#sorry this was so long winded but i’m so

[foreingersgod]

Pls do Caroline Harvey HCs

with just an eeny weeny teensy tiny bit of smut plss 🙏🏾

Headcannons . CH

pairing: caroline harvey (kk harvey) x reader

warnings: a mix of fluffy content and smut, so read at your own discretion and minors and men please do NOT interact!

this is my peace offering for being so busy and slacking on writing, full length fic coming soon!!

also not spell checked, sorry!!

SFW (barely but no smut)

i feel like she’s a pretty domestic person, i think she’d prefer quiet nights at home with you as opposed to going out and partying. i imagine her being the one to beg you to stay and do date night at home anytime you suggested getting dinner or seeing a movie.

“but babe why can’t we just stay home?! we have food and plenty of movies here!” she’d whine when you asked “i’ll even make you dinner myself! come on, i jus’ want you all to myself”

on a similar note, i also think she’s not huge on PDA and that’s why she loves staying in with you so much. it’s not that she doesn’t feel comfortable being seen with you, it’s just that she’s kind of reserved and prefers to keep her personal life as private as she can. for her sake and for yours.

which has its perks, don’t get me wrong. you almost prefer it that way, subtle little touches when you’re out with friends or something like that, her hand gently resting on your lower back or her head resting on your shoulder when she gets tired. and then you’d get home, and she wouldn’t be able to help herself anymore. she’d be all over you in an instant.

“fuck,” she pants when you finally walk into your shared apartment for the night. you had been out for your mutual friends birthday, and you unintentionally intentionally decided to wear something fairly revealing “y’know what you do to me? wearing something like that?”

and believe me…she’d make up for the lack of public affection in other ways.

i’d like to think that her love language is acts of service. like she still loves to touch you and validate you and all that lovely girlfriend stuff, but she shows her love in more ways than just words.

she’d often leave you sticky notes on the fridge when you got home later than she did, maybe leave some on your nightstand when she had to leave early in the mornings when you’re still asleep. always leaving an “xoxo C” at the bottom to tell you she’s thinking of you.

not only that, but she’d do a lot of household chores for you when you were busy with school and work, run you relaxing baths when you were sick, or even something so little as running to the supermarket to grab your favorite ice cream when you started your period.

she’d be one of those stereotypical lesbians that just absolutely worships the ground their girlfriend walks on. she never fails to bring you up in conversations and is quite willing to do anything you ask.

one night you’re winding down after a long day, watching tv and painting your nails whilst caroline sits beside you to keep you company. she’s quite honestly not paying attention to what’s playing on the screen at least, rather her eyes are glued to you. she watches the way the lavender lacquer glides across your nail, how your tongue sticks out in conversation and she’s in complete awe of how beautiful you look doing the most mundane things.

“hey caroline?” you asked with a pout.

“yeah baby?” she hums in response, pretending like she wasn’t just watching you like a hawke.

“d’you think you could help me with this hand? i keep messing up”

and she’s already perching herself on the floor in front of you, pulling you into her lap as she grabs the bottle of nail polish to finish painting them.

she’s a snorer. i’m so sure of it. although i don’t think she snores like in a heavy type of way, but instead she lets out light little grumbles here and there.

i can just picture her, face pressed into the pillow, her cheek smushed against the fabric as she sleeps peacefully. her hair is all over the place and her lips are slightly parted. and then to top it all off, as if she couldn’t be any cuter, she lets out the softest snuffs.

definitely has a scrapbook, shoved somewhere deep into her closet, that her mother gifted her. it’d be filled with several baby pictures and photos/drawings from when she was in grade school, hiding it away because she was unbelievably embarrassed for you to see them.

you remembered when her family visited you both when you had finally settled into your place together, her mom bringing the scrapbook as a housing warming gift of some sorts. caroline immediately tried to tuck it away, but you were more than stubborn and demanded that you sit down and look through it.

it’s still one of your favorite memories. laughing with her parents at all the goofy pictures from when she lost her first teeth, when she won her first hockey trophy, and when she graduated high school. you even loved reading all the poems she wrote in middle school english, loved seeing all the ‘1st place” ribbons that her mom neatly taped to the card-stock pages.

you only got to look at it twice since then, kk utterly miserable whenever it was pulled out, but you cherished those pictures more than anything.

she’s probably such a dad in the sense that she pretends to not care about the cheesy reality tv shows you’re into, but then secretly starts getting hooked on it and makes you record each episode so you can watch it together.

“what do you mean lisa called meredith a ‘garbage whore’?” she gasped, running into the living room with a bowl of popcorn in her hands “wait, wait i told you to pause it! i don’t want to miss it!!”

her favorite place to kiss you is definitely your forehead. sure, she loves kissing you everywhere, but there’s something so intimate to her about small forehead kisses.

she never fails to give you one before you both fall asleep, before you leave for work, when you’re sad and need comforting or when you’re so excited and it’s her way of expressing her support. you’d probably get her kiss mark tattooed there if you could.

she often gets overwhelmed with sports and school and family and all sorts of things. she tends to be reserved with her feelings, but you’re the only person she can genuinely open up to. sometimes she comes home from practice with this look on her face, and you can immediately tell that she’s struggling.

most times she doesn’t even want to talk about it, she just wants you to hold her, run your fingers through her hair and tell her it’s all going to be okay.

and she loves to teach you new things. wether that’s teaching you how to skate, how to cook a family dish she always ate as a kid, or how play the games she learned in elementary school, she just wants you to be involved in everything she loves.

you think you love it more than she does. you’d never get over how excited she gets when you ask if you can help her make that ‘dinner she made one time’ or if she’d tell you a funny story from when she was a rebellious teen.

like that one time you were having lunch in the park one summer, sprawled out on a handmade quit atop the freshly cut grass as you laid side by side. you picked mindlessly at the dandelions beside you as you both chatted about each others day.

“you know i used to make those when i was younger?” she spoke, motioning to the flowering weeds “flower crowns, i mean”

“really?” you smiled “no one ever taught me how, i always wished i could though”

i didn’t take long before she was picking some herself and instructing you on how to tangle them together so easily. she took it as serious as she took hockey, determined to make sure you knew how to make a perfect flower crown. it wasn’t really a big deal to you in the long run, but something so important to her was just as important to you.

NSFW (for realsies this time)

getting straight to the point, i don’t think she’s huge on the strap. don’t get me wrong, you both still use it often, but i think she much prefers eating you out or scissoring.

there’s something about the appeal of physically feeling you on her that makes her crazy, a sensation that beats using the strap any day.

she loves it when you bite her or scratch her. it’s a pleasant mix between pleasure and pain and it’s probably her favorite part of intimacy.

she likes to look in the mirror the next day, just before she gets in the shower, to admire the long red marks that stretch along her back. she often teases you about too, but if you ever stop, she’s guiding your hands to her back again.

she’s not as drawn to the marks that your bites leave as much, instead she loves the feelings. when she’s making you feel so so good, so much that you can barely hold it in anymore, that you have to bite down on her shoulder or her bicep to keep yourself grounded. it’s like an ego boost to her, a sign that she fucks you so good that you can’t even function properly.

she’s cocky in bed, i feel like she’s the type to say:

“yeah baby? feels good huh?”

“come on, speak up, i can’t hear you”

or if you’re on top…

“fuck yeah, just like that, making me feel so good baby. keep going…gonna make me come”

a sucker for praise

she loves when you tell her that she’s going a good job, that’s she’s exceeding your expectations each time. she’s a bit of a perfectionist and an over achiever that way, but hey, you’re not one to complain.

whilst she loves fancy lingerie and nice dresses, she folds for you even when you’re in sweats and one of her t shirts.

“really? right now?” you huff as her hands dance up your shirt, massaging your tits roughly. she’s kissing up your neck painfully slow and you can’t help but wonder what’s gotten her so worked up “i look like shit”

“are you kidding?” she scoffs “i’d fuck the shit out of you no matter what you’re wearing, you look so sexy even in this”

i’m a firm believer (maybe this is a self insert but idc!!) that she appreciates all body types, especially a chubbier figure. like she’s absolutely obsessed with your pudgy tummy and your thick thighs, a sucker for how plush and soft your body is. don’t even get her started on those stretch marks of yours…

you’d be lying if you said you didn’t struggle with your body image often, but you never had to be insecure for long when caroline walked into your life. she seized every opportunity to make you see what she saw in you, willing to do whatever it took to prove to you that she loved your body.

“shit, look at you” she moaned, smirking as she watched you on top of her, grinding your wet pussies together. her hands gripped feverishly at your hips, often wandering down to squeeze your thighs. her hands were all over you the entire time, letting you know that she loves every inch of you “so pretty on top of me, i’ll never get sick of lookin’ at you, got it?”

[rjzimmerman]

Excerpt from this Rolling Stone story:

A series of powerful wildfires has turned large swaths of Los Angeles into smoldering ruins. As first responders attempt to control the blazes, heavy winds are quite literally fanning the flames — to the point that the fires have now been ravaging the city for days. There is a clear link between climate change and the severity of recent wildfires. Climate-denying conservatives are instead blaming the devastation on California’s “woke” politics.

“DEI means people DIE,” Elon Musk wrote Wednesday on X in response to a video of Los Angeles Fire Chief Kristin Crowley discussing how she wants to diversify the department.

Musk also responded “True” to a post from conspiracy theorist Alex Jones about the fires being “part of a larger globalist plot to wage economic warfare and deindustrialize the United States before triggering total collapse” — and then later deleted his response.

Musk has not deleted his promotion of several other posts blaming the destruction on diversity initiatives. “Los Angeles deliberately set out to exclude white men from becoming firefighters, and now they don’t have enough firefighters to prevent their city from burning to the ground,” wrote right-wing commentator Matt Walsh in one post endorsed by Musk. “DEI is a cancer that destroys everything it touches.”

Former Fox News host Megyn Kelly accused Fire Chief Crowley and Mayor Karen Bass of prioritizing “DEI” over the city’s fire management capabilities. “In recent years, L.A.’s fire chief has made not filling the fire hydrants top priority, but diversity,” Kelly raged on Wednesday. “Who gives a shit if the fire chief is gay. I’m sorry, but who gives a flying fig about who she likes to sleep with, can you fight the fucking fires, madam? That’s the relevant question.” 

There’s no evidence that the fire department’s push for diversity has any affect on its ability to fight fires. It’s also not true that Bass cut the department’s budget by $23 million, another claim that has spread throughout right-wing media.

Conservatives have also been pushing the false idea California Gov. Gavin Newsom’s water policies have prevented the city’s ability to fight the fires. Trump has long been bashing Newsom over the policies, and has blamed him directly for the fires this week. “One of the best and most beautiful parts of the United States of America is burning down to the ground,” the president-elect wrote today. “It’s ashes, and Gavin Newscum should resign. This is all his fault!!!”

On Fox News, host Jesse Watters decided to blame Native Americans for the devastation, as well, claiming that Newsom has “been tearing down dams” because “Indians wanted some of the river back so they could catch salmon. Gavin didn’t just knock down one dam for the Indians, he knocked down all four.” 

“And these dams were a go-to source for firefighters to pull water from to fight fires up north. Gavin’s literally tearing down Western civilization for fish and Indians,” Watters said, repeating the claim in another segment aired on Wednesday.

The fires currently destroying Los Angeles — as well as the fires that have increasingly been devastating the West Coast in recent years — are the result of hot, dry conditions caused by climate change. These conditions are inevitably going to lead to natural disasters that are going to overwhelm any infrastructure, regardless of the race and gender of the people running it. It’s an inconvenient truth for conservatives, who would rather point their fingers at minorities than acknowledge the reality of the climate crisis.

[areyoudreaminof]

Biscuits

Nyx didn’t have much of an idea of just how long he had been laying there. He wasn’t aware of anything. Not his limbs, or his wings. Not of the bed beneath him, or his room at the House of the Wind that he had escaped to. He certainly didn’t register his feelings. Nyx just lay there numbly, staring at the blank wall before him. The sun had begun to set and the last vestiges of light crawled back behind the heavy curtains that he had drawn shut. Perhaps he had slept, he couldn’t be too sure. He was so tired. The moods crept on him slowly the past several weeks. He was angry at first, lashing out at everyone about silly things, getting into stupid arguments with his father. Then the anger twisted into anxiety and sadness, suddenly. Panic balled itself up into sobs in his chest that threatened to release at any time, which they did when he was alone in his room. 

Tired of his mother asking him constantly what was wrong, Nyx found the sadness gone one day, like a soap bubble popping. Instead, a buzzing numbness had settled into his head and chest. Letters from his Day Court cousins sat unopened on his desk, he couldn’t seem to stomach their happiness and he had stopped writing all together.  He had slogged through the past several days in a blur, but today his father confronted him about his countenance. Nyx sat and stared blankly at the wall as his father lectured him. When it was over, he got up and flew to the House without a word. The afternoon sun was still high, and he dragged his body towards his room at the back of the house. If anyone knew he was there, they hadn’t disturbed him. 

The trim moulding along the ceiling didn’t move as Nyx stared at it. Somewhere, very far away, the door behind him creaked. Nyx squeezed his eyes shut, pretending to sleep so whoever it was would leave him alone. 

Something soft landed on the bed, while the smell of chocolate and the sounds of soft breathing crept towards him. The bedside lamp flicked on. Bracing himself, Nyx cracked one eye open. Ori, his four year old cousin, stood in front of him with a soggy chocolate-chip scone in her hand and a concerned look on her face. Her cat, Pudding crept down from his shoulder, his green eyes wide. 

“How did you know I was here?” Nyx mumbled. 

“House told me,” Ori climbed her way up onto the bed with one hand, crumbs scattering all over the duvet as she sat in front of him. “What’s wrong, Nyxie?” her voice was hushed. 

“Dunno, just sad I guess. House talks?” 

Ori nodded, “House said you went in your room. I got you somefing to eat ‘cause you missed dinner.” she held out the scone, misshapen and melted in her stubby fingers.

 Nyx wasn’t hungry, he hadn’t eaten much in days, but he ate the scone anyway. It made Ori happy. He reached over her, gulping down the water that the House had now provided. 

"Does anyone else know I'm here," Nyx asked.

"Mama knows, but Papa doesn't yet. Mama will tell him in a little bit. Why are you sad?” Ori asked, her owlish blue eyes were soft and riddled with concern he didn’t deserve, “Are you in trouble?” 

Nyx shook his head as he sunk lower into himself, curling his wings behind him and drawing up his knees. “I’m not sure,” he repeated, “it just came one day and hasn’t really gone away.” 

“Mama calls them down days, she says they come and you gotta be ready,” Ori nodded sagely, “lots of sleep and treats. And a baff, to get the sadness off." She checked off an invisible list, like a little winged librarian. 

Nyx gave a half hearted laugh which turned into a sputter of surprise as Pudding began to work and knead his paws into Nyx’s stomach. “What are you doing?” he mumbled, scratching the fluffy cat under his chin. 

“Makin’ biscuits!” Ori giggled, “he’s trying to get comfy. Scoot over, I wanna get comfy too.” 

Nyx moved as Ori wiggled her way next to him, grabbing his hand tight. “I’m sorry you’re sad, I hope you feel happy soon.” 

“Me too,” Nyx swallowed a lump of tears back into his throat, but they escaped out of his eyes anyway. He began to sob softly, and Ori reached out her hands and roughly wiped away the tears on his cheek and hugged him, while Pudding curled up between them and purred.  The vibrations and hug began to calm him.

“Love you Nyxie,” she whispered, as she grabbed his hand tightly. “It will be a happy day soon.” 

“Love you too, Ori.” and sleep took them both into its embrace.

[pickyourpoisonandevolve]

Stars in Her Eyes

Part 2 here

Do you ever have thoughts that are absolute bangers, then realize “man I wish I was a better writer.” Anywho, brain worms, back again, Price is fighting self doubt about decisions in the field. Reader is fighting self doubts of ability and also a head ouchie. This was the compulsory preface my brain forces me to write before I can write the cool sex stuff. Metaphorical dinner before dessert. Big inspired by @beloveds-embrace , particularly the designationless!reader.

—

The blood today was excessive, to say the least. Bad intel, having to navigate this lab in the middle of nowhere Russia by foot in real time. Casualties. Thankfully the other side took more. And thankfully, none on the team, although the injuries were plenty. You were all very cognizant of the mental load needed to be a soldier but some days were easier than others. This one was the worst in a while.

Price and you were clearing a section of the building, warehouse by the looks of it. Doors locked leading to it, just to be met with rockets having eaten away at the walls like rats on the other side. Basically just outside, you thought to yourself, looking at the edges of concrete leading to treeline. Already beating yourself up about things outside of your control, Price sensed a distance in you. He felt it before you did half the time, although you’d never tell him that. “Head in the game, sergeant.” He pushed out.

You were a “great addition” to the 141, so sayeth official mission reports and calls to Laswell. Focused, fast, malleable in the field. But distant sometimes when out of the field. Not quite reclusive, like your lieutenant, but just distant. You were funny, sometimes even extroverted when you wanted to be. But something pulled you back, like a hand down a long hallway, snatching you into a dark room. Locked away and the key long gone.

Prices bite in his voice brought you back momentarily. “Hey, I said get in the fucking—“ A door blasts open and enemies filter through, a large man grabbing you amidst the motion, bringing you close to the edge of the floor that fell away to empty space, a few floors of nothing and the Siberian wilderness. Patting yourself down for a knife with one hand, and defending from being choked out with another, you start half in, half out mentally. Fighting should have been your priority, but the disappointment in Prices voice had you a little fractured. “I’m fucking this up, they won’t want me anymore, please don’t get rid of me, you’re the only—“

Price fighting through the rest of them, took cover as he saw you struggle. If you weren’t so distracted this would be one of the moments you’d love to watch him in. “A real flow state” Gaz called it once, as he moved as fluid as the wind. No wasted motion, a knife here, a bullet there. Propelled purely by the sake of making sure his team was okay. But you had his heart pounding. More than usual anyways. A half dozen men down, you stab at your assailants neck as Price makes it to you.

A double misfire in decision making, you think. As you stab at the man’s carotid arteries, Price heard more footsteps approaching. You just heard blood rushing and doubts. You just saw Prices angry face push you back into the void, hoping to god the snow and dead body behind you would break your fall. Your eyes would haunt him for a while. A broken “No” laying on his ears as he turned back.

—

Soap stayed quiet, keeping his eyes on his captain. Price was tearing through the now silent building, kicking doors in and scanning everything. Price reached them in a sorry state, covered in other people’s blood and moving as if he stopped he would die. “Lost ‘er in the east wing, need to get ‘er.” The rest of the team a little shaken by his lack of composure.

“Why the hell would she still be there?” Ghost fussed, making his way through hallways with the rest of the team.

“This part of the building was locked down tight. Seemed like they were protecting something, before Marakov damn near tore the fucking place down from the outside.” Gaz relayed. “She’s either there or in the woods shooting bears.”

Reaching the door to the wing, Price crowbarred it so fast, Ghost thought he threw his shoulder out. Wind and snow blasted down the corridor, as they filtered into the… room? Floor level hallway straight to the outdoors? Broken racking and file cabinets littered the floor, alongside snow and other detritus. Gaz noticed the bullet holes and gashes in the steel door. Someone tried to leave, but was unsuccessful. Sweeping the area they moved with purpose, until Price heard you first. Sniffling and singing, voice shaky. Coming around a corner to the view from the lower level this time, he saw you two. A large Russian, face down and bloodied in the snow. A missing jacket. A trail of various pieces of gear, and lastly you, curled up in a corner. Blood coming down your face from your hairline.

Their collective hearts broke at the sight, but only Ghost noticed his captains hands shaking. You were humming and singing a tune to yourself, rocking and rubbing your own chest, eyes unfocused watching the treeline.

“You are my sunshine

My only sunshine

You make me happy

When skies are gray

You’ll never know dear

How much I love you

Please don’t take

My sunshine away”

Without a word, your team got to work. Gaz and Soap called for evac, thanking god there was enough flat ground for the heli to land next to the building. Ghost went back to secure the door to other visitors, giving Price some privacy to approach you.

He put a hand on your shoulder, as you jumped. A secret he held close to his heart was how much he enjoyed looking in your eyes. Like those fancy pictures the satellites take. Dark at first glance but always more to see the longer you look. Like stars were born in them. But all he could see now was the dark. No lights present in the deep space. A concussion very present however. And, confusion. Then hurt. Whatever knife he didn’t know he had in his chest twisted as you spoke. “You threw me away, I’m—“ A gasp of air as you fought to navigate the fractured thoughts. His eyebrows twisted as he tried to understand. “It’s not like last time, like home. I belong here, with you all. I… I’m. I earned it this time. Please don’t leave me here.”

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t, no tears sweetheart. What are you talking about, who’s throwing you away?” He choked out as he snatched you into his chest, fingers gingerly holding your scalp and his lips whispering into your hairline, fighting tears of his own. “I would never throw you away, love. I’m so sorry, I needed you safe. I… I needed you safe.”

The other three approached slowly, wind preventing them from hearing the interaction. Price saw you shift to look behind him as he composed himself. Standing up slowly he turned to the team. “Evac in 10. How is she?” Soap asked kneeling next to you, taking your hand in his.

“Concussion from the fall, cuts and bruises. Fighting hypothermia.” He replied, voice rougher than usual. “Take it easy, not sure she knows where she is right now.”

As the heli landed, hands grabbed and led you gently, a seatbelt around your waist and pats comforting you. Most eyes were closed on the ride back, trying to get some rest after a nightmare of a day. John’s eyes stayed on the horizon.

[hazbinshusk]

blitzø x gn!reader. a very indulgent soft!blitzø fic for @clovrplayz. when he finds you locked away in your apartment overwhelmed by all your work, blitzø takes it upon himself to try and help you relax for a little while.

featuring: general fluff, reader is gender neutral (only descriptor of body involves them having hair), people-pleasing stress.

You barely manage to look up for more than a cursor second when you hear the door to the apartment open, your elbows planted on the kitchen counter in front of you so you can press the heels of your hands into your temples. You’ve been staring at the paperwork in front of you for so long that your eyes have unfocused, and you blink hard to try and get them working properly again.

“Well, howdy-doody, peachy-babe,” Blitzø sing-songs as he kicks the door closed behind him, shrugging off his coat and tossing it towards the coatrack beside him. He misses; you hear it crumple on the carpet instead. The imp seems not to notice as he makes his way over to you. “You are gonna looooove me; I’ve got—”

Blitzø trails off as he realises you’re not actually listening, and his tone drops to something more subdued. “Hey. You okay?”

You jerk upright as you suddenly feel the touch of his hand on the small of your back; the move knocks the papers further askew on the countertop.

“Hey!” you give him a brief, distracted smile, pushing hair away from your face self-consciously. You usually put a little more effort into your appearance when you know he’s coming over; at the very least you make sure you’ve showered in the last… twenty-four hours. You’re suddenly aware of how tight your face feels around your eyes from a lack of sleep, of the beginnings of grease clinging to the roots of your hair telling you that you really needed to wash it. “Hey! Sorry, did we… were we supposed to have… plans?”

Blitzø raises a brow. “Nooope. I’m just doin’ that thing you totally love where I barge in unannounced and make you do whatever I want to – what’s wrong with you?”

“That sounds like the set up of a joke I’m too tired to make,” you sigh, then wave a hand dismissively as you turn your attention back to the counter. “No, I’m fine. I’m just… I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“It’s Hell,” you point out dryly. “They tend to make most of us work weekends.”

He shrugs, moving to lean against the counter beside you, forcing himself into your line of sight. He stands with his back to it, elbows resting carelessly on top of your work. Blitzø studies your face for a moment before he tries for a smirk. “Wouldn’t have to if you came and worked for I.M.P.”

You give him a tired smile. “You just get your rocks off to the idea of me calling you ‘sir’.”

He grins. “It makes me all tingly.”

You shake your head in amusement. “I appreciate the offer – again – but I told you, B. I can’t leave where I am. They need me.”

“They’re assholes,” he replies. He says it simply, like he’s telling you the day of the week, despite never having met anyone you work with. You tried not to complain in front of him, didn’t you? And anyway, they weren’t assholes, they were just…

“They’re not so bad,” you grimace, trying the tug the papers out from under his elbow carefully.

“They’re manky-ass crotch-jockeys, peach.”

You choke on a laugh despite yourself. “Okay, so they’re not… great, but they’re maybe not… that. And they need me there; I can’t just leave them with all this work still needing to be done.”

A soft, affectionate smile you completely miss tugs at the corner of Blitzø’s mouth, and he rolls his eyes before finally relenting and lifting his elbow so you can rescue those pages. “Aaannnd… are you gettin’ much work done?”

You hesitate to respond, and apparently, that’s all the answer the imp needs. Winding his tail around the leg of your stool, he drags it back from the counter, stepping between you and your work. You make to protest, but his expression is this mix of soft amusement and what you’re surprised to see as genuine concern, and your complaint dies before it can escape you. Blitzø’s hands come up to rest on your thighs, and while the touch still manages to send a blush into your cheeks, his touch doesn’t wander any higher than just above your knee, his palms warming you through the worn fabric of your sweats.

“You need a break.”

You sigh, “I can’t—”

“You’re takin’ a break if I have to sling you over my shoulder and carry you,” Blitzø says, his voice matter-of-fact and bright. You feel his tail brush against your ankle. “So, if you want me to get all grabby on that sweet lil bod of yours, keep arguin’. Otherwise, follow me.”

Blitzø surprises you by leading you into your bathroom – a cramped little room of cold tiles and a bath and shower combination that is a little too small for you to really use the former part of it. Before you can ask what exactly he has planned, he turns and plants his hands on your shoulders, pushing you gently down to sit on the mat with your back against the edge of the tub.

You want to ask what the hell he’s doing, but he starts humming to himself as he ransacks the cabinet under the sink, hips and tail swaying cattishly back and forth in time with whatever tune he’s got in his brain. He looks so strangely at home, and it isn’t until he straightens with the cheap detachable shower head hose you had buried at the back of the cupboard that you find words again.

“What exactly do you have that for?”

“Pretty sure it’s not what you usually use it for,” he shoots back, waggling his eyebrows at you suggestively. You snort a laugh, the sound catching as he surprises you by tossing a towel on your head. “Wrap that around your shoulders, perv.”

Confused, you do as he asks, watching him hook the shower head’s nozzle to the bath’s tap. He runs the water, rocking the spray over his fingers a few times until he’s satisfied with the temperature. As the same time his tail collects your shampoo and conditioner from the caddy above him, and your face warms as you realise his intentions.

“Blitz, you don’t have to—”

“Shut up and be pampered, bitch,” he eye-rolls, but his smirk is soft as he moves to kneel beside you. He reaches up to untuck your hair from where it’s hooked under the towel, and you’re not sure if it’s the cooling droplets of water or the graze of his claws against the nape of your neck that makes you shiver. “’Cause if I gotta look at your greasy-ass head much longer you’re gonna put me off pizza for life.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “What’s this warm and fuzzy feeling in my—”

“Just tilt your head back, would ya?”

You laugh at his exasperation but do as he asks, closing your eyes as the towel around your neck cradles you comfortably against the edge of the ceramic. You’re immediately rewarded with a smile and the sensation of warm water against your scalp. Blitzø’s smile lingers as his hand comes up to carefully smooth your hair away from your face, claws ghosting over your forehead in a way that completely belays his joke about grease. Almost immediately you feel the tension in your shoulders ease, and Blitzø chuckles quietly to himself as he notices.

“That’s it, peach. Jus’ relax, alright?” he says soothingly as he soaks your hair, moving the showerhead slowly over your scalp. “I got you.”

Your tail slips over your lap and you curl your fingers around it, the spade swaying back and forth by your hip. “’Kay.”

You notice Blitzø is humming again when you feel the cold squirt of shampoo against the crown of your head, and you hold back a happy moan as his claws slide through your soaking hair to massage it into the locks. He seems to know just how much pressure to use, kneading his fingertips carefully into the skin behind your ears, into your temples. Your lips part with a soft sigh as he lingers there, working away the tension headache that has been brewing there for the last few hours.

“That’s my good baby,” he croons softly, the warmth of voice curling into your chest the way the steam caresses the bare skin of your arms and neck. He lifts your head slightly to press his fingers into the nape of your neck and your own hands tighten on your tail, the soft scent of night jasmine and bergamot teasing at your senses. You still can’t recognize the song he’s chosen as he continues humming, but it’s soft and sweet and slow… something like a lullaby that makes you want to melt right there into the bathmat.

Blitzø takes his time rubbing the shampoo through your hair, lingering around the bases of your horns where he knows stress can settle. When the water returns to wash away the bubbles you shudder, and the steam clings to your cheeks, your forehead, your lips. You want to open your eyes, to see what kind of expression he might be wearing as he does this, but you don’t want to risk ruining the moment.

He conditions your hair with the same care, his fingers returning to your temples and your horns as he gives it time to settle. In any other circumstance you would probably make a joke about how someone who’s been bald for as long as you’d known him knew so much about how to properly wash hair, but right now… Satan, you really didn’t care.

All too soon the water shuts off and Blitzø takes your hand to help you sit up properly again, one hand tucking up under your back to support you. It isn’t really necessary, but you smile at the attentiveness. You find yourself flushing now that the moment is over, and busy yourself with obscuring your face with the towel as you dry your hair so he doesn’t notice.

“Alright, baby, up you get,” he hauls you to your feel, hands wrapped around yours. That warmth lingers in your cheeks, and you try not to let your mind linger on the pet-name he’s just used. “Time for bed.”

“Wh-?” your brow creases in confusion. “It’s like… three in the afternoon! And I’ve still got work to—”

“Right.” You yelp in surprise as Blitzø sighs, nods once, then scoops you up into his arms. He grins at you as your arms go automatically to his shoulders, wrapping around his neck for stability. His hands clutch at your thighs, the small of your back, and you swear you feel his tail curl around yours for a moment before retreating again. “I warned you.”

“Blitz—!”

He ignores your protests as  he carries you into the bedroom, his tail hooking under the edge of the comforter and drawing it back before he drops you onto the middle of the mattress. He clambers onto the bed after you, tugging you back against his chest before you can climb back up off the bed. He tucks his chin over your shoulder as he wraps his arms around your middle, nuzzling into the side of your neck, unbothered by your still-damp hair. “Just shut up and nap with me, alright?”

Blitzø is wonderfully warm against your back, and the soft lilt to his voice is enough to convince you to do as he asks. His breath tickles against the side of your neck, his breathing slowing and becoming more measured as the two of you settle. His tail tugs the covers up over you, and you let your legs tangle with his as you settle against him.

Your breath catches slightly as his fingers curl in the hem of your shirt, his touch barely more than a whisper against the soft flesh of your stomach. Maybe that’s why your voice comes unsteadily when you speak, volume barely more than a murmur. “I do need to get back to work, Blitz…”

He shakes his head against your back, bumps his forehead against the space between your shoulders. “Nooooope… sleep now. Work later. Those assholes will just have to wait.”

“Blitz…”

He sighs, rolling his eyes as he sits up. He grabs at your shoulder, pushing you onto your back. He straddles your hips, bracing his hands on either side of your shoulders. It makes your breath catch, and you press your lips together against the flood of butterflies that suddenly swirl up through your middle.

“You gotta take a break, baby.” he tells you gently. He reaches up to tuck hair behind your ear, claws grazing along the line of your neck. “Okay?”

You exhale, give him a reluctant nod. “Okay.”

He smiles, bending down and brushing a kiss over your forehead. He lets his lips linger there for a moment before he pulls away again, and then he lets himself flop down on top of you.

You cough out a laugh as he knocks the air out of you, and he smiles lazily, his chin cradled against your sternum. You roll your eyes and he sticks his forked tongue out at you, but you still reach up to smooth your fingers over his forehead, scratching at the base of one of the spikes between his horns. A purr rumbles through him at the touch.

“Thank you, Blitz.”

His smile twitches wider, his eyes closed blissfully. “Welcome, baby.”

[violetflowers55]

Hot & Cold - Chapter 5

(Dr. Phosphorus x fem!reader)

Synopsis: After your bathroom escapades, Phosphorus completely ignores you, much to your confusion and dismay. That is, until some guy in the cafeteria tries to hit on you. Winding up in the med bay together, you finally let out all your anger and frustrations.

Notes: Does not follow canon events really. Also chapter 6 will be delayed by a day or two, sorry! Ik i told someone this chapter would be back to smut but I decided to push it to Ch.6 so this wasn’t too long.

CW: Physical bullying, death and violence (not as graphic as last chapter). random dude hits on you. Angst kind of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Throughout the thank you banquet, Phosphorus basically ignored you, as if he hadn’t just metaphorically set you on fire in the bathroom. The only time he spoke to you was to ask if you were going to eat the steak sitting on your plate.

“So. What was that metal thing that came out of you?” The Bride asked casually, like it was the most natural question in the world.

“Oh, that’s my, um, metal whip,” you answered sheepishly. Your powers weren’t exactly your favorite topic, but if you were going to keep doing missions with her, she should know. “I can only use it when I turn my skin to steel. It’s attached to my wrist.”

“Hm. Can you do anything else?”

“No, it’s just the whip,” your eyes darted to Phosphorus, expecting some innuendo or witty remark. He didn’t even look at you.

“That’s lame,” The Bride said, taking a glug of her beer.

“Oh I’m sorry, can you make any weapons shoot out of your body?”

She smiled. “Don’t need to.” You scoffed and rolled your eyes. “But I guess a metal whip could come in handy some day.”

Again, you glanced at Phosphorus. There were so many obvious jokes and innuendos he could make, yet he still paid you no mind. Part of you was relieved he was finally leaving you alone. It was what you had wanted from the start. You still hated him, nothing had changed that. But another part of you hurt by his sudden lack of interest bubbled up.

Did seeing you brutally murder men turn him off? No, because then he wouldn’t have felt you up in the bathroom. Maybe he just finally gave up on you. Maybe your moment together in the bathroom didn’t excite him the way it excited you. You tried to tell yourself that you shouldn’t have expected anything different from him. You tried to tell yourself his lack of interest was a good thing. But the longer he ignored you, the harder it was to ignore the nagging voice in your head.

Even on the plane ride home, he sat as far away as possible from you. Being so far away from him made you miss the heat he provided. Catching yourself staring at him, you internally cringed at yourself. You were turning into a simping schoolgirl, and you hated it. You didn’t even like him, so why did you care so much if he liked you?

When you landed, the cold grey walls of Belle Reve greeted you. You’d let yourself loosen up while away, and now you had to readjust to prison life.

“Home sweet home,” you muttered to no one in particular. Phosphorus just walked past you, but The Bride at least let out a small chuckle.

It had only been two days, and you had already forgotten how much prison sucked. The orange prison garb was scratchy, everywhere was cold, and you were surrounded by screeching monsters, all ready to fight each. That night, you laid awake in your prison cell, repeatedly reminding yourself of your rules to survive.

At lunch the next day, you returned to your usual empty corner table. Even if Phosphorus wasn’t ignoring you, friends went against your rules, making The Bride, Nina, and Weasel off limits too. You watched as the four of them got lunch together, feeling a slight twinge of jealousy in your chest. But, you were just fine without friends before, and you’d be just fine without them now.

A hand slammed down onto the table from behind you. You looked up to see a red hulking man with horns protruding from his head grinning over you.

“Hey baby,” he leaned in, his hot smelly breath hitting your face like a dumpster on a hot summer day, “What’s a pretty little thing like you doing sitting all alone?”

Standing up, you grabbed the inhibitor collar around his neck and slammed his head into the table. You were half tempted to rip his tongue out, to let out all your pent up frustrations on him.

“You must be new here.”

“Why’s that?” he asked, his voice strained from you pressing down on his throat.

“Because otherwise, you’d know I’ve killed men for less than what you just called me.” You expected the grin on his face to fade, but it seemed to grow, shifting into a more malicious one.

“I may be new here, but I ain’t new.”

The next thing you knew, you were thrown face first into the ground with such a force it actually hurt. You turned over to stand back up only to see a boot coming down towards your face. Behind it, you spotted the red man watching with a satisfied smile. You lifted your arms to block it, but ended up getting your arms slammed into your face. Not letting your recover, the goon kicked you in the stomach. You wheezed, all your air leaving your body from the blow. Before you could breathe again, he kicked you again, even harder than before. Tears streamed down your face as you tried to crawl away, only for him to stomp on your back. You screamed in pain, desperately trying to make your skin turn to steel despite your inhibitor collar.

Suddenly, you could breathe again. You turned over to see Phosphorus slamming the goon’s head into the wall repeatedly. The guy who originally approached you sat in your seat, signaling to, presumably, more of his goons. Rage filled your body. Any mercy you originally planned to show him went out the window. You grabbed his ankle and pulled him down to the ground with you. Just as you were about to punch through his skull, one of his other goons pulled Phosphorus off the now dead goon, slamming him up against the wall and snapping his forearm.

“Alex!” you shouted, worry overriding your anger.

Of course, that was when the guards finally decided to show up. One pulled you off the red guy while another pulled the goon of Phosphorous.

“Get these two to the medical bay,” the head guard demanded, pointing at you and Phosphorus, “and get this one to the morgue.” He nudged the goons lifeless body with his foot, like he wanted to check he was really dead without touching him, lest he have monster cooties.

The medical bay was the worst part of Belle Reve. You did everything you could to avoid it, not that that was really a challenge. For one thing, they kept the medical bay about three degrees colder than the rest of the prison. Three degrees doesn’t seem like much on paper, but when you’re already always cold, it’s practically freezing. For another thing, the medical bay was devoid of all signs of life. It was far enough away from everything else that you could barely hear the usual clanging and shouting. There were no TVs, no books, no games, nothing to keep you entertained. It was just you and four pure white walls. Except this time, Phosphorus was laying in the bed right next to you.

The clocked ticked as you waited for the doctor to return. Your scans showed no internal bleeding or broken bones, but they wanted to keep you for observation for the night. Phosphorus’s arm was definitely broken, but they had no clue what kind of cast to put on it. That’s what they were doing now, trying to figure what to do.

“You’re horrible at thanking people, you know that?” Phosphorous said, finally breaking the long silence.

“What?”

“I mean, I just saved your life - for the second time, I might add - and you haven’t even asked if I’m ok. The proper thing to do is to say thank you.”

“I didn’t need your help.”

He snorted. “Yeah, you had it covered. If you consider getting kicked around ‘covered’.”

You glared at him. “So why do you keep ‘saving’ me if I’m so ungrateful?”

“I dunno, I liked how you showed your gratitude last time,” he laughed lightly, grinning at you, “and I didn’t even break any limbs before. What do I get for a broken arm?”

“Oh, fuck you,” you groaned in disgust.

“That’s what I’m hoping for.” he teased, acting like he hadn’t just ignored you for 24 hours.

“What the hell is your deal?” you snapped, glaring at him.

“Woah, what?” he said, taken aback by your sudden anger.

“I’m serious. First you follow me around like a lovesick puppy. Then you fuck me, agree to forget about it, but don’t actually. Next you ‘save’ me and feel me up in the bathroom, only to act like I don’t exist until I need ‘saving’ again. So seriously, what the fuck is your deal?”

He stared at you in shock, his jaw hanging open stupidly. When you realized you weren’t getting a response, you turned back to face the wall with a huff. The white walls didn’t ignore you. They didn’t make your stomach churn. They were consistent, reliable.

Christ, am I seriously praising walls right now? What is wrong with me?

You needed real answers, and you needed them now.

“Why do you keep saving me?” you asked, turning over again to face him.

“I told you, last time-“

“No, I want the real answer. I have my suspicions, but I want to know why you keep saving me when I don’t need saving.”

He looked at you, dropping his usual mask. “What are your suspicions?”

You bit your lip, unsure of whether or not to say it. If you were wrong, it would fuck everything up. But there was no way you were wrong, and you needed to hear him admit it.

“I think you’re trying to pay penance for getting me locked up in here in the first place.”

His face went through a myriad of expressions before he spoke, a mix of confusion, anger, sadness, and others you couldn’t discern.

“I’m sorry, what? You think I got you locked up in Belle Reve?” he was more serious than you’d ever heard him be before.

“Oh, don’t play dumb, you know-“

“Wowww, so now I’m dumb? First I’m a traitor, and now I’m an idiot?” he raised himself on his good arm to stare you down as his spoke, his voice dripping in sarcasm and venom.

“Oh please, you know exactly what I’m talking about. I rob a bank you wanted to rob, and two days later Batman’s locking me up for that heist and a million others crimes. It’s not rocket science.” If he wanted to be sarcastic, two could play that game.

“Yet somehow you put two and two together and got five.” He laid back down flat on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He sounded detached, like he was genuinely hurt over your accusation. You scoffed at his dramatics.

“Are you seriously going to try to tell me you had nothing to do with me getting caught?”

He turned and looked at you before speaking again. There was a mix of sadness and anger in his eyes.

“I’m saying you only have yourself to blame for ending up here, just like the rest of us.”

As his words started to sink in, the doctor returned to take Phosphorus and get his arm casted. You watched him as they rolled his bed out. He didn’t look back.

You flopped back on your bed and stared up at the ceiling. He was right. You only had yourself to blame.

Fuck.

[admirationandromantics]

A Little Tipsy

Ugh, I can't contain myself. I loved writing this. Gaming turning to sex? Fucking hell, that's what I live for (ps, also see my fic named "Video Games...", and you'll understand)

Word count: 2,9k (Unedited)

thinking about tipsy chris losing all his nerves and being really straightforward and flirty with reader when she invites him over for drinks and gaming.. jesus.. christ.. the sex would be INSANE -@nerd-space

I put the wine in the fridge, hoping that it’ll turn cold before Chris arrives. It is our weekly game night, but this time, we were bringing alcohol into the equation. I’ve had a long week, and Chris had no protests, so I went out and got some. Not only wine, but a couple of beers and the star of all, vodka. It’s disgusting, but at least it’ll make me relax. 

I figured out that since we would be drinking, an online game is not the best. My progress and rank can be harmed, so therefore we would be playing a series of nintendo games. I have it all set up, mario kart, party, even the bros games. So the get together was still going to be a gaming night. 

A loud knock on the door pulls my attention away from the popcorn. Instead of leaving it in the microwave and opening the door for him, I simply shout. 

“It’s open, just walk straight inside”

The door opens, a pair of heavy footsteps coming inside, the howling of the wind sounding through the space, an ice cold breeze brushing against my face. It really is cold outside today. 

“You know, you’ve been here so many times that knocking seems a bit too formal” I comment, taking out the popcorn and pouring it in a bowl. 

“Just trying to be a gentleman” Chris says, walking into the kitchen, leaning against the counter. He’s wearing an oversized hoodie, a nerdy print on the front. I don’t know what game it’s from, but it seems old. 

“If you were a gentleman, you would have come picked me up and drove me to you place” 

“Hm, so I guess I’m not” 

“Not really” I laugh, giving him the bowl. Instead of taking it, he grabs a big handful of the content, stuffing his mouth. 

“And that” I point at him. “Is another reason you’re not a gentleman” 

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry. Here, let me take the bowl” He states, walking by my side, mouth still full. His hand is reached out, but I hold the item away from him, making sure he can’t reach it. 

“You lost your chance at chivalry, Hartley” I joke, walking even faster to make him catch up. He doesn’t do much, swallowing and letting out a small laugh. 

“Well, okay then. Have you prepared the switch?” 

“You mean me? Don’t you think asking me that is a bit direct?” 

His cheeks flush a light pink, eyes diverting my gaze just for a moment. I love teasing him like this, he always gets so embarrassed, and cannot handle it. I give him a small nudge with my hand, getting him back to reality. 

“I’m messing with you, of course I have” 

“Y-yeah, that’s good” 

We continue the evening, getting a couple of glasses of wine down before starting to feel the effects. My cheeks are red, but the alcohol is the imposter in that area. Mostly. His thigh continuously keeps pressing against mine, his body swaying to direct the race car on screen. He wins again, and again, and again. It’s almost boring playing with him, always winning these types of games. 

“Who even sweat-games Mario Kart? That’s a bit much don’t you think?” I punch his arm, unaware if I do it too hard. He doesn’t seem bothered by it, just laughing and finishing the race once again. I keep going, the speed unbelievable. Gosh, it’s embarrassing how bad I turn when tipsy. 

“Here, let me help you” He states, scooting up halfway behind me, hands going around my body. 

“You don’t think I’m gonna make it?” I say, sighing loudly. 

“Absolutely not” 

“I’m just one lap behind the others, it’s not that bad considering we’re on the hardest difficulty” I lean back against him, letting his hands go over mine on the controller. 

“Speaking of laps” He says, and before I can comprehend what’s happening, his arms grab my hips, pulling me upon him, arms going around me once again. I don’t think my face can turn redder than it already is, and my mind is fighting my body from starting to grind on him, old fantasies roaming through me. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to notice, eyes on the screen as he presses my fingers down on several buttons, occasionally leaning a bit to the side, which makes me stop several sounds from escaping my throat. 

“And, there!” he exclaims, and I reach the finish line, not last at least. He grabs my hips again, lifting me up and down beside him. I almost whine from the lack of him, almost. 

“I guess I’m not the best at Mario Kart in my state” I laugh, leaving the controller on my side and leaning back on the couch. He watches me intently, eyes going over my body. I take a stretch, shifting my gaze away. He lifts one of his legs up, resting the ankle on his other knee, completely spread out. Fucking hell, he’s hot. 

“Okay, so do you want to play something else?” he asks, a small smirk on his lips. I turn to him again, the arms of his hoodie dragged up, making his muscular lower arms visible, veins showing. I follow them, reaching all the way down to his hands, his long fingers which just a minute ago were on mine, putting pressure down and guiding me. 

“You know, if you’re just gonna stare, we might sit like this all night” 

I look up, mouth a bit open, trying to find a comeback. He caught me. Fucking hell. I’m usually the one who makes fun of him, and now, my head won’t let me fight back. My mouth keeps opening as if to say something, but ultimately fails me, nothing coming to mind. 

“And that mouth might be put to better use than just opening and closing like that” he smirks, before turning his attention back to the game, starting another round. I watch him in silence, taking a deep, quiet breath, composing myself a little. Who was this, and where is Chris? I’ve met him drunk before at parties, but his goody comments and funny nature is usually what’s shining. Now, he’s so forward, even more than I am at times. 

I shift back to the game, thighs rubbing hard against each other, making it difficult to find a comfortable position. The game starts, and I try to keep my attention on it, but my gaze continuously goes back to him, watching as he calmly relaxes. His back against the couch, fingers moving fastly unbothered. 

“You’re going the wrong way” he whispers, nudging my thighs. I gasp, so weakly I pray he didn’t hear it. Or if he did, he hopefully thought it was a surprise because of my bad driving skills. 

“You’re usually much better than this” he comments, and I nod in agreement. Maybe alcohol just makes me way more horny and turned on than usual? Especially when he sits like that, nonchalant and confident. A way I’ve never noticed before. The game pauses, and I look over at him, a bit confused. 

“What, I was doing better” 

“No, you weren’t” 

I sigh, throwing my head back in defeat. This was not a usual gaming night where I won at least thirty percent of the races. Now, even the bots are better than me. 

“Hey, lesson, come here” his fingers guide me, and I scoot over, sitting tightly beside him. 

“No, not like that” he shakes his head, grabbing my thighs once again, lifting me on his lap and letting me straddle him. I bite my lips, unsure what he’s about to do. Oh gosh. His belt buckle is perfectly placed underneath me, and I have to fight my instinct to move. This is torture. 

“No need to get so flustered, I have seen you worse” he smiles, disconnecting his own controller, and fastening mine on my wrist. 

“Wait what?” I ask, wondering what he means. He’s seen me worse? 

“Yeah, you know, when I walked in on you” he says, casually as if that’s something to be expected. I shake my head, wondering what he means. 

“When was this?” 

“When you got yourself off in the shower” he says, clicking a few buttons. Does he not understand the gravity of his words? What has he heard? Or seen? Every single time I do that, I think of him, so what if he’s heard. 

“Wait, Chris, I can explain” I try, but he interrupts me. 

“No, no. I didn’t know you were in there, my fault for coming in. You screamed my name so loud I took the hint to go” 

“No, I just mean, you weren’t meant to hear that, I’m sorry, I understand if you find it weird and just want to go and stuff…” 

He looks back to me, confused eyes and furrowed brows, as if trying to figure out something. I look pleadingly back, please don’t let this ruin our relationship. A few seconds go by, painfully slow as he realisation washes over him. I get a bit confused, not understanding what’s so difficult to understand. 

“Wait, you didn’t know I was in there?” he asks, voice low and tone serious. His mouth is a bit open, his chest falling quicker up and down under my hands than before. 

“No, but-” I start, but then it hits me. He thought I screamed his name because he walked in, not realising it was because I was thinking of him. And now…

“And you screamed my name not because I was in there but because you were-”

“No, no, no, no, no” I shake my head. I’ve buried myself, I never meant for him to find out, I should’ve just shut my mouth before, listening before drawing conclusions. Shit, shit, shit. I’m about to get off him, but his grip tightens on my thighs, pressing me further down on his buckle, causing a small moan to escape my lips. 

“Fucking hell. You were pleasuring yourself by the thought of me” he says, more of a conclusion than a question. I can’t even look at him. Mouth wide open trying to conjure anything in my defence, but alas, my words fail me. 

“Have you been doing that every time before these types of nights? Before we meet?” 

I don’t know what to answer, a small “uh” leaving my lips. The corner of his lips slowly drags upwards, a small chuckle coming from deep within. 

“L-listen, Chris” 

“No, you listen here” he counters, dragging me down and closer to him, the buckle giving that extra bit of friction to me. I give a small hum, which makes him look down for a split second, wondering what the fuss is about. His eyes find mine again, mouth opening, biting his lip with his head tilting. 

“Okay, wait a second now” he smirks, finally understanding. 

“So, you’ve been struggling with yourself since we began? All those small movements that I only figured was because you were sitting uncomfortably…” 

“Chris-”

“No, no, no”

My breathing gets heavier, struggling to contain myself as his hands grip harder, starting to slowly make me grind on him. The extreme friction, after being left unnoticed all night, all these balled up feelings, emotions all over the place. Confusion, heat, desire, and passion. Everything comes up at once as I tightly grab his shoulders for support, much-needing pleasure shooting through me. 

“Chris!” 

“Oh, yeah. That’s it” he whispers, one hand coming up behind my neck and pulling me closer. I can’t help it, the urge, the need, the craving. I want him badly, and this confident person I’m sitting on, is making it much more difficult to keep myself in control. I meet his lips with mine, moaning into the kiss as he keeps up the rhythm underneath us. His teeth capture my lower lip, biting down until a whimper escapes me, making him smirk even more. 

He changes our position, working on the controller in my hand, letting loose the ribbon around my wrist. I’m about to take hold of him when both my hands are grabbed with one of his. My wrists against each other as he lifts them over my head, laying me down horizontally on the couch, body towering over me. 

His other hand goes to the hem of my sweatpants, feeling around the area before moving underneath. I gasp at the sensation, his fingers warm as they trace the hem of my underwear. 

“All the time when you wear this type of clothing… I always wonder how easy they can come off” he whispers, breath hot against my ear. Lips go to kiss down under it, moving to my neck, leaving painful suck marks all over. 

“C-Chris” I whimper, his name coming out as more of a pleading. 

“Mhm, yeah. You want me so bad, don’t you?” 

I hum in response, nodding my head weakly as his fingers go down to my folds, feeling the soaked fabric. My hips buckle up, needly craving his touch. The action makes him let out a small laugh. 

“And for so long too” 

“W-When did you turn so cocky?” I ask, finally managing to conjure something else than mere sounds. 

“What, you’ve never noticed before?” 

“No” 

“Well, then you’re in for an experience” 

He moves the fabric to the side, fingers coated by my wetness, moving slowly up and down. A melody of sounds escape me, back curling as he reaches my clit, fingertips moving teasingly. 

“So incredibly needy. I should’ve just joined you in the shower when I heard you screaming my name” 

“Chris…”

“Now let us see if I can make you scream it even louder” 

His fingers go to my entrance, pushing two of them in, knuckle deep, testing how much I can take. I give a loud moan, and he captures my lips in his again, swallowing every single sound I make. His hips lowers down on me, letting me feel his hard boner underneath his pants. 

Fingers start pumping, all while I try to break my hands free from his grasp, wanting to touch him. He goes almost all out before slamming them back in, his thumb rubbing my clit softly at the same time. His lips leave mine, going to my jaw and neck, kissing and biting. My pulse skyrocketing, all my oxygen going straight to the wave of sounds coming from my mouth as he keeps going. My core starts building up, tension collecting as I ride his fingers, feeling his hair on my chin as his lips move down to my collar. 

“Chris!” 

“And no bra? You really wanted this to happen” he whispers, making shivers run down my spine. He caresses me with his mouth, my clothing so thin he can feel my nipples harden underneath him. I can’t muster words as he keeps up his pace, legs giving out and all my energy going to my hands, wanting to touch him again. 

He takes me over the edge, moaning loudly as pleasure runs through my body, letting me ride out the high on his fingers before pulling them out. I breathe out heavily, trying to steady myself as his head comes up to mine again, making me watch as his hands go into his mouth, sucking his fingers dry. 

“Now, how about we go to the bedroom?” 

***

I wake up, not having a hangover. We didn’t drink much after all, none of us being drunk, just tipsy. It flusters me how he acted last night, his cocky self being something I’ve never noticed before. I turn to him, naked beside me, chest going up and down in a steady rhythm. My hand carefully makes its way to his messy hair, fingers combing through it. His own goes to grab my wrist, giving me flashbacks to last night’s activities. He drags me over to him, capturing my naked body in his arms. 

“Are you staring at me while I’m sleeping?” he whispers, voice hoarse and sexy. 

“Well, you don’t seem to be sleeping” I tease, leaning into him. 

“Fucking hell, that was a long night” 

“You don’t say. I’ve never seen you so cocky before” 

“Cocky, or confident” he tries to defend, and I roll my eyes and lean over to grab my phone, showing him a couple of messages from Josh. 

Josh: Yeah, he gets like that. Careful though, he might be cocky as shit, but he’s also too honest for his own good, so I at least hope you got fucked good

“Wait what! You told him we fucked?” he asks, eyes widening and body suddenly completely awake. I laugh, giving him the phone and letting him see the previous messages. 

“No, he figured that out himself. I just had to check if you behaved like this every time you drank, and if this was a one-time-thing” 

“Judging by how often you’ve screamed my name the last 12 hours, I don’t think you want it to be that” 

“And judging by what you said last night, I think you’ve been thinking about this way more than I have” I shoot back while he keeps laughing. He throws the phone away, capturing my lips once again. 

“You know, about that shower…”

[sahrii]

hey dear!!! can I pretty please get a round bouquet of orchids with 3/7 flowers? (whichever you prefer!) I've been dying to give sugawara flowers <333

sugawara koushi!

warnings! fluff, gn!reader, first time writing for suga, forced proximity, mentions of a drunk man, suga being cute, don’t mind the switch from uncapitalised to capitalised sentence (or semi capitalised LOL) it’s bc i switched from my phone to my laptop.

word count! 1267

i also wanna thank @kiwispritz for helping me w the idea and @wakeupmaddie for also helping me and beta reading!!! thanks guys <3

100 followers event

[12.08am]

the stygian night was beautifully decorated by feeble stars, but despite that, it still managed to shed tears of blue threads that collided with the crestfallen ground, creating a piercing yet melodious drone of sound.

“it’s a bit cold, isn’t it? would you like my jacket?” asked suga from beside you.

“uh, i’ll be fine! thanks for offering though,” you awkwardly smile. not only was it raining, but it was windy. the wind occasionally blew an eerie whistle in your ear, sending a shiver down the small of your back.

the bus that you were waiting for was due to come 15 minutes ago, yet here you were, 15 minutes later, shielding your self from the shrewd rain under the bus shelter which seemed to be barely holding itself against the rain.

“we are sorry to announce that the last bus is cancelled due to the an unforeseen incident. we apologise for any inconvenience caused. thank you,” the rusty speaker hanging from the top corner of the bus stop announced.

you snap your head to look at suga, only to find his molten silver eyes as wide as yours. his lips were pressed into a disapproving, thin line.

“uh oh,” you say. “what do we do now?” it was a rhetorical question. You knew what you had to do. Walk under this pouring rain.

“we’re gonna have to walk,” he muttered despondently. “or sleep here,” he joked,  pulling out his phone from the pocket of his jacket. You stayed silent, watching as his long fingers typed something on the phone.

“the closest convenience store is a 15 minutes walk from here. We can get umbrellas and then I’ll walk you home,” his eyes met yours as he stuffed his phome back into his pockets.

“you don’t have to walk me home, I can just—”

“I’m not having any of this,” he cut you off. “I’m walking you home full stop,” you wanted to argue back, but the way he stared into your eyes made it hard, so you defeatedly gave in.

“fine, but you’ll let me get you coffee next time,”

“fine by me,”

[12.25am]

Your clothes clang to your silhouette, as if becoming one with your skin, and the hood of your thin jacket did close to nothing to shield you from the rain.  Or from the loud hum of the wind that made the hairs on your skin stand.

It felt a little warmer suddenly. And a little less wet. It took you a while to process the sudden change, and when you did, your head snapped to look at the culprit behind it.

“what are you doing?” you asked, narrowing your eyes and referring to the thicker jacket draping over your head and shoulders.

“you look like you’re seconds away from hypothermia,” he replied. His previously fluffy hair was a wet, beautiful grey mess, slightly sticking to his creased forehead.

“your sweater looks thinner than paper,” you argued. “and I’m not seconds away from hypothermia,”

“do you ever not argue back,” a smile decorated his lips. He walked slightly in front of you, given he knows the way to the convenience store.

“you’re making this hard. Coffee and dinner now,” you replied, a smile on your lips as you both finally approach the convenience store.

[12.32am]

The both of you were taking shelter under one umbrella while walking. It was apparently the last umbrella left, so there was no other choice. His thick jacket was now draped around your shoulders, given that he refused to take it back.

“so,” suga began. “any plans for tomorrow?” he asked, breaking the bubble of silence surrounding you. The rain has slightly subdued, it’s sound against the ground growing softer. An earthy smell of petrichor infiltrated your nostrils and a warm, benign feeling spread across your body.

“if you call sleeping a plan, then yes,” you joked, earning a doting chuckle from the male beside you.

“sounds like a plan to me,”

The streets stretched ahead of you, shimmering with rain and echoing with silence. Despite being lonely, a silver path of moonlight was etched on every bump and jagged cobblestone, disposing of any lingering feelings of loneliness. That is, along with the low murmurs coming from both your mouths.

However, the tranquil, almost placid air was suddenly pierced by the blaring yells of what you imagined to be a drunk middle-aged man walking in your direction. A few vile curses and mutters left his mouth as the distance between you and the man seemed to get shorter.

A soft hand gripped your shoulder instinctively pulling you closer. Suga’s hand. Your back was now touching his chest, the previously comfortable space between you and him now dissipating into the humid air. Small jolts of fireworks surged through your shoulder, all the way to your back as a wave of warmth dizzyingly washed over you.

And he wasn’t any better, his knees buckled slightly and the fingertips wrapped around your shoulder were feeling hot, as if a constellation of sensation ignited within him. He felt his throat dry and stars burn in the pit of his stomach and a warm flush decorated the tips of his ears. he wondered if you were able to hear the thrums of his heartbeats.

After the drunk man passed, his small eyes eyeing both your figures shrewdly, not a word nor a breath were uttered from any of your mouths. The streets felt a tad bit lonelier, but his fingers remained stuck to your shoulder, not wanting to leave.

[1.11am]

“thank you for walking me home,” you said, standing at your door. Your gaze landed on everywhere but his molten silver eyes. Your cheeks were flushed, and your hands trembling a little.

“of course, there is no need to thank me,” he replied, a shy smile forming on his lips. His eyes crinkled at the corners a little, and his hand scratched the back of his head sheepishly. His heart was still palpitating in his chest like there is no tomorrow.

Your hands slowly took off the jacket he very kindly lent you, which was almost magically dry. “here, uh, your jacket,” you stretched your arms out, holding it in both hands.

He shook his head knowingly. “keep it,” he said, the same smile still gracing his lips. “you can give it to me when we meet up for dinner again,”

Your eyes finally gathered the courage to stare at his eyes. Twilight skies that shimmered with a thousand shades of silver. You gulped, almost losing your voice. Your heart was thundering in your chest. You thought that you wouldn’t mind waking up every morning to eyes like his. “okay,” your voice was low.

“great,” he beamed, but then looked at his watch. “it’s getting late, I’m going to leave now,” he added. “make sure you take a warm shower, I”ll, uh, I’ll see you soon,”

You nodded. As you watched him begin retreating, offering you a small wave and a grateful smile. You waved back, and then turned to open the door of your apartment.

Tonight, you were going to sleep with his silver eyes perpetuating at the top of your mind and his scorching touch lingering on the skin of your shoulder, kindling a wildfire in your heart.

Tonight, he was going to sleep with his heart beating in the drums of his ears and his fingertips sending jolts of fire, reminding him of what it felt when there was no space between the both of you. When your bodies slightly touched and it felt like tidal waves crashing ashore.

[biblical-chronicles]

Moving on

_____________________________________

where a forgotten drunken confession leads to a whole new beginning.

_____________________________________

The party was winding down, most people either gone or half-asleep in random corners. You were curled up on the couch next to Noel, pressed against his side while his arm rested lazily along the back of the couch, his fingers brushing your shoulder every now and then.

“Noel,” you mumbled, your cheek squished against his chest.

He just hummed in response.

“Dunno how you put up with me,” you slurred, your words spilling out before your hazy brain could catch them.

He chuckled softly, tilting his head to look at you. “It’s not exactly a struggle, is it? You’re not as bad as you think.”

You let out a huff, shaking your head. “I’m such a mess, though.”

“Maybe,” he teased, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, “but you're me mess.”

You blinked, your brain trying to process his words through the fog of alcohol. Slowly, you pulled back to look up at him. “What did you just say?”

Noel hesitated, his gaze flicking away for a second before locking back on yours. He let out a small sigh, his voice quieter this time. “I said… you're me mess. Always have been.”

Your heart skipped, and for once, it wasn’t the alcohol.

“Noel,” you whispered, and he looked like he was bracing for impact.

“I’m in love with you,” he admitted, his voice soft but sure. “Been mad about you for ages.”

A slow smile spread across your face as the words sank in. “I’ve always wanted to hear you say that,” you murmured, barely able to believe it.

Before he could respond, you leaned in and kissed him, soft and slow. His hand cupped your cheek, holding you there like he was scared you’d disappear if he let go.

The next day the hangover hit you hard, but not hard enough to completely exclude you from your usual routine. You stood in the corridor at the studio, waiting for Noel like always so the two of you can share lunch together.

When he rounded the corner, his face lit up, a rare, unguarded smile breaking through. He stepped up to you, arms already reaching for a hug, and pressed a quick kiss to your cheek like it was second nature.

You blinked, your head tilting as you stared at him, confused. “Not that I’m complaining, but you’re awfully affectionate today Gallagher.”

Noel froze, his arms dropping awkwardly to his sides. His face paled slightly, as he let out a dry laugh. “Right, yeah, sorry… I—uh…” He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking everywhere but at you.

You frowned. “Is summat wrong?”

“No, no, just… busy day, that’s all,” he mumbled, taking a step back. “I probably won’t have time for lunch today. Sorry.”

Before you could say anything, he was already turning to leave, his movements stiff and hurried.

“Noel?” you called, but he only threw a quick “Catch you later” over his shoulder before disappearing around the corner.

You stood there, stunned, your chest tight with confusion.

Meanwhile, his mind was racing, his chest heavy. She doesn’t remember, he thought bitterly. Of course, she doesn’t. Why would she?

The memory of your kiss from the night before played on a loop in his mind—the way you’d smiled against his lips, the way you told him you always wanted to hear him confess to you. And now, it was as if it never happened.

His thoughts spiraled for the rest of the day, a mix of hurt and self-doubt. Maybe love wasn’t in the cards for him. He’d given it a shot, laid himself bare, and now… well, now he was left to pick up the pieces. Better off keeping it simple, he told himself. Easy, temporary affection—nothing messy, nothing complicated, nothing meaningful. Just something to distract him from the hollow ache in his chest.

So that’s what he did.

It wasn’t long before people started noticing Noel spending more time with someone new—some singer from another studio down the street. She was pretty, always laughing at whatever he said and leaning into his space like she belonged there. It was casual, but she was around enough to turn heads.

Including yours.

You hadn’t confronted the feeling at first, chalking it up to stress or a bad mood. But when you’d catch sight of them laughing in the corridors or walking out together, your chest tightened in a way that was impossible to ignore. You thought you and Noel might’ve had something—or at least the beginning of something—but now it felt like the rug had been pulled out from under you.

Still, you tried to carry on as usual. No sense in making a fool of yourself over someone who clearly wasn’t yours.

Yet one evening, as you were leaving the studio, you saw them. They were standing just outside, their conversation casual, though the way she rested her hand on his arm made your stomach churn. You tried to look away, tried to focus on your keys jangling in your hand, but before you could escape unnoticed, she leaned in and kissed him—a quick peck, but it might as well have been a knife to the heart.

The noise of the studio door slamming shut behind you made you wince, but it was too late to take it back. You marched back inside, your heart pounding, desperate to put distance between yourself and the scene outside.

“Wait!” Noel’s voice rang out behind you, his footsteps quick against the tiled floor.

You didn’t stop, not until his hand caught your arm, spinning you around to face him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his brow furrowed in confusion, though his voice was tinged with concern.

“What’s wrong?” you echoed, your voice sharper than intended. You shook your head, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “Nothing, Noel. Absolutely nothing. Why would anything be wrong? Just heading back inside to… I dunno, work on something. Or pretend to, at least.”

His grip loosened, though his hand remained on your arm. “Is this about—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice trembling. “Don’t act like you don’t know what this is about.”

His mouth opened to respond, but no words came out. He looked at you, truly looked at you, and realization flickered across his face.

Your shoulders slumped as you began to ramble, your voice shaking with a mix of embarrassment and frustration. "God, Noel, I’m sorry. I’m making such a fool out of meself. I know we’re not together or owt, so I shouldn’t be acting like this. It’s not fair to you. I’m sorry, I—”

Before you could get another word out, Noel leaned in and kissed you. It wasn’t gentle nor hesitant—it was firm, desperate, as though he couldn’t hold back a second longer. The sheer intensity made your back hit the wall behind you, your hands instinctively grabbing at his jacket for balance. His lips moved against yours with a kind of passion that told you he’d been aching for this for quite a while now.

When he finally pulled back you were left breathless, staring up at him in shock. “What… what the hell was that?” you stammered, your cheeks burning.

“That,” Noel said, his voice husky as his forehead rested against yours, “was me finally doing what I should’ve done the day after the party.”

You blinked, trying to catch up. “Wait, wait. What’re you on about?”

He took a deep breath, his hands still cradling your face. “The party. You don’t remember, yeah?”

“The party?” you echoed, your brows furrowing as you scrambled to piece it together.

“I told you I loved you,” he said softly, his voice steady but his eyes still flickering with a bit of uncertainty. “You were drunk as hell, cuddled up to me on the couch, and I finally said it. And… you kissed me. Told me you’d been waiting to hear it.”

Your jaw dropped. “I did? Oh, my God, I… I don’t even…” You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “Noel, why the fuck didn’t you remind me? I literally forgot.”

“I dunno,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “I felt shy, I guess. Didn’t wanna push you or make you feel weird about it. Thought maybe you didn’t mean it, that it was just the booze talking.”

You lowered your hands, staring at him in disbelief. “So you’re telling me I could’ve been in your arms this whole time? Oh, shit, that’s why you were so affectionate the day after, wasn’t it? Oh, God, I’m so sorry, Noel. I’m such an idiot.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. “S’alright. I reckon we’ve both been idiots, haven’t we?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, your tension easing as you leaned into his touch. “Yeah, I guess we have.”

“Let’s stop muckin’ about then, yeah?” he said, his voice warm and sincere. “Let’s make up for lost time.”

Your lips curved into a grin as you nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into another kiss.

When you finally broke apart, you both chuckled softly, your foreheads still pressed together. “So, what now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Now,” Noel said, smirking as his hand slipped down to intertwine with yours, “we’ve got a lot of catchin’ up to do, love.”

_____________________________________

hope you lovely lot and the person that requested it liked this, was dead hard to write Noel sad though ... I'm a weak soldier

also, I did not forget that Liam smut I am on it just want to make it longer than usual, thank you for yer patience loves xx

and I know the picture doesn't match but just look at him so cute so happy

[marinettesaltprompts]

The Perfect Partner (Part 2)

Prompt by @ironicreality

“What?” Adrien was confused, he thought he was supposed to look like Ladybug’s old sidekick, but instead he was in this weird restrictive mix of a skintight supersuit and a vaugely ‘royal prince’ uniform..

Cat themed of course, complete with silly pawprints for the buttons. If they weren’t in a literal life or death situation he’d probably find it kind of fun in a childish way.

“You- I…” Ladybug shakes her her and scowls. “Of course it was one big trick- I’m going to-”

There is another crack a stone wall behind them shudders with a superpowered blow.

“Ladybug, whatever it is we have a job to do.” Adrien sharply reminded her.

Ladybug’s scowl didn’t let up, but her attention returned to the present. Wordlessly she grabs his arm and practically drags him closer to the enemy.

“Uh, Ladybug- what’s the *plan?*” Superpowered or not, Adrien wasn’t looking forwards to seeing the Akuma he’d suicidally upset for some reason.

Abruptly they passed a piece of rubble and they were suddenly in view of the thing. A bunch of other heroes were desperately dancing around it with no other apparent goal than drawing attention and hoping to avoid immediate death.

“Distract it and keep it in the school.” Ladybug *growled* and literally *threw him* at the stone monster. Adrien found himself slamming into the thing, rebounding off the hard body with a sharp gasp (some part of his brain confirms that the collision would have been lethal normally, so superpowers were confirmed) and landed on his backside before the thing.

“Oh hey, who’s the new guy?” The turtle themed-one asked.

“Carapace, back before you change back!” Ladybug interrupts. “Everyone else, leave this to *Cat Walker*.”

Wait, what?

Adrien stares in shock as the rest of the team wordlessly abandons him. 'Cat Walker’ stares up at the Akuma, and somehow dodges to the side in time to avoid being crushed.

What follows is a full ten minutes of Cat Walker continuing that trend. The super-agility, strength and speed help but the monster still knocks him through a few walls. Surprisingly he doesn’t immediately die but instead just feels bruised and winded.

At some point he notices that he has a metal stick attached to his back and finds that it snaps wide to become a staff of some kind. It’s kind of neat.

It also does nothing what-so-ever to the giant rock monster-

Oh, never mind. The Akuma *laughs* like it’s being tickled.

By the end of the ten minutes Cat Walker is tried, sore and quite sure that he’s going to need to be “brought back” by Ladybug. But luckily for him, that’s when the rest of the team comes back, this time with a stripey wasp-themed hero and within moments the Akuma is contained and then paralyzed before Ladybug comes over with some a bottle of spray (red and black spotted of course) that reveals a choker around the Akuma’s neck.

And so Cat Walker witnesses his first (?, it feels familiar… did he see it on TV before?) purification and the Miraculous Cure.

Honestly it’s kind of awe-inspiring up close to see the school rebuilt in a second around him but, the wonder is quickly cut off as Carapace turns to him again. “So hey newbie, not bad-”

“He’s a temp!” Ladybug interrupted again, sharply with that same sour tone, “*just a temp.*”

“Hunh, oh.” Carapace shrugs, “shame Dude, you did pretty good there for first time.”

Cat Walker finds his voice. “… I nearly died six times.”

Ladybug *snorts*, and the Dragon-themed hero calmly- but *snidely* in a way that reminded him of Kagami when she was feeling smug- speaks up; “we noticed.”

“Thanks for your help!” The wasp quickly distracts from that, “sorry about taking so long. I had a thing and-”

She was giving a polite and possibly true excuse. Which was more than he’d probably get from anyone else here- did they *really* need to leave him alone to fight the monster?

Oh well. Adrien knew when to cut his losses, so he drops into the appropriate script.

“That’s alright, I’m sure you had a good reason.” Cat Walker slides into the polite etiquette with a disturbing ease, almost like he *meant it*. “But I’m sure we all have our lives to return to.”

“That’s right!” Ladybug chirps, clearly in a good mood now, “so everyone get to your rendezvous points and-”

Cat Walker pulled off the ring.

“ADRIEN!” Carapace’s eyes bulge. “You-” he turns to Ladybug. “You picked *him*?”

From the sound of things, Carapace’s good opinion of him had disappeared like Cat Walker’s confining suit. Come to think of it the same seemed to apply to the Wasp Heroine, and the Dragon’s eyes had become hard.

Adrien, for his part, couldn’t say exactly why he’d suddenly tugged off the magic ring. Well, no: of course he could. The form felt powerful for sure, but it was also confining, and the fact that he’d been thrown to the giant rock monster without warning didn’t make it more appealing. But somehow being Cat Walker also felt like…

Embarrassment? *Anger*?

No. Not just that, there was resentment burning under his skin but also…

Submission?

Whatever it was, some part of him utterly *loathed* being Cat Walker even before Ladybug threw him at the giant monster and wouldn’t stand for wearing the ring a second longer.

“You wanted this back right after, right?” Adrien found the box from before -where had it gone when changed?- in his hand, and spied the little black cat-thing from before in the corner for his eye for a second before he popped the ring in and snapped it closed. “Here.”

He pointedly pushed it to her, and Ladybug reflexively took it even while apparently still in shock.

“Right, so was that it?” He put on a winning smile, just like the creepy cameramen at his job loved. The rest of the team still seemed lost for words, and Adrien- still feeling his skin crawl with *whatever* from the ring and the phantom pains of being beaten- decided to escape the little clan of Superfurries before that changed. “Great, thanks for all your hard work- say, is she all right?”

He pointed to the Akuma victim, currently dazed and slowly coming to. She looked like a girl a little past four.

“Uh-yeah…” Carapace looked over to her, “hey so-”

“One of you should probably get her out of here, bye!” Adrien shot another smile and promptly *left*.

—

If you asked him, he couldn’t say for sure *why* he so jerkily left the team like that. Even more than the shock and frustration of being made into an impromptu mouse for an Akuma to play with, it was something *else* like what he felt from the ring.

If Father had seen him act in that way, he was sure the uptight man would have shoved him straight back into etiquette lessons again. But Adrien was quite sure that if he’d stayed he would have said something worse.

Either way, the whole thing was behind him as he found his class restored, so he promptly put the surreal experience out of his mind.

And things mostly went back to normal after that. There were some odd looks from his classmates, especially from Chloe and the Class President’s clique, he just paid attention to the lessons and moved on.

Father actually spoke to him at dinner, which was kind of a novelty. Somehow he’d found out about his little ‘heroics’ in saving Chloe (not about the superhero part, just the suicidal part) and gave him a lecture about basic common sense and not running into danger.

It was… actually kind of fair. The man was a complete jerk most of the time but Adrien had to admit that he’d been a bit of lemming, so he just took his medicine without complain: and that satisfied Gabriel enough to leave him be after that.

What *was* surprising though was finding Ladybug waiting for him in his room.

The pleasantries are short (nonexistent).

“Today was a one-time thing. Don’t expect to touch the ring again.” Ladybug is professional, but there’s an undercurrent there that he doesn’t care for.

“I wasn’t planning to,” Adrien keeps his tone airy, like he’s not bothered that she’s there.

(Something in the back fof his skull crawls)

“Good. Then we’re done here.” Ladybug turns to leave.

But Adrien, whoever he was in the past, was just a *little* too ‘imperfect’ now, just a little petty now to just let his all-too-long career of spontaneous Akuma hackysack slide without at least one jab in of his own;

“Do you usually leave people to fight the enemy on their own? Or is that just for temps?”

Ladybug ignored him as she left.

—

Adrien, having not enjoyed his brief time as a hero/punchingbag as much as you might think, was quite happy to ignore *her* and the entire war once more. Which he did for a full day, a full week, and very nearly a full month.

But there always whispers about Ladybug having to use different ‘cats’ now, rumours that even he couldn’t close his ears to. And it turned he also couldn’t close his life to either.

It was a dour afternoon while Adrien was practising his piano (there was something kind of nice about the ‘click’ of muscle memory guiding him to the notes before his mind realised). The wind was blowing quite heavily, so he’d shut his window-

So imagine his surprise when suddenly the thing opened from the *outside*, and a miserably wet Superheroine dropped in- no wait.

She was also just flat out miserable to be there, judging from her expression.

“Why hello Ladybug, come in, come in,” Adrien hid his surprise as best he could with , but some inner barb poked through his good sense again (why am I antagonising a superhero?). “Don’t mind the water damage I’m sure I can pay for it.”

Ladybug stared as him like she was facing a needle to the eye.

She said nothing as she pulled out a box like the one from last time.

Something bitter twisted in him.

“I thought we agreed last time-”

“I need Ryuko *and* a black cat.” Ladybug’s words were sharp and to the point, like they hurt her to say.

Adrien looked at the box. “And you want me to be the cat?”

“*No.*” The re was venom there before she composed herself, “But you’re… good with the ring.”

Adrien wasn’t stupid.

This Ryuko was the Dragon Hero, and from the way Ladybug was speaking- she was also Ladybug’s first pick for Black Cat when she didn’t need both seperately.

But there was no way that he was so ‘good with the ring’ after one try spent running from one beating after another. He knew she had other backups as well, but maybe it was the same thing and she needed them with other Miraculouses…

“*Chloe* is out there,” Ladybug seemed to have picked up on his hesitation, and she growled the name. “I know you care about *her*, so just take the ring and get going.”

Adrien opened his mouth to refuse- But again, something in him twisted. Maybe it was some left over feelings for an old friendship he couldn’t remember? Whatever it was, it enough to overpower the feelings of *wrongness* as he stood up to take the box.

“Follow my path out of the garden,” Ladybug’s words were clipped again as she turned, “the cameras won’t see us.”

—

As expected, Ladybug more or less dropped him on the Akuma and left him to absorb the heat.

“Aww, poor little kitty left out in the cold?” The weather-themed Akuma mocked him, “better hold on tight if you don’t want to be blown away!”

No sign of Chloe anywhere, but maybe she’d had the good sense to run while Ladybug left. Unlike some other poor souls.

A supernatural gust of hail struck one of said souls with full force, almost throwing him over a bridge railing before some instinct pushed him to extend his staff for support.

He looked up at the Akuma. A dark dress, purple hair in two large pigtails and an umbrella; something clicked in his head;

“Stormy Weather was it?” Cat Walker looked up at the floating Akuma.

“The one and only,” Stormy confirmed with sadistic glee. “Now, why don’t we see if this little kitty swims like the old one-”

Okay no, Cat Walker had better things to do that to just take beatings today- or any day. There were better ways to waste time; why not try ‘diplomacy’?

“That seems unnecessary,” a perfect model smile crossed Cat Walker’s face.

“Oh, and why’s *that*?” Stormy smirked.

“Because clearly you’re going to win,” Cat Walker sighed with apparently sincere resignation.

The Akuma’s face dropped in surprise, and the model continued on; “anyone can tell where this battle is heading.” He put a hand to his chest, “I’m but a poor novice to this war, and then there’s *you*, well… don’t you think this is a bit unfair?”

Stormy giggled like an idiot; “yes, yes it is!” Fine lines of Lightning flickered into existience around her as she circled in closer to him. They licked the ground and left scorch marks, but Cat Walker’s eyes focused on the umbrella instead while Stormy’s attention was elsewhere. “You’re helpless before me!”

“I have to agree,” Cat Walker mournfully concurred, and as if in deep fear; he flinched away from Stormy Weather, drwaing closer to a stone Pillar like she was a predator he was retreating from. “This is, is, is…”

Stormy’s eyes gleamed with a sense of power over the hero and she advanced closer, “*go on*….”

“A cataclysmic disaster!” Cat Walker threw up his clawed hand in emphasis.

In a second, Stormy realised the ruse and hissed; her eyes darted to his right hand.

And left herself vulnerable to his left. Having floated in close, she barely had time to blink as he lunged forwards with his ringless hand and ripped the umbrella from her grip.

“Wait-”

Chat Noir’s power hadn’t activated, but Cat Walker only took a second to break the umbrella in two under foot. To his pleasure, not only did Stormy’s power vanish, but a butterfly suddenly flew out of the broken implement and the Akuma victim reappeared in human form from a weave of dark magic.

“Where… where am?” The girl blinked in shock as Cat Walker nimbly plucked the Akuma butterfly from the air, “Are you a hero? Where’s Ladybug?”

“Oh don’t worry, I’m just a temp” Cat Walker gave her the same smile that had charmed her a moment ago. “The real heroes should be here any minute.”

—

And I’m just going to leave it here for now. With the core dynamic established and parts of the mystery of Chat Noir’s end implied: the next parts will be covering just how a Black Cat who 'takes things seriously’ would clash with Marinette’s approach.

[moralesispunk]

Chapter Three - The Cottage

Din Djarin x Witch!Reader

Summary: Din returns to you, hoping to find the closest thing he has known to home in years, only to find this home - and you - are in danger

Warnings: angst, canon-typical violence, minor injury

Word count: 2.9k

Chapter 2 | Series Masterlist | Chapter 4

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Every time Din approached Terra, the same wave of calmness washed over him. His shoulders inched down from his ears, his brow unfurrowed, his mind stopped racing. It's like the kid knew where they were going too despite only being here once before; his small hands pressed against the glass and his breath fogging it up as Din began the descent over the trees.

The kid cooed and Din huffed a laugh.

“Yeah. She missed you, too.”

He landed The Crest, flicking off every button as the engines went from roaring to silent, and he waited for the peacefulness to return as he packed his bag.

It was simple, knowing you had most of what he needed there, but he brought a small rock picked up from a recent planet - a near-perfect circle, eroded by sand and the same dusty gold colour, and a book. It was the book he had borrowed from you on his last visit, a history of his people, though now it contained his scribbled annotations - notes that corrected what he knew, or stories that backed up what was written. There was little more there than some water for the kid and a few credits should he venture into any of the villages a day’s walk from your home.

However, the second the ramp of The Crest began to lower, he knew something was wrong. With the soles of his boot on the mossy ground and his hand raised to stop the kid from climbing down any further, he scanned around him until he could pinpoint exactly what was off.

There was almost so much wrong that Din had to grip the edge of the ramp to stop himself from keeling over with nausea. The moonlight felt dull, the wind howled when it was usually quiet, the grass was a lifeless kind of green… Everything had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge and his hand reaching for his blaster as the other tucked the kid safely into the bag already hanging from his shoulder.

The walk to the farm was one he has done more times than he could count but he had never felt like this while doing it, never gripped his blaster and took each step with such care like he did as he rounded the last line of trees.

His heart was in his throat as he took in the scene before him.

Raiders - twelve of them dressed in black - circling the cottage like prey waiting to pounce. Some of them held aging blasters, others simple sticks that had been whittled down to a sharp point, three of them held burning stakes that were flickering towards the thatched roof.

“Come out little witch,” one snarled. He took one step towards the door, then another, and before Din could move he caught the glimmer of silver in the moonlight.

A blaster - his blaster that he had tucked between your mattress and wall and begged you - with your hands in his - to use if anyone caused trouble, was tucked in the corner of the window and aimed directly at the man.

“Don’t take another step,” you called back, your words steady to the ears of a stranger but laced with fear he had never heard before as someone who recalled the cadence of your voice every night before he slept.

The man took no heed, his boots crunching one more step before a red blast shot from the window and the man collapsed to a heap on the ground. Din turned as quickly as he could, setting the child behind a tree and pointing a shaking finger in his direction.

“Stay here. Don’t move.”

He only waited long enough for the kid to cower back against the tree before Din took off running towards the blasts and fire that had erupted. He watched as you defended your home to no end, fighting off brutes twice - three times - your size as they tried to take hold, with one now dragging you out of the cottage. Your eyes met his from across the farm in shock, widening for a second long enough to be distracted as one of the men took an off-centre shot that grazed along your hand and forearm and you hissed at the burn.

The rage that flowed through Din was like none he felt before - not when he was a helpless child and his parents were murdered, not when he was a young man with more emotion than he knew what to do with. No, these men were fighting a losing battle as Din slashed through them and up the steps - these men who were trying to hurt the person who was more his than anyone in the universe, the one thing he knew stayed steady even as everything else changed.

He tucked you behind him and fought against the ten men left, defending both you and the cottage.

As you fought, the fire only grew. Sweat slipped down the back of his neck, pooled in his collarbones beneath his layers and armour, made his hands slip beneath his gloves. It lit up your face - the anger and rage and grief - and your own skin was soon slick with sweat.

You took down two of the men with the steady aims he had made you practice before he left two weeks before and Din easily took down the other eight with shots from the blaster, but it was too late for the cottage.

He tried for a moment, the pair of you finding buckets of water that barely touched the looming fire, but it was a losing battle.

He gripped your wrist and tried to pull you down the steps, away from the flames engulfing your home as you beat at his arm and shoulder with a fist until you managed to slip free and race inside.

He bellowed your name, his foot barely over the threshold before you came running back out with a bag tucked under your arm and your hand over your mouth as you coughed against the smoke. His hand wrapped around yours and he dragged you to the middle of the field, no matter how hard you tried to dig your heels in and turn back again.

By the time you reached the middle of the field - far enough away for him to deem them safe as he called out to the kid - he took your face in his hands and looked into the eyes where all life was seeming to drain from.

“Are you hurt? Did they hurt you?” He shook you once, not painfully so but enough to try and gain your attention. “Are you-”

You waved him off, letting your bag fall to the ground and soon following it as you sat and stared on at the fire.

You sat in the middle of the field with Din and the child watching on behind as the home you had built burned to ash. You had nothing but the small bag beside you, one you had the unnamed urgency to pack today.

It had some clothes, some medicine, some things that you held dear to your heart that perhaps were not the most practical weight to be adding to an already heavy bag. Everything else… You watched it burn until the sun began to rise and the smoke went with it. You watched it until the silent sobs gave way to steady to tears to the emptiness in the hollow of your chest that made you so tired there was nothing to do but collapse to the ground, letting sleep take over as Din called your name, shaking your shoulder to try and rouse you to no avail.

*

It was always quiet on Terra. It was one of the first things Din had noticed when he landed here all those years ago.

He soon learned that the life there has grown to live hand and hand with the silence; the beautiful woman in the middle of the forest, the small species that ran between the trees on silent feet, the subtle rattle of leaves against the branch they grow from.

It was a life-affirming, peaceful kind of silence. But now it felt wrong.

You barely moved when Din finally lifted you from the ground, your soft body almost entirely limp in his arms and pressed against his armour even though your eyes stayed on the smoke billowing into the early morning sky. Around an hour ago a man had appeared at the edge of the forest, perhaps the same age as Din but his skin weathered from working on a farm, and he had almost reached for his blaster had it not been for the child clutching at the stranger’s legs and hiding behind him.

The man looked to Din, then where you were curled up on the ground before him, and finally to the child hiding behind Din.

“Is she okay?” The man called, not taking a step forward and instead placing his hand on his daughter's head in a silent reassurance.

Din didn't have an answer. Physically, yes - you had stopped the coughing as soon as the wind picked up the smoke and carried it away from you. In every other way, however….

“Yes,” he answered simply, unable to find the words that could say more.

“And is there danger?” The man looked to the burning cottage, barely a pile of ash by now, and his daughter who lifted her arms to be held.

“No danger,” Din called back, trying to soften his voice for the girl who peeked at him from where she was hiding in her father’s neck.

The man pondered his words for a moment, taking the time to look Din up and down and track every visible weapon strapped to his body.

“There is a village,” he finally said, “an hour or so walk from here. You can come there to rest. The witch helped my wife when she needed it.”

Din did no more than nod as the man moved his daughter from his hip to his back before stalking between the trees and out of sight.

This man - his village - knew and trusted you. It sounded like you trusted them.

He had tried to lift you then but you pushed out of his hold, even as he murmured reassurances, wrangling free without even looking his way. He waited until you let out a sigh and your shoulders dropped down from your ears before he reached for you again, holding him tight against you.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, lifting you higher so your face was buried against his neck as he began the walk through the trees. “I’m so sorry.”

He stopped little and often on the walk, long enough to make sure the kid was keeping up and to check the navi-device on his forearm. After a few hours, as the midday sun began to soften into an early evening air, he emerged through the trees and into a small town.

There were small circles of huts, made with straw and wood. Everyone wore the same kind of clothing, patched together from whatever materials they could make or trade for easily. It was like many of the small villages he had come across in his travels around the galaxy - filled with good people who would do no harm so long as you did no harm to them.

Their heads turned and followed Din as he carried you through the village, your eyes staring blankly at the sky above that looked as though it was about to break with a storm.

It was quite a sight, no doubt. This man of armour, a small child with an energy he could not explain travelling behind and you - limp, yet somehow holding the most power of all - in his arms.

He found the man from before in the middle of the village, the same girl hiding behind his legs and a woman holding a smaller child in her arms.

“There is a spare hut,” the man said, jerking his chin towards the closest one with the door left open. “It may be small but enough to shelter you for the night.”

“Thank you.” Din lifted you higher. “I have credits…”

But the man shook his head.

“She never took payment from us.”

Din was never used to people not trying to barter. A journey on the crest with the offer of fixing his broken cryofreezer; a bounty swap with the offer of a new blaster; forgetting to witness the particularly gruesome events of an evening for a stack of credits.

Yet he nodded, and went inside, waiting until the kid had followed before shutting the door behind.

There was a bed, two chairs, and a small table. A jug of clean water and three glasses, a small loaf of bread and cut up fruit that was no doubt precious stock to those of the village. There was even a small med-pack.

Whatever you had done for that man and his family, clearly he was still thankful enough to give you such precious resources. There was even a pile of spare clothes on the bed, ones that looked like they could fit you and would be a better option than your current fire-singed and smokey nightdress.

He laid you down in the bed, tucking a blanket around your tired body, before opening the med-pack. He took only what he needed - enough salve and bandages to cover the already healing burn from the blaster shot.

When he turned, the kid was halfway to crawling up beside you on the bed.

“Hey, Kid…” but he trailed off stopping him when your hand came to rest on him, letting the child curl against your side as you both fell asleep.

He wasn’t sure if you were actually asleep or just closing your eyes, still he worked carefully on your arm. Sitting by your side of the bed on a worn stool, he treated you with as much care as you had that night when he first landed on your farm all those years ago.

Your skin was much softer than his scar ridden skin that was only aggravated by the rough layers and armour he wore for nearly every hour of every day now he had the kid. Still, there were spots of roughness - evidence of your hard work on your farm.

Broken skin around your fingers from long days planting crops and jagged scars on your joints - perhaps injuries from building your home or ones gained when you were a child, when the pain of the universe hadn’t yet touched your life.

Those scars on Din’s body have been lost amongst ones he has gained as a reckless adult. The scar on his wrist after breaking it as a child now overridden by one of a broken wrist when he was a cocky young man, challenging other Mandalorians of the covert to fights where the prize was nothing more than a few measly credits that were barely enough to fill his first small ship with fuel. One on his knee, long and ugly, once kissed better by his mother to stop his tears, was now covered by a burn mark from a bounty with a bad shot.

He wished he could ask you about them, the small marks he discovers as he slowly bandages your forearm. He wishes a million things - that he could have spent more time with you, that he would have used his time with you better, that maybe he hadn't met you at all and neither of you would have been here.

You would have likely still been in your home, untouched from this dark side of the galaxies, and he would never have known the pain that comes with caring about someone so much.

You didn’t wince or react once as he worked, so much so he started to think you weren’t really sleeping as your eyelids stayed unmoving and your arm limp as he soothed the balm along your arm and hand before wrapping it in the bandage. It wasn’t nearly as neat as your work, but it was good enough for now.

With you still sleeping - or not - he took the seat in the corner and began quietly polishing his rifle.

The guilt that had lay dormant inside of him, pushed down by the adrenaline of keeping you alive, was now slowly creeping up. If he hadn't come back, hadn’t brought the kid, then this would have never happened.

For years, you were the one thing that his bad luck never seemed to touch. It’s why he was so careful with his visits, not too often, never staying too long, just enough to satiate his need for you - to see you, if he could do nothing else - but now his own greed at keeping you close and not close enough had ruined everything you had.

It was a fight to stop his eyes from drifting to your sleeping form, tucked under the blankets as if blocking yourself from the outside world.

He could only see a peek at your face, the corner of your eye and hint of your cheek that never seemed to dry from the steady stream of tears, and something inside him shifted as if knowing that your relationship was changing, whether he wanted it to or not.

[quirefeast]

Please give the fish man food 🙏

Depends!! Do you want sweet?

Or spicy?

Choose wisely >:0

[moraent-keys]

So how do you draw hair? It’s literally so freaking pretty and smooth how you draw it and personally I wanna draw hair like that because I draw boring hair🫶

Before we start- Friendly Reminder: Pretty much all of my art/style, including hair, is inspired by Buxbo!

Other kinds of hair I’ve done

Things I forgot to mention:

Use references!! I use both real life and cartoons

I personally draw hair having a lot of volume and being very thick so it appears more fluffy, I just use really big shapes and draw the hair a little detached from the circle base sketch

I use a mix of stiff and loose lines (as seen w/ macaque) but usually I lean more towards loose

Coloring hair is a whole separate conversation that I’m still trying to figure out myself

My style is constantly changing, especially lately, and I just recently got the hang of doing hair like this! (It took me a year) I’m literally just doing whatever lol

[sleepyy-27]

@dreamy-wolfy it’s the coco chain! :D

Close ups under the cut

[woodsie]

Shadow Yosuke’s Symbolism

I recently got a friend to play Persona 4 and we were talking about the symbolism of each of the character’s shadow selves, when we came to the realisation that neither of us really knew what Yosuke’s was meant to represent.

Chie’s represented her relationship with Yukiko. Yukiko’s her desire for freedom but lack of action in taking it. Yosuke has… a ninja frog…?

So I’ve done some digging.

Official Statements

The first thing I did was look at the official concept art sheet for shadow Yosuke. This primarily detailed that as the first of the shadows, they wanted it to be very obvious that their shadow’s and persona’s were the same thing.

This is done quite well and tells players subtly that they are the same without being obvious.

Jiraiya does look a lot like shadow Yosuke. The main body’s colour is inverted from black (evil) to white (good), the frogs eyes are added to Jiraiya’s head and the frog’s mouth becomes a chest piece, with the frog’s skin pattern carried over to the cuffs of Jiraiya’s clothes.

Jiraiya is easily the most similar persona to shadow. Important for early game. This idea is also helped by Tomoe looking very similar to shadow Chie, and allows the idea of persona’s and shadow’s being the same to be cemented into the players minds before they meet shadow Yukiko who is visually very different to Konohana-Sakuya.

Jiraiya In Folklore

My next step was to look for any symbolism between Yosuke and the story of Jiraiya himself. Granted, as a white woman™️ my knowledge of Japanese folklore is limited but I will summarise my findings and compare them to Yosuke’s story directly.

[Sorry for the weird formatting, I’m working around the 10 image post limit]

Both stories open with a character from an influential background and moving to a new area.

Jiraiya’s stance as a robber could be in reference to the fact that Junes is taking business away from local businesses and their families.

Saki could be taking the place of the woman in the house. Regardless of if she actually likes him, she is kind to him when others are not. This is something Yosuke admires greatly but it still doesn’t prevent Junes from ruining the Konishi’s business.

His shadow self is then a reference to the old man/magic frog. It recognises him from who he is, and although the shadow is hostile its intention is to teach Yosuke about the parts of himself he is trying to hide so he can reconcile with those feelings. This is what allows him to gain his persona, or in other words “teaching him magic”

Gaining his persona is what helps set Yosuke’s resolve and desire to avenge Saki and the others who have suffered due to the killer. He shows a distinct intelligence and is often the one to piece together vital information. Without him insisting they investigate Saki’s murder, the Investigation Team might not have ever existed. In that sense you could consider him a hero.

A good portion of his social link is devoted to him coming to terms with his situation, both around the murders and his place within Inaba. He frequently talks about feelings of loneliness and a desire to be valued, and he finds comfort in having his persona and being able to do something about what’s going on, it gives him some control over his life which he lost by coming to Inaba in the first place. Overtime though he does come to love Inaba as a whole and recognises that it’s the people around you that really make a place special. He’s not alone anymore and he’s far happier for it.

Other Potential Inspirations

In my attempts at seeing what others online think about potential symbolism for Yosuke’s shadow, I found that most people also did not understand what his shadow was meant to represent. However, I did come across a few older threads of people sharing possible ideas.

One of which was of a Chinese story about a frog in a well. The story related to narrow mindedness and limited perspective as the frog is unaware of life beyond the well and is amazed by it when told what it has to offer. This could be a potential reference to his dismissal of country life and him growing to love the town.

[ayoarticulate]

we all need to get together and collectively say “thank you danai gurira” because she did michonne a beautiful justice in this episode

in all the episodes, truly, but especially this one

in the mothership, michonne was incredibly strictly the “badass” character. she was always on go, ready to do the next thing, very rarely did she have vulnerability and softness to her character

this is so so SO common for black women in tv, especially darkskin black women. in this episode, we truly get to breakdown all the shit she went through, especially during her pregnancy, and see her be sad and hurt and all these “soft” emotions about it.

in the main show, it was instantly shown as “oh this thing made michonne into a hardass and she was super strict and mean,” but we never got to her feel any other way about it, or literally any trauma of hers in the show.

in this episode she gets to be open about those events, as well as verbally express the hurt she’s experiencing from rick by him pushing her away like it’s nothing. that is, hands down, my favorite part of this episode.

michonne becomes a full fledged character in this episode, to me. she cries, she gets mad, shes understanding, shes understood, she’s funny, she’s protective, she’s vulnerable, she’s in love, she’s openly loved in returned. she is shown as a real person. and that? that is more beautiful than any scene i’ve ever watched in the entirety of the walking dead.