#ask the midnight mission

[ask-the-midnight-mission]

Can I join you on patrol?

[littleacebee]

It’s first day of Podcast Girls Week!

DAY 1: Favourite scene or episode

I didn’t have any creative ideas for today so I decided to simply share some of my favourite moments of podcast girlies (spoilers ahead!):

• Amelia telling a guy who took her grandma’s necklace to jump off the bridge (The Amelia Project)

• Alvina keeping dead guy in his bed while running his company (The Amelia Project)

• Anita punching Nazi (The Amelia Project)

• literally every scene where Leona eats/shows her love for food (Starfall)

• Addison saving little girl from being run over by the car in split second (Unseen)

• Medea coming to save Atalanta and Medusa on chariot with dragon (Khora Podcast)

• Anh and Alestes’ homoerotic sword fighting (Trice Forgotten)

• Alestes loving her potatoes (Trice Forgotten)

• Gloria starting a war against Ted empire (Midnight Burger)

• Gertrude Robinson and her crimes (The Magnus Archives)

• Melanie trying to kill Elias (The Magnus Archives)

• Minkowski and her harpoon (Wolf 359)

• Athena outsmarting everyone (Mission: Rejected)

• McGrath prioritising food over mission stuff (Mission: Rejected)

• Madge getting invested in her fake backstory while getting undercover (Fawx & Stallion)

• Anne and Mary’s homoerotic sword sparring (The Ballad of Anne and Mary)

• Cleopatra and Fulvia sharing their schemes and murders with each other (Cry Havoc! Ask Questions Later)

[silverjetsystm]

★★★ {Of course, I can restrict her to simply Marc if it's easier. We are curious.}

Send my character a ★ and I’ll bold everything they feel toward your character. | Accepting

I like you // I love you // You’re one of my best friends // You’re like family // You are family // I dislike you // I hate you // I’d kill you if I got the chance // I want you to like me // I’m scared of you // I would adopt you // I’d date you // I’d sleep with you // I’d marry you // I’m worried about you // You confuse me // You’re annoying // I pity you // I respect you // I trust you // I feel protective of you // I’d invite you with me to parties // I’d lend you my money // I’d borrow your money // You’re good-looking // I’m suspicious of you // I’m hiding something from you // You’re fun // You’re boring // I’m upset with you // You’re nice // You’re mean // I’m envious of you // You’re smart // You’re stupid // I look up to you // I think you’re a better person than me // I think I’m a better person than you // I want to apologize to you // I wish I’d never met you // I never want to forget you // I want to get to know you better

I like you // I love you // You’re one of my best friends // You’re like family // You are family // I dislike you // I hate you // I’d kill you if I got the chance // I want you to like me // I’m scared of you // I would adopt you // I’d date you // I’d sleep with you // I’d marry you // I’m worried about you // You confuse me // You’re annoying // I pity you // I respect you // I trust you // I feel protective of you // I’d invite you with me to parties // I’d lend you my money // I’d borrow your money // You’re good-looking // I’m suspicious of you // I’m hiding something from you // You’re fun // You’re boring // I’m upset with you // You’re nice // You’re mean // I’m envious of you // You’re smart // You’re stupid // I look up to you // I think you’re a better person than me // I think I’m a better person than you // I want to apologize to you // I wish I’d never met you // I never want to forget you // I want to get to know you better

I like you // I love you // You’re one of my best friends // You’re like family // You are family // I dislike you // I hate you // I’d kill you if I got the chance // I want you to like me // I’m scared of you // I would adopt you // I’d date you // I’d sleep with you // I’d marry you // I’m worried about you // You confuse me // You’re annoying // I pity you // I respect you // I trust you // I feel protective of you // I’d invite you with me to parties // I’d lend you my money // I’d borrow your money // You’re good-looking // I’m suspicious of you // I’m hiding something from you // You’re fun // You’re boring // I’m upset with you // You’re nice // You’re mean // I’m envious of you // You’re smart // You’re stupid // I look up to you // I think you’re a better person than me // I think I’m a better person than you // I want to apologize to you // I wish I’d never met you // I never want to forget you // I want to get to know you better

@brooklynislandgirl

Here's where we're at. Re: Steven and Jake, it's still early and they're sussing it out. Marc and Steven are nervous about dating and Jake needs to figure if Marc and Grant's emotions coloring his own.

Steven parties and Jake parties are vastly different~

[normaltothemax]

@talentforlying from here

As much of a bastard as he is, John friggin’ Constantine’s been growing on him. Like a fungus, but growing on him all the same. Despite how badly he doesn’t want to, Jake actually kind of likes the guy. Enough so, apparently, that when Constantine rounds a corner and freezes, a spike of concern goes through him. He’s a few steps behind so he speeds up a bit, tries not to let any of that concern bleed into his voice when he asks, “Everythin’ alright?”

He sees the gun before he sees the man behind the trigger. The way he figures, in the movies, everything would probably be happening in slow motion. He’d have time to think, have time to react in a way that’s not pure instinct and dumb as hell.

That doesn’t happen.

Things move at a normal speed, as they go to hell in a handbasket. Jake’s rushing forward, grabbing Constantine’s shoulder and jerking him toward the ground, quick as he can. Shouting at him to put his fucking head DOWN, as he pulls out a gun of his own. The trigger-happy asshole is fast, fires as he’s taking Constantine’s place, but he’s also clearly nervous, not as good...and Jake is faster.

The guns go off at the same time.

Headshot for a headshot. Everything goes black and two bodies hit the ground.

He doesn’t even have time to summon the suit.

Jake has no concept of time, has no idea how long he’s laid there, when he eventually comes to. Could’ve been minutes, could’ve been hours. All he knows is that there’s absolutely nothing and then something that sounds remarkably like Khonshu whispers that I’m not finished with you yet, Jake Lockley.

His rapidly-healing head pushes the bullet free and it clinks quietly onto the concrete. It’s only a few moments later that Jake’s eyes are flying open and he’s gasping to life like a man drowning. His head feels like it’s exploding, the sun in his eyes murder on his already aching skull. One hand comes up to cover his eyes as he groans. “Hijo de puta. Ow. The fuck just happened?”

[rukia-kuchiki-divided]

I’m sorry, but I can’t just stand by and let you stay like this. // did we need sibling angst? yes. yes we need sibling angst.

Injured RP Starters | Accepting

"Nii-sama!"

Rukia's eyes widened in surprise even as she groaned internally. Damn it! She had been so focused on her training - on controlling her temperature drop to absolute zero and then raising it slowly back to normal, that she had not sensed Byakuya's approach. Having hiked all the way to Mount Koifushi, she thought the chances of her running into anyone at all remote - let alone her brother. He was supposed to be inundated with meetings all day. So much for Renji's intel on his schedule!

She gritted her teeth, her left arm holding her right arm which still determinedly gripped her zanpakuto despite the increasing trickle of blood that dripped on the ground. The beautiful white hilt was now stained red, blood droplets dotting the icy frost that surrounded her in a meter radius.

Rukia applied pressure with her left arm, willing the blood flow from the open wound to slow. There were several thin shallow cuts across her skin, most hidden beneath her clothing which was quickly fading from white back to her normal shihaksho. Another sign that her control of her bankai had slipped.

She had been slowly working on extending the time she could maintain her bankai but coming out of it after was costing more energy and her control slipped more easily - especially when thoughts and memories emerged, unbidden, to the quiet surface of her mind. Rukia had felt the surge of emotion and been unsuccessful in quelling it - hence the gash that had opened on her right arm.

Letting out a shallow breath, violet eyes met that hard gray gaze. "It is but a shallow wound. Please pay it no mind." Even she knew that Byakuya would do anything but that. "I assure you, I'm fine. I just need to keep training... Forgive me if I caused you concern, Nii-sama"

She inclined her head slightly in apology before straightening again. Rukia's eyes searched his face, trying to read what emotion was underneath the mask her brother so often wore.

[joonieskinks]

Simon Riley who detests your current boyfriend.

Sure, some days it’s smooth sailing but on others, they wreck you to your core and it’s up to Simon to help put your pieces back together.

One day your boyfriend will spend the whole day with you, the next completely ignoring you. He’ll go back on his word, neglect to tell you important things and is reluctant to spend time with you when you ask- No, beg.

So it’s Simon who picks you up from the street corner of the restaurant where you waited for over an hour. It’s Simon who you call over the phone at midnight for attention and reassurance. It’s Simon who comes over to your house to hold you, to comfort you, to be the boyfriend he couldn’t be for you.

And Simon makes this his mission, he is utterly determined to show his devotion and adoration to you. From being there for you, of course, but more than that. To show you how you need him, not your boyfriend.

It started off slow with Simon coming to your rescue and rubbing you on the back as you cried next to him on the couch, to then holding you, shushing your sobs with his rough lips on yours. His hands cradling your face, his leg between your own as he brings you onto his lap and chests brush each others.

Your clothes on the floor, his tongue down in your folds, making you moan his name again and again until it’s all you remember. His hands forming purple bruises around your hips from the tight grip, mine, mine, mine, he thinks.

How you trust him to treat you so well, making you come undone on his cock for the first time. How you latched yourself to his body as you went over the edge, begging him to stay close, to touch you, to reassure you he’s always going to be there. Mine, mine, mine.

And so he was, always. He knows he’s the man for you, not him. And Simon will try damn hard to prove you know it too.

Even if it means the now ex has gotta go iykwim.

[gravegoer]

reader knoes sevika is always busy and leaves her post-it notes PLZZ ur writing is so fire iloveu

A Little Love .☘︎ ݁˖

thank you !! i love this because i love post-it notes. also, i have a bunch of fics in the roster rn, so expect to see your ask soon, hopefully

masterlist

Sevika wasn't usually home, often out on a mission or cleaning up for Silco, so you started to compromise a bit.

Sometimes, you make her lunch, and she protests every time you do so, saying her co-workers giggle at her for the cute lunchbox and organized meal. But in reality, she loves it, smiling to herself while she eats lunch after a long day.

And you had the bright idea to put a note for her to read with it.

"Don't push yourself too hard today, Love you ♡"

Her brows furrowed as she took the note off the lid of the lunch and shoved it in her pocket, making sure nobody else saw.

After she completed a successful mission, she would pull it out, smiling while she read it. (Its a little dirty but its okay)

This was only the beginning.

When she got up earlier than you to get to work, she was met with a post-it on the fridge.

"Dont skip breakfast today."

She huffed to herself, shaking her head and pulling the fridge open to grab an apple.

She grabs the small paper and puts it in her pocket before returning to your room to plant a small kiss on your head.

It was a particularly rough day on the job, and all she had to remind herself of you was the two papers in her pocket.

And trust she is rereading it as often as she can, she might as well be studying your handwriting.

When she got home, you were already asleep. But this was expected since it was well past midnight.

She stepped into the bathroom to freshen up, tugging her dirty clothes off to hop in the shower.

Her eyes trailed up the mirror, meeting with a soft pink note.

"Hello gorgeous ;)"

At that, she let out a throaty laugh at your mischief, grabbing it to throw on top of her pile of clothes.

You awoke while she was climbing into bed, delivering a warm kiss to her lips, "You saw the note?"

Sevika nodded, smirking at you, pulling you into her chest gently.

This time, it was her turn. Before she left, she wrote you something on a torn piece of paper. (Its the thought that counts)

"I'll be home early today. Wait for me"

This was a gateway to your everyday sticky note conversations

You left notes on her mechanical arm.

Notes on her weapons.

Notes in her cold spot in bed before she got home.

She left notes on your forehead before she left.

Notes in your bag.

Notes on the toilet when you wake up to take a piss.

Her pockets are full of little post-its, once she dropped one, and Silco picked it up, delivering it back to her with a grin.

From then on, she kept them in her nightstand drawer. She's embarrassed..

taglist: @thequeenreaders @hangezoes-wife @thesecondhandwoman @slut4sevika @kylorey25 @thesevi0lentdelights

[yueebby]

Dying thinking about gojo literally pinning and hardcore simping for reader, literally showering reader in praise, flattery and gifts because he no longer gives a damn about hiding his feelings, almost proposing to reader whenever he can and reader's just... completely clueless about it💀 and she thinks it's just gojo being friendly. Poor man would be absolutely devastated when he goes one day "[name] i'm in love with you" and she just goes "me too, i love all my friends!" 💀

she loves me, she loves me not! — gojo satoru x fem!reader

contents. fluff, lovesick!gojo (what’s new), highschool!gojo, he’s pathetic but in love your honor, oblivious!reader, ooc gojo i got carried away soz

notes. anon, when i first read your ask i literally started giggling and kicking my feet. that. is. so. gojo coded.

“please reject gojo and put him out of his misery,” utahime implored, taking hold of both of your hands. you think she’s asking, no, begging you to. beside her, shoko nods vigorously. 

“but why?” you furrow your eyebrows, perplexed by their sudden request. “i can’t reject someone who doesn’t like me.”

shoko giggles at your comment. her laughter only wanes when she notices the dead serious look on your face. “... you seriously have no idea what we’re talking about?”

“not really,” you shrug, criss-crossing your legs to find some comfort on the hard wooden floor in shoko’s small dorm. it was late, past midnight, and the three of you had a shared mission tomorrow, but for some reason your two friends managed to rope you into their drinking circle.

utahime and shoko exchanged a significant glance, their unspoken communication raising your curiosity. utahime takes a long sip of her beer. 

“hopeless. they’re both hopeless,” your short haired brunette friend lamented, pinching her nose bridge. it leaves a faint pink mark.

intrigued, you lean in closer towards the two, “care to elaborate?”

“you’ve never once questioned satoru’s borderline inappropriate behavior?” shoko asks you earnestly. you ponder for a moment, trying to recall any moments in the two years you’ve known the snow-haired boy.

“satoru is satoru…” you mumble, shaking your head in denial. 

utahime’s eyes bug comically. she slams her can of beer harshly on the ground. you wince at the loud noise of the metallic can hitting the floor.

“you’re kidding. even i can see through that jerk!” utahime’s black pigtails sway wildly. 

“[name], how about what happened in shinjuku last week on our day off?” shoko quietly reminds you of last weekend when the two of you along with satoru and suguru decided to empty your pockets in one of tokyo’s largest entertainment wards. 

utahime’s head whips back and forth from her best friend to you, “eh? what happened?!”

from behind the dressing room curtain, you voiced your concerns, “shoko, i don't think we can afford designer clothes on our student budget.” the cream-colored silk dress you wore clung to your body, its price tag undoubtedly surpassing a year's worth of your student earnings.

“don’t worry your pretty little head about it,” shoko’s voice carried a knowing smile. “just come out and show me the dress!” you think satoru’s carefree attitude is rubbing off on her.

with a nervous sigh, you emerged from the dressing room. the dress fit like a glove, accentuating your body in just the right places.

bright flashes from shoko's phone startled you, and she chuckled deviously while rapidly typing. she tossed her phone onto a luxurious cushion, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of exposure.

“you look so sexy. even better than the model.” she gives you two thumbs up, eyes roaming your figure. you feel flushed at her praise.

“as flattered as i am, there’s no way i can afford this,” you look down at the dress, lips downturned. “i’d be in debt for life.”

“no need to worry,” shoko winked, leaving you confused. given that her income was similar to yours, it didn't make sense for her to be able to even dream of shopping designer.

a soft thud interrupted your conversation. you turn around to see a blue lollipop rolling on the expensive carpeting of the store.

“suguru, are my eyes deceiving me or is that an angel?”  satoru's mouth is wide open as he shamelessly checks you out. he takes one of his hands and places it over his heart, gripping the fabric of his white shirt. the windbreaker he is wearing rustles at his dramatic movement.

“i think… i’m experiencing a heart attack! shoko help!” he kneels in the middle of the store dramatically. shoko shares an unamused look with suguru. the pair nod before simultaneously kicking satoru.

during all of the commotion, you stand awkwardly in the million yen dress. 

“satoru, are you okay?” you watch him take the two blows from your friends, concern evident in your voice. he grunts softly before gently taking ahold of your hand.

“no,” he croaks with a playful glint in his eye. “i’m wounded and there’s only one way to fix it.”

you look at him, your gaze heavy with concern.

“i’m afraid you’ll have to kiss me for the pain to go away.” he added, blinking at you expectantly with his blue eyes.

 you lightly shove him away from you. “you’re an idiot.” satoru laughs loudly.

“that’s what love does to a man.”

“yeah, yeah. i’m going to change out of this dress, don’t get into any more trouble while i’m gone.” 

 satoru’s grip on your hand strengthens, halting your actions.

“how much?”

“excuse me?”

“the dress. how much for it?” he stands up to his full height, reminding you of the obvious height difference between the two of you. 

you're at loss for words. gojo was crazy, but definitely not crazy enough to spend a million yen on a silly dress.

shoko happily chimes into the conversation. “one million yen. it’ll be two million yen with the rest of my purchases though!” 

suguru’s calm demeanor is replaced with shock. the black haired male’s jaw drops, “two million– satoru, you’re seriously not thinking about–”

“hah? who said i’m paying for your stuff?” gojo makes an ugly face at shoko.

she raises her hands innocently, “it’s not my fault the dresses come in a set. if you want to see your beloved [name] in that dress you’ll have to pay for mine as well.”

you watch shoko and satoru engage into a silent argument. the tension in the fitting room section is so thick, you think it’ll take a special grade weapon to slice through it.

trying to alleviate the mood you tell gojo, “satoru, you really don’t have to–”

“i’m buying you that dress.” 

“o-okay.” 

half an hour later, satoru happily strolls out of the store with an arm around your shoulder like he’d just won the lottery.

perhaps gojo is just naturally flirty, you had tried to reason to shoko and utahime.

it’s been a week since the eye-opening conversation with the two and you’ve found yourself on cleaning duty with said snow-haired boy. it was a miracle that satoru even showed up. he had a tendency to skip his turns, often resulting in a long lecture from yaga.

as the two of you worked silently in the empty classroom, you couldn't help but admire the setting sun. its golden rays painted the sky with hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over everything. unknowingly, while you gazed at the sky, gojo's gaze was firmly fixed on you.

breaking the silence, he asked, "have you ever thought about getting married?"

his question caught you off guard, causing you to momentarily pause from wiping the windows.

“not really,” you replied, biting your lip gently. “unless my family decides to arrange a marriage. you know how unforgiving the world of jujutsu sorcery is.”

gojo's grip on the broom tightened, his eyes locking onto yours with a newfound intensity.

"we should get married y'know," he blurted out.

the piece of cloth you were using slipped from your hand in shock. surely, he couldn't mean what he was saying. after all, the two of you were only second years.

“what?”

“i’m saying i think i’m in love with you.”

“oh.” 

silence engulfs the room once more before a soft giggle escapes your lips.

satoru can only watch, entranced.

“that’s good to hear! i love you too– and suguru and shoko! perhaps the four of us should all just get married.” you chuckle into your hand.

satoru can't help but stare at your hand in envy. perhaps if he were the palm of your hand, he’d be able to feel the touch of your lips.

but he couldn’t. he was cursed as a man with an overpowered innate technique, and despite it all he couldn’t even gain the one thing he desired. gojo satoru watched you, eyes filled with a mixture of longing and defeat.

his devastation does not go unnoticed by you.

you were under the impression that he was grumpy because yaga had forced him into cleaning with you.

"cheer up, satoru! if we finish early enough," you continue, your tone highspirited, "we can go to the new crepe shop that opened last week. my treat!" you winked, and that immediately caught his attention.

“like a date?” his eyes sparkled with hope.

you shrug, a smile on your face. “i suppose if you look at it from a certain perspective…”

“great, it’s a date!” 

good things come to those who wait, satoru thinks, humming happily as he starts to sweep the room at an inhumane pace.

maybe in ten years time the two of you will be happily married with eight kids, he smiles to himself.

[julymusings]

will you hold me instead, and tell me that it's over now?

i look forward to a little me and you, so now i hope that you don't tell me that it's over

or; patching jason up after an intense mission [2.1k]

jason todd x fem!reader; angst/fluff; brief mentions of human trafficking and allusion to murder (he's talking about how the mission went); mention of his scars; jason being insecure & thinking he's not good enough😞; description of injuries and the first aid applied to them (please do not take anything as actual medical advice); this is me hard-launching my physical touch x touch starved!jason agenda

You don’t know how early it is when you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, just that it’s too early. It’s not like you could sleep anyway; you spent the night drifting in and out of semi-consciousness, too worried to let yourself relax. You always got like this when Jason went away on missions. Several days, and sometimes even weeks, spent anxiously anticipating the state in which he would return home—you haven’t been able to get a manicure since before you met him.

You’re still a little delirious when a hand ghosts up your arm, stirring you from your half-sleep. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room and register the sight in front of you. Your boyfriend is on one knee on the floor in front of you, brushing strands of hair out of your face with endearing eyes.

“There she is,” he says when you lift your head off the pillow and reach out to him. He catches your hand and kisses your fingertips, spreading a warmth up your arm that combats the midnight chill. You push yourself up to a sitting position, and he takes the opportunity to cup his hands around your face and bring you in for a kiss.

“Missed you,” you mumble against him, and his lips curve upwards against yours.

“Missed you too, sweetheart.” His mouth travels up from yours towards your temple, leaving a path of gentle kisses in his wake. Your palms, pressed flat against his chest, slide up to loop around his neck. He tenses, choking back a strained grunt. But you catch it.

You pull back abruptly. “Are you hurt?” Your eyes frantically dart around, scanning his entire body. Now fully alert, you reach over to the bedside table and switch the lamp on.

“’s just a bruise, baby, I’m fine.” A hand comes up to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness. But with newly unobstructed vision, you can see more than just a bruise. He has a busted lip, a shallow gash on his temple, and splotches of purple and red peeking out of his shirt collar.

“You’re bleeding, Jason,” you chastise him, getting up off the bed.

He stands alongside you with a huff. “It’s nothing,” he sighs. “Doesn’t even hurt.” But when you take his hand and start pulling him to the bathroom, he follows without argument. You lead Jason to sit down on the edge of the tub and fetch the first aid kit from under the sink, setting it down next to him on the bathtub ledge. You stand between his legs, your positions making you a half-head taller than him. He gazes up at you and for the first time tonight, you notice how dark and deep the skin under his eyes is.

“Off,” you order, dragging up the hem of his shirt. He helps you pull it off, wincing when it requires him to lift his bruised arm.

“Someone’s eager,” he muses, raising his eyebrows in a teasing manner. It earns him a swat on the arm; he grunts loudly and doubles over in pain.

You gasp. “Oh my god! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I—”

But when he looks up, it’s with a coy smirk and a twinkle in his eye. You swat him again.

“Asshole,” you mutter, but you can’t help the slight twitch at the corner of your lips. “Why didn’t you take care of this earlier? Alfred wasn’t at the manor to help you?”

He shrugs his good shoulder. “Don’t know. Came straight here.”

“Did you tell anyone where you were going?” You ask.

He looks at you blankly, as if to say, don’t you know who you’re talking to?

You sigh, exasperated. “You shouldn’t have done that, Jason. What if ended up becoming serious? And you didn’t make it here in time? What if—” 

He interrupts your doom spiral by pressing a finger to your lips. “I know, honey, I’m sorry. But I wanted to see you.”

You sigh. There’s a sadness to it, one that comes from familiarity with the fact that he does not care for himself as much as he should—as much as he deserves. But there are no words to make him believe that you haven’t tried, so all you do is lean your forehead against his, hoping he can hear what you're not saying. You need him to hear you.

“You’re not sorry,” you whisper.

“No, I’m not,” he whispers back.

You start with his shoulder, which is decidedly not ‘just a bruise,’ but rather several bruises, all clumped together to form one giant Franken-bruise which covers his entire shoulder. It gets rubbed with ointment and you’re not sure who it pains more, because while you’re spilling out frantic apologies as you try to speed through it, Jason is white-knuckling the edge of the tub with a wad of gauze between his teeth. 

His lip doesn’t require any medical attention, but he insists you kiss it better anyway, and who are you to deny him? 

You tend to his temple last, but he’s antsy now. His leg bounces up and down, one hand is drumming its fingers on the tub, and the other is fiddling with the loose threads that hang from the hem of your shirt; you have to scold him into sitting still.

“Where’s the dermabond?” You ask, sifting through the contents of the first aid kid.

“Used it up last month, remember? After you just had to feed that fuckin’ squirrel.” His voice is gruff at the recollection. “Should be a new pack under the sink.”

You fetch the new box, picking at the plastic wrapping. “Can you blame me? He was so cute.”

“Yeah, was. Until that greedy fucker decided he wanted the whole picnic.” Jason sees you struggling with the plastic covering and takes it from you, breaks it open, then hands it back. “Bastard.”

You giggle. “You know, you could’ve just let him have the cupcake. It wasn’t worth risking rabies for.” You fish out the glass tube of surgical glue, tossing its cardboard box aside.

“‘Course it was. My girl wanted red velvet, she should get her red velvet.” Jason’s hands finally rest on the backs of your bare thighs, squeezing them lightly. He grins when that makes you let out a little squeak.

You roll your eyes, though there’s a warmth flowing in your veins that courses from the tips of your ears to the bottom of your feet. “My hero,” you muse with a smile.

There’s a pause. Then:

“I’m not a hero,” he responds. His tone is still light, but his eyes feel far away.

You start to clean the blood from the wound, which has since clotted and dried, with a saline-soaked cotton pad. He stares at you while you clean and then close the cut with the glue. And when you finish, supplies set aside and glue cured, he’s still staring. His eyes are traveling all over your face, taking in each feature, committing every ridge, every angle, every pore, every freckle to memory. The light-hearted teasing demeanor from mere moments ago is long gone. You're a deer caught in emerald headlights.

You recognize this shift. You noticed hints of it since he arrived home, but assumed it was just due to the pain. Now it’s obvious that there’s more. It’s the same shift that comes when the news becomes a circus, or when he stares at his scars in the mirror for too long.

His hands slide up your body slowly, reverently. One stops at your waist while the other continues, blazing a trail up your ribcage, over the side of your breast. He pauses at your shoulder for a split second, squeezing the flesh every so gently before continuing up your neck. His thumb drags across your collarbone, brushing against the spot that always lights up your senses and parts your lips in a breathy sigh. He stops when he reaches your face. He cups your cheek. Your hand covers his and you lean into his hold, the stroke of your small, soft fingers juxtaposing the rough callouses of his knuckles. You stay here for a moment before turning to press your lips to his palm once, twice, thrice, four times, each one lingering a little longer than the last.

“What is it, Jason?” Your hands come to cradle his neck before dragging up to his hair, and his move to wrap around your torso and pull you closer into him. You place a kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Hmm?”

“I’m not a hero,” he says again, softer.

“Jay,” you whisper. “You know that’s not true.”

He says nothing, only heaving a heavy sigh and burying his face into the crook of your neck. You’re content to stand like this, to simply hold him and graze your nails against his scalp for as long as he needs while he inhales the comforting scent of your skin.

After what could have been one minute or twenty, he pulls back to look up at you. He looks exhausted. “It was a human trafficking case,” he says. “They knew we were closing in on ‘em, so we had to act fast. They were…trying to…” He trails off, unsure how to put it in words delicate enough to spare you. He breaks eye contact. “Destroy the evidence,” he finishes.

You don’t respond. Despite the heavy silence that follows this admission, you know he’s not done. It takes another several minutes of stroking fingers and feather-light hairline kisses to coax it out of him.

“There was a woman. She…we didn’t—“ His voice cracks. “I didn’t get there in time.”

“Oh, honey.” You run your palm over his forehead, pushing back his thick waves. His eyelids slide down over glassy irises as he sinks into your touch. You lean down to press your lips to his forehead. “You know that’s not your fault,” you whisper. He shakes his head, eyes still closed.

“But if I’d just—”

“No, Jason.” You grip his face between your palms. He opens his eyes at the sudden sternness. “But nothing. You did everything you possibly could—”

“You don’t know that,” he interrupts.

“I do know that. I know because you are always doing everything you can. For me, and for everyone in this city. And I know that it wasn’t just you on that mission. Do you blame anyone else for what happened?”

He says nothing, but his eyes are welling with tears.

“You saved so many other people, Jason. You are a hero, and you know that. You have to know that.” Some of his tears spill over, but you brush your thumbs across his cheeks and kiss them away.

He pulls you onto his lap so your legs are straddled over his and rests his head against your sternum. His arms squeeze impossibly tight around your waist, but you don’t say anything. When his shoulders tremble and you feel the dampness on the front of your shirt, you still don’t say anything. And when he places a hand on the back of your head to pull you in for a hard, searing kiss that leaves you both breathless, you don’t say anything. You just look at him, at how pretty he is, and hope that he can hear you.

The sounds of buzzing echo in from the next room. To your dismay, he turns away, towards the direction of your phones. “I should get that,” he says. His voice is hollow. “It’s probably the bats wanting to know where I am. They’ll send a search party if I don’t check in.”

He’s about to move you off his lap, but you stop him. “In a minute, Jay.”

Jason’s forehead crinkles. You use your thumb to smooth it out.

“Please?” You breathe out. “Just let me look at you a little longer. I love looking at you.”

He relaxes back into his seat. And you keep looking at him. At his beautifully rosy cheeks and shining eyes, his puffed lips. The scar that runs diagonally down his slightly crooked nose.

It’s dawn now; the tangerine beginnings of sunrise elicit a soft glow that spills through the window. Jason takes it all in. The two of you together in the home you share, arms around each other, your face all honeyed and beautiful in the light.

And you know he can hear you.

love when you guys leave messages/feedback it really brightens up my day<3

divider is from here

[shotmrmiller]

johnny dates your friend and then asks her if she's got any friends (you) for his friend (simon). but simon freaks you out. he can't hold a conversation— or won't, you're not sure; you're lucky if you get monosyllabic grunts out of him as if he were a neanderthal. the only times you've seriously heard him talk is to bark out words at either johnny or the bartender.

he walks around with a poorly concealed weapon on his hip, almost like he is expecting trouble. he wears all black, which is completely fine, but then a skull balaclava that he refuses to take off, even to drink his liquor. you don't try to hide the grimace on your face when you watch him sip through the thick fabric. he's got skeleton gloves on his hands too, like some sort of shit cosplay to match his mask.

and he fucking stares, unashamedly so. it is unblinking, scrutinizing, intense— his dark eyes, pools of midnight, keen. he stares at the people walking in through the door, stares at johnny when he takes your friend to the dance floor, and when you tell him out of courtesy that you're going to go get another drink, you can feel him boring holes into the back of your head as you walk away, piercing flesh and bone.

the phantom fingers of his gaze trace icy paths along your spine, erupting your skin in goosebumps. you find him immensely creepy, and you thank the fucking stars you're only here as a favor for your friend. you don't think you want to do this again. he's either a wanted serial killer or just a goddamn freak.

a heavy arm wraps around your shoulders once you're at the bar, and with a sneer on your lips, you turn to the owner of said offending limb, only to come face to face with johnny. he leans into you, close enough to where you can feel his stubble grazing the shell of your ear. (back up, brother.)

"listen, bonnie!" you wince; it's really not that loud in here for him to be yelling like that. "ah ken, ghos— er, simon, might no' be yer average man. he can be a little off-puttin'—" a little? if he doesn't follow you home and skin you alive, you'd be incredibly fortunate— "but ah promise ye, while he may no' be boyfriend material, he's an incredible fuck."

excuse me? he's got to be positively pissed. "maybe you should slow down, yeah? you might already be three sheets to the wind if you're gassing up your unsettling friend's cock. no offense."

"naw! ah'm tellin' ye. long ago, we had a mission tha' ran everyone tight, 'n so we relieved tension the only way we could— big, strong guy like him had me limpin' for a few days after."

you're about to ask for an angel shot because there is no way in hell that your friend's boyfriend is making casual conversation about him getting absolutely railed by—

"give 'em a try. jus' the once, i swear he don't bite," johnny pauses-- the rosy flush on his nose and cheeks vibrant, "unless ye ask nicely. yer friend said ye needed to get laid, anyways." oh, you're gonna fucking kill her, that long-tongued cretin.

"right!" you drink the remainder of your cocktail in one big gulp, liquid warmth trailing down your throat, before not-so-kindly shrugging him off. "i'm gonna go, you, uh— we didn't have this conversation, for the sake of my friend." you gesture at the bartender. "one more, please. i'm gonna need it."

-

damn. now johnny's got you thinking about getting your back broken by simon. maybe you really are just down horrendously, or maybe it's the alcohol in your system that has decided to toss all self-preservation out the metaphorical window because now you can't stop noticing him.

he's real tall— enough to have him slightly tipping his head to walk through a doorway. his shoulders are mountainous, his hands the size of a bear's paw. his physicality is undoubtedly impressive and well, you've always been weak to burly, commanding men.

you make eye contact with johnny from across the room, his bright blue eyes alive under the dim light of the dingy bar, and the bastard shifts his gaze from simon to you, giving a cheeky wink.

lifting your glass, you drink the last of your liquid courage— the taste of it bittersweet. it has been a long time since you've gotten laid.

double damn.

"hey." you lean slightly toward simon, cupping your hand around your mouth. "you and i both know why we're here. take me home?" the way he looks at you has you shifting restlessly in your seat. did you perhaps make a mistake? oh, fuck. did you just throw yourself cunt-first at someone who is not interested? your face burns with embarrassment, heat licking up your cheeks. maybe the earth will split open, right here ri—

"let's go then." oh thank fucking god. you don't know what you would've done if he'd said no. shrivel up and die, probably. "uber'll be here in 4."

when it arrives, he places his leather jacket around your shoulders, cocooning you in its warmth— the heady scent of nicotine clings to the garment— and leads you outside with a hand on the small of your back.

-

the world outside the car blurs into a hazy painting as the driver navigates the streets. colors blend together, once sharp outlines now dissolved. the rain gently taps on the window, a soothing sound that could easily lull you to sleep until you start when a roughened palm suddenly glides along your thigh— fingers slowly tracing intimate patterns on your skin.

simon's hand is hot, and it only burns hotter the closer it gets to your center under your least favorite skirt. he cannot be serious right now. you place your hand over his, short nails biting into him because there is no way you're about to be fingered in an uber—

his voice is deep, a deliciously thick rumble, right by your ear. "nice kitty." you've never been one for pet names or anything else for that matter, but the pulse of arousal that shoots up your spine has a shaky exhale leaving your lips, a ghostly breath fogging up the window.

the tips of his fingers tease the seam of your knickers, a generic cotton fabric that clings to your dampening cunt like a second skin— desire trickling onto the gusset. your whimper is drowned out by the terrible music the driver is currently playing when his small finger grazes over your slit, featherlight.

"so wet already? i've barely even touched ya, love." again with the cunt-clenching nicknames. he has no business purring them out like that. "i can smell your sweet pussy from here. you really must be achin' for it." of course the time he chooses to be vocal, it's to spew filth. "don't worry, i'll treat ya good."

somehow, you actually manage to choke out a response. "i'm sure. johnny-" you hiss through clenched teeth when he slips under your knickers, a finger brushing along your slick entrance, "said you had him walking side to side once." you buck your hips, seeking the friction you need, but it only makes him pull away a bit; how unsurprisingly cruel.

"only because he was bein' a brat. you're not a brat though, are ya? gonna be good f'me?" your tongue is heavy in your mouth, words lodged in your throat— all you can give him is a slight nod. "i expect verbal answers. i'd hate to spank your arse raw. how would ya sit down after?"

the idea of being bent over his strong thighs, face pressed into his couch as his firm hand takes you into the needy subspace you crave is too much, or maybe not enough because you're tucking your face into the side of his neck in an instant. "please," you warble, unsure of what you're even begging for.

he curls his finger, slipping between your lips, and when he finally brushes your clit— a fleeting, tantalizing touch— your eyes threaten to roll into the back of your head. "needy little thing. i bet there's a damp spot right where you're sittin'. drippin' all over my fingers—" your breath is ripped from your lungs when he abruptly pulls his hand out and away, the sodden material of your knickers snapping against your heated skin. you're about to snarl out a vicious what the fuck, but the once-blurred scenery outside sharpens into focus.

the driver parks and looks at you from the rearview mirror. "we're here." you mumble a muted thank you, stepping out with quivering legs and a drenched cunt. a crisp breeze dances across your skin, a refreshing contrast to the stifling heat from inside the car.

as soon as the car drives off, you're hoisted onto a broad shoulder. the world tilts, and you fist the back of simon's shirt for stability. "highly unnecessary. i can wa—" you let out a squeak when he slaps the back of your thigh, the sharp bite of it sending a jolt straight to your throbbing center.

"hush."

you sputter indignantly as you hold on tighter, breaths coming out in short gasps, syncing with each step. "i beg your pardon?"

you yelp when he gives you another slap, this time closer to your cunt. "then beg." you're rendered speechless.

wow. maybe you've actually bitten off more than you can chew.

the wet cement under you is a blur, the texture lost in the rush of his movements until he comes to a stop, and you hear a familiar jingle of keys. he bursts through the door, the hinges groaning in protest, and you're staggeringly planted on both feet.

"nice place." a lie. it looks unlived in— brand spanking new. you vaguely hear the lock behind you as you take in your surroundings. a perfect, leather couch, not a crease in sight. the rug under it is pristine and bland, a cream color that matches the rest of his flat. impersonal. not an ounce of real personality anywhere. you begin shrugging off his jacket when you're suddenly pressed against the cold door, simon bent at the knees in front of you, his dark eyes— sharp as blades— lock onto yours.

"gonna beg?"

the fire in your lower belly reignites at the sight of his unmasked face. ash-brown hair in a simple crew cut, thick brows with the right one bisected by a pink, gnarled scar. slightly crooked nose, broken one too many times, and thin, pale lips. a countenance to match his rugged personality.

you're pulled out of your thoughts when he licks a hot stripe over your covered slit and you mewl at the sensation. "i asked you a question."

the words rush out of your mouth before you can even think of stopping them. "yes, yes! please, god, i don't- just- please let me come! i-" his thumbs hook into the waistband of your knickers and tug them down slowly, strings of arousal sticking to the gusset, smearing on your inner thighs.

"alrigh', since ya begged so prettily." your vision goes white when he throws one leg over his shoulder, and his slick tongue slides through your folds, the tip flicking your clit lightly. he laps at your cunt like it drips milk and honey— nourishing and sweet. simon groans into you, the sound crawling up your vertebrae and into the base of your skull.

he begins to draw lazy circles around your pearl, every swirl of his tongue has your back bowing as if winding it, inching you closer to the precipice. your toes curl in your shoes, hands finding purchase in his coarse hair, knuckles staining white as you start the feel the familiar tightening in your lower belly.

and then he pushes one thick finger into you, down to the scarred knuckle, and crooks it. the squelching noise your dripping pussy makes when he presses on the tiny patch of rough skin inside is loud and obscene; practically echoing off the dull, ivory walls of his flat.

"gonna come f'me? make a mess all over my hand?" simon adds another finger, a slight burn nipping at the heels of the pleasure coiling under your navel.

"c'mon. give it to me, pet." his lips encircle your clit, giving it a light suckle and it's—

the coil snaps, a sudden release of tension. it is violent and oh, so exquisite. white noise in your head, your ears, coursing through your veins. it prickles, it stings; it's pleasure and pain. your soul sinks back into your body— like a feather returning to its nest— and you blink, momentarily unbalanced.

"ya with me?"

you breathe deep— the taste of salt in the air, the scent of sweat-slick skin, your heart pulsing with life. "yes. i'm here." the man took you to the stars and laid you on them. jesus.

"good." the room spins, and you're weightless, nestled in his arms. it'd seem innocent if it wasn't for the stickiness in between your thighs, or the prominent bulge in his jeans occasionally pressing into your arse.

simon kicks a door open, knob bouncing off the wall with a crack, and quickly places you on the bed before tugging his shirt off. the belt and jeans come off next, and—

"you don't wear pants." why would he let that monstrosity just hang like that?

"good observation. is water still wet?" he asks, tonelessly. you narrow your eyes at him, pushing your tongue against the back of your teeth.

"fuck me for having eyes and using them as intended, i guess," you mumble under your breath. he grabs you by the ankle and tugs the skirt off, then your shoes, "ouch, i like my feet where they are, thank you," and literally rips your shirt in half. "you'll be giving me on of yours before i leave as recompense."

he holds himself up with his arms over you, your thighs burning as they cradle his hips.

his cock is a heavy, hot weight on your stomach— ruddy, leaking tip right under your navel. you're not small by any means, but he's going to tear you in half. there's no surviving such an onslaught. he's not just leaving you with a limp, he's going to turn your two smaller holes into one big one.

he tears into a golden wrapper with his teeth, and expertly rolls the condom on. simon lowers down to his elbows and nudges your jaw with his nose. "i'll stop the moment ya call it. tap on me if you're feelin' overwhelmed."

that's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to you, and the fact that it comes from a massive creep who stares at people like they owe him money has you a bit dumbstruck.

his stubble grazes the side of your neck as he glides his cock along your slick folds; once, thrice, until the head catches on your swollen entrance. simon pushes in slow, agonizingly slow— you don't know if it's better or worse because you feel every devastating inch of his length as it forcibly wrenches your walls apart.

your senses are solely focused on him: his body enveloping yours completely. his breath, sweetened like malt, wafts gently across your skin. his thick waist that you can't fully wrap your legs around. everything about him is big— his physicality, his presence, his cock.

"take a deep breath for me, pet. feel everythin' i'm givin' you."

your lungs expand as you do, and when you exhale, your muscles slacken. rapturous pleasure begins to bleed through the delicate membrane that separates it from the bite of pain, until boundaries are blurred and—

and he sinks into you like a rock breaking the surface tension of still water, bottoming out in one, smooth stroke. you can't help the mewl that falls from your lips nor the way your walls clamp down around him.

"fuck, there it is. so bloody tight, this greedy cunt is takin' my cock like it was made for me."

there isn't a single coherent thought in your head and you're glad for it. finally, someone to fuck you stupid.

simon gives you an experimental thrust, dragging his length along every single one of your nerves, and then another— desire overflowing from where he stuffs you to the very brim. "good. ready?"

he takes your tiny nod as an answer this time and begins to fuck you in earnest. it takes everything in you to not black out from how perfect it felt.

simon puts his weight behind every thrust, a steady pull out, and a spine-jarring push in. you can feel him deep in your stomach, a delicious pinch of discomfort each time he presses against the plug of your womb.

"so fuckin' wet, your cunt's droolin' all over me." he hooks an arm under your left leg and lifts, the angle he's put you in tittering dangerously on the tightrope of rapture and ache.

it's so good, so fucking good, your slick walls fluttering as he carves himself into you, your soul, your cunt when you feel a tight snap inside.

simon pulls out in an instant, taking your breath with him as he does. you look down at his cock and notice that—

"the condom broke. i've got another in the drawer, gimme a sec."

there is some weird thing that lodges in place somewhere deep in your sternum when you realize that he's been nothing but considerate and attentive to you since he brought you home and hasn't fussed over anything once. it's an extremely low bar, you are aware. rewarding what should be the bare fucking minimum is sad, but you're not completely altruistic in your motives anyway. you want to feel his bare cock inside as he rearranges your insides.

"no!" he quickly turns to look at you, "no. it's okay. i'm clean and i'm also on the pill. if that's okay with you, of course."

a man his stature should not move as fast as he just did, blinking from one side of the room to the other. he quickly throws both of your legs over his shoulders, heels resting on his back when he sinks back in, this time letting out a guttural groan as he does.

you can feel the ridge of his flared head, the warmth of his cock seeping into your tender walls— a new level of intimacy. he fucks you with fervor now, a precise snap of his hips that has your teeth clacking with every thrust.

your climax takes you by complete surprise, crashing into you like waves on a rocky, jagged shore. burst after burst of blinding pleasure threatens to consume you whole, and when your limbs are loose and syrupy— body limp— only then do you realize that he came just as fast. thick white ropes of viscous spend cover your stomach and trail down to your abused cunt.

your hamstrings already hurt with delayed onset muscle soreness. you might actually need a wheelchair to go back home.

(thank god your hips held out, and no, you don't care that it's essentially sacrilegious of you to even think that.)

his breathing comes out in ragged bursts, beads of sweat dripping onto the valley of your breasts.

and he's back to the fucking staring. "simon."

"pet."

"please stop looking at me like that."

he huffs and dips his head to flick your hardened nipple with his tongue, making you hiss with over sensitivity.

"make me."

-

as dawn breaks, the world begins to stir awake. hues of pale pink stain the sky, the first blush of morning. light and shadow begin to blend in the bedroom.

your phone vibrates under the pillow, simon's arm tightening around your soft waist at the buzzing sound. his lips press a light kiss on the sensitive skin by your ear, and his large hand begins to weave its way downward, pads of his fingers gathering the evidence of last night (or early morning) and gently parts your folds, brushing light strokes on your clit.

when he places your leg around his hip and sinks into you from behind, your phone buzzes again-- alone and forgotten.

good morning!!! i expect a full, detailed report by lunch or so help you god.

sent 5:30 am

about time you got laid, you're not you when you're horny.

sent 5:49 am

[kingdom-of-sins]

Lando Norris x Girlfriend!Reader

Summary: Lando is an idiot, oh and he also lost the key to your house

Requested? No

The room is dark and silent as you sleep, snuggled under your favorite blanket, sleeping. It's past midnight when you faintly hear a noise. A clatter, followed by a muffled curse. Your eyes snap open.

Your heart pounds as you sit up in bed. Is that... someone in the house? Panic sets in.

Frantically, your eyes scan the room for a weapon. Anything will do. Finally, you grab your bedside lamp. It’s not exactly a baseball bat, but it’s heavy and wieldy enough to knock out a potential thief. Lamp in hand, you cautiously tiptoe toward the kitchen, every creak in the floorboards making you wince.

The noise is louder now. Someone is moving around, rummaging. You grip the lamp tighter, raise it over your head, and step into the kitchen.

“Stop right there!” you yell.

“AHHH!” the intruder screams, dropping something on the counter.

“AHHH!” you scream back, shocked that the "thief" is screaming too.

Both of you stand frozen, staring at each other in the dim light. You recognize the messy curls and wide-eyed look of terror before you.

“Lando?!” you gasp, lowering the lamp.

“Babe, don’t kill me!” Lando exclaims, hands in the air like he’s about to be arrested. “Put the lamp down!”

“What are you doing sneaking around my kitchen at night?!” you demand, lowering the lamp but still holding it firmly. “You scared me half to death!”

“I lost the key you gave me!” he blurts out, looking like a guilty puppy. “I didn’t want to wake you, so I thought I’d...you know...climb in through the window.”

“You climbed through my window?” you echo, incredulous. “Who even does that?!”

“I do, apparently,” he mutters, still eyeing the lamp nervously. “Can you, uh, put that down before you actually swing it at me?”

Realizing you’re still holding the lamp like a weapon, you set it on the counter with a huff. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I know,” he says, trying to muster a sheepish grin. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t just scare me—you terrified me!” you scold. “What if I had actually hit you with this thing?”

“Well,” he says, scratching the back of his neck, “I guess I’d be knocked out, and you’d be dating a guy with a concussion.”

You roll your eyes but can’t help the small laugh that escapes. “This isn’t funny, Lando. You lost the key! What if someone else finds it?”

“I’ll fix it,” he says quickly. “I’ll change the locks tomorrow. First thing in the morning.”

“You’d better,” you say, crossing your arms. “And you’re paying for it!”

“Of course,” he says, nodding eagerly. “Anything you want. Just don’t attack me with lamps anymore.”

You shake your head, still annoyed but starting to soften. Then he grins and points at you.

“By the way,” he says, “you look really hot in my papaya hoodie.”

You glance down, realizing you’re wearing his oversized hoodie. “Don’t think compliments are going to get you out of this,” you say, trying to sound stern.

“Oh, come on,” he says, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around you. “I mean it. You look amazing.”

“Flattery will only get you so far,” you tease, but the corners of your mouth twitch upward.

“It’s working, though, isn’t it?” he asks, kissing your forehead.

You sigh, giving in. “Fine. You’re forgiven... but only because of the hoodie.”

“Noted,” he says, grinning. “And I’ll keep my promise about the locks. No more sneaky window missions, I swear.”

“Good,” you say, finally relaxing in his arms. “Next time, just call. I’d rather wake up to a phone than almost attack you with a lamp.”

“Deal,” Lando laughs, holding you tighter.

[ask-the-midnight-mission]

[From @templeofvengeance]

[For the mod: Loving the art!]

[Thank you so much! I love your art too 🤍]

[ghouljams]

what sort of body hair & body types do you think the 141 boys have

So glad you asked:

Starting with pretty boy Gaz, He's absolutely got the gym body. You know the one with the perfectly sculpted muscles, tugging his shorts up to show off the flex of his thighs for the camera as he grins, rolling his shoulders back to show off the lats, flexing for the camera. He's more lean muscle than huge body builder vibes, like it's definitely tailored to his body type, but it's that instagram influencer perfect physique. He's got a well groomed smattering of hair. Not a ton on his chest but plenty of people are eyeing that neat happy trail as he does chest presses at the gym. Lemme get a peak at that man in the sauna...

Soap is a big lad, but it's all muscle. He definitely is going for more of the body builder physique. Packs on muscle really well, and tries to manage his macros so that he keeps his abs when he wants them. The man is stacked. He's also hairy. He's the motherfucker that you're hoping to death wipes off the gym equipment because you can see him sweating through that pelt he's got. Good dark hair on his arms and legs, and chest hair you just wanna bury your face in. You're not even into that stuff but when he raises his arms to grab the lat tower bar you kinda wanna run your tongue through his underarm hair. You just know that man doesn't even trim his pubic area...

Ghost is just naturally big, but he also packs on muscle like a motherfucker. Ghost has a solid strongman look, like he definitely works out, and you've seen him bench 400 lbs without breaking a sweat, but he also looks like he never turns down a slice of cake. Olympic dead lifter type. You could watch him run on the treadmill for hours with the way his pecs bounce. Doesn't look hairy because he's blond, so it's very light wispy hair, but he's got a nice map of curls at the base of his dick that just make you wanna suck him off. Always lets his towel sit too low in the sauna, when you die, you wanna come back as the sweat dripping between his tits.

Price... You wanna talk about a man that pass up a decent meal it's Price. That doesn't mean he isn't in the gym with his men, it just means he's the one in the mess at midnight grabbing that last cookie before bed. He's good at shedding the weight though. You see him before a mission and he's trimmed up, but once he's home he's a bear of a man. That goes for the hair too. That man is so fucking hairy. Thick dark hair all over his body, to the point where you're not sure he isn't a werewolf or something. You actually checked the lunar cycle once when he wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt in the gym, and you saw the thick hair trailing down the center line of his stomach. (What a man, what a man, what a man)

[silverjetsystm]

💔 BROKEN HEART — is there anyone in your life you wish you had a better relationship with? if so, how come? what makes this person important to you?

IN CHARACTER CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT QUESTIONS. | Accepting

After two or so years of becoming itself, Mission continues to evolve in architectural defying structures. Outside office facade could not possibly contain long branched hallways, multiple floors stretching towards the star studded sickle shaped sky. Personal touches. Mezuzot sprout all at once, eclectic yet fitting for each doorpost; Jake made sure to get kosher klafs, proudly tucking them in many cases. How many? Enough! An espresso machine for the kitchen gleams across from the gas stove, cheerfully at home with the scuffed and pitted cherry kitchen table.

Nesting.

It’s this kitchen table Brunn and Marc finish up dinner. Beef Bourguignon, somehow successfully made by Marc mopped up by crusty and soft bread from a bakery. Couple bottles of wine and nonalcoholic offerings. Plenty of food for a fighter pilot and a vigilante.

“Frenchie always said ‘it is not difficult, Marc, it takes time,’” he drops in passable French accent. Cloth napkin wipes schmutz from his lips. Broad shoulders shift, self-effacing quirk to his smile. Weird, how he can be without cloth face in front of her. Not weird. Unexpected.

Then again, he was nothing without his friends. Brunn has a whole page in different categories – comrade in arms, former ??? lover, pilot. Fellow dead. He had seen her in a hundred different moods. Figuring out what they are now as it comes. Complicated, considering he kind of offered her a job and -

Slow is fast.

“Frenchie. Ah. Duchamp.” Jerk of his jaw to the dregs. “Gave our cook the recipe a long time ago.” Back when Frenchie lived with Marlene and Steven in the Long Island mansion. Back when Steven had staff.

“He was my old pilot. Best bird pilot I’ve ever had the pleasure of working with.” Helicopters were a different category than jets. “Légion étrangère. Got done with that. Drifted into mercenary work. Where we met and…” History in hard brown eyes. That first death. “Turned over new leaves together. He’d fly the bird, I’d glide out, doing what I do best.” Spector and Duchamp. Two halves of one macabre Moon Kni.ght. Closer than brothers.

He wants her to know what happened to those who got too close to him. Air jockeys included.

“We’d go at it. Y’know how I am. He’d challenge me on making the work harder. Hypocrisy. I don’t use firearms but was alright with him having them. On not killing. Until I snapped. Went too far. Uh. He had multiple crashes. Leg injuries. Till one time too many and they were amputated.” He pokes his spoon. “After, we’d. We’d still work together from time to time. Be in each other’s lives. But it got too much. I was too much. He’s better off without me.”

@valkxrie

Marc isn't mentioning how Frenchie 100% had a crush on Marc but that's straight up canon. Marc didn't know until much, much later. Dense.

[normaltothemax]

curses only have power when you believe them. and i don't. / for steven!

“Well, that’s all well and good for you.” Oh, but Steven longs for the days when he didn’t know anything about this. When he was blissfully ignorant of curses and magic and gods. When his life was simple. (When he still thought mum was kind and alive. When he didn’t know about Marc or Jake and worked at the gift shop with Donna and thought he was plagued by a “sleep disorder”. When he thought he was going mad. On second thought, he’s happy where he is now.)

Don’t believe it. That’s easy for John to say. John’s not the one spilling his coffee each morning, or tripping over continuously untied shoelaces, or dropping every book he picks up into a puddle. John’s not the one cursed to have bad luck for something he didn’t even do. Marc’s the one that pissed off that man/god/whatever he was, so why is Steven the one facing the consequences?

Point is, it’s hard not to believe something when it’s actively happening to you.

@talentforlying (x)

[rukia-kuchiki-divided]

"You're lucky it's just a few scratches. You need to be more careful!" [Your choice of muse]

After Action Starters Meme | Accepting

(Let's do Byakuya! I'm not currently rp-ing with one and I love cute sibling moments between them.)

Rukia hissed through her teeth as her brother move his hands over her own, blood dripping down from her fingertips. She glanced up to read Byakuya's face, half expecting there to be disappointment in his eyes.

"I apologize, Nii-sama. I was careless and distracted when releasing my bankaii." She inclined her head in bow as she felt his soothing kido over her wounds, sealing them. Rukia let out a small sigh of relief.