#it was definently the eyebrows lmao

[amaranthdahlia]

also, fun fact the reason why my interest in jayvik/arcane sparked in the first place bc the moment i saw jayce from the season 2 intro (and i have 0 knowledge of arcane before this) and i immediately thought: this is literally how i picture/hc kudou would look like. what the fuck

[fereldanwench]

so instagram reels has been funneling a bunch of makeup videos at me lately (which admittedly is a step up from the aging-millennial existential crises videos i started to get out of nowhere--you trying to tell me something, insta? lmao)

and uhhhh if eyebrow blindness was the defining trait of the mid-2010s makeup trends, blush blindness is gonna claim this era

[unproduciblesmackdown]

billions(tm): it's incredible how we just provide a little snippet of material designed to be "guy we all want to push down the stairs immediately somehow" and through this amazing acting alchemy it becomes gold. electric. magnificent. we can't get enough so we will just keep writing this loser character and the actor will somehow keep bringing the dazzling transmutation through his ability

actor will roland: [is aware autistic people are real]

[mariasont]

My Assistant - A.H

a/n: im a little addicted to bimbo reader rn if you can't tell lmao

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x bimbo!assistant!reader

summary: you can't reach a book so hotch helps you out

warnings: none? fluff, reader climbing a fucking book shelf and for what

wc: 0.8k

"Oh, biscuits!" 

It was a ridiculous thing to say, but frankly you didn't care. You were on your tiptoes, chest flush against a bookshelf. Spencer had asked for a book for the case they were working, and naturally, it was nestled on the top shelf.

Balancing precariously on your stilettos, you stretched as tall as you possibly could, your fingers skimming the spine that was an inch too far away.

You shifted your weight back onto your heels, planting your hands firmly on your hips as you considered the stubborn object just out of reach. Sure, Spencer would grab the book without hesitation if asked, and he'd do so with a smile, but you really liked feeling useful.

For over a year, you've been the one at Mr. Hotchner's beck and call--fetching coffee, filing papers, and attending to, basically, his every need (not the one you wanted though). To others, it might seem trivial, but you really liked it. Well, you really liked him. 

At first, you were intimidated--how could you not? He had a reputation. You heard the stories--a man who never smiled, his ever-serious nature, and Penelope's not so family friendly description of his sternness was enough to unsettle anyone.

But you considered his reputed severity to just be part of his charm, he was far from the figure others painted him as. He was a good boss, always fair, never once raising his voice at you or demanding too much. In your eyes, he was perfect. You might be biased. 

The idea of climbing the shelf was a gamble, especially in these shoes, and it seemed almost certain to end with a less-than-elegant fall. Still, you couldn't resist the challenge and hoisted yourself up anyway, the shelf wobbling perilously as you did so. 

You pressed on, climbing higher, the wood's groans of protest falling on deaf ears. If this was how you were going down, so be it.

"Almost there," you muttered to yourself, straining every muscle in your arm, you were sure.

And just as you almost had the book, your balance faltered and then found new footing, the sensation of falling dissipating. In its place, you found your ass delicately perched, nearly seated on someone's broad shoulder.

You honestly didn't even need to look to know who it was--embarrassingly enough--you had basically memorized the feeling of Hotch's hands. Though they had never been wrapped around your legs like they were now. His grip was warm and strong, sparking a wave of electricity that rippled through your whole body.

"Got it!" you cried out, your victory fist pump nearly launching you from Hotch's shoulder. But his hold on your thighs clamped tighter, securing you in place. "Thanks, sir."

You angled your head downward, locking gazes with Hotch--his eyes a rich blend of ember and molten chocolate that you really liked looking at.

His eyebrows were arched in a silent question on his well-defined face as if he really couldn't believe what you were doing. 

"Careful," Hotch murmured, his hands lowering you to the ground. There was a fleeting brush against your ass, surely accidental, yet it sparked a flurry of butterflies swirling in the pit of your stomach. "In the future, just ask. I wouldn't want you hurt over something as trivial as a book."

"Oh, don't you worry about me, sir. I'm like, practically a pro at rock climbing when I'm not here." you said, letting out a bubbly giggle.

He regarded you with a look that was equal parts amusement and disbelief, clearly not convinced.

"Okay, not really, but wouldn't that be cool?"

"Well, rock climber or not, let's keep those feet on the ground, please," Hotch remarked, the slightest quirk of his mouth suggesting a suppressed smile. "It's less of a fall from there."

"Sure thing, sir!" you beamed, popping off a silly salute, noting his struggle not to roll his eyes. "But I did get the book, so it all worked out in the end, right?"

With a gentle nudge on your lower back, Hotch directed you towards the conference room.

"Yes, it did, but for future reference, Spencer's height makes him more capable of reaching those books himself."

You couldn't help the blush that colored your face, and you managed a flustered smile.

"Well, I mean, it is what I get paid to do, sir."

"No, you get paid to do my bidding, not Spencer's," he teases, giving a gentle squeeze to your side.

Your laughter rang out, a bit too high, a bit too bright, as his touch sent a delightful vertigo spiraling through you. 

"Well, yeah, okay, that's fair. But it's been pretty light on the to-do list from you today."

"And you're complaining about that?"

With the conference room in sight, you pretended to lock your lips and throw away the key.

A rare laugh rumbled through his chest, and you felt your knees buckle, you were sure you could have melted into a puddle right there and then. It was such a beautiful sound, and you desperately wanted to become familiar with it.

Spencer emerged from the conference room, his eyes landing on the book in your hands. "Is that The Selfish Gene?"

Hotch took the book from you, handing it to Spencer with a firm look. "Reid, I'd appreciate it if you didn't recruit my assistant for your library runs."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

[obsesssedblerd]

18 with Gojo and my life is YOURS 🤭

#18: “Were you watching me just now?” 

[18+ content below, MDNI]

pairing: satoru gojo x f! reader

contains: smut, reader catching gojo masturbating, cowgirl, office sex, unprotected p-in-v (wrap it before you tap it), creampie, gojo being cocky, a bit of crack bc reader is slightly unserious lol, use of pet names (pretty girl)

likes, reblogs and comments appreciated <3 

a/n: prompt edited slightly bc gojo is gojo lol. also, y’all know that one meme that goes something like “i be like “fuck him” and then end up actually fucking him”? lmao yeah.

— — — — 

You hated working long hours, but the amount of curses that have been spotted in Tokyo during the last few weeks have given you, your colleagues and the students plenty to do.

With Suguru Geto keeping a close eye on the first-years as they complete their mission, and Kento Nanami doing the same for the second-years, that leaves you alone at the school late at night, silently completing some paperwork. 

Well, you thought you were alone. 

You walk through the empty halls of Jujutsu Tech, thumbing through some files that Yaga accidentally left you. They actually belong to the colleague that you thought about way more than you should; Satoru Gojo. As you approach his office, your steps slow as you raise an eyebrow in confusion. 

The sliding door is slightly cracked, and the light is on. You know that he works the most out of everyone here, however, it’s your first time seeing him at the school so late. It’s nearly midnight. You’re about to call out his name, but stop when you hear it—the soft exhale, almost like a blissful sigh. Curious, you peek through the crack in the door, and your eyes widen at the sight in front you. 

Satoru Gojo is fully leaned back in his chair with an arm tucked behind his head, his shirt raised just enough to expose his chiseled abs, and his pants are unbuttoned. Your eyes drift lower, and heat rises to your face when you see him stroking his cock. You know it’s wrong, and you know that you should look away, however, you can’t. 

The matching jacket to his uniform isn’t anywhere to be found, and he’s wearing a dark shirt, which is just a little bit tight since his muscles bulge with every movement. You’ve worked alongside him for two years, but this is your first time seeing just how defined and strong his body is. His cock is long and thick, and a small part of you feels jealous of his hand, wishing that you were the one touching and stroking. 

Your stomach flips. Fuck, what are you thinking?

Satoru’s head tilts back a bit to settle against his arm, and he lets out a deep, barely-audible groan as he continues to relieve himself. The sound of it makes your body grow warm. Though his blindfold is on, you can tell that his eyes are shut. You notice an earbud in one of his ears, however, his phone is face down on the desk next to him. Not watching something, but listening to something. You never thought that he’d be the type to prefer audio over visual porn. 

His chest rises and falls with each quiet breath, and you wonder if he does this whenever the school is empty and he just has a few minutes to himself. Since he’s the main one constantly handling difficult missions, meetings with the higher-ups and training the students, you assumed that he barely had time for anything else. Being the strongest sorcerer seems far too intense. The work, teaching the next generation, dealing with the Limitless technique and the Six Eyes, being the one who—

Your heart drops when you suddenly remember. Six Eyes. Six Eyes. There’s absolutely no way he doesn’t know that you’re there right now. 

You quietly turn around and walk down the hall as quietly as you can back to your office, absolutely hating yourself for staying as long as you did.  

Not even two minutes go by until you’re thinking about Satoru in his office again. You exhale and continue writing reports, desperately trying to ignore the slight ache between your thighs. On your desk, your phone begins to vibrate. You think it’s Suguru Geto with an update, but it’s not. 

It’s him. 

You take a few seconds to contemplate your next move, then end up picking up the phone, keeping your voice as level as possible. “Hello? It’s late.” 

“Like what you saw?” Satoru asks smugly. You can tell he’s grinning slyly. He knows.

You attempt to save yourself anyway. “Huh?” 

“Don’t “huh” me, you were watching me just now,” he replies in a low voice. “Didn’t know our pretty, quiet sorcerer was such a pervert. So, I’ll ask again: Like what you saw?” 

“...I didn’t mean to stare,” you say after a few beats of silence. “What kind of person does that with the door open anyway??” 

“I pissed Nanami off last month and he slammed my door pretty hard. It hasn’t been able to close all the way ever since.” When you go quiet again, Satoru chuckles teasingly. “You still haven’t answered my question.” 

You scoff. “What if I told you that I wasn’t going to answer that?” 

“Oh, I know the answer, pretty girl,” he purrs, and the nickname makes your stomach flutter. “I was just giving you the opportunity to use your words and admit that you want me. You’re kinda bad at hiding your little crush, y’know.” 

You flusteredly fumble over your words, and Satoru continues talking before you can form a complete sentence. “These last few weeks have been rough on you too, and I’m certain that you can also use a bit of relief. It’s just us here. No one will know.” 

“And if I told you no?” You ask with a small, questioning hum. “Would you go back to listening to your porn?” 

“Too bad we won’t find out, because you and I both know that you’re coming back here.” 

The smugness in his voice makes you grit your teeth. “Cocky asshole.”

“Mhm. See you in a bit.”

 He hangs up the phone, and you scoff, practically tossing the device back onto your desk. You readjust yourself in your seat, try to think past the surge of lust and remember where you were in your reports before he called. He’s so unbelievably frustrating, so arrogant, so not someone you should want. 

“Fuck him,” you grumble to yourself as you continue writing. 

—

“Ohhh god. Shit,” Satoru hisses through his teeth as his hands grip your waist. “You���re so fucking tight.”

You truly don’t know how you ended up here. One moment, you’re writing reports, and the next, you’re back in Satoru’s office, kissing him as hard as you could so you wouldn’t hear any sarcastic and smug comments from him before shoving him back into his chair and riding him. His cock feels bigger than it looks, and it reaches so deep that every movement strikes your weak spot. The floor of Satoru’s office is littered with your clothing, and you’re beyond thankful that no one else is in the building, because you’re certain that your sultry moans can be heard from anywhere. 

Satoru trails open-mouth kisses along your chest, then sucks yet another mark onto one of your tits. You run your hands through his hair, then hold his shoulders to steady yourself as you continue bouncing on his cock, relishing the feeling of his skin without his infinity. You’re finally touching him, and it feels incredible. 

He notices the way your hands can’t get enough of him, and he smirks up at you, his cerulean eyes light with amusement. “So much better than staring, hm? You’re— Mmm…” He groans pleasurably when you cut off his words by kissing him again.

“Shut up,” you sharply tell him in between kisses. “You talk too fucking much.” 

“And you love it. You’re fucking soaked,” he retorts, and when he notices your movements begin to slow, he readjusts his grip on your waists and assists you, moving you up and down on his cock. Your mouth falls open when he changes the pace, fucking you a bit faster. “And close, too,” he notes, smiling when your pussy begins to twitch around his cock. “You’re squeezing me so tight. Gonna cum for me?” 

You nod rapidly, and he brings one hand to where your bodies are joined together and begins rubbing your clit to get you to finish faster. You cry out as you climax, and your orgasm immediately triggers his. Satoru curses, and you feel his cock spasm as his cum spills deep within you. Heat floods your face at the feeling. It’s the first time anyone’s ever cum inside of you before, and you like it. A lot. You relax against him, and he wraps his arms around you, his cock still inside of you. Both of you stay like that as you and him catch your breath. 

Once you’re ready, you finally lift yourself off of his cock, both of you lightly gasping and hissing at the sensitivity. You feel his warm cum begin to drip out. There’s so much of it. 

“You should work late more often,” Satoru jokes lightly to break the silence, and you look at the sorcerer. He’s staring up at you, smirking, his white hair messy and his eyes soft. “I like how loud you are.” 

You scoff and roll your eyes, but your heart pounds at his shameless confession. You swipe his phone up from your desk and wave it in front of him. “And you should stop watching porn at work.” 

“I don’t watch. I like to imagine. I pick a video where the pornstar’s moans are similar to what I imagined what you’d sound like, then go from there,” he says simply.

Your eyes widen in shock. “Wait—you’ve been imagining me?” 

“For a while, yeah,” he replies, tapping your thighs once to gesture that he’s moving, and you stand up next to his desk so he can do so. He also stands up, and that’s when you notice that he’s still hard. “You sound way sexier than I imagined,” he tells you. “Everything about you is way better than I imagined.” 

He stands behind you, slightly leaning forward and placing one of his hands on the desk in front of you. His other hand gently lands on your waist. “Like I said earlier, it’s just us here, and I’m nowhere near done making you scream,” he whispers in your ear. “Bend over.”

----

prompt list <3

[cherubfae]

𝔠𝔯𝔲𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔟𝔢𝔞𝔰𝔱-𝔩𝔦𝔨𝔢 𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯 || {𝔡𝔲𝔫𝔪𝔢𝔰𝔥𝔦}

ft. laios, marcille, chilchuck, namari, mickbell, & kabru

tags: sfw, bit of blood/gore, alcohol consumption, gender neutral/ implied afab reader (use of they/them), reader wraps their chest!, reader is implied to be a canine-like beast but left ambiguous (wolf, fox, coyote, etc) lovedrunk and flustered babies, pre-established relationship, reader can be interpreted as a beast-man, magically altered being, were-beast, etc!!, they can turn into an actual beast

a/n: I flustered myself writing this lmao, clearly i do not have favorites whaaaa-- haha! it's good to be back. I hope all of you are well and you enjoy this fic!! kabru's got unintentionally longggg <3 -- noah

Laios

Holy crow!! You are so, so, amazing!! This man will watch in awe as you easily strike down your enemy with a single downstroke of your blade. It glides through the monster like butter, a gust of wind from the blow kicking up dirt and debris.

You scoff, nose twitching in disgust as you shake off the bits of blood and gore that cling to the sharp steel. Your eyes drift upwards, ears perking up at Laios's interest. Eyebrow lifting into your hairline in question.

"O-oh, ah, good job!" Laios sputters, a rosy hue coating his cheeks. Lips tilting into a slight smirk you nod in response. You give him a thumbs up, winking your eye playfully at the blonde.

"Happy to help! By the way, why're you all red?"

Laios gulped, "Ju-just kind of warm in here, y'know? M'okay." He tugs at the collar beneath his chest armor for effect, his golden gaze looking anywhere but down at you and your pretty smile. He absolutely doesn't want to fixate how the points of your fangs jut out ever so slightly from beneath your upper lip, and how much he would very much like to touch them.

Marcille

She's no better than a man, she's no better than a man, she's no better than a man--

Marcille, despite the shame that digs deep into her gut, cannot tear her eyes away from you as you wash away the soot and ash covering your arms. Your shirt had been torn by the blast of one her explosive spells, leaving your arms and a bit of your bare torso exposed.

Tracing the path your veins map out, Marcille swallows thickly. Your arms were defined with muscle, not too bulky. You had clearly worked hard to get where you are. A much more experienced and capable dungeon explorer.

"You alright, Marcy?" Your voice floats to her ears, making them twitch. Suddenly bursting into a panic, Marcille blubbers out a screech.

Floundering, she squeaks, "Ah! Yes!! I'm so sorry-- your shirt!! I can fix it!" She grasps her staff, crowding herself in front of you. You wave her off gently, patting her shoulder.

You grin, fangs poking out. "Nah, s'alright. Got another one in my pack." You turn your back to her, peeling off the remains of your shirt, adjusting the wraps around your chest and back before kneeling down to rummage in your rucksack for a new tunic. Marcille damn near passes out.

Chilchuck

Normally he hates being shoved out of the way and pushed around like he's some kid, but with the absolute onslaught you bring during fighting, he's glad to have you looking out for him!

You are so many things: strong, swift, quick on your feet, and can be incredibly brutal when you need to be. You aren't just a threat to an enemy you face, you are a promise. You see to it that any foe will not harm your party.

Chilchuck himself isn't immune to the way you seem to get a bit more feral when he is threatened."He-ey!! What are you--!" He can't stop the way his heart leaps into his throat. His surprised gasp cut short when you scoop him up into your arms, dodging a long bow arrow barreling towards him.

With ears ringing at the deep, low snarl rumbling in the back of your throat, Chil blinks owlishly. He follows your gaze to see living armor being taken down by Izutsumi. Sighing in relief, the halfling relaxes in your embrace. He is incredibly lucky to have you looking out for him! Glancing up at you, his face explodes into a red glow upon seeing your tender gaze already transfixed on him.

Yeah, you might end up being the death of him.

Namari

A person after her own heart!! She revels in the rush of adrenaline that courses through her veins when she takes down an enemy, but you're even a step further than her!

Not only are you strong but you are an amazing asset to the team! You're incredibly versatile with weapons: axes, swords, lances, daggers, bows-- you name it! But what's really killer about you are your claws and teeth! How you can turn into an actual beast when angered enough, determined to fight for those you love. Namari has never met someone quite as unique as yourself. She just wished you weren't in Laios's party, but in hers.

You are immaculate, Namari thinks. She can't help but stare at you from across the bar, watching with an immense yearning as you laugh heartily with Laios and Marcille throwing your pints of ale up in a toast.

"Why don't you go talk to them? O-oh shit, here they come!" Chilchuck slurs from behind his own pint, cheeks flushed pink from the alcohol. Namari sighs, too buried in her own thoughts to register her friend's words. Setting down her cup fingers sliding along the lip of the glass. She clumsily reaches over for the pitcher, gasping as it nearly tumbles off the edge of the table. You catch it with ease, smiling with that same kind smile she loved.

Pulling up a stool, you settle down besides the two on the opposite end. Smiling, you refill your friend's drinks before filling up your own tumbler once more. Chilchuck downs his drink in one go, hiccupping softly. Folding his arms in front of him, he rests his head atop them for a quick snooze.

Snickering, your gaze turns to Namari, who suddenly feels like she's sobering up at a rapid pace. You're absolutely beautiful in the orange glow and warmth of the tavern. Drowning out the sound of the drunkards, she can barely focus on the words you're saying, her eyes going cross-eyed as she tries to read your lips.

"Let's get you home, Namari. I think you need some sleep." You gently muse, standing from your stool. Waving over your shoulder at Laios, you help Namari up, leaning her against your body. Marcille lifts Chilchuck up onto her back like a rucksack, despite his protests he ultimately relented. (They totally bickered like a teen daughter and her middle-aged father about wanting to stay five more minutes)

The night air was cool against your flushed skin. Namari shudders, tucking her chin and nose beneath the wool collar of her shirt, pressing herself closer to you and your warmth. Her hand slides carefully into yours, wobbly smiling when you lightly squeeze her hand. Even in her drunken stupor, she can't fight the awe of how easily you sway her stubborn heart.

Mickbell

If Kuro isn't the first to rush to Mickbell's aid, it's you instead. The more you help rescue him, the more he will start to rely on you, so don't you slack off!!

Mick gets an absolute kick out of watching you blast any sort of enemy away with your strength and he'd never admit out loud how much he enjoys the view, especially if you're defending him.<3 it makes him feel all giddy when you swoop in and save him.

Today was no different than before. A morgue of ghosts swarm the immediate area, dropping the temperature down a few levels. Accompanying the specters, is a lone basilisk. It's dual heads watching Mickbell like a lion on a hunt. Warm puffs of breath cling to the air as Kabru readies his sword, Holm making his way to the opposite end of the basilisk, a jar of holy water in his hands.

The basilisk lets out an ungodly shriek and surges forward. Knocking Mickbell back, you press your body over his, effectively becoming a shield over him. You're snarling, teeth exposed with intent to bite. Mick curls his hands against your tunic, eyes squeezing tight and prepares for impact.

"Now Holm!" Kabru slices downwards as Holm slices upwards, decapitating both heads. Mumuring a silent spell, Holm swirls the jar of holy water around like a lasso, shooing away the ghosts.

Gently prying Mick's hands from your shirt, you place a warm palm to his chilled cheek. His downcast green eyes open immediately, and he throws himself into your embrace, winding his arms around your neck. "Gaaah!! That was so scary!!" Over your shoulder, you miss how Mickbell gives Kuro a cheeky grin and a thumbs up.

Kabru

He has met all sorts of travelers and merchants and dungeon experts. While Laios is one that perplexes him, Kabru's curiosity in you reaches a certain level of fondness he isn't quite equipped to deal with. He knows he will be able to rely on you in the heat of battle at any given time. Your strength is plentiful, but even you have your limits.

"Does it still hurt?" Kabru softly asked. He sits beside you on the stone floor, shuddering at the slight chill that seeps in through his clothing. You lift your gaze to him, blinking slow. Kabru notes how your pupils dilate ever so slightly when you face him, something he feels hopeful for. You return your attention to the wound on your leg neatly wrapped in bandages-- a direwolf bite.

Giving a noncommittal shrug, you finish your handiwork, setting the bloodied old bandages ablaze. "I've had worse. If the wolf had broken my bones, that'd be another story. I don't want Rinsha wasting her mana on me. I can keep up just fine, I won't slow us down."

Kabru takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger softly, forcing you to look at him. "I didn't ask if you could keep up, I asked if it still hurt. You got hurt because you saved me from that direwolf, I've failed you." There's a tenderness in his azure stare.

"It hurts a bit," you whisper, unable to glance away. "You never fail me, Kabru." You smile. Kabru looses a small breath.

"I won't let that happen again. You have my word." For a moment, the world stills and the two of you find yourself leaning in. You can feel his warm breath on your lips, hyperaware of his large palm sliding down your arm to rest on your waist. Your hands slid to the front of his tunic, curling your knuckles into the fabric. He gasps softly when you tug him to you, lips almost touching when--

"HEY KABRU!" The shrill voice of Mickbell jerks the two of you apart. You gasp sharply as your leg knocks into the adjacent stone wall. Kabru is instantly at your side fretting over you.

Mickbell stares you two down from the doorway at opposite end of the room, mouth drawn into a confused expression. "Uhh, hey. Just wanted to know what's for dinner. You two good? Why do you look so red?" He shrugs his shoulders half a second later, deciding he really didn't care to know the answer. Wiggling himself between the two of you, Mickbell sighs and folds his arms back behind his head with closed eyes; completely oblivious to the shared flustered looks you and Kabru are sending one another.

|| ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ, ʀᴇᴜꜱᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴇᴅɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ɪɴ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴀʏ! ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɢ��ᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪꜱꜱɪᴏɴ. ᴛᴜᴍʙʟ�� ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴʟʏ ꜱɪᴛᴇ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ɪ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ. ᴀʟʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʀɪɢʜᴛꜰᴜʟ ᴏᴡɴᴇʀ ᴀ��ᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢꜱ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ © ᴄʜᴇʀᴜʙꜰᴀᴇ 2024 ||

[leighsartworks216]

In The Moonlight

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Lowkey wrote this for @niermortem bc the Astarion hyperfixation goes hard

I've never written for Astarion before and I'm still not 100% comfortable with his speech patterns and stuff but I had to write this or I would not be able to sleep tonight. Tbh y'all are lucky he even spoke at all. I was going to have Tav shush him lmao

Warnings: Cazador, mentions of past abuse, mentions of biting, vague implications of sex, like one swear

Word Count: 1,110

Masterlist

AO3

He’s so beautiful, just like this. The moon reaches through the window and caresses his hair, turning already-bright white into pure starlight. His pale skin glows. And when the sun rises and casts beams of yellow-orange over him, it’s almost as if blood flows through him once more.

You cannot sleep. Despite how tired your body was, your mind couldn’t sit still. It pondered over the day’s events - if you made the right choices, what you could have done better, your companions - endlessly spiraling out of sleep’s embrace. And you would still have been going over these questions and concerns, if Astarion did not look so damn pretty.

He fell asleep a while ago. With a gentle kiss to your cheek and a whisper of thanks, he’d tucked one arm under his head and draped the other across your waist, and drifted off. A hint of a smile still lingered there. Creases by his mouth and eyes proving a simple joy that followed him into his dreams.

It felt wrong to watch him like this. Like studying how his curls fell across his forehead and the flicker of his eyes behind his eyelids was in some way betraying his trust. The thought alone - of ruining this beautiful foundation of trust and patience and understanding - should have been enough to have you close your eyes or turn away. And yet, something inside you yearned for more. An ache in your chest that urged you to touch him, to be closer to him.

And the urge was stronger than your perceived guilt.

Slowly, you raised a hand to his face. At first, all you did was brush the curl from his forehead. The stubborn thing only bounced right back.

Your eyes trailed from his hair to his eyebrows. So often did a crease find its way between them, pinched in frustration or confusion. Your hand followed. With the barest brush of your thumb, you smoothed out the imaginary crease. Astarion breathed in deeply - causing you to hold your own - before sighing softly. His face relaxed even more, shoulders easing into the pillows that cushioned him.

You focused next on his eyes. Deep, bloody red irises hidden behind thin lids that held so much worry and uncertainty and joy and hope. Hope. It had taken so long for the vampire to actually be optimistic about the future. He had no idea what would happen next - between Cazador and the tadpoles, there was little to be optimistic about. When you helped him, despite his original plans to manipulate and use you, he realized things did not always have such awful outcomes. Even your first encounter, with his blade to your throat, had somehow brought you here, together and warm and safe.

Despite being an elf, he had such deep bags beneath his eyes. Even the crows feet and laugh lines that appeared with his smile were unusual. He’d told you sparingly about his life under Cazador. The things he fed on, the poem carved into his back, and the horrible things he did. Undoubtedly, the lines came from that time. Barely eating enough to survive, luring people in with his charms for an uncaring master, being tortured in the dark. Yet, you couldn’t imagine Astarion without them. He was so pretty when he smiled.

You move on to his nose and his cheeks. His features are all well defined, sharp. It makes him seem dangerous, even at a first glance. Like a snake, hiding fangs behind shimmering scales.

Beckoned by the analogy, your eyes flicker to his lips. They’re so soft, despite the way he chews his bottom lip. Where before his kisses were rough, demanding, now they’re slow, careful. He no longer kisses you like he has to woo you over and get you to play his game. He kisses you like he’s savoring the last drop of wine. Even his bites are gentler, pricking your neck as carefully as he can unless you ask him nicely to be rougher.

“Too distracted to sleep, are we?”

His voice makes you jolt. You weren’t expecting his lips to move so suddenly. Nor did you realize before how your hand cupped his jaw and your thumb stroked his cheek. You can feel his smile as he chuckles.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, my dear,” he coos. “But don’t you think it’s a bit late to be admiring my features?”

You take a moment to compose yourself, urging your heart to still from the scare. Damn you for thinking so much about his mouth. Astarion is nice enough to wait and listen as you relax once more, though you continue to trace over his skin and brush the curls in front of his ears back.

“I couldn’t sleep. And you look so beautiful in the moonlight.”

He slips his arm from underneath his head as he turns into your hand, holding your wrist in place as he kisses your palm. “I appreciate it, my love. But it’s been a long and exhausting day, and we both need our beauty rest.”

Red eyes watch, half-lidded, as you smile - he loves it just as much as you love his. Before, he couldn’t care less. Now, oh the things he would do to see you happy every waking moment of the rest of your lives.

The blankets shift against each other as you move to be closer. You tuck yourself into his chest, wrapping your arms around his torso and pressing your face into his neck. You are so warm. He lets out a soft breath as he curls around you, protective and safe all at once. Slender fingers tangle carefully into the hair at the nape of your neck, keeping your head tucked away under his chin.

For so long, he charmed and manipulated people. They touched and got close to him, in ways he quickly detached himself from. For so long. It was still difficult to fathom how he sought it out with you. How he did not go through the motions of physical intimacy, how he actually wanted to be physically intimate in more ways than just sexually. How long he’d been deprived of something genuine like this. He wanted to savor every gods-forsaken minute of it.

Your warm breath fanned across his neck as you spoke. Had he been able to, it would have sent a chill down his spine.

“I love you.”

His fingers curl into your waist, grounding himself into your body as your skin gives under his fingertips. In return, you squeeze him in your hold, solidifying even more that this is real. You are real.

“I love you, too, darling.”

[ssajemilyprentiss]

In the air

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x reader 

Warnings: Smut, angsty-ish, reader is a bit cold/lacks emotion, Emily is a bit out of character lol (just this once), mentions of death (you know the regular cm stuff), sexual tension (or more like an attempt at it lol), curse words, eating out, vaginal fingering, nipple/breast play, dirty talk, use of pet names, degradation, praise. Let me know if i forgot something - Also MINORS DNI

Summary: When you get brought in for questioning at the FBI and they have Emily interrogate you - the tension between you is instant.

Wordcount: 2k

A/N: Um hello I guess, I’m back lol. It has been a hot minute since I both wrote and posted on here, and tbh I am a lil scared doing this again. Even tho I love posting and writing I have been so uninspired and unmotivated for so so long for some reason. But I will try to post more, can’t make any promises tho lol. 

The beginning of this has been sitting in my drafts for god knows how long and I wanted to do something with it so here I am doing it lmao

Also a reminder if it has been forgotten, english is not my first language - and I would deeply appreciate your thoughts and opinions on this, thanks besties <3

This was requested by the lovely Jas @rafetopia​​​ (you requested this such a long time ago so you have probably forgotten it, and i can’t find your ask either, sorry about that lmao) who wrote the following: “so what if you wrote a blurb or one shot with emily (or jj tbh i don’t really care i love them both) and there are some murders and the reader is the suspect and there’s a hot interrogation session (i’m a sucker for it) but the ending is up to you like if she’s innocent or not (only if you want to lol) i didn’t want to make it too specific so you still have freedom 😅”

I decided to go with Emily for this one, hope that’s fine Jas (also hope it's fine i added the smut lmao) thank you for this request and i hope this turns out the way you wanted to <3

☽ My masterlist here

☽ Want to request something from me? Take a look here

You let out a deep sigh, crossing your legs for what felt like the hundredth time. The dark, pale interrogation room at the FBI headquarters was freezing cold and you feel yourself getting goosebumps from the chilly atmosphere. How long had you been sitting here? An hour? Two? Who knew? No one had told you anything yet, and none of the agents who showed up and arrested you had come in. Just as you’re about to uncross your legs the door opens and a grey-haired goddess of an FBI agent steps inside the room, her commanding presence immediately taking over the room. She takes a seat across from you, not saying anything. She stares deadpanned at you but all you can think about her eyes - dark brown, almost black, and you feel how you could get lost staring into them. The next thing you see is her nose, straight and pointy - one of her defining features for sure. Your eyes move on to her lips, they are full with a hint of red - red is definitely her color. You keep staring at her lips, biting your own lower lip as you do. You sit in silence for you don’t know how long, until she breaks the silence by clearing her throat. Your eyes shoot up from her lips into her eyes once again, and you see a sly smile forming on her mouth before she starts talking:

“My name is Supervisory Special Agent Emily Prentiss, I’m a profiler with the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit” she takes a breath before continuing “do you know why you’re here Ms. Y/L/N?”

“Actually I don’t” you reply, your lips forming a small smirk “but please agent, do enlighten me”

“You are here on suspicion of murder” 

“Murder?” you retort, raising an eyebrow

“Correct, murder” she replies, tossing pictures on the table - but you keep staring into her eyes. 

“Look at the pictures” she demands

You do, and see yourself in all of them - together with different women. You look up at the agent again with a blank expression. 

“Do you recognize the women in the pictures?” she asks

“Well yes I do” you reply

You point to one of them “That’s me right there” 

“‘I mean the other women” she retorts annoyed

“Oh, silly me” you chuckle “well yes I recognize them too”

“Go on” she says

“Well, as you can see I’ve met them all” 

“Doing what?”

“Do you really wanna know that, Agent Prentiss?” 

“Go on” she encourages you “What about her?” she asks, holding up one of the photos

You look at the photo for a while, it’s of you and one of the girls you had met - what was her name? Mia? Sophia?

“She was a pleasure”

“How come all the women you have met turned up dead just a few days after meeting you?” she asks, her tone accusatory 

“Don’t know” you reply, shrugging your shoulders

“This isn’t a game Y/N, people are dead” she says, venom lacing her tone

“Don’t you think I know that?” you scoff “well I didn’t kill them”

“Where were you on these dates and times?” she asks, sliding a piece of paper with them written down towards you

“Well I can tell you that on all these dates I was very busy” 

“With what?” she asks

You bite your lip again before answering “Well I was with my very good friend Izzie”

She sighs “And you were doing?”

You lean back in your chair, keeping your eyes fixed on hers as you do “You know the usual - shopping, drinking coffee, eating”

“Eating what?” she asks

You chuckle lightly “We were eating a lot of things, if you know what I mean” you say as you raise an eyebrow at her. You see how she takes a second, thinking about what you’re saying, but if your answer startles her - she doesn’t give it away. 

“To be fair Y/N” Emily sighs “I’m getting kinda tired of this” 

“Likewise” you reply, crossing your arms

Emily leans across the table, staring into your eyes. Her hands firmly gripping the table, and you imagine them gripping your body instead. You are woken from your fantasy by her hot breath right next to your ear. You feel the hairs on your arms raising and how wetness starts pooling between your legs.

“So why won’t you just tell me the truth, like a good girl” she whispers, nipping lightly at your ear

You take a sharp breath, exhaling shakily and not daring to move a muscle. 

“Tell me Y/N” she whispers again “do you want to be my good girl?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak. She chuckles lightly and tuts

“None of that now, I want to hear you say it” she whispers

You whimper lightly and swallow, just as you’re about to open your mouth the door opens and you and Emily get away from each other, she sits down in her chair composing herself. You sit back in your chair, feeling out of breath. You lock eyes with a tall grumpy agent who stares deadpanned at you. 

“You’re free to go Ms. Y/L/N” he says

“What?” you ask, shocked

“You’re free to go” he repeats “your alibi checks out”

You get up from the chair and as you’re about to leave the room you stop right by Emily’s ear and whisper:

“That was fun, we should do it again sometime” 

You don’t give her time to reply, swiftly exiting the room. On the way out you feel all the other agents staring at you as you walk past them, but all you can do is smirk - thinking back at the moment you just had with Emily - and how you need to get rid of the wetness between your legs the first thing you do when you get home. 

/

The sun was shining outside the BAU, and you close your eyes taking a deep breath. You felt your phone vibrating in your pocket, picking it up you see your uber is on its way. You close your eyes and exhale once more, but before you know it someone is behind you and pushes you against the wall of the building, their hand on your throat. You feel your air supply being cut off and open your eyes in panic, and there in front of you is the grey-haired goddess of an FBI agent once more. She releases the pressure against your throat a little, but keeps her hand steady. You gasp for air as she leans towards you. 

“Listen here you little slut” she says “I don’t think you’re as innocent as you make it look, but to be honest right now I don’t give a fuck”

You don’t answer, focusing on your breathing

“But what I’m more interested in right now is to keep our little party going” she says, backing away “If you want to?”

You raise an eyebrow at her, but can tell from the look on her face that she is serious. You chuckle, looking down at your feet with a sly smile - you look up again, meeting her brown eyes and reply:

“I’d never thought you’d ask”

/ 

She pulls you inside her apartment, dragging you towards her bedroom. She pushes you against the wall once again and presses her lips against yours. You moan into her mouth as your hands caress her body, reaching her breasts. 

“Let me take your shirt off” you pant into her mouth

She pulls away and you pull her shirt over her head, and then do the same with yours. You take off her bra while she does the same with yours. She trails her kisses along your neck, and you throw your head back, giving her full access. She stops by your pulse point, sucking hard on it. You close your eyes and moan as she does, your hands finding her breasts. You start rubbing one of her nipples between your fingers, causing her to moan against your neck. She keeps trailing kisses further down on your body and reaches your breasts. She takes one of your nipples in her mouth, circling her tongue against it. 

“Holy fuck” you breathe out “keep doing that”

She chuckles lightly against your nipple before pinching it lightly with her teeth, making you yelp. 

“Lay down on the bed” she says

You obey, laying down on your back

“You’re so wet for me, aren’t you?” she asks, smirking

You lick your lips and nod, staring up at her. 

She lowers herself, trailing kisses along your stomach down towards your pussy. You feel your clit pulsing and wetness dripping between your legs. 

“Spread those legs for me” she says, and you obey instantly “let me see that pretty pussy of yours” 

She starts kissing your inner thighs slowly, just brushing over your clit lightly when she switches from one leg to the other. 

“Please” you pant, putting your hands in her hair directing her towards your clit “Please stop teasing and fuck me”

“As you wish princess” she says and start sucking forcefully on your clit, making you moan hard of the instant pleasure she gives you

“Such a good girl” she says against your clit, and you thrust your hips forward, looking for more. She chuckles softly and starts licking up and down your slit, and she easily slips two fingers into you - thrusting them slowly. 

“Harder please” you pant “I’m gonna cum”

She picks up her pace, her thrusts becoming more determined, and your eyes starts fluttering from the overwhelming pleasure that is approaching you

“Cum for me” she husks and circle your clit once more, your orgasm washing over you like a wave of pleasure 

“Fuck” you breathe out as she starts lapping up your juices

She kiss you and you taste yourself on her tongue, and then you flip her over - with her underneath you this time

“My turn” you coo and lick your lips, pinning her wrists above her head as you caress one of her nipples with your tongue

"So perfect" you murmur "Perfect tits. Perfect ass. Perfect everything" 

You work your way down her body, kissing her 

“Please” she breathes heavily “I need you”

“Where do you need me?” you ask, kneading her breasts once more 

“Inside” she whimpers “your fingers inside”

You lick a line along her slit, tasting her wetness 

“My my” you chuckle “do I make you this wet?” 

“Yes” she groans “please just fuck me”

You slide two fingers inside of her, thrusting them slowly as you lower yourself towards her clit and take it in your mouth. She moans deeply and arches her back, and you start picking up your pace. 

“Please” she breathes “need more”

You add another finger smoothly, and let her adjust a little before you start thrusting again, and you curl your fingers at her g-spot and start circling your tongue on her clit again - feeling her walls clenching against your fingers

“Yes” she cries out “just like that, I’m cumming” 

You pick up the pace, flicking her clit harder and thrust your finger faster. 

You feel her orgasm taking over, and she cries out from pleasure. You keep thrusting, helping her ride out her orgasm. When she has calmed down you slip out your fingers and take them in your mouth, cleaning her juices from them - and you moan once again from her taste. 

The two of you crash down on the bed next to each other, panting heavily. 

“That was good” she whispers

“So fucking good” you reply and she chuckles at you, turning her head towards you

You stare into Emily’s dark brown eyes once again, the first thing you had noticed about her when she walked into that interrogation room what felt like an eternity ago. Whatever lies behind those beautiful brown eyes is one mystery you would spend your entire life solving. 

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

Taglist: @rafetopia / @ssa-sapphic  / @sweetmidnights / @alexbllake / @emilyprsntiss / @sleep-deprived-athlete / @jemilyssecretlover /  @star-stuff-in-the-cosmos / @cmslvtt / @phatcrackdad / @rookie-prentiss (this taglist is sooo old, so i'm sorry in advance if you don't want to be tagged, just let me know and i'll delete you <3)

[yeowangies]

Charm

PAIRING: Jiraiya/AFAB!Reader. CONTENTS: Established Relationship, Stripping, Handjob WORDCOUNT: 1246

Summary:

“Come on, baby, take off your clothes for me.” You pleaded, batting your eyelashes, looking up at him with starry eyes. 

Notes:

KINKTOBER DAY 13: STRIPPING

This was @dreadsuitsamus idea, i enjoyed writing this more than i thought since it's more on the funny, goofy side lmao

@actuallysaiyan

divider by @/cafekitsune

“Are you telling me you didn’t learn anything about all the stripteases you got from other women?” You asked Jiraiya as you lounged on the couch, staring at him quizzically. “From me?”

Jiraiya scoffed when you emphasized your last words, averting his eyes towards the ceiling.

“You make it sound like I’ve been around strippers since I was born.” 

He had the audacity to pout, and you arched an eyebrow as impossibly high as you could. He noticed, obviously, and rolled his eyes in response.

“Okay, well, it’s not like I was paying that close attention to the moves.” Jiraiya paused when he noticed the way your eyes popped open in disbelief, and rerouted quickly. “Not that kind of attention, at least! Are you looking for an argument?!”

“I just asked you if you could take off your clothes for me! I do it for you all the time, I don’t know what’s the issue.”

“I’m a man!”

“And I’m a woman.” You countered with a frown. 

“I’m an old man.” Jiraiya replied, and you noticed his shoulders drooping a little. 

Weird. You didn’t think he’d care so much. 

“Jiraiya, you’re the hottest old man.” You complimented him with a smile. “Have you seen yourself? You have abs, for fuck’s sake!”

When a wide grin popped in his face, you realized he might have been faking, or at the very least, overstressing his insecurities. You thought you complimented him enough, but you might need to work more on your praises for your lover from now on. 

And the opportunity was then and there, as you reached for him, tugging at his clothes. 

“Come on, baby, take off your clothes for me.” You pleaded, batting your eyelashes, looking up at him with starry eyes. 

Jiraiya rarely blushed, and you treasured moments like those when it happened. He smiled, smug and shy, making your heart flutter, as he took a few steps back. 

“I could never say no to a pretty girl.” He said, running his hands over his haori. “Especially my pretty girl.”

You grinned, pleased with the compliment, and focused on his every move. 

He urgently kicked off his sandals, and it was difficult to keep a straight face after that; Jiraiya was trying to be sexy, and you had to bite your lips from snickering. His haori was the first piece of clothing to go, he dropped it on the floor before untying his kimono. He opened it as if he was flashing you, which made you burst out laughing. 

“You’re trying to make me laugh on purpose!” You accused him between giggles. 

“It’s not my fault you can’t handle my charm.” Jiraiya grinned, throwing his kimono onto the couch.

“Oh honey, I handle your charm every single day.” 

You eyed him more carefully when he started pulling off his mesh armor. It was insane how hot he was; you couldn’t even say that you had a preference for men with defined muscles, but it was so enticing to have someone like him, with so much strength, all for yourself. You bit your bottom lip, not because you were tempted to laugh this time, but because you were so excited to touch him. 

You sank into the couch, pressing your legs together to alleviate your growing arousal as Jiraiya undid the belt of his pants. It was a stark contrast that such a hot man could be so goofy; he started swaying his hips as he let his pants fall down to the floor, you couldn’t help but chortle.

“Are you gonna keep laughing at me, kid?” Jiraiya asked, faking offense.

“You’re doing it on purpose.” You repeated, covering your mouth as you tried to swallow your giggles. Your eyes, however, were scanning all the naked glory of your lover; the only thing in the way now was his underwear. 

“Maybe I’ll just put my clothes back on, then.” He said, earning an incredulous look from you. “If you laugh when I take off my underwear, then I’m putting my clothes back on!”

You stifled a giggle, and expectantly gazed at him. 

His cock was already half hard when got rid of his last piece of clothing, making your mouth water at the sight. It never failed to surprise you how big he was, obviously commensurable to the rest of him. 

Jiraiya, completely proud of himself, approached you until he stood only a few inches away, grinning as if he had won the lottery. 

“Guess it’s not so funny anymore, huh?” He asked, smug, as you reached for his hand to pull him closer.

He followed your wish, getting on top of you as you laid on the couch. He kissed you with urgency, not giving you a second to even reply to his cheeky comment, making you smile against his lips. You return the same intensity of his kiss by wrapping your hand around his cock, squeezing it with purpose as he groaned. 

“Oh, fuck, baby…” Jiraiya grunted once you started stroking him, skipping the slow pace for a steady yet hard rhythm. 

“Want me to stop?” 

“No!” 

You snickered against his lips, running your thumb over the head, pressing against the slit. Jiraiya moaned desperately, making your heart flutter and the skin between your legs pulse with desire. For such a huge man, he was so willing to submit to you; he’d do anything for just one taste of your affection, even if that meant you were going to give him only handjobs from then on (You weren’t, but you like having the upper hand sometimes).

Rotating your hand with forceful tugs, you kept up the pace you had set, the precum leaking from the tip making the slide easier and creating obscene noises that just made you even more wet, your shorts must have been drenched by then. You wrapped an arm around his neck, kissing his lips even when he was barely kissing you back, too busy groaning and rutting his hips into your fist. 

“You’re so desperate and I’m just using my hand.” You teased him, smiling cheerily as you twisted your hand over his dick. 

“You’re making fun of me?” Jiraiya asked with a breathy laugh, choking back a moan when you squeezed the head. 

You chuckled as you ran your tongue over his lips, threading your fingers through his hair and tugging at it just as you picked up the pace of your hand, jerking him off with the sole purpose of making him cum all over you. 

“Oh, please, please, baby, please!” Jiraiya pleaded, panting into your mouth.

His hips snapped desperately into your fist as he grunted, like an animal who was being tortured; it was funny yet arousing to reduce him to that by simply using your hand. 

His cock throbbed a few seconds later, cum spilling on your hand and shirt. Jiraiya let out a long groan, burying his face in your neck, holding onto your waist. As if he was fucking your pussy, and not your hand. 

You helped him ride out his orgasm, pressing soft kisses on his neck until the last drop of cum was milked out. He collapsed on top of you, pressing against you and making you groan. It was going to be a sticky mess on your shirt, but you didn’t mind it much at the moment, running your hand up and down his back soothingly. 

“I’m giving you a striptease every day.” Jiraiya said, making you snicker.

[forecast0ctopus]

Any advice on drawing McCoy? I’m not used to drawing ancient wrinkley bastards (affectionate) and it’s surprisingly tough v-v

FOR SURE lmao i made. a diagram. just a warning that i am going to be irritating and long winded because u just hit a topic i really like sorry lmao

so first off i did some traces just to show whats there vs redraws to show my interpretation

ive said this on other asks but again jsyk, tracing isnt bad!! its a tool. theres some stuff with intellectual property and whatnot but using tracing to study shapes and forms is a really valuable practice.

also just taking some time to learn facial structures and anatomy is super useful, reading what bones and muscles are where and how they interact with one another. taking this info and staring in the mirror and moving your face around and thinking about it. just really furthers understanding of how the face works. trying to sound normal about this but i love anatomy and motion and physics and whatever

anyways im going to go through all the numbered points so there's no confusion. 1. forehead lines - self explanatory. more prominent when brows are raised 2. crows feet - at the outer corners of the eyes, more prominent when smiling or squinting 3. nasolabial folds - the folds that go from the corners of the nose to the corners of the mouth. more prominent when the mouth is wide, like smiling 4. brow furrow - self explanatory, most prominent when brows are furrowed. mccoy tends to have two right next to his eyebrows, kirk has one in the middle. everyones face works different lmao 5. chin crease - caused by how the chin and lower lip interact. 6. nasojugal groove - start from the inner corners of the eye and can extent over the cheeks. everyone has these and idk why people dont like them i think theyre really cool!!!! but Society. i guess. :/ 7. eye bags - caused by the skin sagging beneath the eyes. mccoy isnt even that old in tos i think hes meant to be mid 40s by the end of the 5 year mission, hes just got really prominent eye bags lmao 8. idk what the name is for these, but when the mouth is wide and pushes the skin to the sides, these folds sometimes form outside of the nasolabial folds 9. philtrum - the groove above the upper lip. i dont usually draw this but mccoy's struck me as prominent enough that i usually draw it on him 10. masseter - the muscle that moves the jaw up and down. its a pretty rugged muscle and while i wouldnt say mccoy's is especially prominent, it kind of extends that nasojugal groove from certain angles/positions 11. orbicularis oris - mouth muscle, usually easier to see when lips are pursed or frowns are pulled. mccoy's is pretty prominent from 3/4ths or side, his mouth tends to protrude in profile 12. this isnt a muscle but more of a line defining the planes of the face, but since i drew it i felt i should explain lmao

a few points:

im an animator i tend to exaggerate and emphasize certain things so i usually make him more square.

i like to combine eyebags and crows feet for brevity/flow, same with nasojugal grooves, eyebags, and masseter lines. my approach is always subject to change based on pose, expression, reference image, etc.

i take out details that i deem redundant or cluttering and keep what details i need to make things feel Right

all this info is applicable to any character of any age, its just in how you apply it and facial proportions that willl change how old a character is perceived to be

there's a lot more with drawing a Character rather than an Actor, just because the features are there doesnt necessarily mean things will feel correct? its very much in the mannerisms and poses and expressions

i only went over my approach to his likeness but not really body type or posing or anything idk if u want that i could always try to answer that later haha

_______________

anyways all that info kind of exists nebulously in my brain while i draw its not like im sitting there thinking Must Draw. Nasolabial Fold...... i jsut do what feels right with the visual info i have. also i love specificity in faces.... i dont like to be a hater but when every character is drawn the same it pisses me off a little lmao. so

also dont take my word as The Only Way to do anything i just draw how i like to draw and no one should feel like these are things that Must be done to be a good artist or anything do whatever the hell u wanna do

[catras-breakup-song]

i’m not gonna lie… i’m lost here. is this supposed to be an 4nt1/cr1t1c4l post? if so, i genuinely don’t understand the point being made.

is it that playful banter is a bad thing? is it that being too hands-on violates unspoken boundaries? the message is so unclear to my autistic ass…

oh, wait, OP provided tags:

so aside from the fact that they are absolutely not sisters by default, least of all canonically (even if you do interpret them that way somehow), nor was it ever intended by nate stevenson, i’m still having trouble figuring out how this is problematic.

in which ways is lighthearted touch totally contradictory to passionate kissing/caressing? why can’t partners who are dating do both, especially in different cultural environments such as the horde where intimacy is discouraged and friendly sparring with familiar peers is a safe expression? if it’s so different, what are we as the audience supposed to interpret from their style of physical affection by the final season? side note, but aren’t we supposed to consider the latest version of anything in general as the most accurate?

now i have a question lol, did you take this moment literally at her word, and all the other times she repeated it?

also, my friend just pointed out that this is the classic homophobic talking point of "they seem to just be very good friends! they were roommates!" lmao. i've never agreed with accusing anyone who cr1t1c1z3s catradora of lesbophobia, which i'm not doing necessarily, because that's simply not how it works, however i found this funny and partially true so i'm keeping it in.

the lip bite was included unintentionally 👀

anyway, as i’ve discussed on this blog before, i’m very arospec and it’s inseparably intwined with my identity itself; i also project that onto catra. something we often bring up in that community, is romance-favorability (as its own spectrum of range all the way to blatant repulsion btw) — which is a personal preference that’s defined as exactly as it sounds like and occasionally revolves around fictional depiction as separate from one's own reality — and arguably more importantly, amatonormativity — which is an arbitrary set of rules for romantic expectations set up by an alloromantic society. this is typically thought of as common denial of the idea that someone could actually want to separate themself from needing a life partner in marriage, but can very much be applied to an annoying list of what draws the line between romantic & platonic relationships. that line is very individualistic and is to be decided on such a level only, and it doesn’t even get into what queerplatonic means, a concept saved for another day!

my point is, the OP seems to be trying to claim that catradora objectively cannot be read as romantic because their dynamic growing up & early-on in the story doesn’t perfectly meet socially-constructed standards of what that should look like. i say we need to eradicate those standards altogether! it’s up to catradora to decide what they are, if anything specific at all, not us as the audience — assuming they could’ve had the words at their disposal to knowingly describe it. going back to my earlier paragraph above about how limited they were in the fright zone, i’ll borrow a quote from a comment i made on one of my recent reblogged posts (which is a great meta on how their mutual desire was uh... definitely not platonic):

"Catra and Adora’s desire for one another is shown in a variety of ways, mostly indirect. There are a lot of glances - until season 5, not the kind of open leering at one another that we’d seen between other characters. Mostly it’s fairly playful - wiggled or cocked eyebrows, glances at each other while smirking, that kind of thing, or really intense and somewhat angry glares when they’re fighting."

it's really bothering me that i can't recall where i read this from before, but someone analyzed before how, growing up, catra & adora didn't have a good sense of how to label their relationship with accurate terminology despite being subconsciously aware that they, whether they knew the other reciprocated or not, loved each other "like that." unfortunately, they couldn't further explore it because such love & affection was seen as a punishable weakness in the horde, so they resorted to the only safe option they seemed to have, which was subtle body language and play-fighting as [testudoaubrei-blog] described above.

also, since this screenshot is included in that post... i would be amused to read an explanation of how THIS LOOK from catra is "platonic with a capital P", because i'm not even sure if it's up for debate to be quite honest with you:

ESPECIALLY with the "i always have!" line (which 4nt1s like to doubt, but i don't care, it's official!):

[frudoo]

Hey! I loved your Bo Sinclair relationship hc and was wondering if you could do some dom aftercare for Bo? Like how some people go through a dom low point after they’re intimate and the reader reassures him or maybe the reader is reassuring him on their relationship? I love your work I hope you have a great day!

Thank you so much, love! I hope your day is going great as well!

Warnings: This got really sappy lmao, I couldn't help myself. Mentions of previous sex, hurt/comfort. GN reader!

“Bo?”

     Your boyfriend refuses to look at you despite having rearranged your guts not even a minute ago, and it scares you. You try to reach out and grab his hand, but he flinches away violently. Bo sits at the edge of the bed with his back turned to you, his leg bouncing anxiously. You crawl over to him and try again, but you’re met with the same reaction of him shying away from your touch.

     “Don’t!" He snaps, sighing softly when he sees your eyes widen at his tone. “Don’t touch me, m’not… I don’t deserve it.”

     You furrow your eyebrows, leaning forward so you can see what little part of his face isn’t hidden by his disheveled hair. He looks exhausted, eyes wet with tears that weren’t there just moments before. 

     “What are you talking about?” You press, patiently resting your hands in your lap as you wait for an explanation.

     “M’not… I-I… I hurt you,” Bo stutters, running his clammy hands over his face in frustration. “Those bruises on your hips… the… the handprints I left- I’m a bad man, baby. Don’t deserve you.”

     It’s such an absurd statement that it makes you laugh. You quickly cover your mouth so as not to offend him, but your shaking shoulders betray you. Bo stands from the bed and slips on his jeans, then moves to leave the bedroom, but you quickly follow after him, quick to block the doorway before he can escape.

     “I’m sorry, hon’, I wasn’t laughing at you. I just… where is this coming from?” You recover, resting your hands on his biceps and digging your fingertips in when he tries to pull away. “Talk to me. Please. Is it because you were a little rougher than usual?”

     Your boyfriend doesn’t speak but he nods, too ashamed to look you in the eye. You gently cup his cheeks in your hands, forcing him to look at you.

     “Baby, I asked you for it, remember? You were just giving me what I wanted,” you frown, running your thumbs along his defined cheekbones.

     “Still hurt you,” he whispers, trying his best not to lean into your soothing efforts. “You deserve someone better than me.”

     God, the hurt in his voice breaks your heart. He’s everything you’ve ever wanted and more, your other half, your soulmate. The thought of being with anyone else makes you sick. 

     “No,” you sniffle, tears of your own building up in your waterline. “No. You’re not gonna talk like that, Bo. I love you. I love you so fucking much that it scares me sometimes, but you do not. I-I can’t… please, Bo. You’re all I want. I’m nothing without you.”

     It’s silent for a moment before Bo breaks down, falling to his knees and taking you down with him. He wraps his arms around your waist and buries his face into the crook of your neck, bawling his eyes out. You cry with him, scratching the back of his neck gently, rubbing your free hand across his bare back. 

     “I love you,” he rasps against your skin, clinging to you tighter. “Always will.”

     “Promise?” You question softly, resting your cheek on the top of his head.

     “I promise, baby. I promise.”

[yourlocaltreesimp]

heeeyy, it's me again lmao, was a bit busy with prelims but im mostly out of the woods.

As promised, came up with requests

May I request the Chain with a reader who isn't what they seems?

Like, Four with a soft, chubby reader who's barely taller than him but can supplex a man twice their weight? I'm talking about her rivaling Twilight in terms of strength.

Or maybe Wars with a reader who kinda acts like a class clown but is actually very strategic and knows how to help them out in battle from the sidelines?

I like the way you think.

Part one of possibly a side series? 👀

PT 2

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Four

There was one defining feature that Four could settle was his favorite about you. You were soft. The kind of soft that made him melt with endearment. You never wished to cause harm (at least never maliciously so, your pranks put the sailor’s to shame) and you were perfect in his eyes. He did not care if your weight deemed you as ‘less beautiful’ where you came from, he didn’t give a single care. To him, whoever decided that had clearly never been met with you, for you were excellence. You were soft, and kind, and utterly gorgeous. Yet, you were not his. He was ripped from his echoing thoughts at you sliding in next to him. The tavern booths were small, so your side was slightly pressed to him as you leaned your arm on the table, that firey glint of defiance in your eyes.

“No, I don’t wanna-“ Twilight held of one hand from where his elbows crossed on the table.

“What? Scared you’ll loose your title?” One of your eyebrows quirked up at the challenge and the smirk as you spoke was enough to make Four fold.

“Alright then, bet.” He matched you, stretching your arms so one elbow was on the table, hands clasped in the center. He’d expected Twilight to at least be able to put up a fight, but the knuckles of his hand met the wood of the table with a smack. For good measure, you held it there, squeezed right in your grip as he struggled. Eventually, you relented, letting him go. It wasn’t long before all the others tried their luck, none standing a chance to you. Four watched attentively, never volunteering, never stealing away the attention you occasionally blessed him with.

“Four” Your voice cut through the crowd of voices so cleanly.

“hm?” He didn’t trust himself entirely to speak, the colours running circles in his mind. You extended your fingers, the soft tavern lighting casting beautifully over your skin.

“Wanna try?” He didn’t want to before, but that grin of yours could steal anything of his, it’s already taken his heart. He climbed to the other side of the booth and extended has arm out. It didn’t last long, his arm pinned to the table with your hand over his, but at least you let him savour the feeling.

Long after, he lay awake in his bedroll, mind filled with incessant chatter. But maybe one day, you’d be nearby, holding his hand, calming his worries. But until then, he can yearn.

[toadbreath]

the sun after the storm;

john mactavish is alive. simon visits him in the hospital, but something is wrong. johnny doesn't remember.

☀︎ w.c: 3,9k

☀︎ pairing: ghost x soap // simon riley x john mactavish

☀︎ rating: pg

☀︎ archive of our own: link here

☀︎ genre: angst, fluff, pining

☀︎ warnings: modern warfare 3 spoilers. writing soap's lines in a scottish accent lmao

☀︎ author's note: i haven't written a fic in ten years please be gentle and kind

What do you mean, they found him?

Simon hated hospitals. The sterile nothingness, the god-awful swishing sound scrubs made when nurses walked by, the machines beeping, the artificial plants that are there to provide a facade of comfort; the illusion of life in a building where it is so often taken. 

Third floor. Room 503.

None of that matters. Not when the man he loves is alive — the man he thought was dead for six months. The man whose ashes he gifted to the wind on that cliff as the sun set behind the ocean. None of this makes sense. Simon strides through the hospital lobby, b-lining towards the elevators.

Third floor. Room 503.

Simon’s skull balaclava is earning him some strange looks from various medical staff, but he has tunnel vision and doesn’t take notice, brown eyes locked on the glowing button that has a faded three printed on it. How many times has that button been pressed with the same urgency Simon feels in his gut? The elevator doors open to the third floor and he’s at the reception desk in four strides.  “Room 503?” he asks gruffly. 

The nurse, an older woman, furrows her eyebrows. “…Sir, visiting hours ended 5 hours ago. You can come back tomorro-“ Simon’s eyes glazed over with fury at the thought of having to spend another minute in this miserable place. He didn't have time to wait for tomorrow. Not when the man he thought he had lost forever was just down the hall. He stared at the nurse, his silence the only indication of the rage boiling up within him. His words cut through the air like a knife. “I’m not here as a visitor.”

The nurse is caught off guard by Simon’s reply. He was an intimidating man, even in civilian attire, the mask he had kept on just out of habit. She clears her throat and looks down at her clipboard to avoid Simon’s icy glare. “If you are not a visitor then what is your business here? Do you have identification on you?” She asks, flipping through papers until she finds the file for the patient in room 503.

Simon had no patience for these stupid questions. He had waited months to find out that the man he had thought was dead was alive and he wasn't going to be held up over some petty bureaucracy. “Identification?” he scoffed, the venom in his voice evident. “I don't need identification. I'm here to see John MacTavish.”

The nurse lets out a frustrated breath. “What is your relationship to the patient?” 

What is his relationship with the patient? He worked alongside MacTavish. He joked around with Soap. His chest feels warm and strange whenever he saw Johnny. Technically, they’re nothing more than colleagues, friends. There’s always been something else, though — something just below the surface that neither of them had been brave enough to act upon. Simon paused at the question and the nurse could see the uncertainty in his eyes. What was he to Soap? More than friends, less than lovers. A feeling he had never been able to name or put into words.

"We have a close relationship." he replies quietly. The fact that they had never explicitly defined their relationship made the situation even more awkward. What was he meant to say? That they loved each other deeply, but not in a manner that anyone outside the two of them had ever known? It sounded pathetic. It sounded desperate. It was true.

The nurse raised an eyebrow. "Sir, I need more information than that. I have to know who you are and how you know the patient before you can go into his room."

"I'm..." Simon started, his voice trailing off. He had known MacTavish for a few years now. He had gone to bars with him and watched him get smashed beyond belief on that god-awful scotch. He had found comfort in that Scottish accent he had grown so fond of over comms. He had spent sleepless nights staring up at the ceiling, replaying the night Johnny got shot over and over again. Everything he had done, and everything he could have done differently. Price’s words repeated in his head like a broken record: All stations, this is Bravo in the blind. Threat  neutralized. Bomb is safe. 

One KIA. 

The idiot had to go up behind Makarov and be a hero. What was that saying? Never bring a knife to a gun fight? If there was anyone that would bring a knife to a gunfight, it was Johnny. He was too stubborn, too proud. Always wanting to be the one to finish the job. That stubbornness, that pride, had gotten him killed. And Simon had to watch him die. Had to hold that cold urn of ashes and pour them out over that cliff and hold himself together long enough to not break down in front of the captain. He had spent six long months seeing Johnny in every sunset. He had spent five months avoiding sunsets altogether. 

"...I'm his partner."

That wasn't the answer the nurse was looking for, but it was the only answer that Simon could give her. He could feel his heart hammering in his chest, the blood rushing in his ears. “Right,” the nurse conceded after a moment of consideration. “When you go down the hall, it’s the third door on the left.”

Simon nodded and took off down the hall without another word. He could hear the nurse mumbling something about the strange visitors in his wake, but didn't pay her any mind.

He came to a stop in front of the door to 503. It looked just like the rest of the doors in the hallway. White. Sterile. Unassuming. Simon had been waiting for this moment for half a year. Now that it was finally here, he couldn't bring himself to go in. What if he had heard wrong? What if someone had made a mistake and it wasn't MacTavish in the room? What if he got his hopes up for nothing? John MacTavish wasn’t exactly a unique name, after all. What if-

A doctor came out of the room, a clipboard in his hand. He was tall and slender, the kind of man who had a face you would never remember. He looked up, a bit startled from Simon’s unexpected presence but polite nonetheless.

"May I help you?"

Simon swallowed his nerves. "I'm here to see John MacTavish." The doctor's expression turned somber. "He's alive," Simon said, the words coming out as more of a statement than a question. “Yes, he’s alive…” The doctor says slowly, closing the door to John’s room behind him with a soft click and studying Simon’s eyes with his own. “Have you been informed of his condition?”

Condition. The word makes Simon uneasy. "His condition? What happened to him? Is he okay?" He couldn't stop the words from tumbling out. Simon was usually more collected than this, but the news of Johnny's survival was throwing him off. 

“John suffered a gunshot wound to his right temple. We were able to extract the bullet and its fragments, however…” The doctor paused, choosing his words carefully. He had given this speech many times before, but that never made it easier. “The trauma resulted in retrograde amnesia. We don’t yet know if it’s permanent. If you go in that room… it’s very likely he will not remember you.”

Retrograde amnesia. The words crack his chest open and squeeze his heart like twine. It didn't matter how hard he had trained, or how much experience he had. There was nothing Simon could do about this. No target he could eliminate. This wasn’t something Simon could fix, and that infuriated him.

"Is there anything you can do? Anything I can do?"

The doctor shakes his head. "We've tried everything. There is no telling what will happen. He is stable, and his memory might come back in time. It might not. The only thing we can do is wait, let him heal.” "But I don't understand, I... I watched him get shot, fall to the floor. I watched him die. I held him. How is he alive?" Simon's voice cracks, the memories flooding back like a tidal wave. Johnny, lying on the floor, eyes glazed over. Johnny, slumped lifelessly over his shoulder. Johnny, the ashes of his corpse blown away into the sea. "You must be mistaken. The man I buried is dead. MacTavish is dead. I held his ashes."

The doctor shook his head again. "He was pronounced dead on the scene. He was rushed to a medical facility and they were able to stabilize him enough to fly him here. There was a mix-up with the body tags, and the body you received was someone else's. The hospital called and told us who the urn belonged to. That's how we were able to contact you and inform you of the situation." The doctor pauses. "We have no record of this other person, no information about their family or who they were. The best we can guess is that the hospital was trying to save face, and they handed you the ashes of the first dead body they could find." Simon's heart sinks. How long had he spent grieving, mourning a man who was still breathing? The guilt weighed heavy on his shoulders. He felt sick. "I want to see him."

"I'm not sure if that's such a good idea-" the doctor starts, but Simon cuts him off. His hands clench into fists. The thought of Johnny waking up, alone and confused in a hospital bed is enough to make him want to rip the door off the hinges and break whatever machines had the nerve to beep so obnoxiously. “Move,” Simon blurts out, pushing his way past the doctor and opening the door to Johnny’s room, stepping inside.

The air is stolen from Simon’s lungs as soon as his eyes landed on Johnny's prone form in the hospital bed. His head was wrapped in bandages, a white gauze patch over the wound on his temple. He was asleep, his chest rising and falling in a slow rhythm that indicated peaceful slumber. 

He’s alive. He’s alive. He’s alive.

All those months, and he was here. In a hospital. Alive. Simon felt weak.

"Johnny?" Simon whispered, stepping forward hesitantly. MacTavish stirred, the sound of the other man’s voice unfamiliar and foreign, but soothing, nonetheless. It was comforting, like a warm cup of coffee or the smell of a burning candle. It felt like home. His eyes fluttered open, revealing a deep blue iris that scanned the room, the bright fluorescent lights temporarily blinding him. He groans softly, slowly propping himself up into a sitting position on the bed. His paper-thin hospital gown rustles, the fabric scratchy and stiff. Johnny notices the masked man standing awkwardly by his bedside. His eyes scan him slowly, taking in his dark eyes and the black fabric of his balaclava. “They send security in ‘ere?” he mutters, squinting, his voice hoarse from disuse.

"Do you..." Simon began, his voice trailing off as he pulled off his mask, running a hand through his shaggy, blond hair.

Johnny's eyes widened. He had never seen this man before, but the sight of him made his heart swell. The blond man had a heavy British accent, and scars of all shapes and sizes littered his pale face. He had brown eyes that shone like honey in the sun, his jaw strong and set with an expression of relief. The blond man's face was the most beautiful thing Johnny had ever seen, and he swallows nervously. 

"Do you recognize me?" Simon whispered, placing his hand on the rail of the bed. He could feel the tears threatening to spill over, and his vision was starting to blur. He was going to cry, and he hated himself for it.

Johnny shook his head. "Sorry, lad. Cannae say I do,” I would remember a face like that, he thinks. “Yer a familiar stranger, though."

"Familiar..." Simon echoed, his voice breaking. He could feel the knot in his throat. This wasn't fair. He was alive, and that was what mattered, but Johnny had no idea who he was. MacTavish was about to ask the stranger his name when the man suddenly burst into tears, sobbing softly.

“Oh, I…” Johnny says softly, reaching a hand out to comfort the stranger, squeezing the man’s bicep gently. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. What’s yer name?” he asks gently.

Simon's chest is on fire, and he's gasping for air. This was all wrong. All wrong. This wasn't the first time Johnny had died. The last time, it was a bullet in the head. This time, Johnny was here, alive, but Simon lost him all the same.

"Simon," he croaks. Johnny repeats the name back, his hand still gripping the other man's arm. He can feel the tears streaming down his cheeks, hot and thick, and he realizes he's crying, too, but he doesn’t know why.

“Simon…” he repeats, the name on his tongue felt like velvet, a word he could never tire of saying. Simon sniffles. Johnny looks at him expectantly, a single tear rolling down his cheek, and Simon can feel the weight of the silence pressing against his shoulders, suffocating him. “Simon. Why are ye cryin’?” he asks softly. “And why am I cryin’?” he chuckles a little, trying to lighten the mood. "Because we're both idiots," Simon laughs bitterly.

"I'm sorry, Johnny." he says, his voice hushed and solemn. “Sorry?” Johnny says, his eyebrows knitting together as he studies Simon’s face. He sits up a bit straighter. “What are ye sorry for?”

"I'm sorry because I..."

Simon's voice trails off. He can't look Johnny in the eyes. It's like staring into the sun. Johnny leans forward, his hand sliding down Simon’s bicep to his forearm, the cool feeling of leather under his palm as he goes. The blond man flinches, and the Scotsman feels a sharp stab in his gut.

"Yer wearing my tags," he murmurs.

"What?" Simon looks down at his chest, where Johnny’s silver dog tags hang unceremoniously on top of his black hoodie. They had become a sort of talisman for him, and he had worn them every day since Johnny's death, never taking them off once.

"Right." he breathes, his fingers brushing against the metal, a nervous habit — he often found himself clutching the only thing he had left of his best friend. 

"I must mean somethin' tae ye," Johnny says quietly, his Scottish brogue rolling off his tongue.

"You mean everything to me," Simon whispers, his voice cracking.

Johnny feels like his breath has been stolen. The weight of those words hit him harder than he expects, and his head spins.  He looks at Simon, his eyes filled with curiosity, the tears on his cheeks drying. "Tell me about myself. B’fore, I mean. What was I like?" he asks, and it's more a request than a demand. His eyes linger on his dog tags around Simon’s neck; Simon’s own are tucked underneath his shirt. 

Simon can feel the lump in his throat returning. "Well," he says, swallowing hard. "You were — are —stubborn, and brave. Always getting yourself into trouble. You never asked for help, and you had a horrible habit of drinking alone. You always tried to finish the job, and never trusted anyone but yourself. Loyal to a fault, one hell of a friend. You're also an insufferable idiot who has no regard for his own safety. A total dumbass. A bloody moron, really. And you know what else? I loved you, you Scottish bastard. I loved you, and I thought you were dead. Do you know how long it's been? Six months, Johnny. Six months, and now you're here, and you don't even remember me, and I can't even be mad. I’m not allowed to be mad because you're alive, you’re alive, and it's all that matters, but I lost you all the same, and it fucking hurts, you son of a bitch."

The words came out faster than Simon could stop them, and now he was gasping, tears pouring down his face, his cheeks burning, the air leaving his lungs and being replaced with something cold and empty. He hadn’t realized how angry he was, how angry he had been all these months. The anger he had buried deep, and let fester inside him. 

Johnny just stared at him, his eyes wide. “Love?” he whispers incredulously.

"Oh, shit," Simon mutters. His face burns red, and he wants to turn and run away, pretend he had never been here, never said any of those things, but he's frozen, and Johnny is looking at him with those stupid gorgeous blue eyes and it's all Simon can do to hold himself together. 

"We weren’t just friends, were we?” Johnny whispers, his hand tightening ever so slightly on Simon’s forearm. Simon is silent. The answer is obvious.

Johnny nods. "And... we never got tae say it, did we?"

"No," Simon replies, his voice a strained whisper.

"That's why yer here."

"That's why I'm here," Simon echoes, his voice a whisper. Johnny swallows, his mouth dry. "When did ye know?” he asks softly, his eyes locked on Simon's.

"That I loved you?"

"Aye."

Simon is quiet. He doesn’t remember a time when he hadn’t loved Johnny. It had always been there, a feeling just below the surface, a constant presence. He had never given it a name, but it was a feeling that he couldn’t deny, even if he wanted to. He remembers the day he had realized how he felt, the moment when his feelings had finally made sense.

It was late summer, and they had just finished a mission. Price had gone off somewhere, and it was just him and Johnny sitting together in a shitty motel room. They were exhausted and sore, their bodies aching, and Johnny was nursing a few scrapes and bruises from when he had taken a nasty spill off a building. Simon had a concussion, and his eyes were bleary. Johnny had gotten up to grab the first aid kit and started to clean up Simon's wounds, a task that required a lot of careful concentration, which he did with a furrowed brow and his nose scrunched up. Johnny's fingers were gentle as he dabbed at the blood, his touch warm and reassuring. That was the first time Simon had felt comfort in years. That was the first time Simon had felt safe.

"Since forever."

Johnny takes a shaky breath. "Do ye still?"

"Are you kidding me? I never stopped."

"And if I can't remember? If I never remember? Will ye love me then?”

"Always," Simon replies without hesitation.

Johnny feels his heart swell at the reply. He smiles, his cheeks flushed pink, and the corners of his eyes crinkle. "Then I think I could learn tae love ye again," he murmurs, his eyes searching Simon's face.

"Again?" Simon echoes.

"Again," Johnny replies.

Simon laughs. It's a hollow, bitter laugh, but it's a laugh nonetheless.

“I cannae explain it,” Johnny whispers. “I have no memory of ye. But when I woke up and saw ye in this room — I felt *warm*. It’s like my nervous system recognized ye. And I…” He sighs and pulls out a small sketchbook from his bedside table, flipping through the pages. There’s lots of little doodles, like the view from his hospital room window, stray cats, food he’s eaten, nurses, the sunset, but there's also a few sketches of a handsome blond man, and a page entirely dedicated to the curve of his jaw, the scars on his face, and the shape of his lips. "I think I drew ye, or wanted tae.” he murmurs. “It’s kinda cool, drawin’ a stranger and havin’ him show up tae my room the next day. Ye think I should draw a million dollars next?”

Simon is stunned, and an amused sound escapes his lips. Johnny had drawn him. He had drawn him, and he hadn't even known his name. "I didn't know you could draw," Simon says quietly, his cheeks burning. "I dinnae either,” Johnny chuckles. “But I had tae pass the time somehow.” He smiles. "I guess we had somethin' important. If I was able tae draw a handsome face like that when I cannae remember my own birthday." Johnny closes the sketchbook and places it on the bed.

“I’m sorry I don’t remember,” he says softly. “It doesn’t mean what we have is gone. It just means I get to fall in love with ye all over again.” Simon blinks, unsure of how to respond. He had never considered the fact that Johnny might have fallen for him too. He had never even entertained the idea that his feelings could have been reciprocated. Simon had spent so much time pining after the other man, trying to suppress his feelings, that he had never stopped to consider that Johnny might have been struggling with the same inner conflict.

"We fell in love twice," Johnny says softly, his cheeks flushing pink.

"Fell in love twice," Simon repeats. "What a pair we make, huh?" he chuckles, his voice thick with emotion.

"Aye," Johnny says softly, smiling. "Ye think we could fall in love a third time?"

"Maybe," Simon says, a faint smile on his lips. "Try not to get shot again, though, yeah? Really pissed me off the last time.” Johnny chuckles and grins. "I'll do my best, sunshine."

"Sunshine?"

"Aye. That's what ye remind me of. Ye make me feel warm."

"I'm not much of a sunshine."

"Maybe yer right,” Johnny sniffs, studying Simon carefully. “Yer a…” Simon raises an eyebrow. "I think yer more like a storm."

"A storm."

"Aye, a storm. All rain and thunder and lightning. Yer beautiful, but ye have a temper."

"You've only known me for thirty minutes," Simon says, laughing.

"And I know that ye've been cryin’," Johnny replies, reaching up to gently wipe a tear from Simon's cheek. "But storms clear the skies, and bring the sun after. Ye've been cryin' and yer still the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Maybe that's a sign."

"A sign?"

"Aye. That maybe I was meant tae find ye again. Maybe that's what I'm meant tae be. The one who reminds ye to come out and play when it's stormin’."

Simon stares at Johnny, his cheeks burning red. "Johnny..." he whispers.

"That's my name, lad," he murmurs, smiling softly. “Don’t wear it ou-“

Simon leans forward and presses his lips to Johnny's. It's a tentative kiss, a gentle meeting of lips. The world seems to stop. Simon can feel the tension leaving his body, the knot in his throat loosening. It's like he's finally breathing for the first time and he can’t get enough. His hands move to cup Johnny's face and his heart feels full and heavy in his chest.

Johnny kisses back, his lips moving slowly and softly against Simon's. He can taste the salt from Simon's tears and the faintest hint of something else — mint and coffee and a scent that is distinctly Simon. It's familiar, even if he can't place it, and Johnny finds himself clinging to it.

The two of them pull apart slowly, and Johnny is grinning.

"That was some kiss," he says, his cheeks flushed pink. "I could get used tae it."

"You should," Simon whispers, smiling. 

[skzfairyy]

8:20am

Pairings: Seo Changbin x reader!

Genre: fluff

Warnings: Changbin being dramatic but only for Y/N lmao

Wc: 847 words

AN: I swear these come to my head at random! Anyways, enjoy sick Changbin and his er... dramatics.... - Y2

     “Please, Y/N he’s being impossible.” Felix’s voice rings through the phone as Y/N moves around her bedroom. Her alarm clock reads ‘8:20 am’ when she’s awoken by the loud thud of her phone vibrating off of her nightstand and onto the floor. Nine unread text messages and four missed calls from Felix. She was quick to call him back, worried that there might be an emergency at the dorms. 

The only pressing matter would be that her lovely boyfriend was sick, and making everyone he lives with utterly miserable. 

     “Well, what’s his fever looking like?” She moves around quickly throwing on random sweats before grabbing her wallet, phone, and keys. 

     “He won’t even let us check it! He just keeps whining for you.” He pouts into the phone and somewhere in the background, she hears a muffled whiny voice that she can only imagine is Changbin himself.

“I’ll be there to rescue you soon, Lix.” She laughs into the phone as she heads out her front door, taking her usual route to their dorms.

     “You have got to stop putting those boys through the wringer, Bin.” Y/N stands in the doorway of Changbin’s bedroom. In her hand was a takeout bag with soup and medicine she had picked up on her way. The sick patient turns his head quickly at the sound of her voice, he smiles and opens his mouth to speak, only to be overcome with a loud cough.

      “It was the only way I could get my darling to come and make me better.” He manages to say as she makes her way over to him. His shirt was discarded on the floor somewhere, the material making him uncomfortable, with his body temperature higher than normal. She does her best to distract herself from ogling her sick boyfriend’s defined upper body, and places the bag on his nightstand, immediately pulling out the thermometer to check his temperature.

      “Well then, you should’ve called Yeonjun or Wooyoung for that, Hot Stuff.” As the device beeps, she checks it and couldn’t help but let out a laugh while turning it around to show him the ‘39.03°C’ on the display. “Literally.”

Changbin pouts at her response, causing Y/N to give in and drop her joke instantly. She leans in close and kisses his forehead before returning to the food she brought. 

     “I brought your favorite soup and some cough and fever reducer, it might knock you out though so you’ll take that after you eat.” Changbin’s hand made its way into Y/N’s empty one on her side as she rattled off the information. 

     “Will you nap with me after I take it?” He coughs after he speaks, causing her to raise an eyebrow at him. 

     “Baby I’ll gladly leave my bed before 10 am to take care of you, but I am not about to catch that nasty bug you’ve got. I'll go nap on the couch or something.” She squeezes the hand he’s holding before letting it go, moving to unbox his soup while he sits up, grumbling quietly to himself.

     “I would take care of you if you got sick, obviously.” He reaches for the soup and drinks it cautiously as Y/N sits on the edge of the bed watching him. 

     “You know, I wouldn’t even have to do this if someone took an extra rest day, instead of doing their nightly runs outside in the rain.” She gives him a pointed look before taking off her slippers and sitting criss-crossed in front of him on the bed.

He shrugs his shoulders at her accusation, the soup in his hand becoming much more interesting than the nagging he was receiving from his worrisome girlfriend. 

     “~Oops?” He smiles at her after he’s done, the dimples in his cheeks standing out a bit, causing Y/N to allow a smile of her own to appear on her face. 

     “The faster you get better, the faster we can cuddle and finish watching our show.” She moved to stand up, replacing the now empty soup container in his hands with the cough syrup.

Changbin’s eyes follow her hands as she gathers everything. He can’t help but smile as he watches her take care of him. Even though he’s lived with the boys for a while now, nothing beats the feeling of having his loving girlfriend take care of him when he’s not at his best, even if it was his own fault... 

     “Or we can cuddle now, and watch it when I have to take care of you?” He smiles up at her with a mischievous look in his eyes. 

     “Take your medicine, Casanova.” She says with an eye roll, holding the fever reducer out in front of him while Changbin sighs out in defeat. He downs the medication and crawls back under the covers lazily. 

     “I’ll check on you in a few Binnie...” Her voice is soft in his ears as the drowsy medicine starts to kick in. She retreats out the door with a smile and heads toward her boyfriend's other housemates to update them on his condition.

Y2K masterlist

[spitefulverse]

Here / Miguel O’hara

Summary: You find an angry, injured miguel and help clean his wounds.

Warnings: Blood, anger, kissing, spanish cussing, maybe bad spanish lmao, established relationship (kind of), short fic, blurb. NOT PROOFREAD

Miguel was a hard working man, and sure that was great, it meant that the universe stayed the way it should, canon events happening at the right moments, millions alive because of him, but sometimes, he came off..a bit much. While you knew you were nothing special, occasionally, he would glare his fangs at you a little less than the other workers in the building if you ever suggested some carefree criticism.

As of maybe two days ago, Your boss/lover..kind of, a man that you had slept with countless times but he refused to deeply talk with you, had just 'failed dramatically' in the words off Jess. No one had seen him since, despite constantly asking Lyla for information, she had nothing and you took it upon yourself to knock on his door nervously, your ankles rubbing together as you stared at the ground. To your dismay, you heard no reply, just the same banging and clashing that had been ringing through the building since he went in there.

With a sharp inhale, you pushed the door open and peaked in, the place was a wreck, he was hunched over his desk, his hands gripping at the corners as his chest heaved, his suit looking ripped in various areas. "Sinceramente no peudo mas, no peudo mas" He stood straight, pinching the bridge of his nose and pacing back and forth, his large back flexing under his suit. "maldito" He mumbled.

Suddenly, you cleared your throat, looking around at the rubble that once was furniture. He finally acknowledged your presence, eyes wide, pupils blown and eyebrows knitted into a tight frown. "What?" He asked, shaking his head in confusion, his tone passive aggressive.

You opened your mouth to speak but grew nervous under his dark glare through his lashes, his eyes shining a darker red hue than usual compared to the dim lighting of the room "God- Fucking damnit! Qué quieres chica?!" He yelled and you put your hands up in defense, not wanting to piss him off "Shit Miguel, I'm just checking on you" You choked out.

He strode over, his large frame towering over you more and more as his feet padded against the floor.His cheekbones were a little more defined than usual, his eyes were sunken, his lips were dry, a small line of old blood on one side of his bottom lip, you wanted so desperately to clean him up, help him rest but you knew the stubborn, emotionally cut off 6,9 man wouldn't allow it. "oh yeah? Get out, I'm fine"

He scowled and turned away, standing next to a half broken chair, he placed his large hands on the edge of it, gripping so hard his knuckles began to turn a lighter shade, his eyes squinting. You could see a gash in his back, his suit ripped perfectly around it, both dry and wet blood surrounding it. "Your still here, cariño" He grunted, The chair simply shattering in his grip, in fright, you jumped, eyes widening, but he was still, it was uncanny how nonreactive he was.

"I-i can't just leave you like this, Miguel-" A few droplets of deep red spilled onto the floor, directly from his palms and you gasped "fuck, your bleeding! Please just let me help you" You apprehensively sauntered over to him, this time he said nothing, his head straight down. "Come to my room? I have a first aid kit, you wont have to go to medical" He hated medical. He inhaled roughly and looked down at you with undignified eyes, groaning with a nod.

With concern, you pulled him to your room, hand on his forearm as he held his palms upwards, blood pooling in the lines of them but luckily, it wasn't that far, and you were able to get there quick and unseen, for his sake. You let go of his arm to unlock your door, pushing t open and he took in another deep breath, you assumed out of anger control or nerves but deep down he couldn't handle being this close to you and your personal life, your room smelt so strongly of you, everything matched your personality, even the mess draped on the floor.

You mumbled an apology before tugging him into your bathroom but he just shook his head "Idiota, no me importa" he murmured, leaning on the bathroom counter. His eyes followed your frame as you grew frantic at how much he was bleeding. He tilted his head and watched you in amusement, you could feel his red orbs burning into you but you refused to look, knowing he would distract you. You held out a towel, lifting his hands and making him squeeze the towel between them, he flinched slightly, not because of the pain, because of the feeling of your dainty hands attempting to cover his large ones, he couldn't help but long for more of your touch as you pulled back to look for a first aid kit.

"keep that there please, Miggy" You pleaded, pulling out the kit and he nodded, rolling his eyes "Yes boss"

Your soft hands came into contact with his calloused, slender ones again, gently removing the towel, wiping the area clean with ever so much care and focus. He didn't care about the light sting, his eyes were entrapped on your frame. He denied all his feelings for you everyday, you had an effect on him that no one could even imagine and it drove him mad, he tried so desperately not to make it obvious, but he never wanted to be mean to you, sure he had some anger issues but he never really liked to yell at you, even though he should, because he yells at every one else.

"I'm sorry, Muneca..I shouldn't have took my anger out on you" he huffed, looking to the side as you wrapped his hands in the softest bandage he had ever felt. You smiled, having never heard him apologize. "Nono, i just let myself in when you were ragging, that's on me" You placed a hand on his chest, outstretching your arm to do so.

He shook his head and looked down at you, placing his hand on your own "No, you shouldn't be afraid to speak to me" He lifted your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles "Lo siento, mi amor..forgive me" He sincerely spoke, obviously you nodded, smiling brightly.

"I forgive you, Miggy, now turn your ass around, you can't hide that gash from me" You ordered, removing your hand from his and pointing. He groaned, turning around, you aw the injury but the barrier of his suit and cleared your throat. He groaned again, dliding the suit off his shoulders till they it hung low on his waist, revealing his bare, tanned back. You gulped and inhaled after what felt like forever before sitting on the counter to match his height.

Gently, you began to wipe the long but not to deep cut that danced over his back muscles, with every flinch, he flexed his back muscles and you found yourself staring, taking time with him. When he began to mumble Spanish cuss words under bis breath, you finished up, pressing a kiss to his shoulder and dropping the bloody cloth in the sink. He sighed and turned around to face you, standing between your legs, his hands resting on either of your thighs as he ducked down to kiss you, his lips molding against your own in what felt like a desperate kiss. You moaned lightly and wrapped your arms around his neck, he snickered into the kiss, his tongue brushing against yours, the kiss tasting of both mint, like always and a hint of blood from the small cut on his lip.

One of his large hands slid up your waist, squeezing at your skin and pulling you close to him before he pulled back enough to press a few gentle kisses to your jaw "thank you, pretty thing"

--

Hi my loves, i will be uploading a smut soon, this was just a filler to make myself active in the fandom