by MildLimerence

tame me by MikaelLo

the human condition by bilbhoebangins

All the Sins You Never Had the Courage to Commit by mothbeast

The Worthy Vessel by MildLimerence

Hotline by MildLimerence

Bonus Fic!

Here's a Gaz Centric, Poly141 fic that has ghostsoap in it but does not focus on it heavily enough to go in one of the other categories. This is Kyle's time to shine.

Hand Around My Heart by Grangers_apprentice

[unbidden-yidden-deactivated20240]

For a number of years, I've been thinking about what an alternative to fast fashion might look like that wouldn't rely on companies to decide suddenly to stop selling us garbage or government regulators to actually make rules with teeth on planned obsolescence and externalities.

Obviously the goals would be to have the whole process from field to closet to waste degradation be environmentally sustainable and rely on fair, well-compensated labor.

The items themselves would need to be designed to last for a very long time: socks and underwear for a minimum of five years; bras for a minimum of ten; leggings, undershirts, t-shirts, and shells for a minimum of five hard-wearing years or ten light-wearing years; and outerwear, bags, and accessories for decades. Wool and leather coats, properly maintained, should be able to be passed down to your grandchildren. Shoes would vary greatly based on the exact material and purpose, but would be designed with the same durability considerations.

The fit should be unique to the person, and tailored to fit their exact proportions, body fat, and hard-wearing points. Therefore, items would not be labeled by size at all, but generally shown in different schematics to demonstrate what the item would be tailored to look like on different body types. Instead of just designing items for straight sizes and items for plus sizes, make general design plans that are easily adjusted to be shrunk or hemmed in some places, reinforced in others, and let out or expanded in others.

How the person wants to wear the item should also be taken into account: is this going to be a neck scarf or headscarf? Is this sleeveless dress going to be worn as a sundress or over a shell? Is this person going to be wearing breast forms or binding? Does this person use a wheelchair and if so, what are the touch points/hard-wearing points based on their actual chair? Etc.

Lifestyle should be taken into account: what is this particular item going to be used for? Are you hiking? Climbing mountains? Working on a farm? Working in an office or courtroom? Working retail or in a restaurant? Lounging with friends in your home? Playing sports? Wrangling small children? What do you need to do in your clothes? And what if you need something that will get your kids to daycare, yourself to your office day job, to a post-work workout or date with friends, and then to moonlighting as a cashier at a pizza place? (This is a real example of one of my friends, btw.)

It should not only be possible to move comfortably in the clothes to be able to do everything you want to do, but should be possible to easily modify the look to allow for multipurpose use with a simple reconfiguring of the garment and/or changing up the accessories. Pockets and ways to adjust the clothing for different external factors like temperature, weather, and time of day would be a must for basic items like button-up shirts, dresses, pants, and skirts. Additionally, sensory aspects should be taken into account as well - no itchy tags or ill-placed seaming, and certainly no plastic seam support tape or interfacing to make up for poor base materials. How the item wears over time should be considered, so that it starts out feeling good and wears into being extra comfortable and lived-in.

Simply put: the clothes need to be designed for practicality and comfort.

To the greatest extent possible, it should be easy to do immediate care for the clothes at home - stain removal, washing, drying, and even basic mending. However, for items with more technical maintenance and/or repairs, that service should be provided in-house to allow for more durability and control over sustainable practices for things that can't simply be washed, like wool coats. Repairability would need to be considered for common hard-wearing areas; extra panels in the inner thigh, elbow, knee, and armpit areas to help make the garment easily repairable to look as good as new would be things to consider.

Similarly, the look and style should be considered for the intended duration of the item. If it needs to look elegant for twenty-five years, then it needs to be designed with a classic look that will last the full time. Things like consistently flattering lines, colors, and patterns that tend to stay in fashion should be prioritized, with the ability to easily add or subtract embellishments to update the base garments. Accessories should be designed with a much greater range of colors and styles to allow for outfit variation and customization.

And the idea I keep coming back to is of a subscription styling, tailoring, mending, and recycling service with a lot of different plans and multiple payment structures to offset the cost of all of this. Realistically, the Vimes boots theory of economics is well in effect here. A dress that could replace thirty cheap fast-fashion items but will cost $5000 isn't going to happen for anyone who isn't exceptionally wealthy, even if over time it actually costs the individual less. The only real way to do this would be to treat it like an asset and structure payment accordingly. In the meantime, having a staff to handle maintenance of the items (such as repairs, style updates, and refitting as the person's body changes) would help to improve the sustainability of it as a business.

Anyway I'm not a business major, but I'm curious about what y'all think of that approach? Is this something you'd consider?