#draws him being uncharacteristically cute

[robotssssss]

100% accurate depiction of the Ferryman writing that journal

[enkvyu]

12:45am — gojo satoru ;

“cute earrings, where’d you get them?” shoko asks.

“hm?” still clinging to sleep, you absentmindedly reach up to caress the metal dangling from your ear. the sharp indents of its gem pricks you back into a memory. “oh, these. i got them from a friend last week.”

“friend? or do you mean boyfriend?”

shoko’s words are throwaway, her wandering eyes and yawn a clear indication yet your face warms despite yourself. shaking your head furiously, you exclaim, “a friend! just a friend."

shoko hums, shifting her cigarette to the other end of her mouth. her gaze flickers somewhere behind you and you almost look too, when her words pull you back. “come to think of it, i don’t think you’ve ever told me what your type was.”

“my type?” your mind blanks. “i’ve probably never told you because i’ve never thought about it myself. i mean, being a jujutsu sorcerer and all, romance is kind of off the table.”

shoko keeps looking at you, pressing you without words. you grimace and sigh.

"i mean, i guess, maybe someone good looking? someone who’s not boring? and now that we're talking about it, someone who is fit and athletic too. they'd have to be smart, but not book-smart, like, street-smart." the more you think of it, the more words seem to spill from your mouth. "and someone who has a good sense of humour, someone who will make me laugh.”

“someone good looking, interesting, sporty, smart and funny? that’s too greedy.”

you giggle. “you’re right, there’s no way there’s anyone that perfect. i guess i’ll have to be single forever.”

“you'll always have me.” shoko says, grinning.

you push her shoulder but don’t deny it.

yaga walks into the classroom, cutting your conversation short. you spin around in your seat to face the front, eyes accidentally meeting gojo’s. he turns around too, and you reason that he was probably looking out the window behind you. you see getou snicker and whisper something in his ear, but gojo seemed to be having none of it, blatantly ignoring him.

seeing his face makes you think. didn’t gojo kind of match your type? someone attractive, interesting, athletic and maybe not academic smart, but he definitely carried an air of confidence when it came to fighting. and it wasn't a secret that he lightened the air wherever he went, intentionally or not.

with a start, you look back at shoko. “and someone calm. someone with manners.”

“well-mannered and calm. what insane preferences.” shoko chuckles. “are there any more?"

yaga slams his hand on the table a few times, reluctantly drawing your attention back to the front.

your previous conversation dies and twiddles away into the background, overtaken by droning lectures and predictable missions. by the end of the day, you can't even remember what you had told shoko early that morning.

when you enter the classroom the next day, you’re surprised to find gojo already there, seated at his table. his sunglasses hangs lower on his nose than usual and most curiously of all, a book is held in his hands. you’re not sure if he’s actually reading or not considering that pages were being turned far too quickly for someone reading “ordinary objects” by amie thomasson.

his eyes flicker to yours as you head in. “good morning.”

“morning. what’s with you?”

gojo clears his throat. “what ever do you mean?”

your frown transitions to a grimace. “why are you talking like that? did you break something of mine? was it my potted plant, gojo i told you to take good care of it!”

“i am taking care of it! it’s not dead yet!” he exclaims before pausing uncharacteristically. he sits back in his chair and turns back to his book. “i mean, it’s fine.”

“you sure?”

“i am.”

you narrow your eyes before looking away, dropping into your seat. “it better be. shoko got me that one.”

“speaking of shoko, is she not coming today?”

“i think she stayed overnight at the morgue.”

“is that so? perhaps i should write notes for her. i wouldn’t want her to miss out on class.”

you turn to him horrified. “so you did kill my plant!”

“i said it’s not dead!” gojo bursts. another pause. he clears his throat, adjusting his glasses. “i simply worry for her.”

you stare at him and watch as he fidgets under your gaze. “are you feeling sick? did you eat something wrong?”

“i’m not sick. what part of me looks sick?"

“well you’re usually not this…” you watch him as you wrack your brain, trying to find a word to describe this situation. “c…”

gojo leans forward. “yes?”

“crazy.”

he falls back in his chair, groaning, book forgotten and placed harshly down on the table.

you tilt your head. “where's getou, you guys didn’t come to class together? don’t tell me you fought.”

gojo peers up and frowns. “no, can i not show up to class early just because i feel like it?”

“it would be extremely out of character, yeah.” you rest your chin on your hand as you watch gojo mutter to himself, his jaw jutted out and his nose scrunched.

he was clearly unhappy, it didn’t take a scholar to know. it might take a genius to figure out why though.

you had time to kill, might as well take up the challenge. maybe he hadn’t had his morning dose of sugar yet, or maybe his favourite anime had delayed it’s upcoming episode. maybe he didn't save properly on the new game he was playing, or maybe he simply didn't sleep well last night. or maybe he had lied to you and he had fought with getou, leading to this strange attitude.

the more you thought about it, the more it made sense. the way he was acting now was like a mockery to getou's usual behaviour.

“are you trying to be like getou?” you try.

gojo whirs around to face you. “what?”

“well, you’re trying to be composed.” he keeps staring at you and you clear your throat. “like more well-mannered. more calm.”

gojo remains silent but you watch as his jaw drops. you think that he might say something but then his mouth closes, only to open again.

gojo speechless, what a sight. but as good of a sight as it was, you were beginning to feel concerned.

“are you sure you’re alright? what did you eat yesterday?”

he doesn’t register your question. “you think getou is well-mannered?”

“yeah?”

“and calm?”

you nod. “more than you, at least.”

“do you think he’s interesting too? sporty? smart? funny?” he pauses. “good-looking?”

the questions throw you off guard and you sit up. “what? where is this coming from?”

“oh my god, you do.”

“no? i mean, i think getou’s great and everything—”

“you think getou’s great?”

“don’t you?”

“you think getou’s hot.” he concludes. “and you think getou’s great.”

"what are you even saying?"

"i don't know. why don't you tell me?"

baffled, you flail for words. “are you jealous of him? that's strange, i didn’t think either of you would ever feel jealous of each other.”

gojo grits his teeth and looks away. with a pout, he says, “me neither.”

the door to the classroom is thrown open and getou steps through, rubbing the back of his neck. he yawns on his way to his chair and it wakes him up, looking between you and gojo as you both watch him enter.

“what did you guys do?” he asks with a sigh.

“nothing!”

“nothing.” gojo says and glares at him.

getou blinks.

“okay.” he says slowly, sliding out his chair and sitting. “what did i do then? why are you both looking at me like that?”

“gojo’s being weird.” you snitch. “are you guys fighting?”

“how should i know? i thought we were doing okay. gojo, if i did something, use your words and tell me.”

"i'll use my words to tell you to suck my dick instead."

"so i did do something. you're so predictable, gojo."

you snicker as gojo huffs and glances away, looking away out the window behind your head. his train of sight cuts right past you but you can’t help but feel slightly flustered as he looks on, almost like he was looking at you, so determined to ignore getou’s pestering.

subconsciously, you drown getou out too, your traitorous mind observing the blue in gojo’s eyes. you had always thought it was just one colour, but looking at it now, it seemed more like a kaleidoscope of blues, the many shades sparkling and dimming as he watched birds flutter outside the window, and you watched their shadows through his eyes.

something shifts, in the air or in the skies you don't know, and gojo meets your eye. startled, you hold the gaze and he holds it too, just long enough for your lungs to run out of air.

you look away hastily and inhale.

gojo glances to the front, oddly fidgety.

getou looks between the two of you. “what the fuck was that?”

“nothing.” gojo says.

getou clearly doesn't buy it but though he tries to get an answer out of you, you don't give him one either. cupping your cheeks, your thoughts mirror his question. what was that? it was embarrassing, that's what it was and your realisation is only heightened as a silence fills all four corners of the classroom.

gojo clears his throat. “for me, i like someone who i'm already comfortable with. someone i already know.”

at his words, you look over at him and find him already staring. he frowns as you don't give him any other reaction.

yaga saves you from addressing his statement, walking into the room as the bell for class rang. "oh? you're all early, even you gojo. where's shoko?"

“she’s staying at the morgue because of the recent mission.”

“i see.” yaga nods. “then let’s start.”

your mind fails to work as you turn over gojo’s words, thinking them through. what did they mean? what was he talking about? did this weird confession have something to do with why he was acting so strange?

slowly, you draw connections between your conversation with gojo and the talk you had with shoko yesterday morning. an epiphany shoots through you and you cover your mouth to hide a gasp.

did that mean…?

someone he knew? acting strange? getting mad when you said you liked getou?

you watch gojo’s side profile, hoping he’d turn around. if what you thought was right, he’d turn.

seconds tick past. yaga’s voice drawls on and yet gojo doesn't even spare you a glance.

no, maybe you were wrong after all.

just as you were about to face yaga again, gojo’s head shifts and his eye flicks over to yours. they widen when he finds you, and you’re sure you’re in a similar shocked state.

oh my god, you think, eyes darting between him and the other boy in the room.

gojo has a crush on getou.

filler imagine based off of that One scene from the manga: "megane tokidoki yankee kun"

[mariasont]

TEDIUM - S.R

a/n: found this dress on pinterest and just needed to write something about it

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x bimbo!receptionist!reader

summary: spencer is not having the best time at the FBI Gala, well, until you show up

warnings: just cuties being cute, spencer swooning, maybe suggestive if you squint, spencer asks out bimbo reader!!

wc: 1.1k

Spencer was bored, more than bored, he was tedium. The word, meaning a dullness in routine, had come to him during a lecture about the history of timekeeping, illustrating the repetitive tick of a clock which can lead to such a state.

That is what he felt like, like the monotone ticking of a clock was more consistent with a sonic boom bouncing off the walls of his brain. His hand was wrapped around a beer, not his typical drink of choice, but the stale surroundings seemed to demand a departure from his usual routine.

To anyone else, the surroundings would have been anything but stale. The air vibrated with music, elegant attire sparkled under the light, important people exchanged pleasantries, and drinks flowed like rivers. However, Spencer found himself disengaged, the usual allure of the FBI Gala eluding him, leaving him feeling oddly detached.

At his elbow, Penelope was sipping on something pink, the glass seemingly more decorative than practical. She was talking about something, something about how she wished Morgan was here and how he'd love the dress she was wearing. But Spencer's mind was elsewhere, locked on the door, his body immobilized by a sudden alertness.

The frothy concoction of pastels and ruffles you often wore were nowhere to be seen tonight. He felt as if his whole body was reprogramming itself as you descended the stairs, the green fabric of your dress seemed to flow like water, the peaks and swells of your body calling to him in a language that his rational mind struggled to ignore.

Your smile reached him before you did, the apple of your cheeks straining with a grin so effortlessly bright. You waved at him, your gold-heeled feet gliding across the floor towards him. Time seemed to slow. His fingers tightened around the beer, the chill of the condensation battling the warmth spreading across his brow. He wanted to memorize you, taking a mental screenshot that might come in handy later.

"Oh my gosh, look at the two of you!" Juggling your matching purse, you managed to slide it under your arm, freeing your hands to wrap Penelope in a hug.

Your hands then moved to Spencer, arms looping around his neck. He took a beat, his beer finding its place on the counter, before his hands settled on your waist, pulling you close. The sweet scent of coconut wafted from your hair, intoxicating him in a way that made him reluctant to let go. But he restrained himself, allowing you to be the one to draw back first.

"Makes a girl feel a little outshone." You were joking, he knew that, but he still couldn't help to reassure you.

"You look beautiful."

He caught the hint of a smile you were holding back, feeling it in the way your hand clasped his. You mumbled a thanks, so faint it was almost lost, uncharacteristic for you.

"Are you kidding? You look like a goddess. I feel like I should be asking for your autograph," Penelope gushed, her hands dramatically gesturing to you.

It was impossible for Spencer not to notice the way your hand didn't leave his, fingers laced together naturally, your thumb moving in soft strokes. His heart was failing, he was sure.

Penelope's attention was drawn to where Spencer's focus lay, eyebrows shooting up. A knowing grin pulled at her lips as she looked between you. "Oh my, I totally spaced that I was supposed to meet up with Luke! You guys will be okay without me, right? Hugs and kisses, I'll be back!"

Spencer laughed, his free hand reaching for his discarded beer, lifting it to his lips in an attempt to counter the heat coursing through him.

It didn't. Not with you so close, touching him. He was putty in your hands.

"Is it, like, super weird seeing me outside of work hours?" you asked, dropping his hand as you reached to dig inside your purse, signaling for the bartender. "It's like bumping into your dentist at a party—doesn't really happen."

As you ordered your drink, Spencer was already in motion, intercepting with his own card.

"I've got it," he insisted. "And yeah, it's a bit unusual, but a good kind of unusual."

"Thanks, Spence. Next one's on me." He definitely wasn't going to let that happen. You swivel the face him with a cherry-topped drink in hand. "I totally agree, it's the best kind of unusual. We should do it more often."

"Yeah, we should," he replied, the word floating on a shaky breath.

The opportunity was there, ripe as the cherry you were now teasing with your tongue. The question, however, refused to materialize, trapped as he watched your tongue slide over the fruit as it were second nature.

You didn't even realize what you were doing, looking up at him with a pure innocence, but somehow as if you knew he was toying with the idea of asking you out. 

The intimate bubble that had formed around you two burst suddenly when Emily called out. You turned sharply, inadvertently pressing flush against Spencer as you tried to pinpoint her voice.

Spencer's muscles tensed, his arm instinctively finding the curve of your waist in an effort to steady both himself and you. Your hand lifted in a wave, presumably to Emily, while your other hand found a place on his bicep.

"I'm pretty sure Emily wants us over there," you mentioned casually, making no move to distance yourself or approach Emily.

Spencer's response was a nod, his eyes drinking in your face—the lushness of your lashes, the specks of color in your eyes, the gentle slope of your nose, the swell of your lips—each feature distinctly yours.

"Let me take you on a date." It was as if the phrase had a life of its own, announced from a version of Spencer that even he didn't recognize.

Your mouth, glossed in pink, paused mid-motion, opening slightly. "Like an actual date-date? I'd love to go on a date with you. I've been not-so-patiently waiting for you to ask."

The thumping of his heart was loud in his ear, his cheeks tinged with pink as you looped your arm through his. "You have?"

You let out a laugh, the kind that bubbled up effortlessly and seemed to warm the pit of his stomach. He was sure the team's eyes were on the two of you, but he wasn't sure if he cared.

"Oh, totally! Probably since my first day when you had the meeting with Chief Cruz. I was like, wow he's smart and cute."

The ticking of the clock seemed irrelevant now. Spencer realized that the tedium he felt might not have been a symptom of the event but the absence of you. Now, with your arm linked in his, everything felt like it took on a new hue, brighter and thrilling, as if the clock had been reset. 

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna @readergf @sarcasm-and-stiles @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @freyy253 @broadwaytraaaaash

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[snowballseal]

How they react to you having a lot of tattoos

LaDS X Reader

Anon Request: I was curious if you would be willing to write the boys reacting to a partner with a lot of tattoos? I feel like MC is pretty covered up and as someone with full sleeves and a large back piece, it’s always interesting to see how people react to seeing them.

Note: Y’all killing me with these fun requests 🥺 I love this. I only have a few minimalist tattoos, but I want MORE. Thank you for the lovely request, anon. The scenarios were fun to think of.

Word Count: who’s to say 🤷about 1000 each

---

Rafayel

The first time Rafayel sees your tattoos is when you go on a date to the beach. You’re not even thinking about it as you change in the bathroom. When you decided to become a hunter, you knew you would have to cover up your tattoos. The policy, while being outdated in your mind, isn’t all that bothersome since you prefer to wear long sleeves anyways.

So it never occurred to you that Rafayel had never seen the full expanse of the ink on your body.

Which is why, when you step out and his eyes go impossibly wide as he looks at you, mouth dropping open, you’re first and foremost confused.

“What?” 

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you feel an inkling of insecurity curl in your chest as you look down at your two-piece. It’s nothing immodest, just a blue bikini that you thought was cute and also met your standards for support. It’s a little frilly, but a part of you thought he’d love that. 

“Do you not like it? I don’t uh, I don’t have anything else to wear…” Your voice comes out uncharacteristically meek.

That seems to snap Rafayel out of his daze. The artist shakes his head, the tips of his ears going positively red, as he still can’t rip his eyes from the lines decorating your skin. He reaches out, tracing the gentle petals of a flower on your waist.

“How come you’ve never shown me these, cutie?” He asks, voice touched with awe.

Oh. Heat creeps up your neck. So that’s what he was on about. You glance down at your body. You suppose it is a little jarring. It’s not like you’re covered head to toe, but you’re definitely a well covered canvas. Both of your arms have partial sleeves that curl up around your shoulders and continue along your collarbone. A large collection of flowers adorns the right side of your waist, traveling down your hip and turning into a pattern of vines down your leg. You have a few other ones, some silly, some heavy with meaning.

“Sometimes I forget I have them,” you admit a bit bashfully. Rafayel gives a low hum and your breath catches as his fingers continue to trace the lines on your waist, his touch warm and ticklish. “I’ve had some of them since before I started training.”

“I have to say, I’m a bit jealous that another artist has touched your body,” he murmurs, voice dropping to something low. His hand slips around your waist, drawing you closer so he can trace his lips over the intricate ink on your collar bone, ocean eyes glinting up at you with something possessive yet overflowing with adoration. “But even I have to admit this is beautiful work. Befitting my queen.”

Your cheeks go warm. As red at the tips of his ears. There’s something so reverent about his touch and it makes your heart flutter wildly, but you’re all too keenly aware that you’re still in public.

Not that it stops you from poking the fish.

“Would it make you feel better to know my newest one is for you?” You ask, reaching to touch his cheek with a teasing smile.

Rafayel’s face lights up. He draws back immediately, looking over your tattoos like an eager child until he spots the fresher ink on your left leg. You stifle a giggle as he drops to his knees, fingers curling around your ankle to pull your leg off the ground so he can get a better look. 

“Rafayel!” You bark out a laugh, balance stolen away. It forces you to lean on him just so you don’t fall over. “Geez, I could have just sat down, you know!”

“This is for me?” Rafayel, oblivious to your complaints, grazes his fingertips tenderly along your skin.

Shaking your head, you give his hair a playful fuss, “Yes, you impatient fish. It’s not done yet, but it’s about us.”

It’s the beginnings of an ocean scene. A beach circles right above your ankle, depicting the silhouettes of two younger kids, their hands clasped in a promise. As the ink continues up your leg, it transforms into what looks like a night sky, but instead it’s water, swirling lines of blue and purple, full of schooling fish, one in particular standing out, bright red among the cool tones. A familiar symbol. And on the back of your calf swims a graceful looking figure, reaching for the light, edges blurred between fish and man and water.

A lump forms in Rafayel’s throat as he touches the red fish, a familiar warmths spreading across his chest as the same symbol glows faintly. Seeing it on you fills him with an emotion he can’t quite explain.

“You do realize what this means, right?” Those ocean eyes flicker up to you. They glint like dark pearls, iridescent and beautiful, yet carry a depth of emotion that makes your breath catch.

“I do,” you answer unwaveringly.

Rafayel’s lips pull into a small smile. He never expected someone to do something like this for him. Though, of course you would. And it’s beautiful.

“It’s a stunning piece,” he murmurs eventually, leaning forward to press a kiss to your knee, right above the ink, his hair tickling your thigh, “Though I still think the canvas is the most beautiful thing of all.”

A snort escapes you and you bite your lip, heat rushing back to your cheeks, “You’re ridiculously corny, Rafayel.”

“I know.” His smile shifts into a wolfish grin as he stands up, scooping you into a hug. You squeal as he spins you around, holding on tightly despite knowing he’d never drop you. It’s only when you’re positively red that he stops, his mirthful eyes watching your face. “It’s worth it if I get to see this face. I swear, cutie, if you do more things like this, I might become unbearable.”

“You never could,” you giggle and loop your arms around his neck, “Though, I was thinking maybe next time, you could come with me?”

Rafayel raises an eyebrow, “Oh? You want to get matching tattoos? I’ll admit, I’ve never considered it…but if it’s with you, I can’t think of anything more fitting.”

“You’ll have to design it, of course,” you hum, tone turning a little more excited, “Oh, I can’t wait! It’ll be so fun! We can do it the next time I take a break, and after swimming season, obviously.”

Leaning in, Rafayel gives you a short kiss, laughing against your lips, “Anything you want, my lady. As long as it’s with you, I’ll enjoy every minute of it.”

---

Zayne

The first time Zayne sees your tattoos is when you reunite at Akso. You’re not sure how long it’s been, having only seen him every so often at Grandma Josephine’s for dinner. All you know is that he’s been busy, and is now one of the most remarkable young doctors in Linkon.

And also your new primary care physician.

“Knock knock.” 

You rasp your knuckles lightly against the door to his office, eyes lingering on the nameplate displayed prominently beside it. A strange sense of pride swells in your chest. To think, your childhood best friend would reach such heights.

“Come in,” Zayne calls, voice as aloof as ever.

You slip into his office and let the door shut behind you. The doctor sits at his desk, flicking through a file on his tablet. You hesitate on the edge of his peripherals, not sure exactly what to do or how to act. It’s been a long time since you two have been truly close, not since- But you’ve missed him.

A lot.

“My apologies, my previous surgery ran longer than expected so I am still collecting your records.” You blink, his voice drawing you back out of your thoughts. “You may take a seat if you’d like.”

“Okay.”

Maybe you’re the only one who feels weird about it. He seems completely unaffected, like you’re a normal patient, ever the professional. You awkwardly drag a stool a little closer to his desk, just far enough to not seem weird and so it doesn’t feel like you’re looking over his shoulder.

After the silence goes a tick too long, you can’t help but break it, fingers fiddling nervously with your sweater, “How have you been, Doctor Zayne?”

A faint smile ghosts across his lips. You haven’t changed one bit. 

“I’ve been well, thank you for asking. Work has become quite constant, so I’m afraid I haven’t been able to accept many of Josephine’s dinner invitations.” His eyes dart over to you briefly before focusing back on his screen. “You look like you’ve been doing well since we last saw each other.”

“I have,” you chirp, anxiety easing up a bit, “I’m really close to being finished with training and finally joining the Hunters Association. You should try to make it to dinner this week though! Grandma really misses you. She talks about you all the time.” You falter, cheeks warming a little. “...We’re all really proud of you, Zayne.”

Zayne’s fingers freeze against the tablet. An indecipherable look crosses his face, but he schools his features quickly and gives you a small smile.

“Thank you…you both have always been so kind to me,” he murmurs and finally turns to face you, “I’ll try my best to make it to dinner this week.”

Your face lights up, excitement sparking in your eyes. “Okay! I’ll let her know! She’ll probably make all your favorites. They haven’t changed, right?”

Zayne shakes his head, and you can’t help but kick your feet giddily. It’ll be nice to catch up. You have so many questions, and also so many stories to tell from your training days.

“Now that those plans are made, shall we proceed with your exam?”

“Right, right.” You almost forgot that’s what you’re here for. Nerves coming back, you shuffle on top of the stool. “What do you need me to do?”

“First, if you would remove your jacket, I’ll take your blood pressure and listen to your heart,” he instructs, voice settling back into something professional and neutral.

As Zayne turns away to fetch whatever tools he needs, you make quick work of taking your jacket off. The room is a little chillier than you expect. You wrap your arms around yourself to chase away the goosebumps that erupt across your skin. Your eyes stay glued on Zayne though, watching as he pulls a stethoscope and blood pressure monitor from one of his drawers.

“Do you usually do exams in your office?” You ask offhandedly.

“Not usually. As a cardiothoracic surgeon, I don’t often conduct general exams,” he hums, cleaning off the blood pressure cuff with a sterile wipe.

“Am I special or something, then?”

“With the rarity of your protocore syndrome, I thought it would be most effective to handle your care myself, yes. Though if it makes you uncomfortable we can-”

Zayne’s words cut off as he finally looks back at you. Surprise flickers across his face.

You freeze like a deer caught in headlights, though you don’t know why. Is there something on your face? A stain on your tank top? You glance down, finding nothing of the sort.

“What? What is it? Do I have something on me?” Your hands flicker up to your face, but you don’t feel anything.

Zayne blinks and shakes his head as if coming out of a stupor. The lightest blush warms his ears.

“My apologies. I just wasn’t aware you had so many tattoos.”

Oh. Holding out your arms, you look over the expanse of ink on your skin. You guess it’s a lot. It has taken you a few years, but you’ve effectively covered your arms and shoulders in art. Most of it is florals, with small, meaningful symbols or items hidden in the foliage. You also have a few others, though they’re covered by your clothes.

“I guess you wouldn’t have seen them,” you hum thoughtfully, “I wear a lot of long sleeves to Grandma’s dinners. And work requires us to cover them up.”

“They’re quite intricate.” He sets his tools aside, drawing his chair closer to you. His hand reaches for your arm, but pauses, his eyes darting up to yours. “May I?”

“Go for it,” you whisper, feeling a little bashful now that his attention is focused solely on you.

His fingers graze your wrist lightly, as if he’s scared to press too hard. You watch as he silently turns your arm over, taking in every minute detail of your tattoos. He lingers a little longer on the small, anatomical heart at the center of it all, surrounded by gentle jasmines. They’re incredibly well done, even he can see that, and they all look like they were done some time ago.

Something melancholic and sentimental settles in his chest.

“I remember when you were just a little girl, crying over her popsicle…You truly are all grown up now, aren’t you?” His voice is thick with something you can’t quite pinpoint, his touch turning impossibly tender as he traces the lines up your elbow.

Your heart flutters a little too wildly for your likings. “You’re all grown up too, mister chief cardiac surgeon. That’s a lot bigger than some tattoos.”

Another smile pulls at his lips, breaking his impassive facade.

“These have all healed well, though,” Zayne says, a spark of mischief flickering in his eyes as that strange emotion recedes, “You must have taken good care of them, and that alone is an impressive feat for you. That’s how I know you’ve grown up.”

A mock gasp escapes you and you pull your hand away to press it against your chest. If only to break the contact so he doesn’t notice your racing pulse.

“Doctor Zayne, I am deeply offended at your insinuation,” you insist vehemently, “I am a responsible person, soon to be an amazing hunter! I know how to take care of myself.”

“Says the woman who walked on a sprained ankle for a week out of pure stubbornness.”

“How was I supposed to know it was sprained?”

“I told you it was.”

---

Xavier

The first time Xavier sees your tattoos is after a mission that doesn’t go quite right. You come home with a bandage wrapped around your shoulder and chest, and the added instructions to change the gauze once a day. Which, of course, you can’t do yourself.

“Xav?”

Xavier glances up from where he’s sitting in the sun, a book long forgotten in his lap. Those sleepy blue eyes land on you questioning. You shuffle awkwardly in the doorway, a roll of gauze in your hand.

“Would you help me real quick?” You mumble, a soft blush warming your cheeks, “I can’t uh, I can’t change them myself.”

“Of course,” he hums immediately, standing and stretching languidly, much like a cat. “I am at your service, my lady.”

“Thanks,” you sigh, shoulders sagging, which sends a twinge of pain down your arm.

It was a nasty cut. You had been so focused on fighting one wanderer that you hadn’t noticed another smaller one appearing behind you. It was your fault, and thankfully it didn’t hit anything serious, but it was in just the right place to make moving your arm difficult.

Xavier silently leads you back into the kitchen. Taking the bandages from your hand, he pulls out a chair and motions for you to sit. You do so carefully, not wanting to jostle your body too much. The hunter sets the gauze aside and kneels down in front of you, his fingers finding the hem of your sweater and pausing, placid blue eyes turning up to you in question. 

Ever the gentleman.

A tiny smile pulling at your lips, you offer him a small nod. That’s all he needs to pull it off, his hands moving slowly, with the utmost care. Thankfully, the room isn’t too cold, the setting sun pouring through the window and warming the space. The fabric musses your hair as he slips it over your head, and you instinctively reach up to fix it.

Completely missing the way Xavier’s eyes go wide as he looks down at you.

There aren’t a lot of things that catch the hunter off guard. But the ink covering your skin certainly does. Even with the bandages, he can tell it’s expansive, curling around your shoulders, dipping down your upper arms, painting the entirety of your back. It’s reminiscent of Starry Night, hundreds if not thousands of strokes forming delicate lines that follow the natural curves of your body, flowing so beautifully that they practically beg his fingers to trace them.

And as always with you, Xavier has a startling lack of self-control.

You blink at the feeling of his fingers grazing your uninjured shoulder. His touch is so light, you could almost mistake it for a breath. Almost like he’s worried he’ll hurt you.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, voice twinged with concern as you try and twist to look at where his touch lingers against your skin.

“Stay still,” Xavier orders gently, and you freeze, brows arching in confusion. Realizing you're panicking a little, the hunter leans down to press a kiss to your forehead, offering a soft explanation, “You never told me you have so many tattoos. I simply want to appreciate them.”

“Oh.” Your nerves fizzle out, replaced with an embarrassed tinge of excitement. So that’s what this is about. “I forgot I haven’t shown you them yet. I guess I’m so used to them that I forget they’re there, especially since I have to cover them for work.”

Xavier shifts behind you, fingers following the lines over your shoulder. They bleed into a wash of color, dark blue and purple and pink splashes across your back. A small planet of light sits between your shoulder blades, numerous stars dancing around it. His touch lingers on the planet, a flicker of light spilling from his fingers as his evol reacts unprovoked.

“What made you choose this?” He asks, voice wavering imperceptibly. 

“I’m not sure,” you hum, shrugging your good shoulder, “I’ve always liked space. My grandma used to take me to the planetarium a lot when I was young, and I used to have dreams about it, of floating between planets and exploring the stars. I always felt drawn to this one planet, it was so pretty and it looked like it was made of light, but I could never reach it…”

Philos.

Something twinges in Xavier’s chest. How strange. You don’t remember the planet, that’s for certain, yet some part of you was still connected to it. To your home. To him. All this time…

“It’s beautiful,” he all but whispers.

Heat tinges your cheeks. That’s not usually what people say. It’s not for everyone, you know that. It’s a lot of ink, but you dreamt for so long about getting it. Still, most people usually just make offhand comments, not exactly rude, but not exactly compliments either. Like, oh that must have hurt a lot. Or, you must have saved a lot of money, huh?

Never beautiful.

And yet Xavier traces your ink with what almost feels like admiration. It makes your heart flutter with an uncharacteristic shyness, shoulders jolting up to your neck.

That’s when you remember your injury.

Letting out a low hiss, you drop your shoulder quickly as pain sizzles down your arm. Both of you had practically forgotten about it, caught in the moment. Xavier’s brow furrows again, an apology floating past his lips as he draws his fingers away - much to your disappointment.

“It’s okay,” you breathe, offering him a weak smile, “I just pulled it a little funny. We should probably check it, though.”

“Alright, I’ll be gentle,” he murmurs as he reaches for the edge of your bandage.

“...Thanks, by the way.”

You’re not sure what exactly you’re thanking him for. Helping you or his sweet reaction to the art decorating your skin. Maybe both.

And Xavier must know. He leans down, lips ghosting over your shoulder is an adoring kiss.

“Of course, my star.”

---

Sylus

The first time Sylus sees your tattoos is, of course, on the night you attend the auction. There’s no hiding the ink covering your body when you’re wearing a dress, after all. If anything, though, you think they’ll help you fit in a little better in the N109 Zone.

And you love the reaction Sylus gives you when you step out into the foyer.

For the briefest moment, his eyes go wide. Shock, perhaps the rarest emotion you’ve never had the pleasure of seeing on him, flashes behind those carmine eyes. In an instant, it disappears though, hidden with his usual cocky expression, one of his fine brow ticking up in amusement.

“I’ll admit, sweetie,” the man hums, “You’ve surprised me.”

You flash him a cat-like grin, satisfaction burning deep in your veins, and give a little theatrical spin, “Not what you were expecting, huh?”

Hardly a single part of your body remains untouched by ink. Most of the designs are artistic. Flourishing lines twisting and curling around your muscles, strangely reminiscent of the form his evol takes. They form a network of delicate webs across your body, sometimes forming shapes, sometimes with words written along the fine linework. 

It’s hauntingly beautiful. Sylus can’t help but let his eyes slowly rove over your form, taking in every detail. They’re like a map, and his fingers are itching to explore every part of you, to see just how far the ink slips below the hem of the dress. A dress which he bought for you yet can’t be bothered to even notice now, not with such a dazzling sight set before him.

“Who knew the kitten would turn into a tigress at night,” he murmurs, voice going low and teasing as he slowly circles around you, a predatory glint in his eyes.

Your boldness wavers. 

Sylus always seems to have that effect on you. Like a lamb straying from the herd and being found by the wolf. Prey before a predator starved, maw open and hungry, as if he could consume you whole. And all you can do is hold your ground, even if your legs shake, like that little lamb’s.

“Careful, Sylus,” you whisper, trying to appear unshaken by not following him with your eyes, despite the unease you feel not knowing exactly where he is, “This tiger has claws.”

You feel more than hear his presence come up behind you. A shiver traces down your spine when his breath skates over your ear, warm and far too intentional. In the same way, his fingers trace reverently down your arm, following the path of your ink, until they can intertwine with yours and draw your hand up to his lips.

“And that’s how I prefer you.” His voice is low, a mere rumble against your skin as he kisses your knuckles. Another shudder. “After all, it would be a shame to declaw such a beautiful creature. Even if she likes to scratch.”

God, you hate him.

You hate that it takes everything in you to rip yourself away from his enticing warmth. You hate that your heart is racing against your ribs, like it’s trying desperately to escape. And you especially hate the absolutely smug grin that plays on his lips (and the fact that you want to kiss it so badly).

“You’re teasing me,” you breathe unsteadily, putting space between the two of you.

Something dark flashes in his eyes, “Whatever do you mean, sweetie? I was merely giving you a compliment.”

“Then you give weird compliments,” you fire back, arms wrapping around yourself. “It sounds more like you’re making fun of me.”

Sylus pauses. Those ruby red eyes narrow on you thoughtfully, his lips pressing into a thin line. A tick of silence. Then his expression smoothes into something almost soft, and he takes a few measured steps towards you. Long fingers graze your palm again. A question.

And you give in far too easily, not fighting as he intertwines your fingers once again. His other hand skirts along your exposed shoulder, following the lines of your tattoo as they fade at your neck. You’re frozen under the sudden tenderness of his touch, your pulse racing against his fingertips.

“My apologies, kitten. That wasn’t my intention,” he murmurs, eyes boring into yours with an unnerving genuineness, “I simply meant that your tattoos are...befitting of your character. You are truly…” He looks you over once more, his gaze leaving a tantalizing heat in its wake. That dangerous smile curls his lips again. “Captivating.”

You inhale shakily.

No one has said something like that to you before. Not that you can remember, at least. It would sound cheesy from someone else, but from Sylus? The intensity of his tone leaves you feeling as unsteady as your heart. Lightheaded.

All you can do is blink up at him, eyes wide and doe-ish. No smart retort or comeback. Your mouth, in fact, feels remarkably dry. It fills the man with a touch of pride, rendering you so speechless.

Not one to let you stay dumbfounded for too long, though, Sylus lets out a smooth chuckle and taps your chin, “Careful, sweetie. If you look at me like that, I might just think you’re falling for me.”

Which of course works. Because he knows you better than you know yourself.

“I am not!” You squawk, face going up in flames. “You just surprised me, that's all! I didn’t know you were capable of such niceties.”

Sylus grins, drawing away as you swat at his hand, “Then it seems that we’re even.”

You scowl at him. So not fair.

“Now, would you like to accompany me to this auction, sweetheart?” He offers his arm. You keep your pout up for only a few seconds before giving in and slipping your hand around his elbow begrudgingly. Sylus hums in amusement, leaning in to press a ghost of a kiss against your cheek. “Looking like this, you’ll have no trouble getting the results you’ve been searching for, tonight. You’ll be the perfect distraction, my dear.”

“Well then, let’s not keep them waiting, shall we?”

---

Not gonna lie, Sylus' was probably my favorite. In my head I was kind of picturing the tattoos that Anthony Padilla has (from smosh, yes, sue me), and I just think he would totally call you a tiger since he likes calling you kitten.

Hope y'all enjoyed!

I'm really feeling some angst next possibly...

[fayes-fics]

A Welcome Intrusion

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A drunken Bridgerton in the wrong room could be the start of something...

Warnings: none really... flirtatious drunken fluff, meet-cute.

Word Count: 1.3k

Authors Note: This idea has been lingering in my "wtf is this" pile of scenes I sometimes scribble down idly. I decided to add a little polish and make it a little one-shot, as I could not see it having a natural home in my other WIPs. I also have vague plans to do the same scene setup with Anthony as a character study of how their reactions would differ. Unbetaed. I hope you enjoy <3

You are sleeping fitfully - a stifling summer night makes even a thin cotton sheet too much to bear on your overheated skin - when your bedroom is rudely invaded. 

In your half-awake, bleary state, you are not even certain someone is in the room at first, your back being turned to the door. Indeed, it’s only when the mattress dips that you truly startle. You freeze, facing away, completely uncertain what to do with a stranger perched on the edge of your bed. 

Behind you, you hear someone undressing haphazardly, Clothing hitting the rug in soft whumps. Bile rises in your throat when the effort-filled grunt while doing so is decidedly male. 

There is a triumphant noise, and then a body flops back onto the mattress with a self-satisfied chuckle. After a few beats, all is still, and you steel yourself to speak.

“Kind sir,” you murmur, not daring to move, clinging to the far side, “please leave my room.”

There is a decidedly undignified squeal of shock, more akin to a young girl, him flipping over onto all fours next to you, the movement causing you to turn over in equal surprise.

You both stare at each other as if burned; you clutch the bedding high around your neck as he pants lightly, recovering from the apparent scare you gave him, his breath carrying the rich aroma of expensive brandy. In the shaft of moonlight leaking through the curtains, you see the curve of his cheekbone, the sharp line of his jaw. Whoever he is, he is very pretty. Very drunk, yes. But very pretty, too.

“What in god’s name are you doing in my bed?” he demands, sounding alarmed but mildly slurred with intoxication.

“You are in my bed!” you squeak back, knuckles tightening around the sheet you hold, even as your traitorous eyes roam lower, entirely without meaning to. A slice of lithe, freckled chest muscle flexing over ribs as he draws heavy breaths makes something deep inside you quake. You quickly dart your eyes back up to his face. 

“I think not! This has been my bedroom since I was three years old!” he attests with the blithe certainty alcohol provides.

Oh, so he must be a Bridgerton. That is perhaps an easy guess, seeing as you are staying at Aubrey Hall ahead of tomorrow’s midsummer Hearts and Flowers Ball.

“I don’t think they would assign a family bedroom to a guest,” you answer with a flare of sass.

“Yes, I quite agree. That’s why you should not be here,” he huffs indignantly. 

“I was shown here by the head housemaid. That is my trunk there, the footmen brought in,” you point out, gesturing across the room. 

He seems to ignore your argument but suddenly swings around almost violently, looking at the room.

“I don’t have that on my wall,” he frowns at a sizeable floral painting over a dresser.

“Maybe because this isn’t actually your bedroom?” you volley back with uncharacteristic brashness, likely a reaction to his presence affecting you the longer he remains.

He whips back and narrows his eyes at you. “Did Anthony put you up to this? Or Colin? Change my room around and hide you in my bed to fool me? Are you some doxy?” 

“How dare you, sir!!” you blanche, horrified at his coarse language and that he could think you are any sort of woman of such low morals.

“My sincerest apologies,” he immediately looks thoroughly contrite. “You do appear far too well-bred to be such. But it still does not explain your presence in my room.”

“No, it does not,” you answer through gritted teeth, annoyance flaring at his continued erroneous insistence. “And that is because this is not your room…. dunderhead!”

The ferocity with which you spit the last word has his face morphing into one of befuddled incredulity, a single eyebrow arching.

“Sorry, that was impertinent of me,” you flush, dropping your gaze ashamed.

No!” he rushes out, “I… I liked it,” the confession apparently takes him by surprise as much as it does you, judging by his confused frown at his own words.

But then he seems to shrug and nod decisively as if agreeing with himself before he looks back to you, shifting so the light colour of his eyes catches the moonbeam.

“Who are you?” he inquires, cocking his head to the side.

“Miss y/l/n,” you respond.

“I’m Benedict…”

“...BrIdgerton,” you finish for him. “I assume, based on the fact you have a childhood bedroom here.”

He laughs; a rich, resonant sound that makes your insides jolt.

“Indeed,” he smiles, the ivory of his teeth catching the light. Again, you are drawn to how pretty he seems to be. “I am… quite intoxicated, Miss y/l/n”, he confesses, clutching a hand to his chest as if holding a doffed cap, “‘tis entirely possible I am indeed not in the correct bedroom.”

“I would venture that to be the correct assessment,” you offer with a meek smile.

“I sincerely apologise, yet again,” his face contrite as he shuffles into a kneeling position, his palms resting upturned on his thighs as if seeking forgiveness. 

The problem is all your eyes can do is slide down his bare torso, lingering in places they shouldn’t—like the swell of his pectorals, the dip of his waist, and the pull of material at the junction of his thighs just a few inches above where his palms rest….

“I suppose it is only fair I let you look, seeing as I so rudely interrupted your sleep,” he comments dryly.

Your eyes jerk back to his face, met with a pointedly raised eyebrow and a knowing crooked smirk. You feel your cheeks aflame and bow your head, biting your lip, knowing you have been thoroughly caught in your ogling.

“I… I apologise, sir,” you mumble quietly, “I… I have not seen a man without a shirt before…” you admit in a whisper. 

“And do you like what you see?” he teases, tone etched with beguiling menace, his mouth twisted into an intrigued pout as you dare to raise your gaze again.

“I… I…,” you falter, knowing that admitting such would be scandalous.

“Your secret is safe with me, Miss y/l/n,” he winks, “and I hope I am forgiven.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” you bustle out, tugging the bedding high under your chin again, wanting desperately to conceal the flush you know is creeping over your skin with every second spent in his half-naked presence.

“I suppose I should take my leave,” he sighs, his cadence reluctant, perhaps hoping you will dispute his assessment.

“That would be… the most prudent course of action,” you nod even though your fingertips itch to grab his hand and ask him to stay for reasons you don’t entirely understand.

He slides off the bed and scoops up his discarded shirt, a moderately unsteady gait as he tugs it back onto his body. 

“Goodnight, Miss y/l/n,” he bows with a touch of comedic chivalry before he takes his leave. You cannot help but stare at his shapely rear as he walks towards the door.

“Goodnight, Mr Bridgerton,” you call softly, and before you can stop yourself, more words are spilling from your lips, something about this man making you daring. “I do so hope you will offer me a dance at the ball tomorrow to make amends for this intrusion.” 

Even you are astounded by your words. Benedict pauses, his hand frozen on the door handle as he turns back around slowly, his mien surprised.

“It would be my pleasure,” he rumbles after a pause, a tingle running through your being.

“Until tomorrow, Mr Bridgerton,” you offer, heart pounding. 

“Until tomorrow indeed, Miss y/l/n,” the velvet of his voice tickling your skin long after the door snicks closed behind him.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaa @urfavnoirette

[wickedsniffles]

Domestic Bliss

Summary: A bit of morning sex during allergy season. Wade has the kink. Logan has the allergies ❤️ (This got SO out of control but holy moly was it fun to write)

Pairing: Wade Wilson aka Deadpool x Logan Howlett aka Wolverine

Rating: Explicit

Tags: established relationship, oral sex, handjobs, snz, kink!Wade, praise kink, pet names, fluff

Word Count: 1.2K

Wade's situated between Logan's legs, on his stomach, in the warm nest of their bed. He's sucking his cock in an almost dreamlike state, only half focused on the task at hand (in mouth). As nice as it is to get his partner off, as much as he loves to do it…it's getting harder and harder to ignore his own arousal. 

It's all because of the look on Logan's face. Flushed pink and worrying at his lip, Logan is the fucking picture of sexual pleasure. His pretty hazel eyes laser focused on Wade, breathing heavy as he fights not to arch up into his mouth. 

One hand sits on top of Wade's head, fingernails digging into his scalp gently. The other stays at his side, wandering up to his face every once in a while to scrub at his nose. The nose that is much darker shade of pink than his face, itchy and irritated, only drawing attention to the handsome shape and strong outline. 

Wait, what? 

Yeah, you read that right. Wade's unashamedly sucking cock and getting off to how Logan looks like he's trying hard to stay in the moment, focus on Wade, and not give in to the itch they both know is torturing him. 

It's allergy season, baby. And they might both be built to heal anything from a papercut to an axe wound, but that healing factor doesn't do shit against a nose as sensitive as Logan's. He's a wreck with the first warm breeze. 

A polite wreck, to be sure. Uncharacteristically polite. Of course, with Logan being Logan, there's no way he'd come out and admit to being taken down by something as small as a grain of pollen. The first time Wade notices him being allergic to something, Logan stifles it so well that he almost misses it entirely. Like a fucking sneeze ninja. 

They'd been cuddling together on the couch. Logan had just, like, frozen in place and pressed a knuckle to the side of his nose. His shoulders shook once, twice, three times. A soft exhale. 

Wade remembers bristling. Kink activated. “Um…bless you?” 

Logan had gone bright red down to the tips of his ears. “Shut up.”

The more attention Wade paid – and trust him, audience, he was paying plenty of attention now – the more times he caught him. When there's a lot of dust. When it's cold outside. Around certain flowers. God help him. As months passed and they got more comfortable around one another, Logan stopped stifling them like that every time. But Wade knew it was still his first instinct. 

Wade moans around what's in his mouth and takes Logan deeper, pressing his hips hard into the mattress. He can't believe Logan hasn't sneezed since he started sucking him off. 

But he looks like he might. Wade knows the look by now. A lot of blinking with those long pretty eyelashes. Expression going all distant and far away. Breath hitching, lips parting.  

That, or he's about to come. The fact that the two expressions are so similar makes another wave of heat clench in Wade's abdomen. 

“So fuckin' – good, baby,” Logan croaks, sounding absolutely wrecked. He scrubs at his nose with a thick sniffle, swallowing hard. “You gettin’ close too?” 

Wade whines his affirmative. I’d be closer if you indulged my weird kinks, bub. 

Smiling at that, Logan thrusts deeper into his mouth, making Wade take more, and god that’s a treat in itself. 

“You’re –” his breath hitches, followed by another irritated sniff.  “You’re gonna make me come,” he says. Nose scrunching in that familiar way.  “Wade –” 

He can’t take it anymore. Wade takes the hand that Logan has on his head and winds his fingers through, then grabs his other hand by the wrist until he’s locked in place. Oh, oops, sorry, I’m sooo cute and I just wanna hold your hands while I suck you off. Or do I have ulterior motives? 

They make eye contact. Logan tries to break loose from the grip, but Wade’s not letting him move an inch. Logan’s no idiot. He knows exactly what Wade’s trying to do, what he’d like to happen. His eyes narrow, both with exasperation and the effort of trying to hold back. Wade’s heart leaps. 

“You are f-fucking…” 

Oh, he’s not holding back this time. Wade grins like the devil around the cock in his mouth. 

“Heh…heh’ESSH-uh! Esshh! ESSHH-uh!”

Logan sneezes into his shoulder, breathy and desperate. Finally finally finally – 

That’s all Wade needs. With a long, muffled whimper, he comes hard against the sheets, feeling the warmth of it bloom against his stomach with each spasm. He relaxes into the mess, going boneless, and hears Logan scoff out a laugh. 

Wrestling his hands free, he carefully takes himself out of Wade’s mouth. 

“Bless you,” Wade manages, working his jaw. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Logan answers. “I was gonna say ridiculous.” 

“Yeah.” He’s definitely not gonna deny that. Wade Wilson is the original seven herbs and spices of ridiculous, with some added kick to keep people on their toes. 

His Wolverine’s eyes crinkle up into a smile. “C’mere, Red.” 

Crawling up until he’s straddling Logan’s cock, Wade can’t help but mirror the expression. There’s no one else on this planet – no one else in the multiverse – who matches his freak like Logan does. Who loves him like Logan does. They’re two perfect halves of the same fucked up pepperoni pizza. 

Wade rubs his half-hard cock against Logan’s until he’s groaning with need, gripping it tight before leaning in to kiss that spot on his neck that makes him all hot under the collar. Logan gasps instantly and almost crushes Wade to him, pressing his face into Wade’s old t-shirt. Tilting his head for better access. 

“Fuck, please,” he says, breath hot on Wade’s skin through the material. 

He comes undone in only a few strokes, in just a handful of open-mouthed kisses pressed to his neck. Logan pants and gasps through every pulse of his orgasm, arching into Wade’s hand as Wade strokes him through it. 

“Good boy,” Wade tells him, low and hot in the shell of Logan’s ear. He shudders at the praise, dribbling a little more come with the smallest sound of need. Fuck. 

They breathe for a while, cuddled close like that. The feeling of Logan’s arms around him and listening to his pulse gradually slow against Wade’s cheek is his idea of a lazy morning well spent. He’d gladly spend hours like this, if it weren’t for the mess they’re currently covered in starting to get cold. Hell, they might come right back here to their little bed nest after they shower. 

“C’mon, peanut,” he says eventually. “Let’s get cleaned up. We’re gonna be stuck together if we don’t move now.” 

Logan doesn’t answer at first. When he does, his response is another trio of hitched sneezes into the collar of Wade’s shirt, followed by an irritated growl. 

“Sorry. And yeah, let’s go,” he sighs, rubbing at his itchy nose with the back of his hand. “Wade, get offa me.”  

Wade can’t move; he’s stunned into horny silence, more than aware of his cock filling up against Logan’s thigh. 

Once he realizes what’s going on, Logan breaks out in an embarrassed grin, shoving Wade off of his lap and onto the mattress. 

“You are the fucking worst.” 

“I love you too, babygirl,” Wade says sweetly. “And bless you!”

[aprityormarj]

Leona clubwear ssr fic

Synopsis: Leona, after a very tiring day from spell drive decides to be a clingy cat to his s/o

Tw: clinginess, leona is taller, a bit of possessiveness I guess?, no beta, bad grammar 👍

Author’s notes: yes I wrote an entire fic of leona that’s 1,232 words long while being a jack simp just to mess with @aivy-saur

Leona just wanted to take a nap today. He had to deal with extremely rowdy and uncooperative students in his club today, he was really annoyed with how some of the guys who were so full of themselves weren’t listening to him at all?! Leona made them do double the work out after a horrible practice game because of them. All of those things almost ruined his day, the saving grace for leona was the fact that his number 1 fan was watching.

How could his mood be soured when you cheer him on while watching, wiping his sweat off when he sits beside you to watch his club mates, and offering to get water for everyone while looking all cute like that. He desperately wanted to see his little herbivore again since club hours were over, he even forgot to change clothes.

He spots you not too far away, you were talking to Jack and Duece as they were both working out nearby to train their endurance. You notice jack’s fur suddenly standing up as he looks at something behind you agitated and before you could even turn around two hands touch your shoulders quickly pulling you into their chest, jack calms down and Deuce gets shocked at how fast leona suddenly appeared. You can feel his tail playing in between your thighs to greet you, his strong yet gentle grip on your shoulders, and how you could feel his chest with the back of your head, damp from practice. He combs your hair away in order to leave a kiss on the top of your ear, you can hear tiny groans escaping his throat while all of this happens. “Herbivore… are you busy…?” He sounds so uncharacteristically soft and gentle, you could even say innocent.

Jack and Deuce look at each other awkwardly, as if 2 little kids seeing something they shouldn’t have “um… we’ll just go now… we wouldn’t want to disturb leona…” said Jack, Deuce nodding as they both walk away flustered from what they just saw. You wave to them goodbye and before they’re even gone leona starts to wrap his arms around your armpits to draw you into a closer hug, kissing your jawline this time whilst he rubs his head on your neck. Unfortunately for leona you turn around to tell him how you still have some errands to do, he slouches down to your level and pouts, his tail swaying erratically out of annoyance, you promise him that they won’t take long to finish as you cup his face, which he uncharacteristically again leans into your touch like a clingy house cat. You can see the mess that is his damp hair he he rubs it against you, his cheeks feel surprisingly really soft as they glisten from his sweat, and his his pupils are massive orbs, almost consuming the emerald greens in his eyes, and yet none of this was able to prepare you for what’s gonna happen for the rest of the evening.

You 1st start to walk around campus to return some things with leona’s hand in yours, but he isn’t satisfied enough so it ends up with his hands on your shoulder, leaning in really close whenever you stop walking. Due to how close Leona was he would accidentally make you trip sometimes, but he catches you every time you fall though though, and then he would lift you up a bit to hug you and then place you down shortly after. If you ever tell him off about how he’s way too close, he would just pout and still continue to be super clingy regardless of what you say. If you ever need to take a restroom break, or do any activity that needs you to have your personal space he will begrudgingly let you go, although the moment you’re out of the stall he is back on your shoulders even while you wash your hands he is sticking to you like glue.

Finally when you were done with your errands and was about to go back to your dorm until leona stopped you “stay at my dorm room again… please..?” Well he’s been very adamant on sticking by your side today and also very affectionate, so might as well just say yes to the poor prince’s request. His tail stands up in approval of your decision and happily walks (pushes) you towards his dorm room. When you enter his dorm, the 1st thing he does is hug you, leaning his entire body weight on top of you causing you to fall down on your bed with his on top of you, chuffing and kneading against the bed, you comment on how uncomfortable his hugs were since he was still sweaty. In the current state leona is in right now he is way too lazy to take a bath or get a shirt to change himself, so the smart kitty decides to just take of his shirt, it’s a good enough compromise for him leaving you flustered in the process, he doesn’t really mind since he does find you cute when you’re all flustered like that. The orbs in his eyes grow even more, consuming the emerald colors in his eyes, completely turning round and black. He carries you around his bed in order to adjust both of you better, leaving kisses on your skin while doing so. He places you down gently and hugs you wrapping you with his arms and legs. He gently leaving licks and bites on the skin of your face while chuffing up a storm. He mumbles about how cute his little herbivore is and how much you make him happy, he can’t help but rub his face against your body while making all of the noises that a lion can make. He may not say it but he’s definitely head over heels for you and you alone and this is his way of saying it. You want to sit up in place to get a better view on leona, but instead he tightens the hug you’re in and gets up closely to your ear “stay… mine… my herbivore is mine… and mine alone…” he then grazes his teeth against your ear and chuffs again, chuffs that are only reserved for your ears. He wipes your arms down with his hands, he loves the feeling of your goosebumps, honestly he loves any reaction out of his little herbivore.

Welp I guess you’re trapped in his arms now and I don’t think you can overpower this cat man sadly 🧍‍♀️

When you wake up the next day, he’s still clinging onto you like glue so you can’t really rise up as well until he wakes up. When he wakes up though he noticeably gets a bit embarrassed (though he’s trying to hide it) “Herbivore… I’m sorry about how… clingy… I was yesterday…” he notices your smile and your red tinted cheeks which causes him to smirk and come closer to your ear again in a sensual manner, his tail wiping against your arms “unless you didn’t mind any of it…? I’d be happy to do it again all for my future princess~”

[bookishjules]

there's a specific paragraph in wottg that's been haunting me since i read it. and i can't keep putting off addressing it in fear of not having the right words to do so, so here we go..

from the lines highlighted in blue and yellow here, two very different stories seem to be being told.

on the one hand, in blue, we have percabeth as we have always known them--in sync. a well-oiled machine of a team that functions better together, drawing from each other's strengths and treating each other as equals. this is how their relationship is supposed to function. we know this from books full of moments when we got to see the development of their relationship, relying on and understanding each other more and more as the years pass by.

in theory, the yellow should support the claim of synchronicity the blue makes (and rightly so according to past books), and ostensibly that seems to be the case. percy as the narrator is just making a silly aside before realizing it doesn't work and shifting back to his original statement, right? but there's an implication here that within the team, the focus is annabeth. she's the only one who belongs there and there's no room for a p or a j or any amount of percy at all.

this doesn't line up with the blue statements at all, because in order for annabeth to be the more important member of the team, the two of them can't be equals, which throws off the balance, disallows synchronicity, and makes collaboration difficult at best. could you say, in a vacuum, that the intention here was what mattered and that the truth lies in that which we, the audience, have known to be true for years? yes, certainly. but the thing is, this paragraph does not exist in a vacuum, and in fact, of the two competing stories, i'm far more inclined to point to the yellow as a better representation of the book surrounding it and the representation of the unit that is percy and annabeth therein.

over and again in wottg we see the uncharacteristic, and pretty much unprecedented, imbalance in their team. from the narration, it's clear that percy holds himself at a lower standing than annabeth, but it's also clear from the story as a whole that annabeth is similarly inclined. percy not only believes he can't do as much as previous books told us he could, but his actions seem to prove that lack of maturity. he relies on annabeth more than he ever has, and not in a cute way. he looks to annabeth to solve all his problems because he doesn't trust himself, and annabeth is doing nothing to show him he should. she's surprised when he has good ideas, surprised when he comforts her, surprised when he does or says anything competent. and percy expects it. it's clear he's pretty much given up trying to solve problems etc., because even when he does manage to accomplish something without annabeth, she tells him he did it wrong or makes fun of him (and again, not in a cute way).

there are so many conversations that could be had here regarding blatant shifts in characterization that have little to do with trauma or codependency, but what i really want to point out is how this book, and the author who wrote it, really doesn't seem to understand or properly represent just how big of an effect these changes in the characters seem to be having on their relationship with one another. if a layman were to read wottg, i can't imagine they could read this paragraph and believe the lines in blue. because it's simply not true for this iteration of percy and annabeth.

just as it can be understood how well percy and annabeth worked together by being shown how much they respected and trusted one another throughout pjo, it must also be understood that the dramatic imbalance in authority and intelligence being shown in wottg hold a similar weight of truth, no matter what the narrative otherwise states, or how insistent it is in telling us that nothing has changed in percy and annabeth's relationship. just because the author wants it to be true, and wants his reader to believe what they are being told, does not erase the very real actions of the character throughout the book.

[saltymongoose]

Hi coming in with another silly idea Imagine that the Player is in early Nevada, and around the time Nexus is supposed to fall they fall into a type of coma. Jeb goes through with his plan (painfully without the player by his side), Hofnarr turns into Tricky with his last thoughts begging for the Player to come back. Phobos' fight being much more easy due to the fact he thinks his god abandoned him. Then the Player comes back like "hey sorry about that" and Jeb starts wailing while Tricky goes YIPPEE and runs around them like an excited dog.

Why is everything you draw so cute omg 😭, everyone is so adorable here. It's honestly a little weird to see the Employers look so huggable, I love it.

To actually get into the scenario though, my thoughts on this are far too long to make it into a normal ask response, so you're getting some sort of unofficial hcs instead lol. Enjoy!

<The Player Falls into a Coma before the Fall> ft. Jebus, Hofnarr/Tricky, the Employers & Phobos

(TW: Yandere)

There was no warning for your sudden coma whatsoever. At most, you felt a tad more exhausted than usual at the end of the day, but this can be attributed to many different things, so of course you wouldn't worry about it. Neither would anyone else either, for that matter.

You had absolutely no idea that when you slowly fell asleep that night, you wouldn't be waking up again for a very long time.

It certainly wouldn’t take long for those you know to find out about your condition either. For one, Hofnarr and Jeb would want to recap their plan with you before going through with it, so naturally they stopped by for that. However, they find you unconscious and completely unresponsive to their every attempt to wake you. To make matters worse, there isn't a sign that you'd been awake at all in the past few days; the buildup of dust on your furniture and the letters in your mailbox shows as much.

Despite their worry, they’d eventually have to leave your side, if only to get more medical supplies and other things to help you. This opens up a window for the others in your life to finally take action, those being the Employers.

The shadowy figures had been keeping tabs on you all the time, so when you just didn't wake up, they would probably be the first to know - even if their actions came second to the Nexus Scientist's.

(You didn’t send the Deliberator a “good morning” text and he started panicking. What could possibly be so bad that you didn't speak to him? A cursory call to the worried AAHW agents the Auditor had sent to tail you was proof enough that you'd deviated from your usual schedule, and you weren't the type to ever be late.)

They were quick to take you from your home and to a more secret place, so that they could keep close observation over you.

Honestly, despite how much the Employers might brag about knowing you better than anyone else (a privilege they gained from being the first to realize your existence), they truly know little about your anatomy. However, they can tell that sleeping for full days isn't normal at all, judging by your previous behavior.

They're also far too stubborn to ask any other mortals for help as well, so they simply resigned to try to help you themselves while keeping you safe with them. They couldn't do much else, so hopefully you'd understand that once you awoke in a strange place.

Nevada rots without your guidance and the grunts you were close to were left reeling by this (unintentional) abandonment you committed.

Phobos loses much of his drive due to his own emotional frailty as he grappled with his uncharacteristic self-doubt and questioning. As it happens, this also makes him more zealous as well. In his last moments, he has a second wind, believing that if he just fights hard enough, you might decide to come back and help him in his battle against Christoff. (But you don't. You couldn't.)

Jebus' feelings are surprisingly parallel to the Director's in terms of worship and near zealotry. Except, he believes it might be his fault that you left, which only increases the fervor he has to complete his plans. It will be painful without you there, but this agony is his repentance for the sins which he has wronged you with. It is only through this that he believes you might show your presence once more, even if it’s not now.

Unfortunately, Hofnarr's transformation into Tricky was just as painful as it would be otherwise, and the pain of abandonment just makes it worse. Funny, how the pictures taken of you with him and Christoff were miraculously unscathed within Hofnarr's lab even after Tricky came to be. The zombified clown must have found some value in them, even if he couldn’t remember the complete reason why he felt so warm when he looked at them.

Of course, you did actually awaken eventually. You had no idea how much time had passed when you woke up, so seeing the Employers look so uncharacteristically worried when you woke up was really odd. You honestly think they’d be weepy if they had the ability to cry.

You really didn’t know how to react to the news that you’d essentially been in a coma for thirty years. Your first course of action is to find Jeb and Tricky to find out what actually happened since you feared your early appearance might’ve had an impact on the timeline regarding Nevada’s fall. This leads to very different reactions.

Jeb isn't one to typically show much vulnerability, but seeing you again completely shatters those walls he's kept up for so long. At first, he thinks you're just a hallucination; the culmination of all the longing he has for you finally taking its toll on his broken mind as almost a cruel joke. 

The first words he speaks to you after thirty years is a short, "You're not real", said as more of an insistence to himself than anything. But when he comes closer and you don’t disappear, and he reaches out a trembling hand to rest lightly on your shoulder, and you stay, he just breaks. The warmth of your form washes over him like it used to, and suddenly he feels an uncomfortable tightness well up in his throat as tears gather in his eyes.

You reach up to hold his taller form closer to you, sinking to the ground with him as he buries his face into your neck and sobs. His hold on you is soft, and his hands are still shaky; he's holding you like he's scared of shattering you, and he only gets weaker when you whisper soothing words and apologies to him.

Compared to Jebus, your meeting with Tricky was a lot more upbeat. It’s probably because he was spared much of the reflection and sorrow that Jeb went through due to his rather unstable mental state, but that didn’t stop him from somehow recognizing you. It’s almost like a switch flipped in his mind, and he went from violently slamming his sign into some poor grunt's face to freezing at the sight of your face.

He then tosses the sign away and almost launches himself at you to envelop you in a tight bear hug, screaming excitedly while you grin back rather tiredly. (You hope your eardrums will be okay after this.) But in the next second, he's whirling away from you, flailing his hands as he continues to talk.

It’s like being greeted by your dog after being away for months; he never stops moving or asking hurried questions about where you’ve been, intermittent with little words about how much he’s missed you.

Both Jeb and Tricky are very clingy after this. Even if they don't get along now, they're not willing to let you leave their sides after this, especially not when you go to sleep. (What if you fall into a coma again? Someone has to be there to take care of you.)

Deep down, they also have a striking suspicion that someone was behind your coma. They didn't know who exactly, but there was no other explanation to them than this. How else would you, Nevada's most powerful being, fall into such a state?

(In the near future, when you come across Hank and the others, let's just say that your scientists won't be deterred from leaving your side quite so easily. You'd been gone for thirty years, so you should only expect their companionship to remain more permanent for the coming years.)

[queerponcho]

Transfixed | part 2

previous part | part 3

collage made by me with pictures from pinterest

moonknight!system x female!reader

a/n: Thank you, for all the lovely interactions I got with my first chapter! I'm glad you like it as much as I do and I hope this 2nd chapter meets your expectations&lt;;33

Warnings: no use of Y/N, fluff, NOT beta read, gushing about the moonboys, flustered awkward dorks, plot-twists, Jake being a menace, (eventual smut, the chapters will be marked individually), inaccurate depictions of DID, egyptian mythology and religion (although I did extensive research I took liberty in changing some things to adhere to my plot...), if I missed anything or made any spelling mistakes pls don't hesitate to tell me!

Summary: You haven't seen Jake for a while and are sure you won't ever meet him again. In fact you've convinced yourself to be unbothered by that theory and are planning to live with it. In typical Jake fashion, those plans are to be disrupted with a surprise visit to his new, favourite part of town...

2,700 words

Two weeks later

You continue working on your latest hyperfixated studies in the library and try your best to forget about him. You knew it was probable that you weren't going to see him again. So you quickly went back to drawing the library kitten, when you weren't working at the shelter or studying. You tried your best to stick to the cat and really focus on her cute paws and the green spots in her honey coloured eyes…but even those somehow remind you of him. This of course brings back the feeling of you pressed between the bookshelf and his front. His thumb on your chin and his crooked nose so close to brushing yours…how in the hell were you supposed to forget? Him and his advances rivalled many good romances you had read about. The library was starting to feel stuffy so you decided to take a break from sketching and to go get a coffee in the cute place next door. 

Giving the kitty one last treat before stepping out the door, you turn around to wave the cat goodbye ‘byeee barry! See you again soo-’ you stumble backwards over the sidewalk landing on someone. You’re about to apologise when-

‘we really gotta stop meetin’ like this, nena’ Like in any bad romance you meet him again by literally falling into Jake's lap. You look over your shoulder and see him smirking while resting his chin on your shoulder, making his face be much closer than you had expected. You scramble to your feet and dust off your sweater. Leaving him sitting on the floor. ‘Not even gonna help me up?? ay…que mala’ he tutted. He stands up swiftly, looking very pleased with himself. 

‘Hello to you too Jake, i-if you could excuse me I really need to go get my coffee’ you say while you push past him, walking two steps but stopping when he stands in your way looking almost panicked.

‘W-wait wait darling, let me buy you a coffee…please?’ 

You almost make a comment about the very british nickname but are taken aback by his uncharacteristic pleading eyes. It seemed very unlike him but you weren't about to refuse the pretty man you’ve been pining over. ‘Alright- Sure Jake, let's get coffee’ you say smiling but feeling like something's off. You walk slightly ahead, leading him to the nearby cafe. You can see Jake in your peripheral vision, he looked really nervous, seemed to be twitching weirdly and muttering some intelligible things. Maybe he was just in his head about something...you didnt wanna pay it any mind. You entered the „Moonbean “ café. It was this cute and cosy place with lots of natural light and many plants. After you get your ice coffee and Jake (to your surprise) buys himself a black tea with oat milk and honey, you sit down at a corner booth.

‘Ssso, ahem Jake. Is there anything you wanted to tell me or..?’ you ask, trying to make this situation seem like a normal sircumstance. ‘um yes! Or well no…it's kinda hard to explain but I need to know how you know…well- me..?’ he says while glancing into your eyes intently. ‘...okay, Jake I don't follow..’ you laugh awkwardly. ‘Okay so here's the deal' he rubs his hand over his face distressedly, 'I have DID, also known as dissociative identity disorder a-and we are two people in this system. Marc and Steven- well me! Steven' he takes a deep breath and keeps going. 'So, I wanted to have a coffee with you because we have been feeling like there might be a third consciousness, sharing our body that we don't know about...’ Steven says just a smidge too fast ‘...okay…Steven…what makes you think I have got any information on this third consciousness?’ you ask genuinely curious. You have read about DID but you have never actually talked to anybody that lived with it. 

‘Well…you did call me Jake about five times which leads me to think that erm- you might know a thing or two about him.’ just now you noticed how his entire presence was completely different from Jakes. Jake led with his chest and had a confident smirk practically glued on his face. Steven on the other hand looked tired and like he wanted to hide from any discomfort around him. His shoulders were rounded and his eyes looked like those of a lost puppy in need of a hug, which you were very inclined to give him. Unfortunately for you, his lack of confidence did not make him any less attractive. Which meant you still couldn't tear your eyes away from his features and had to work hard on not embarrassing yourself like last time. Remembering you had to answer him you perked up ‘right, well- I only know him in passing. How come you knew he was at the library?’ you say trying to redirect his attention away from your potentially…strange connection to Jake, don’t really wanna out yourself as a stalker…‘Funny story actually- erm I found this wood-panel in my floor that had a burner phone, gloves, a flat-cap and a small notebook with a folded piece of paper hidden inside. These items confirmed mine and Marc's belief that there might be a third. What surprised us more tho, is what we saw when we unfolded the paper…let me..’ he clears his throat and reaches into his satchel, he hands you the paper but looks to the side, avoiding eye-contact. You unfold it…and immediately want to die. ’oh fuck me- so um- w-what made you think it had anything todo with the- um, library?’ You try to keep your composure but it's very hard when the drawing was of course the sketch he’d taken from your collection two weeks ago. Naturally, he’d gotten his hands on one of the more "racey" drawings you’d drawn of him, you weren't entirely surprised that stalking a handsome stranger could ever come back to haunt you. 

‘So the paper has a footnote printed on it with an address…see? Right here a-above my- well Jakes bound wrists- ahem well yes so then w-we came here and bumped into you…’ his sentence died out and he shyly looked away while blushing. Steven was an adorable man, you were finding it hard to really focus on this serious conversation when all you could think about was how his hair was so unruly this time and his curls were bouncing above his eyebrows, making him look even prettier. How he wears his clothes two sizes too big, hiding his broad shoulders beneath 4 different layers of fabric. You snap out of it ‘so um- any idea who drew it?’ you ask while feeling a warm sensation crawl up your back and your heart-beat increasing ever so slightly. ‘Well- since it’s more…intimate in nature we assume he is perhaps seeing someone..?’ Inhaling sharply you try to stay calm. You really didn't want to tell them that you, a stranger, drew this but seeing Steven so exhausted and distressed convinced you to do the right thing. ‘ um- so..ahhh well…I drew that…’ You closed your eyes and squinted, opening one eye to see Stevens reaction. He was frozen, you swallow strenuously ‘um- Steven..? Everything okay…?’ you ask reluctantly.

 He stares into your eyes and is blushing intensely, looking like a red traffic-light. He's so cute. ‘Yes! I am fine- sorry love, I-I just did not exp-’

 ‘not expect that a total stranger would draw a lewd picture of you? Well, yes I definitely understand that notion’ you laugh. Funnily enough, Steven's nervousness was helping you calm down a bit and not feel as awkward. But something tells you that having this conversation with Jake would've absolutely killed you. ‘Yeah, I also did not expect to immediately run into the artist behind our one and only clue about…Jake, is his name?’

 ‘Y-yes his name is Jake..’ even just saying his name made you feel flustered. Steven noticed your change of demeanour and found it pretty interesting, choosing to interrogate a bit further. ‘Darling- you were saying you know Jake in passing. Would you mind telling us more about the times you saw him? ’

 Were all of this man's personalities into giving you heart-melting nicknames? Maybe someday you’d get to meet Marc well enough to find out… you can’t stop your mind from conjuring up a rom-com-like sequence with them…baking together and going grocery shopping, getting caught making out in your paradise library and going home to keep climbing him like- a hand waving in front of your face interrupts your intriguing daydream. 'Are you okay, love? I know this is a lot to process- if you need a break just tell me, yeah?’

 ‘oh! Yes! I mean no- I am fine. Sure Steven, I'll tell you about Jake.’ You sit up in your chair and begin to tell him about seeing Jake for the first time. He puts his elbows on the table leaning in, not wanting to miss a single detail of your story. 

‘-so yeah then he walked out with this thick leather bound book. It had some Moons carved onto it's cover, that's all I can remember. Then I didn't see him for about a month, until he came back last week to return the book.’ You notice Steven's eyes light up at your mention of the moon-details.

‘he didn't buy the book?’ 

‘he couldn't, the book is a unique scripture and can only be loaned for a maximum of 30 days.’  

‘okay…but something still confuses me. When did you meet him, if he only came back to return the book- and how did he even get the drawing you made of him?’  God, you really didnt wanna talk about this. Maybe you could find a way around actually telling him about what happened, to avoid the embarrassment. ‘Well- he came in and gave back the book. Then he went to look around …and we accidentally bumped into each other. I dropped all my things and he picked up the drawing and kept it without me knowing. We introduced ourselves to each other aand…that's it! Then he left!’ 

‘huh…are you sure that's all that happened?’ He says, his eyes turning darker. you were starting to sweat. You never were a very good liar, especially if attractive people were the ones asking the questions. ‘Mhm! Yeah. That's all’ you haven’t been looking him in the eyes. Jake might have intense and hooded eyes but Steven had impossibly earnest and rounded eyes. You could never lie while looking into such an adorable face. only you hadn’t noticed that the man before you wasn't Steven anymore- ‘hola hermosa. You miss me?’ your head whips back towards him at the familiar nickname. In the short amount of time he had somehow, slid over to your side of the booth. ‘Chiquita…why don't you wanna tell him the truth, ah? You scared he might leave when you tell him about your...stalkerish tendencies? Steven is a smart man, he won't leave such a gorgeous woman behind...’ he winks at you moving closer so your thighs touch.

‘Jake- what is going on. Why aren't you talking to Steven? He’s saying he doesn't know anything about you- fuck me this is all too much’ You say exasperated. You jolt up feeling his breath on your neck. ‘mmh querida i’d love too but I think this cafe might not be the best place for such…improper activities…’ by now he's long moved into your personal space and started caressing you right above your knee, still breathig over your neck. ‘Jake- i-i am being serious I-’ His hand moves up your thigh gingerly and he starts grazing his nose over the spot under your ear. You’ve already forgotten what you were even talking about and why you were even in this coffee-shop to begin with. Your eyes were fluttering and you were breathing deeply trying to stay calm, feeling his hot breath fan over your neck. Once again, trapped between his chest and wooden furniture. He smelled so good, like dark coffee and vanilla, mirroring the bitter sweet smell of Stevens black tea perfectly. If you could buy his smell as a laundry detergent you would douse your linens in it. He circles his arm around your back and waist and lets it rest on your hip. You expose your neck further to him, inviting him in to keep going. You hear him chuckle and wait for him to start kissing your neck. Just as his lips are about to touch you, you feel his hand twitch on your hip, causing your eyes to snap open. You were surprised to see a pair of round and frantic eyes staring right back at yours. 

‘Oh Jesus christ! I am SO sorry, love. I don't know what came over me! P-please I promise. I really can’t contro-’ you cut in before he could continue his panicked rambling. 

‘Steven, it's okay! Don't worry, I-I understand this isn't really something you can control. No need to panic.’ you give him a warm smile which he returns with a blush. Putting your hand on his shoulder trying to reassure him with your gentle touch. His rather dreamy expression gets interrupted by a tense and pensive one. He shakes his head, seemingly shaking off his serious expression. You let go of his shoulder, placing your hand back in your lap.

‘so- just- just based on observations I-I just feel like you might be closer to Jake than you first led us to believe…?’ It wasn't as much a question as it was a statement. You really needed to come clean, even though this would most probably leave you a blubbering, flustered mess.

‘Alright, yes. But it’s not what you think- we never actually did anything intimate…we-we just came a bit close to it like twice or something…’

‘close to what exactly? Darling, i-i don't mean to be rude but we are still talking about things that happened with my body here, so I’d really like to know what happened...?’ You understand why he is getting frustrated but this was really hard to tell someone. Especially because this someone looked exactly like the person who you were just pressed against mere moments ago-

he interrupted your train of thought by calling out your name ‘sweetheart- please. I'm begging you to just tell me what happened’ he takes your hands in his making your arms tingle ‘yes! sorry Steven- this is just a lot to process. Okay i’ll tell you…’ You finally told him about the second “meet-cute”, when you dropped your things because you bumped into Jake after being too focused on his features and had lost sight of him. How he got closer and closer to you and you were trapped between him and the bookshelf. How you, just as before, brushed noses and almost kissed before being forced out of your bubble. After relaying the past events between you and Jake, you looked up from your twiddling fingers and were greeted by a glowing red Steven. He was tugging on the loose skin around his fingernails and had his hands barely peeking out of his too-long sweater, looking right past you. He had a sheen covering his face and couldn’t stop fidgeting. 

‘Steven i am really sorry if i made you feel uncomfortable, if I’d known…I just- I- I don’t think you understand-’ 

Now he refocused his gaze on your eyes and looked even more stunned than before. ‘Sorry to be so forward but- ugh just look at you! How the hell was I not supposed to study you?! You are every artist's dream, with those angular facial features and the inky black curls adorning your head I just can't believe you are this unaware of the effect you have on a room. I know I sound like an absolute cree-’ before you can keep going he cuts you off ‘Would you like to go on a date with me?’

You stopped talking, mouth open without a sound coming out of it. Did he just ask you out?

‘I- if you don’t want too I unde-‘

‘NOno! I mean YES- yes I’d love to go on a date with you, Steven…’ you bit your lip, trying to contain your grin and saw that Steven was doing the same.

You gave him your number and left him alone in the coffee shop. After turning around to wave goodbye one last time you cross the street and walk home. ‘Oh my god’ you giggle to yourself and make your way home.

a/n: I am so happy you guys liked the first chapter of this fic and hope you like this one aswell!! more chapters are comin' with more tension and plot-twists aaand maybe even a certain marc...

The lovely people in my taglist: @lilladyblink14 @lemongirl5910

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[ohnococo]

Sleepyhead | Ijichi x Reader

When you tell Ijichi that you have trouble sleeping, he is determined to help. You decide to show him your appreciation the morning after.

Warnings: somnophilia (ijichi sleeping), established relationship, vaginal sex, creampie, reader has a vagina but no specific pronouns used, whiny Ijichi

Ijichi follows the same bedtime routine every night, without fail. He is always in bed at the same time, never sets foot in his room until he’s showered and brushed his teeth, and the part that you considered one of his most unique skills besides parallel parking on a hill with one hand: as soon as his head hits the pillow, he’s out like a light, hardly moving and certainly not waking until moments before his alarm goes off in the morning.

It’s part of why it worries him so much when he finds out you’re not sleeping well. The thought of restless nights is something entirely foreign to him, because no amount of worry seemed to stop his slumber, even if it had plagued him every other second of the day. The thought of you lying there tossing and turning for hours on end leaves his chest aching.

Because Ijichi cares for you, so much so that even with words and touch and everything else, he feels as if he just can’t express it fully. But with matters like these, he feels like a piece of that could maybe come across if he can at least help you, or try to help you.

So he thinks back to the last time he had a sleepless night… and draws a blank.

Then he thinks again, this time further back… and there it is. Distant memories of being a small child, of being too scared at night to fall asleep. He remembers how his grandmother would sit with him in bed, talking to him about his day, asking him questions, until he felt so safe and happy and without worry that the next thing he knew it was morning already.

So that’s exactly what he decides to do for you. He settles himself next to you in bed, leaning against the headboard after he’s had an uncharacteristic late night cup of coffee, ready to stay awake as long as it takes before you’re closing your eyes first.

You’ve told him a thousand times that he doesn’t have to do this, and he’s told you a thousand and one that he’s going to stay with you no matter what. You feel bad… but he’s so cute when he’s determined that you just have to accept.

It’s nice, chatting with Ijichi instead of staring off at darkened walls and listening to his soft snores as he enjoys the restful sleep you wish you could join him in, so you two continue to talk. You talk about your day, you talk about his day, you talk about your favourite memories and the places and foods and songs attached to them. You talk until Ijichi is lying down next to you, head resting on the very same pillow as you face each other.

You’re so focused on your knees being pressed to his, and your hands so close that your pinkies are just brushing, that you don’t even notice when your talks go from a back and forth, to mostly Ijichi contributing. It’s like a warmth spreads from where the two of you are connected, one that makes you feel like you’re floating.

One second you’re trying to focus on his words, the next you’re wondering if it would be okay to take a moment to kiss him when you were trying to sleep, not do anything more, not right now at least. And then…

Your only thought is of how you feel so warm, and so safe, and you feel something hard poking at your butt. You open your eyes, blinking drearily, realising the sun is now up. You lift your head, looking at the clock on your bedside table and gasping when you realise it’s now nearly 8 am.

When you lean up further, you realise there’s a weight on your waist, Ijichi’s hand, and smile. His hand slides off of you and onto the bed below as you carefully roll over to face him again and he lets out a little whine in his sleep at the loss of contact with you.

You lift the covers gently, and look at the state your sweet Ijichi is in. Hard, painfully hard, and had been for some time based on the wet patch soaked into his pajamas. You twist to look at the back of your own bottoms and see a matching one from where he’d probably been rubbing against you for some time.

It’s tempting, to wake him up, suck him off, maybe ride him as thanks for helping you get the sleep you so badly needed… but as you reach out and your hand hovers close you realise you don’t even know when he fell asleep for once, nor how much sleep he’s gotten.

It would be cruel to be the cause of him going to bed late and waking up too early all because he wanted to help you. It would be even more cruel to ignore his pretty cock, begging to be touched.

Your choice is made then, thinking back to discussions past when Ijichi had looked at you with more devotion than you’d ever seen in a man’s eyes, telling you how he was yours, and that meant his body was yours too - to do with as you please and whenever you please.

So you take him up on that, doing just as you please. You smile to yourself as you carefully, gently, pull down the waistband of his pajamas and let his cock spring free. You think of what to do, how you want to treat your sweet boy, and decide to pull down your own bottoms, kicking them off the bed entirely and turning around to settle back into the position you’d woken up in. You lift your leg and settle it gently over his, arching your back and slowly angling him up with yourself. As you rub the silky head of his cock through your folds, getting yourself wet enough to grant him smooth entry, you pause every so often, glancing over your shoulder to make sure you aren’t risking waking him.

He’s sound asleep - even as he breathes softly, even as his brows furrow and he lets out sleepy little moans at the feel of you. His breath tickles at the back of your neck in a long whine as you finally sink back onto him until your ass is pressed flush against his hips, pussy enveloping him entirely.

You feel him throbbing already, so you stop, letting him settle back into a deeper sleep. Eventually you pulse around him, and he starts gasping lightly. Your sweet Ijichi is so quick to excite, especially like this, so you get to work at providing him some needed relief, rocking your hips back into him slowly.

Soft whines and gasps come in a steady, low string of barely-there sounds and as always you find yourself addicted to them, unable to stop yourself from doing everything to keep them coming in steady supply. It has you moving quicker, getting a little too reckless until the smallest whisper of your name reaches your ears.

Ijichi places a gentle hand back onto your waist, repeating your name warmly as he realises his little wet dream had become very much real. You hold his hand, fingers intertwined, and pull it further around you so he’s holding you properly.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, Kiyo… just cum for me when you’re ready, then go back to sleep, okay?”

He whines a little, both from worry and the feel of you steadily rocking back onto him.

“B-but what about-“

His words are cut off by his own moan as you clench around him while speeding up your movements. You know what he was going to say regardless, and take his mind off of worrying about you for the moment, arching your back in a way that has him angled perfectly as you continue on.

It seems he’s still focused on taking care of you though, as he untangles his fingers from yours and reaches down to rest soft fingers between your thighs. He’s quick to find the pace he’d practised so many times with you before, cooing in your ear when this time he’s the reason you’re tightening around him. He nuzzles right into the crook of your neck, soft breaths against your skin sending shivers down your spine that meet with the electricity pooling there from Ijichi’s touch.

He’s still focused on your earlier request, and makes one of his own as he starts meeting your movements with rolling hips, “You too, okay?”

You aren’t sure if you can fulfill the second half of that, going back to sleep, but for him you’ll try. The first half of it is easy, with his steady hands guiding you along the path your thrusts were already sending you down. You move your leg from where it was resting over his, clamping his still working hand between your thighs and tightening yourself for him even more. He moans, breathy and broken, and as he puts even more urgency into his movements you’re assured that he is so very close.

His sounds come quickly now, blurring together into one prolonged whine, and it gives you your fill of his beautiful little noises as you reach your peak. He’s muffled, only at the very last step, as he brings his mouth to your neck, sucking and kissing so sloppily his lips must be wet and swollen and as beautiful as they always are when he’s coming undone for you, and the thought alone sends you there along with him even faster, tensing with the waves of pleasure rippling from your core to the tips of your fingers and toes as Ijichi fills you with his release.

He’s cumming just before you, and pushed right into sensitivity too as he keeps his hips and hand going to see you through, until his choked whines are back and you’re finally sated. You open your legs just a little, letting him remove his hand to wrap it around your waist.

When you start to move away to slide his softening cock out of you, he squeezes you tightly, prompting you to stay still as he speaks in a croaky, still tired voice.

“Can I stay inside? While we’re sleeping?”

“Of course, Kiyo.”

You reach a hand over your shoulder, massaging his scalp lightly with your fingertips, and he presses another kiss to your neck before settling his head just behind yours on your pillow.

Within seconds, his arm around you loosens slightly and you hear his soft snores, signifying he’s fallen asleep already.

And although the cum trickling out of you and down your thigh tickles slightly, and the sun is beaming brightly, and you're so used to an endless wait for your sleep, you drift off too.

[dddesc]

haven't written a recap in a long while and am currently suffering from oral surgery recovery, so i've got an episode on my mind...

EPISODE 32: TOOTH OR CONSEQUENCES

ah.... dedede at some of his most needlessly sadistic. it's one thing when he's making people suffer for a reason, like to get rid of kirby, build a country club, or even just let off some steam... but the way he's written in the beginning of this episode is so cruel it's insane. and funny. like why are you doing all of this. what is wrong with you

freak!!!

i can't recall if this episode is one of the first instances of yabui being an obviously-bad doctor or not... it seems to be a theme throughout the series that he can be inhumane (*little shop of horrors chorus girls voice* inhumane).

the post-dentist konbini shopping trip is delightful. dedede skipping through the aisles and picking up everything that sounds good... candy and chocolate and caramel and cookies and cinnamon rolls and melon bread....... this happens when my wife goes to the grocery store too

i'm really entertained by this episode; i've watched it a number of times in the past few months. it probably goes without saying that i generally like how toothy dedede is... mouths are one of my favorite things to draw, anyway, and i feel like a lot of my dedede expressions come out with a certain, ahhh. oral fixation

what can i say.

regardless, the cg inner-mouth shots of this episode repulse me. i do feel like tons of cartoons from around this time period had some sort of plot/imagery akin to this one -- much like the infamous character-gets-shrunken-down-to-fix-another-character's-illness trope (hmmm). i just wish the sequence here wasn't nearly two minutes of foul early-2000s computer animation.

jesus christ. good fucking lord. moving on

i can't talk about this episode without mentioning all of the fun 2d animation! it was directed by junichiro taniguchi, who also did episode 78, aka escargon robo. he's very good at making the characters energetic! so many amusing expressions and performances (especially for dedede imo, but i may have a bias).

REALLY IMPORTANT dedede and escargon eat together at their funny inconveniently long dining room table. and it pans back and forth between them as they talk. it cracks me up. they are not beating the loveless marriage allegations

speaking of marriage, escargon is such a naggy wife. it's cute to see him so gleefully smug about being right. with dedede incapacitated by cavity pain, escargon doesn't have to worry as much about getting punished for insubordination, and he really runs with it... a little treat for getting repeatedly insulted.

hehe.

sometimes, i feel like this this episode was made for me to gawk at.

no reason in particular.

the parallels between dedede and bun are stellar. the shots swapping between the two..... mwah. incredible. artfully done. the color contrast between their respective rooms in particular is so pleasing.... thank you so so much for this delicious bounty, mr. taniguchi.

i am a fan of getting to see the cabinet act like a family. it feels like parm and memu spend most of their time letting their kids do whatever and not really caring about what's going on with them until something's up... i enjoy getting glimpses of the parents attempting some parenting.

i'm not usually charmed by bun-centric episodes, but something about this one warms me up to him. i think the interactions he has with everybody are endearing -- from fumu to kirby to his parents, they all mesh in a very natural way. maybe it's something about the relative realism of a kid who keeps neglecting oral hygiene...

i'm, predictably, majorly captivated by the connection bun has with dedede throughout the plot. it's just fun to see his majesty not at complete odds with (at least one of) the kids. even when they're each shoving the other towards the operating room, they're doing so with anxious smiles on their faces, trying to talk it out. so uncharacteristically peaceful...

<3

dedede being so childish no doubt does a lot for how well these two get along in this episode. it's VERY funny when the contrast of their ages does come into play, though... like dedede using his adult, herculean strength to bust out of restraints and open a padlocked cabinet? i. i'm crazy. im crazy. im cvrazy. i'm crazy. i feel sick,. i'm crazy

downing pain meds. chewing them. maybe even sharing them with a child. ohh my god.

i want that fat girl.

the reveal that kirby has no teeth isn't surprising... but, then. i guess he's just sucking toothpaste off the toothbrush in the beginning of the episode?

offputting beast.

well, anyway. cool ending

it's funny how many episodes conclude with this air of cynicism -- don't do this or everyone else will have a right to the schadenfreude... sometimes, it "works". sometimes, it doesn't (looking at you, weight shame episode). i would still say it's not the best way to teach lessons to kids, because i think that's objectively true, but i ALSO think growing up with this show granted me an avenue into the dark humor i still enjoy, so... double-edged sword, i guess. all things in moderation. cartoons is cartoons. learn and grow. peace and love on planet popstar

[marantis]

Happy to announce the first chapter of my ZZL/GYX Frog King!AU is up on AO3

The Snake King (833 words) by Marantis Chapters: 1/? Fandom: 人渣反派自救系统 - 墨香铜臭 | The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Gongyi Xiao/Zhuzhi-lang, Su Xiyan/Tianlang-jun Characters: Zhuzhi-lang, Gongyi Xiao, Tianlang-jun, Su Xiyan Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fairy Tale Elements, Frog King!AU, Snake!Gongyi Xiao, takes place before Tianlang-jun's sealing, Fluff, lots of cute snake shenanigans, Literal Sleeping Together, Inspired by Der Froschkönig oder der eiserne Heinrich | The Frog Prince (Fairy Tale), It'll probably get a little bit darker later on in the story because of OPM schemes, but we'll see, Other Additional Tags to Be Added maybe Series: Part 2 of Once upon a time in the jianghu Summary:

Trying to avoid bearing witness to Tianlang-jun's saccharine advances towards Su Xiyan, Zhuzhi-lang loses his imperial jade token, and while searching for it stumbles over a small uncharacteristically docile snake that just so happens to have found his lost possession. Being who he is, Zhuzhi-lang decides to repay the snake’s kindness by taking it along with him.

 Or: The canon divergence, fix it fic set before Tianlang-jun's sealing, that also includes a cursed snake!Gongyi Xiao because I love Fairy Tales and will make that everybody else's business.

Also, also I've finally decided which Fairy Tale I'll be drawing inspiration from for the Moshang story! It's Blue Beard, I have not yet settled on the tone, but am definitely looking forward to when I get to write it^^

[snowballseal]

hihi! i was curious if you would be willing to do a drabble inspired by the sleepy affection with sylus piece, but with out good dr zayne? i feel like sleepy cuddles with him would be so comforting... regardless, thank you sm for sharing your writing!! every piece you've posted has always brought a smile to my face (kicking my feet all happily too) even for characters i'm not as interested in :)

Sleepy Affection ~ Zayne

Summary: It's winter, and there's nothing like cuddling with your sleepy doctor after you've both had a long day (or a long few days in Zayne's case).

Word Count: 1014

Note: I'm honestly so whipped for this man. Like, I'm so soft for him. And he's so soft for reader. This man would turn into a cuddly cat when he's tired, kinda like the misty invasion card (*eyes emoji*)

Hope you enjoy! Thank you for the request! And thank you for your really kind words. I'm glad my writing can make people happy.

---

Winters in Linkon are your favorite.

There’s something about the snow, the crisp chill in the air, the smell of peppermint drifting from the coffee shops. Every store is draped in twinkle lights and each street rings with the song of bells as people come and go. The kids seem somehow more feral and delightful, running through the parks in their brightly colored scarves, building snowmen wherever they can. Being a hunter, you’re drawn into more than a few snowball fights by groups of eager children who want to see your “fighting skills”.

But your favorite part about winters are the sleepy evenings. It’s the feeling of getting home after a long day, a deep chill in your bones alongside the exhaustion, ready to curl up in your blankets with a cup of hot cocoa and a movie. There’s nothing else like it.

And what makes it even better?

When your boyfriend joins you after his even longer shift.

Your apartment is quiet except for the playful soundtrack of ‘Elf’ humming in the background. You snuggle deeper into the couch, eyes glued to the window beside you, watching the thick snowflakes dance with the wind. They look like little ballerinas to your tired eyes, pirouetting round and round and round. Hypnotizingly graceful.

The front door opens with a muted click.

Lazily, you tear your gaze away from the window. You do your best to glance over the back of the couch, your cheek pressing into the cushion, too comfortable to move, eyes half-lidded with sleep.

Your heart flutters at the sight in front of you though. Zayne stands in the foyer, pulling off his many layers of warm clothes with a startling lack of grace. Snow clings to his dark hair and coat, falling to the ground with each of his sluggish movements. The doctor looks tired. His eyes meet yours, dark and warm, hooded just like your own.

You lift the edge of your blankets. A silent invitation.

Zayne trudges across the living room, his steps uncharacteristically heavy. He takes off his glasses and leaves them on the table behind the couch. You smother a giggle when he practically collapses against you. It’s like having a large cat curl around you, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck with a long, content sigh.

Resting your cheek against his hair, you tuck your blankets around his shoulders, murmuring a soft, “Hey, baby.”

The doctor lets out a low rumble in response, drawing you impossibly closer. You inhale sharply when he slips his hands under your sweater, his freezing cold fingers desperately seeking out the warmth of your skin. You shiver as they trace delicately along your waist, slotting in the tight space between you and the couch.

“Your fingers are freezing,” you whine, jarred from your sleepy state.

Of course you don’t actually mind, though. Not with Zayne. Not when he nuzzles so cutely into your neck, murmuring the most unapologetic apology you’ve ever heard, his voice low and raspy with exhaustion. A fuzzy kind of fondness washes over you.

“Long day?”

Zayne sighs, his breath tickling the sensitive skin of your throat, “I’ve slept only three hours in the past two days.”

Poor thing.

You feel a stab of pity for him. That might be the only drawback of winter, you suppose. Akso Hospital is always infinitely busier with this kind of weather. The snow always brings more accidents and Zayne always volunteers to work extra shifts when the need is dire, no matter the cost to his health. It’s something you love, but also something that worries you.

Brows furrowing, you card your fingers through his hair tenderly in hopes of helping him relax. It’s still a little damp from the snow. Zayne shivers when your nails trace over his scalp. Another shaky sigh escapes him when your hand dips under his collar to massage his nape. He practically melts under your touch, his weight pressing you deeper into the couch.

You’re not sure where the movie is now. The cup of hot cocoa on the side table is likely cold. But it’s hard to care. All you can focus on is Zayne. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The faint smell of jasmine hidden under the lingering scent of the hospital. The comforting weight of his body on top of yours.

Eyes fluttering shut, you nuzzle your face into his hair, hands going still around his shoulders. The two of you stay like that for what feels like hours, drifting in and out of sleep as the snow dances outside. It all feels so distant, your blankets hiding you from the cold, from the rest of the world. 

It’s just the two of you.

The two of you, in your shared apartment, always coming home to one another. Just like this.

Your heart warms at the thought. Nudging his forehead gently, you draw Zayne back just enough to see his face. He looks back at you with those hooded eyes, hazel depths brimming with a reverent affection. Biting back a smile, you lean down to kiss him. It’s a tender thing, a mere brush of your lips against his, featherlight and full of devotion. It leaves the both of  you aching yet content as you draw away.

“I love you,” you whisper, nose brushing his sweetly.

“I love you as well, my dear,” he hums, a flicker of a tired smile gracing his lips.

You can’t resist pressing another kiss to them, your own smile breaking through, “Go to sleep, baby. I’ll wake you when it’s time for dinner.”

Without an ounce of resistance, Zayne settles back against you, his head resting on your chest. The soft thrum of your heartbeat lulls him to sleep, the exhaustion finally catching up and pulling him under. You listen as his breathing evens out, deep and slow.

And while you mean to stay up, you can’t resist the warmth, the comfort of having him there with you.

Vaguely, you hear the credit song playing as you drift off into sleep.

---

I have such a thing for calling stoic men 'baby', I feel like it's so soft and cute and he'd honestly probably melt for it. Idk, maybe just me, please don't come for me in the comments.

[linkito]

Y'know I had thought... You and Ange have talked about Grian's avian instincts in hhau.... what about Scar? Does Scar have Vex instincts that cause him trouble?

-🎀

see now that we've unlocked the Vex Arc Lore I can really get into this hehehe

So I think I've mentioned before, but Scar didn't grow up alongside vexes (other than Cub), so he's very new to all these instincts, but they are something he sort of has to lean on in order to survive sometimes. Even if they're new and scary and often uncharacteristically violent for him.

For starters, though, he can be overwhelmingly protective, almost possessive, and especially after the events with Juni. Scar doesn't trust a soul after that. Low growls and spectral wings flaring out angrily. Claws at the ready.

And then there's the biting... lol snippet from an rp a few weeks ago: (If someone had tried to tell him he’d be this into biting a year ago, he’d have thought they were crazy. And yet now it has such a sway on him, making him reconsider how capable he is of continuing this little ruse.)

It's not necessarily a violent thing. It's more about claim, about showing affection with his teeth. Visible mementos. Bragging to the world about their bond. (It was their thing long before Scar knew it was a vex thing. Predator and prey. Trust and vulnerability.)

I'd say the longer Scar stays at the Vex Commune, he also grows more emotional in a sense. Vexes channel their emotions for power, and now he's around many vex who do this on the regular. For instance, Nico's is effortless, constant, casual. Kane's is loud, rash, sudden. Scar is being influenced by those of his kind now, for better or for worse.

It's actually Nadia, who we've briefly mentioned, who wants Scar to stay true to himself before all else. To continue drawing power from love and virtue, lest he lose what makes him who he is.

...

...also Scar purrs sometimes. Because it's cute to make vexes be a little cat-like, as a treat. <3

[tillthelandslide]

Insufferable Arsehole Part 2: An Encounter - Matty Healy Series

A/n: here's part 2!! You'll now realise that my heart belongs to Ross and even writing this I get carried away and end up including cute Ross content. So sorry if that annoys you.. this is after all a Matty fic. Hope you like it anyway.

Part 1 found here

Series Masterlist

Lou is sat on a black leather seat, her legs crossed under her, her guitar that she takes everywhere with her rests against her bare thighs, her fingers moving along the frets, plucking the strings. The weather is uncharacteristically warm for London, she wears black denim shorts with an old the 1975 merch shirt that George sent her one year. The edges are frayed and the seems of the collar have come away from the shirt revealing just a slither of her skin, the tee was well and truly worn and it made the boys hearts swell, knowing she probably wears it when she's missing them.

George is sat opposite her, Ross is lying down on the floor below her, being an absolute pest and fiddling with the laces of her doc martins.

She's playing random notes, something she made up recently, the tune is peaceful and the boys find themselves relaxing at it, she hums along to it, Ross harmonises after hearing the tune two times, the act makes her smile widely down at him.

"Sounds good" Adam says coming into the room, he places his guitar case down before plopping himself down next to George.

"Thanks Hann" she says before she finds herself playing "girls". The boys ears perk up at this and she's far too focused on her strumming that she doesn't hear the door swing open.

"Gunning for Hann's job?" George asks making everyone laugh. She smiles at her best friend, sticking her tongue out in jest before she stops and places the guitar down.

"You can have it" Hann jokes, making George and Ross have ago at him for his words, the four of them laugh loudly, only stopping when a grumpy voice rang out in the room.

"Thought we were here to rehearse as a band not sit around and watch you play what you want?" Matty's voice rings out, the words are what irritate her, not the sound of his grating voice in her ears.

So the nice Matty from last week wasn't sticking around then it seemed.

"Seems we've got the old Ratty back guys" she says, Ross pinches her ankle from his place on the ground, silently begging for her to behave.

"He started it" she grumbles out, Ross looks up at her and she nods at him knowing he's only trying to help. She places her guitar down, crossing her arms and leaning back against her chest, her legs cross too, drawing Matty's eyes to the skin on show.

"I have a name" he snaps back and her eyes find his, they're almost begging her to challenge him, just say something back, something quick and witty. But her eyes drift to Ross and then to George who she can tell are both begging her to just let it slide, so she does.

They begin rehearsing, Lou and Matty bickering back and forth throughout, even with the looks the boys keep shooting their way, but despite that they sound good and they all work well together.

She truly believes that no matter how good they sound, how well she performs, how little or hard she tries; Matty will still say it's not good enough.

They finish the song they were playing and she smiles before speaking.

"That was sick!" She says happily, lifting her fingers from the keys and lifting her arm up, Ross who is standing next to her, bass in hand, presses his palm flat against hers, high-fiving.

"Sure you'd think that, you're just some chick in a band who cant play their instruments properly" he snaps, his voice is quiet, but she hears it through his grumble. Her mouth opens to snap back but she gives in. She steps away from the keyboard, she turns to the table, grabbing her pack of cigarettes and lighter and goes to storm out.

"That was out of order Matty!" She hears Ross say, she's thankful that he's always one of the first to defend her.

"Why can't you just be nice? Just get along. Come on mate, she's my best mate, just ease up a little" George then says.

She wants to turn and tell them to leave it, tell the whole room that Matty isn't worth it but she doesn't let her feet betray her this time. The fresh air that hits her as she finds her way outside is a welcoming distraction from her thoughts.

She takes out a cigarette, quick to place it in-between her lips and lights it. She breathes in the nicotine quickly, searching for the rush she needs to forget his cruel words.

She hears the door open behind her only threw puffs later and turns to see Matty behind her.

"Oh great, that's just perfect" she says, he lights his own cigarette.

"I'm sorr-" he begins but she's quick to interrupt him.

"You know what, just save it Matty! I don't need to hear it" she says, turning away from him. She really wants to just turn around and push him, or swipe her palm across his face.

"Listen Lou-" he says, she interrupts again. Lou was her nickname and she hated that he said it casually, as if they didnt despise each other.

"No you listen! I don't know how many times I need to tell you, but I'm not here to annoy you. Not everything is about you and you need to get that into your insufferable fucking head! I am here to help out a friend who asked for my help. And I don't need your stupid comments when I'm just trying to help" she rants, her voice raised. He nods as he listens to her.

"You're right. Im sorry. You just... Ugh you just irk me" he says admitting what she already knows. Since the both of them remember they didn't get along, he rubbed her the wrong way and visa versa. The truth was Matty knew why she hated him, he gave her every reason to hate him. She didn't know why Matty hated her, she was nice to him in the beginning, wanting nothing more than for her best friend's best friend, to like her back, he just didn't and soon she hated him for the way he treated her.

"Well you're going to have to find a way to deal with it. Because I'm not going anywhere. I could easily just drop this, and leave you utterly fucked... But I'm doing this for George and for Ross and Hann. Not you, you intolerable arsehole" she snaps, the cigarette she's holding finds it's way into her mouth and she breathes in one last time before it finds the floor and she crushes it under her black boots.

She goes to turn and walk away from him but stops in her tracks, turning back to face him "And my name is Laura, only my friends call me Lou"

She leaves him after that, smirking to herself at him standing there, mouth agape. He stares down at her half finished cigarette, he notices the red mark around the tip from her lipstick and he has to shake the thoughts that come to mind.

She heads up to the studio after that. Feeling quite pleased with herself for not just biting her tongue and brushing it off. She feels a weight lifted from her shoulders.

They continue rehearsing for the rest of the day, no more comments are made. They hardly even talk and suddenly she starts messing up more, as does Matty. Notes are missed or the wrong ones are played, his voice cracks more and it doesn't go unnoticed by the guys.

"Fuck" she says, halting in her playing, her hand weaves through her hair out of stress. Matty mimics her actions nearly in sync, he watches her as he does and sighs deeply, his lips finding their place in between his teeth.

"Listen Lou it's fine. It's been a long day. Let's call it a day" George says, she sighs deeply. The boys all begin packing up their stuff. She unplugs the keyboard from the amp but continues to play notes softly. This time they're her own ones: she plays them effortlessly. She doesn't realise how long she's been playing when she hears a gentle voice calling her name.

She looks up from where she's sitting, Ross looking down at her.

"You coming?" He asks softly, her hand finds his, just thanking him silently for always being there when she needed him.

"Think I'm going to stay for a bit longer, just practice" she says and he nods, his lips place a soft but friendly kiss to the top of her head and she smiles up at him.

"Okay, don't wear yourself out too much. See you tomorrow sweetheart" he says before leaving. Her eyes find her hands that are resting against the keys and she lets out a deep sigh, why cant she get this right she thinks to herself.

"Want me to stay? Can order some food?" George says, her eyes snap go find his, he's holding the door open.

She shakes her head, smiling at him "na it's okay, go" he asks if she's sure, tells her that he doesn't mind, she just smiles at him and shakes her head, telling him to enjoy the rest of the day.

"Okay, love ya" he says, blowing her a kiss.

"Love ya" she says softly.

"Hey, I'm sorry about Matty. I know it's not the same, but if it's any consolation he bullies me too. Hope you're okay though, I think you're smashing it" Adam says, she smiles at him for the sentiment.

"Thanks Hann. I'll be okay" and then he leaves and for a few moments shes alone. Matty must have left a while ago, or so she thinks.

She continues playing the soft tune that is hers. She's so focused on the notes and she begins to sing the tune. She misses the studio door opening back up. It's not until she looks up that she sees him standing there, leaning against the door frame. Her fingers halt.

"Don't stop on my account, sounded good" Matty admits, she hates how good he looks, arms crossed against his chest, biceps flexing against the arms of his black tee. He had changed, grew up and she has mixed feelings about the whole ordeal.

"Don't need your flattery now Matthew" she says breaking eye contact with him, this time he doesn't cringe or scowl at the name.

"Not flattery. It's the truth" he offers her a soft smile, the first proper smile that has been directed at her, in... well since she can remember. She hasn't heard him speak sincerely to her before but it's still recognisable in his tone.

"So now you can be nice" she says, rolling her eyes at him "thought you left" she says.

"I almost did... Heard that song though" he says and she raised her eyebrows at him.

"And?"

He steps closer to where she's sat, he's sat across from her in the next moment, they're closer now, she can see all his features and she's not sure she likes it. He stares at her for a beat before he speaks.

"I like it, play it please?" He asks, his voice is gentle, an unrecognisable tone, one in which she's never had directed at her before.

She sighs deeply before playing the song she started writing a few weeks ago. Matty watches intently, his eyes never faltering from her face. He realises he's paying close attention to her features, how her eyes flutter shut as her soft voice rings out, but he doesn't have the will power in that current moment to stop. He always thought she was the most beautiful girl he had ever met, another thing to add to the reasons he disliked her. She had made navigating relationships very hard for him, he always found himself comparing girls to her. But now, she had grown up, he still thought she was beautiful, but my god she was hot.

She stops playing, her eyes fluttering back open and landing on the man across from her. She examines his features up close now, still the same old Matty from when they were kids but just.... older. He has changed his hair more times than she can count but she thinks this is her favourite, just undoubtedly him. She quickly looks away, although she's always loathed him, she'd never deny the fact he was hot.

"Is that all you've got so far?" He asks and for once his tone isn't abrupt and she knows he doesn't mean it in a rude way.

"Umm... Not quite. Did you hear what I was playing on the guitar earlier?" She asks and he nods, despite his previous comments earlier on, he liked what she was playing to Ross and George, he just hated that he wasn't involved.

"Hey I am..." He begins to say he's sorry but stops, he knows she doesn't want to hear it.

"Play happiness" he says, one of the songs she was messing up on earlier. She begins playing the notes, the tune perfect this time.

"There you go!" He says cheerfully and the both of you smile.

"Can I ask a question?" She asks and he nods, lighting a cigarette, offering her one. She leans across and accepts one, lighting hers too.

"This album... It's different to your other stuff. It's really good. Your other stuff is good too don't get my wrong! Feels like this is on a new level though" she says and he smiles at the compliment.

"You didn't ask a question" he says smiling across at her and she nods.

"These songs... They're happy" she says making him laugh at the idea that all they do is write depressing songs.

"You wrote these songs as if you're in love... Guess I'm just wondering who it's about" she says, part of her just wants to know if he's in a relationship or not, not that it would change anything, she was just curious.

"I mean... They're just ideas and concepts. Not about anyone in particular, not for me anyway. Obviously I write with George and he has Charli" he answers and she nods, thinking it sounds like an excuse.

"Why'd you ask?" He questions, he secretly wants nothing more than to know she would care if he was in love with someone.

"Just had an idea but it doesn't matter" she says, taking a drag from her yet untouched cigarette. He notices her lipstick staining the tip again.

"Tell me" he says, shuffling ever close to him. His knees touch hers now and he wants to grab the hand that rests against the keys.

"Well the ideas in these songs... I think they're powerful. I thought the once cynical Matt Healy was no more... Was going to suggest, instead of letting your hatred for me effect you in the way it so clearly does. Just think about that person" she says , shrugging at her own idea, unsure if it even makes sense.

"I don't hate you" he all but whispers and she has to hold back her scoff. She ignores his comment.

"We need to do something Matty, because it's not going to work if we're at each other's throats all the time" she says and he smirks.

"I dunno Lou. Seemed to have work better when we were" he says, a good old fashioned matt smirk resting on his lips and she frowns at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't you notice that a soon as we shut up, didn't say anything to each other... We kept messing up" he says and then it hits her. He was right.

"Shit" she says, he laughs at that.

"Well we need to figure out a better way to get all that anger towards each other out. Because you're unbearable to work with when you're at my throat all the time" she says, they both smirk at that and his eyes can't help but drift to her lips.

She sees his eyes darken and a thought comes to his mind.

"Really would appreciate it if you'd stop calling me unbearable and insufferable all the time. You're no angel yourself love" he says, his voice seems darker now and she doesn't like what it does to her and the pet name wasn't helping either.

She feels her core flutter at the way he's looking at her, she squeezes her thighs together uncontrollably and it doesn't go unnoticed by the curly haired man

"Stop looking at me like that" she says, eyes not managing to break away from his, she feels her breath hitch as he takes his lip in between his teeth.

"Like what?" He questions.

"Like you want to fuck me" she says.

"Think we've found the solution to our problem" he says, her breath faltering as he speaks the dirty words.

She was fucked.

Part 3