#tried something a little different for style

[kxsagi]

hii, i hope you're doing well ^^ I really enjoy your style of writing :) i was wondering if you can make my request with tooth rotting fluff the reader's love is so gentle and she takes time trying to understand her S/O and she will always ask for permission to touch them even if they given her permission already, the reader cares for her S/O so gently and delicate like something so dear to her life? Feel free to do this with any blue lock characters ^^ and you can also ignore this if it's way too much work haha, another thing is that i love your works and please take some rest whenever you need it.

“𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐞”

a/n: hi! i'm doing well and i hope you are too beautiful :) and thank you so much!!! take rest whenever you need it as well

this was some good needed fluff

ft. itoshi rin, isagi yoichi, bachira meguru, nagi seishiro, mikage reo, chigiri hyoma, kaiser michael, shidou ryusei, itoshi sae, ness alexis, niko ikki, hiori yo

itoshi rin

at first, he doesn't understand why you're so soft with him. you’re careful when touching his hand, always asking “can i hold you?” like he’ll shatter if you don't ask. 

it overwhelms him. the kind of love that doesn't demand, doesn’t press, but patiently waits for him to be ready. 

you’d brush hair from his face with trembling fingers and say, “is this okay?” even after years of dating, and he’d nod, ears pink, mumbling, “you don’t have to ask.” 

“i want to,” you’d smile. “you’re important to me.” 

that sentence alone makes his chest hurt (in a good way). 

sometimes he stares at you while you're fussing over his bruises, and all he can think is how the hell did i get this lucky? 

isagi yoichi

he melts like butter in the sun. absolutely smitten with how gently you love him. 

the first time you tucked a blanket around him after a long match, whispering, “can i kiss your forehead?” he blinked at you like you'd just proposed. 

he’s not used to being treated like he’s fragile, but you do it so sincerely that it never feels emasculating. just loving. 

you’ll brush your fingers over his knuckles and ask, “can i?” even though you’ve kissed him a million times, and he’ll smile like it’s the first time every time. 

he tries to match your softness. fails most of the time because he’s clumsy with words, but the love shows in how tightly he holds your pinky when you're walking together. 

bachira meguru

thinks your gentleness is the best thing to ever happen to him. 

he’s so used to loud, chaotic love that your careful affection hits different. it makes him slow down. breathe. 

when you cup his face and softly say, “can i kiss you right here?” pointing to his cheek, his grin goes all lopsided and shy. 

“why do you always ask?” he teases, nose bumping yours. 

“because you’re someone i never want to take for granted.” 

he’ll blink, then full-body tackle hug you like a golden retriever in love. “you’re my favorite human.” 

you take care of him in the little things: asking if he wants to be held, if he’s overstimulated, if he needs quiet or chaos, and he falls a little more in love every time. 

nagi seishiro

was confused at first. “you can just touch me, y’know. i’m fine with it.” 

but when you still ask every single time – "can i sit closer?" "can i touch your hair?" – he realizes something. 

you don’t do it because you think he’ll say no. you do it because you respect him. you love him with your whole heart, but never assume. 

“you’re so… careful,” he murmurs once as you gently rub lotion on his sore hands. 

“you’re important to me. and i want you to feel safe with me.” 

he didn’t even know he needed to feel safe until you made it so easy. 

now he’ll pout if you don’t ask first. “you forgot to ask,” he says, even though he’s already curled up in your lap like a sleepy cat. 

mikage reo

falls so stupidly hard for your gentle love. 

he’s used to grand gestures and flash, but your love is quiet and reverent, and it wrecks him. 

when you brush your thumb over his temple and whisper, “can i hold you for a little while?” he just nods and pulls you in like he’ll never let go. 

he’s amazed at how someone can be so kind, so considerate, and yet still make him feel absolutely cherished. 

you remember all the little things – asking before touching his hair, checking if he wants space after a stressful day – and it makes him fall in love a little harder every day. 

sometimes he’ll just stare at you and go, “you’re seriously the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

chigiri hyoma

you love him like he’s made of porcelain, and it gets him every single time. 

he acts cool about it – rolls his eyes when you ask for permission to touch his hair – but the tips of his ears go pink and he can’t stop smiling. 

after injuries and fear of fragility, your tenderness heals something deeper in him. 

“you can touch me,” he’ll whisper. “you don’t have to ask.” 

“i know,” you smile, “but i like knowing you still want me to.” 

that? that makes him blush so hard he covers his face with a pillow. 

he feels like a beloved treasure when he’s with you, and it makes his heart ache in the best way. 

kaiser michael

used to flirty, shallow affection, most times none, so your pure, patient love absolutely unravels him. 

you treat him like he’s so much more than his ego or his game. 

“can i touch your hair?” you ask, even after months together. and he just stares, like you’re something otherworldly. 

“you already know the answer,” he says, softer than he means to. 

“i want to hear it anyway.” 

you care for him like he’s someone worth loving for who he is, not what he shows, and for the first time, he believes it. 

when you hold his hand with both of yours and treat it like something precious, he suddenly forgets how to flirt. he’s just… quiet, overwhelmed, grateful. 

shidou ryusei

surprisingly receptive to your gentle love, even if he plays it off with grins and jokes. 

“asking permission? what is this, kindergarten?” he smirks. 

but the way he goes quiet when you softly say, “can i hold your hand?” gives him away. 

you’re the only person who touches him like he’s not a weapon, just a boy who wants to be held. 

sometimes, in rare moments of vulnerability, he’ll whisper, “you’re the only one who makes me feel... human.” 

and when you cradle his face like he’s something beautiful instead of dangerous, he leans into your palms like they’re the safest place on earth. 

itoshi sae

at first? he's confused. suspicious, even. 

he’s used to people either putting him on a pedestal or wanting something from him, so when you gently tuck his hair behind his ear and whisper, “can i touch you?”, he just blinks. like, actually short-circuits. 

“you’re already doing it,” he mumbles. but his voice comes out softer than he intends. 

and you just smile and say, “i still want to ask. you matter to me.” 

and that? that undoes him. 

you treat him like he’s not a prodigy, not a golden boy, but someone worth loving gently. and that’s something he didn’t know he needed. 

when you ask, “can i kiss you?” even after you've kissed him dozens of times, he’ll whisper, “yeah… but don’t stop asking.” 

he doesn’t say it outright, but he lives for the way you love him like something fragile. because sometimes, deep down, he feels like he is. 

he’ll rest his head in your lap during quiet nights, pretending to scroll on his phone. but the second you whisper, “can i play with your hair?”, his screen’s forgotten and he’s quietly nodding, eyes closing, letting himself exist in your love. 

it takes time, but eventually, he starts asking too. awkwardly. stiffly. like: “can i hold your hand?” “can i lean on you?” “can i stay over tonight?” 

all while pretending to be nonchalant, but his ears are burning, and he gets so soft when you say yes like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

ness alexis

he’s so touch-starved and desperate for validation that when you treat him with gentle respect, he thinks he’s dreaming. 

you’ll brush your fingers along his arm and softly ask, “is this okay?” and he just blinks, stunned, because no one’s ever cared enough to ask. 

he says “yes” every time – quick, eager, needy – but the way you keep asking anyway? it makes his heart ache in the best way. 

“you’re so careful with me…” he murmurs one night as you tuck a blanket around his shoulders. “like i’m someone who matters.” 

“you are,” you say it simply, like it’s fact. 

and ness hides his face in your shoulder because he’s never felt so loved before.

he starts to mirror your habits – asking “can i hug you?” or “can i play with your hair?” – because you’ve made him believe love can be soft and mutual. 

niko ikki

gets really flustered at first. like, blushing to the tips of his ears when you ask, “can i hold your hand?” 

“y-you don’t need to ask,” he stammers, already squeezing your fingers. 

but when you keep doing it, every time, even for the smallest touches, he gets it. 

you don’t ask because you doubt, you ask because you respect him. and that’s what makes him fall so hard for you. 

niko’s love language becomes sitting in comfortable silence, your pinkies linked, as you glance over and softly whisper, “can i lean on you?” 

he nods every time, too stunned to speak. 

“you treat me like i’m precious,” he says one day, voice quiet. 

“you are,” you reply, just as gently, and niko short-circuits on the spot. 

hiori yo

oh, you destroy him (in the softest way possible). 

he’s always been scared of getting too close, of being a burden. but then you come along – so patient, so kind – and ask, “is this okay?” before every hug, every kiss, every forehead touch. 

and hiori just… melts. fully, completely, beautifully. 

you cup his face with both hands and ask, “can i hold you like this?” and he’s already nodding, eyes glossy with emotion. 

you ask him if he’s okay when he zones out. you check if he wants to be alone or held. you don’t assume, you care. 

“you make me feel safe,” he confesses one night, voice barely a whisper. “like… no one’s ever done that before.” 

you brush your thumb under his eye, smiling softly. “you deserve to be loved that way.” 

and hiori hugs you tighter than he ever has before, like he never wants to let go. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[mintyys-blog]

hello! I hope your day is going wonderfully! I just recently found your account (your fics are amazing, I've been binging 😅) and then I saw your request open!

I was wondering if you wouldn't mind doing a fic with either Jason or Dick (I'm not too picky, I love them both in vastly different ways) where the reader gets taken? And they rescue her? Or something similar? Sorry that's not super specific, theres a lot of smut for them and a lot of fluff. But i'm a sucker for hurt comfort 😅

Super excited to see if this strikes your fancy! Have a great day!

TAKEN | dick grayson x reader x jason todd (separate)

DC MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: kidnapping

You were almost ready—everything was perfect. The dress fit just right, your makeup flawless, and your hair carefully styled. Tonight was supposed to be your night with your boyfriend, a quiet dinner, a moment to unwind together. He’d been a little distant recently, but you didn’t mind. Your boyfriend had his way of showing affection—his rough, protective nature that often spoke louder than words. You were looking forward to it.

As you stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your lipstick, you checked the time. It was getting late, and he still hadn’t shown up. It wasn’t like him to leave you waiting, especially when he’d always taken the time to show up early, walk you to his car, and open the door like some kind of gentleman.

You frowned slightly as you walked to the front door. Maybe he was running a little late, or maybe he was planning a surprise. You hoped it was the latter, something special. You stepped outside onto the porch and scanned the driveway, expecting to see the familiar black car he always drove.

But it wasn’t there.

A cold shiver ran down your spine. Instead of his car, you saw a nondescript sedan—dark, unremarkable. You were sure you hadn’t seen it around before. Your pulse began to race, the unease growing with every passing second.

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end. Something felt wrong. You glanced around, your thoughts racing, but there was no sign of him, no sign of anyone.

Your heart dropped into your stomach when the car door creaked open. A tall man stepped out, his face obscured by shadows. His movements were deliberate, controlled. The pit in your stomach grew, and before you could react, he was in front of you.

“Get in the car,” the man commanded in a low, dangerous tone. His grip on your wrist was firm, his fingers cold, and the raw panic shot through you like an electric shock. You opened your mouth to scream, but a cloth was pressed against your face, suffocating you in an overwhelming scent.

The world spun, the darkness overwhelming. The last thing you remembered was the feeling of your knees buckling under you, your vision going black as terror consumed you entirely.

JASON TODD:

You woke up in darkness, your head spinning as you tried to gather your bearings. The air smelled musty, like old concrete, damp and unfamiliar. Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat a frantic pulse of fear. You tried to sit up, only to find your arms bound tightly behind your back. The rough ropes scraped against your skin, cutting into you as you struggled to move.

Your makeup was smeared down your face, streaked with tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen. Panic clutched at your throat, making it hard to breathe. You could barely hold onto your thoughts, your mind spinning as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

Everything was dark. The walls seemed to close in on you. You could feel the overwhelming pressure of being trapped, helpless. You were alone. You couldn’t think straight. Every part of you was on fire with fear.

Terror bubbled up inside you, choking you. You thought of Jason, wondering if he was looking for you, if he even knew you were gone. Would he be able to find you? Would he be too late? The thought was too much to bear.

And then, you heard it. Footsteps. Slow, purposeful. They echoed through the room, growing closer. Your body tensed instinctively. Was it him? The man who had taken you? The one who had stolen you away in an instant?

The door creaked open, and your breath caught in your throat as you braced yourself. But no, it wasn’t him.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Jason’s voice came, rough with emotion but also filled with something else—something fierce, protective.

Your eyes snapped open, a rush of relief flooding through you like cold water to a burning fire. “Jason?” Your voice cracked, the words weak and unsteady, as if saying his name could somehow confirm that this was real.

Jason was there, his familiar blue eyes scanning your face with barely controlled anger. He was angry—not at you, but at the situation, at himself. His jaw was clenched tight, his expression hardened in a way you’d never seen before.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. His hands moved quickly, cutting through the ropes that bound you. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

The ropes fell away, and you collapsed into his arms, shaking uncontrollably as he held you tight against his chest. He was warm. He was here. He was real.

“I thought I lost you,” he muttered, his voice rough as he buried his face in your hair. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Not again. Not ever.”

You clung to him, letting the tears fall freely as the weight of everything hit you all at once. Your body trembled, the fear still raw in your veins, but Jason’s steady presence was the only thing that mattered now.

You pulled back slightly, glancing up at him through bleary eyes. Despite everything, a weak laugh bubbled up in your chest. “What now? Are we still going out to dinner, or did this whole thing ruin the night?”

Jason’s expression shifted slightly—his lips curling into a grin that was tinged with exhaustion, but there was still a hint of humor in it, a reminder of the man you loved. “Well, if you’re asking if we should reschedule,” he teased, “I think I can manage to still be your charming date. I may have to find you a new dress after all this,” he added with a wink, his thumb gently brushing the smear of makeup down your cheek. “I’m pretty sure that mascara’s going to be permanently on your face now.”

You gave him a playful glare, but it wasn’t the fiery anger you’d normally reserve for his teasing. It was exhaustion, mixed with relief, mixed with something deeper—a profound sense of connection, of safety. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, slapping his chest lightly. “You can joke after everything that’s happened?”

Jason’s grin widened, though his eyes were still searching yours for any sign of lingering pain. “What can I say? The world might be falling apart, but I can’t let you think I’ll be this down on our date. You deserve better than that.”

You let out a deep breath, still shaking, but his touch grounded you. The fear began to fade, replaced with the warmth of his presence, the safety in his embrace. “Just don’t make me wait like that again,” you said softly, the tension slipping from your body as you leaned into him.

“I won’t,” he promised, his voice low but filled with sincerity. “I swear. And if anyone even thinks about hurting you again, I’ll make them regret it.”

He held you tighter, his hands gently stroking your back as he whispered calming words in your ear. “But hey,” he added with a little chuckle, pulling back to look you in the eyes. “At least we’ll have a hell of a story to tell on our second date.”

You rolled your eyes, but the corners of your lips twitched into a small smile. It wasn’t the night you had planned, but with Jason by your side, you didn’t need anything else.

DICK GRAYSON

You woke to darkness, disoriented and nauseous. The air was cold and metallic. Damp. It smelled like rust, mold, and something sharp that made your stomach churn. The hard floor beneath you felt like concrete. Your arms—bound. Tight ropes bit into your wrists behind your back, the fibers already raw against your skin.

You struggled, a choked gasp escaping your lips as you tried to shift. A sound—a whimper?—escaped you before you could even stop it. Your breath came in short, panicked bursts.

Your mascara had run down your cheeks, a black river from your lashes to your jaw. You didn’t even remember crying.

But you were crying now.

Trapped. Alone. Somewhere you didn’t recognize. No phone. No light. Just your heartbeat thudding in your ears and the echo of your own frantic breathing.

Fear gripped you like a vice. Your thoughts spiraled.

Dick.

Did he know?

Would he find you?

Did he think you stood him up?

You were terrified that the answer might be yes. That he didn’t know. That no one knew.

And then—footsteps. Boots on concrete. Echoing. Getting closer.

Your breath froze in your throat. Your heart felt like it stopped.

Not him. Please not him.

The door burst open with a deafening bang, light flooding the space in a sudden, searing wave. You recoiled, squeezing your eyes shut, body trembling as instinct screamed danger.

But then, through the chaos, you heard it.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” a voice said—familiar, gentle but firm, like a tether pulling you back to the world. “It’s me. It’s just me.”

“…Dick?” you whispered, blinking rapidly, unable to believe it. He stepped into the light, his Nightwing suit torn at the shoulder, blood staining his gauntlet—but his face… his face was everything.

His jaw clenched the moment he saw you, eyes going wide as he took in your trembling form, the ropes, the tear-streaked makeup, the way you had tried curling into yourself like you could disappear.

“Oh god—baby,” he breathed, already at your side, kneeling. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you now, I’m so sorry. I should’ve been there sooner.”

His voice cracked, and you felt his hands—steady, warm, gently working the knots that bound your wrists. “I’m here now. You’re safe. I swear, you’re safe.”

When the ropes fell away, your body collapsed forward, and he caught you without hesitation. His arms wrapped around you tight—like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. He pulled you into his lap, rocking you gently as he pressed soft, frantic kisses to your temple, your hair, your forehead.

You sobbed into his chest, the adrenaline breaking like a dam.

“I was so scared,” you whispered. “I—I thought I was going to die, and you wouldn’t find me. I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I’d tear the city apart for you,” he murmured fiercely, voice low in your ear. “You really think I’d let that happen? You’re everything to me.”

You clutched his suit, burying your face into the crook of his neck. He was warm. Real. Solid. And you were safe.

“…Still hungry?” he asked after a long moment, voice a little hoarse, but teasing.

You pulled back slowly, blinking up at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“I mean, our reservation’s totally shot now,” he said, that familiar crooked grin rising at the edge of his mouth, even as his eyes stayed soft with concern. “But I’ve got a stash of emergency freezer waffles at my place. Not exactly five-star dining, but… maybe we could call it a dramatic first course?”

You let out a sound between a sob and a laugh, then reached up and slapped his chest lightly, tears still trailing down your face. “You idiot.”

“Thats my girl,” he said with a small smile, pulling you close again. “Come on, babe. Let’s get out of here.”

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

For the Stan never broke the science project au thingy,

Does Stan teach Shifty crime?

Also I am strangely imagining Stan walking around with one of the pig bundle wundle thingys with Shifty in it.

Also also do Stan and Ford live right right next door?

Because I can imagine they trying to communicate (argue) via windows.

Also also also Stan befriending anomalies, ITS A MUST!!!

Stan: Man look at Ford over there with his little butterfly net, trying to catch eyebats like a loser

Stan: IM GONNA CATCH THE HAWKOCTOPUS!!

Also what if both Ford and Stan set up traps for anomalies separately but accidentally fall eachother’s traps.

Also also their birthdays….depending on how long the feud goes for, so they pretend not to miss eachother on their birthday? Because unlike the other years, their twin is right there, in arms length.

Also also also also in the hands witch episode Stan had gotten cursed to have no hands. There was this one interaction Stan had with the grocery clerk, Jimmy which was adorable where Jimmy tosses the eggs and Stan catches them. Does Stan have the same interaction here?

Also does one of the times Ford walks into buy eggs Jimmy mistakes Ford for Stan and accidentally pelts the man with eggs?

ALSO HEHEHEHE do Ford and Stan swap besties at one point? Like Emma-May is sent to deal with Ford and Fidds is sent in to deal with Stan?

Also does Ford kidnap Shifty for some Uncle-bug thing bonding time? (And a way to force Stan to come talk to him)

Stan is always ready to teach crime to the youth. He might not be the master criminal canon Stan is but he's got some life skills that are very useful.

The image of baby grub shifty in one of those pig bundles wiggling his little nub legs is too cute for wors. Stan def does this.

I'm thinking they live either across the road from each other, separated by a think tree line but still within walking distance. Their each other's only close neighbors in the middle of the woods and they hate it. It's also close enough that they can def yell at the top of their lungs and the other can hear them, much to everyone's annoyance.

Stan and Ford def have different science styles going on here. Stan's is more hands on, and he's definitely getting social with all the anomalies, organizing game nights and going drinking with big foot and such. Ford studies and researches and finds evidence of an ancient lost wizards tower or something, rolls up to investigate, and Stan's also there becaue the wizard wanted Stan's opinion on like, cooking methods or something. Fors crafts a delicate trap and gets an intact speciman of a rare butterfly, and stans in the next clearing over getting attacked by a swarm and punching them out of the air. Ford puts out drugged jerky to bait manotaurs that stan eats and passes out from, stan makes a net trap to catch a unicorn that Ford steps on and gets stuck in for at least an hour. This happens constantly.

Since the feud goes on for at least 6 years, their birthday is def a sore spot for both. Ford spends it holed up in his house being moody and sad, while Stan goes gnome bar hoping and gets wasted so he doesn't have to think about feelings. Both see the other as 'enjoying their birthday the way they would've wanted and is happier without me' and makes themselves depressed over it.

Since Jimmy seemed very young, I'm going to say no that interaction does not happen. But it's funny.

Not sure who's sending the McGuckets to deal with the Pines here, but they've def interacted with both. The McGuckets are very over the whole argument the moment they learned the details (although both secretly agree with their Pines on who's at fault, it's been 10 years. Stop already)

Ford definitely tries to kidnap shifty, but Stan's watching like a hawk to make sure no one realizes his baby is a horror film monster. He never gets far and always gets yelled at for his trouble.

[heyimkana]

Hey Kana, I'm a new follower and I love your writing and your Fics.

Devoured them all. Do you still taking prompts/asks? I have a picture in my head that I can't lose. We see - at least in the comic- that Jinwoo and Jinah have the same sleeping style ( it's hilarious). How do you think would the first nights go with Jinwoo and his SO / girlfriend ( Reader or Hae in) . It's very different to sleep next to someone ur dating instead of sleeping alone. Even if you fall asleep spooning, your body moves to his usual position if ur not accustomed to sleep next to someone. And for Jinwoo, who hasn't had a dating experience before, it would be a challenge. And we all know that man loves a challenge. Thank you for writing and filling my days with ur beautiful fics.

AH HELLO!!!! WELCOME TO MY BLOG BESTIEEEE ❤️❤️❤️ I'm glad you enjoyed my works so far 🥺🫶

WAIT YOU'RE RIGHT HE SLEEPS LIKE THIS DOESN'T HE

(i wanna bite his thighs OKAY FOCUS)

okay in my head jinwoo is a very light sleeper like i feel his senses are too sharp that he can wake up easily from the slightest of sound or movement. the first night he was in bed together with S/O, he didn't get a wink of sleep even though he was deaaaaad tired (because... you know 😏)

it was fine, though, he enjoyed every second of it, just because he got to watch her sleep in his arms, holding her close with this soft smile on his face, chuckling softly when she mumbled nonsense in her sleep. and he adored and loved her so much that he stole a kiss from her lips, and planting another one on her forehead. she stirred in her sleep and he felt a little guilty about it but five minutes passed by and he went back to kissing her hair, or her nose, or her cheek until she tried to swat him away in her sleep and he was like "okay maybe i should really stop bothering her now ☺️" THEY'RE SO CUTE

after those first nights tho, i think he'd get used to her presence quickly. actually, i think he'll get used to it so much he'll have trouble sleeping when she's not there in the same bed with him. something about having her head on his arm, and her body so close that he can feel her warmth through his clothes, the scent of her shampoo lingering on the air, these little things comfort him more than anything.

everytime he's away on a mission and he has to stay somewhere in like a different country or something, he'll find himself staring at the ceiling and then glancing to the side, sulking cause she's not there. and he'll let out this biggest sigh and his eyes will start to glow.

he'll spy on her from his shadow soldier's eyes. if he sees her sleeping in her bed he'll pout but he'll let her be. if he sees her staring on the ceiling just like him, unable to go to sleep, he'll give her a call and then they'll talk on the phone until one of them (his wife first usually) falls asleep.

if he sees her lying on her side with her hand caressing the spot where he usually lied down next to her, her face full of yearning, and he hears his name slipping past her lips in this soft needy whisper????

"Exchange."

[spicyschemmenti]

UNEXPECTED STRENGTH ✰ alex cabot x medical examiner!fem!reader - requested

when a suspect gets aggressive with ada alex cabot, the usually quiet medical examiner (you) steps in—and shows surprising strength. one move shuts him down fast. now alex sees you differently.

no warnings i don't think? i don't know, but this was a request and i hope it's to your satisfaction?

alex cabot masterlist alex cabot taglist

The precinct’s been buzzing all morning; phones ringing, printers whirring, and detectives pacing like caffeine-fueled panthers. The fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting that flat, pale glow that makes everyone look a little more tired than they actually are.

You’ve already had two cold autopsies, a coffee that tasted like burnt rubber, and one very spirited debate with a CSU tech who tried to tell you rigor mortis could be “subjective.”

You’re still in your scrubs: charcoal gray, sleeves rolled up, a smear of something questionable wiped off your bicep from earlier. Your hair’s in a bun that’s more functional than cute, but your sports bra’s still on under your shirt from your morning workout.

Deadlifting before breakfast is kind of your thing: sets of five, 225 pounds, Romanian style to hit the hamstrings. It’s your peace before the chaos, before the bodies and the blood.

You swing by Melinda’s office first, shoulders sore in that satisfying way, still feeling the burn in your glutes as you lean against the doorframe.

She doesn’t even look up from her microscope. “You smell like menthol and dead guy.”

You smirk. “Thank you for noticing.”

“Let me guess,” she says, finally glancing at you over her glasses. “You already worked out and cracked that GSW case before I even finished my bagel.”

“Guilty.” You hold up a folder, flipping it lazily in your hand. “Clean shot. Straight through the liver, tore the vena cava like tissue paper. The guy was gone before he hit the floor.”

“Damn.” Melinda nods. “You taking that to Cabot?”

You nod. “Yeah. Figured I’d scare her a little. She still thinks I’m just some mortuary gremlin who drinks too much green juice.”

Melinda chuckles, shaking her head. “She has no idea you could fold most of the squad in half if you wanted to.”

“Let’s keep it that way,” you say, pushing off the doorframe. “Mystique and all.”

You head down the hall toward Alex’s office, the sound of your boots echoing over the polished tile. The station is half chaos, half coffee. Cops rushing past with paperwork, voices raised, some guy yelling in one of the interrogation rooms.

But it’s when you turn the corner near Cabot’s office that things shift.

There’s a man in there already. Big, probably six-two, broad like a linebacker who didn’t retire gracefully. He’s not in cuffs, which is probably a mistake, and he’s got that wild-eyed confidence of someone who thinks intimidation still works.

He’s leaning way too far over Alex’s desk, finger jabbing the air near her face. She’s sitting tall, icy calm in that buttercream-colored blazer that looks like it cost more than your rent, but her jaw’s tight. You know that look.. she’s holding back a storm.

You walk in without knocking. Quiet. Controlled. Like you do in the lab before pulling a sheet back.

“Hey, Alex,” you say, tone light, holding up the report. “Got the autopsy from that East Side shooting.”

She barely glances at you, too focused on the asshole in front of her. “Perfect timing.”

The man whips around to look at you, eyes sweeping over your scrubs, your boots, the faint dusting of chalk still clinging to your forearms from the barbell this morning.

He scoffs. “What is this? You bringing in the coroner to guilt me?”

You raise an eyebrow. “M.E., actually. And no, just here to drop off a file. But if you keep puffing your chest at her like a cartoon gorilla, we’re gonna have a different kind of conversation.”

He steps toward you.

Too close.

A foot into your space like he’s testing you. Like you’re going to flinch.

But you don’t. You plant yourself. Shoulders square. Core braced. You shift your weight to your back foot—calculated, calm—and stare him down like he’s a specimen you’ve already cut open.

He reaches out two fingers, like he’s going to poke your shoulder.

You grab his wrist before it lands.

Firm. Unflinching.

He tries to jerk back, but your grip doesn’t budge.

Your voice drops, low and flat. “Bad idea.”

His nostrils flare. “You think you scare me?”

“I don’t think, sweetheart,” you murmur. “I know.”

And just like that, he blinks. Something shifts. His eyes flick down to your hand, to the corded muscle in your forearm, the ease with which you’re holding him like a misbehaving dog on a leash. His bravado cracks, just a little.

You let him go.

He stumbles back a step, muttering something under his breath. The nearby uniforms catch the vibe and start circling, just in case. He looks between you and Alex, sees no room to win, and finally storms out with all the grace of a toddler who didn’t get a toy.

The room falls quiet again.

Alex exhales, slow and even, but there’s a flicker of something in her expression now. Less prosecutor, more woman watching a lion stretch. She glances at you with an unreadable look, then down at the folder you’re still holding.

“That... was unexpected.”

You smirk and hand her the report. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she says, voice a little lower than before. “You?”

You flex your hand once, absently. “Didn’t even crack a sweat.”

Alex gives you a long look. Her lips twitch like she’s trying not to smile. “Next time someone gives me trouble, I might just send you in first.”

You wink. “Just say the word.”

As you turn to leave, you swear you catch her watching you walk away but that might just be the menthol and adrenaline talking.

taglist: @colourfulbisexualities, @undercoverprentiss, @babyboyhotchner, @m-1234-5, @archetype-d, @frozengenderfluid

[quiltwhere]

twilight farkle

[paintpanic]

ohh damn it's um. he's mouth.

[cyclorose]

day 8: oliver

MISTA SWIIIFT !!!

[harbingersecho]

Lasombra fashion show?

Now how did you know I've been meaning to draw fashion 'shows' for all the clans…?

But! Here's some Lasombra fashion stuff for you!

+ bonus because I love bullying Lasombra abt their tech issues (:

[mystical-one]

WARNING IM GOING TO BE HONEST AND EARNEST HERE. i really unironically unconditionally liked now and then

[chibittore]

the specialest little guy ⭐︎

[mintyys-blog]

Hi minty , could u please do headcanons for main mark and variants of what they would do and feel if they believe reader is cheating. (She is not)

HEADCANON | variants with s/o who they believe is cheating

INVINCIBLE MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: mention of cheating, false accusations, attempted murder, swearing

MAIN MARK

Mark wasn’t sure when the thought first entered his head. Maybe it was the late-night texts he couldn’t see the names of, or how you started coming home a little later than usual. Logically, he knew you had work. Logically, he trusted you. But logic had nothing on the gut-sick panic that settled in his chest.

He didn’t confront you right away. No, he tried to ignore it at first. Laughed it off. Told himself he was being insecure. But then came the slip—the way you smiled at your phone one night, whispered something to yourself, and didn’t notice him watching. That smile. It wasn’t for him.

That night, he sat on the edge of the bed, unable to sleep. You were brushing your teeth, humming under your breath, looking completely normal. Like everything was fine.

And that hurt the most.

So he asked, barely a whisper: “Are you seeing someone else?”

You blinked, stunned, toothbrush in hand. “What?”

His voice cracked. “Just tell me the truth.”

When you laughed—not cruelly, just shocked—he looked like you slapped him.

“Mark, what the hell are you talking about? Of course not!”

You explained everything. Showed him the texts—your friend planning a surprise for him. The extra hours at work? Covering for a coworker. You even opened your phone, unlocked, without hesitation.

Mark sank to the floor, hands in his hair. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

You knelt with him, gently guiding his face up to yours. “You’re not. But next time? Ask me. I love you, dumbass.”

He wrapped his arms around you like he thought he might lose you again. “I’m so sorry.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth. “I forgive you. But you’re making me waffles in the morning.”

“Deal.”

MOHAWK MARK

He didn’t say anything at first. That wasn’t his style.

Mohawk Mark watched from a distance—arms crossed, jaw tight, eyes dark. You’d been acting different lately. Late replies. Brushing off his questions with a smile. And worst of all? You’d started hiding your phone.

He didn’t do subtle. So the storm had been brewing—louder in his head every day, pushing him closer to the edge until the night he finally snapped.

You were humming in the kitchen, minding your own business, scrolling your phone. And that was it.

He yanked the phone from your hands in a blink, slamming it on the counter. “Who the fuck is he?”

You stared at him, stunned. “Mark—what?”

“Don’t play dumb. You’ve been hiding shit. Acting weird. So unless you want me to start tearing this house apart, you better start talking.”

You shoved his chest, furious. “Are you insane?! I’m not cheating on you!”

He sneered. “Then what the fuck’s going on?”

You grabbed your phone back, unlocking it with shaky fingers. “Go ahead. Check it. You’ll find nothing—unless you want to ruin your own birthday surprise.”

His expression faltered.

You shoved the screen in his face. Texts between you and his best friend, planning a surprise party. Restaurant reservations. Gift orders.

Mark stared for a long moment before backing off, running a hand through his hair, swearing under his breath. “Fuck… I—I didn’t know.”

“No, you didn’t,” you snapped. “Because you didn’t trust me enough to ask before losing your shit.”

The guilt hit him fast. The silence that followed was heavier than any argument.

He muttered, almost too low to hear, “I thought I was gonna lose you.”

You sighed, shoulders slumping. “You will, if you keep treating me like an enemy instead of your partner.”

He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, resting his forehead on your shoulder. “…I fucked up.”

“Yeah,” you murmured, softening slightly. “But you can make it up to me.”

“Dinner, back rub, whatever you want.” You leaned back into his chest, still annoyed but touched by the sudden softness. “Start with ‘I’m sorry,’ and we’ll work from there.”

SINISTER MARK

Mark wasn’t loud. He didn’t throw tantrums or pace the room when he was pissed.

He watched. He waited.

So when he saw you getting out of a car with some random guy—his arm casually slung around your shoulders, the way you were laughing, all soft and familiar—his vision darkened.

He didn’t follow you home right away. No. He followed him.

It wasn’t until the guy was alone in the parking lot of a corner store, head down in his phone, that Mark made his move. One hand around the guy’s throat, slammed against a brick wall.

“Didn’t think I’d notice you pawing all over her?” Mark hissed, squeezing tighter. “You have about ten seconds to explain who the fuck you are before I start making an example.”

“W-what?! Dude—I’m her brother!” the guy gasped, choking out the words.

“Bullshit.”

“No! No, I swear—! C-check her contacts—ask her! My name’s Eli! Look at my f—fucking face, man!” Mark’s breath hitched. And suddenly, he did look at the guy’s face. Closely.

Familiar nose. Same eyes as you. He hadn’t noticed before—his rage had blinded him. You showed up minutes later, breathless and panicked, having tracked your brother’s phone when he stopped answering.

And what you found? Mark, fangs bared, fists clenched around your brother’s collar—just short of crushing his windpipe. “Mark!” you screamed, shoving between them. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

His jaw was clenched so hard you swore you heard a crack. His eyes flicked from your brother to you—back and forth, trying to put it all together.

“You didn’t tell me you had a brother,” he growled. “You never asked,” you hissed. “Because you were too busy acting like a psychotic asshole instead of trusting me!”

Your brother was coughing behind you, pale and freaked out. Mark ran both hands down his face and backed off, still trembling from the adrenaline. He didn’t say sorry. Not immediately.

But he did stare at you like he was trying to piece his heart back together. “I thought I lost you,” he muttered hoarsely. “And I don’t lose things I love.”

You didn’t answer. You were still too angry, too shaken. But you reached out and took his hand. “Next time,” you said coldly, “ask before you kill someone I actually care about.” His lips twitched, almost a smirk. “Fair.” He still didn’t apologize out loud. But he didn’t need to. The way he didn’t let go of your hand said enough.

OMNI MARK

Mark wasn’t like other versions of him. He didn’t shout, didn’t fly off the handle, didn’t indulge in petty emotions like jealousy.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

So when he spotted you at a quiet outdoor café—sitting too close to a man he didn’t recognize, your hand brushing his across the table—he didn’t make a scene. He didn’t even let his expression change.

He just… watched.

And when you laughed—genuine, unguarded—something in his chest pulled tight like wire straining to snap.

He returned to the Citadel early that day. Didn’t leave a message. Didn’t wait for you to come home. He simply stared out into the black stretch of space, arms folded behind his back, thinking.

You didn’t get home until late.

“Mark?” you called out as you stepped inside. “You’re home early—”

“Who was he?”

Your heart stuttered at the ice in his tone.

You turned, frowning, confused. “Who—?”

“The man.” He faced you fully now. No mask. No crown. Just a man whose brown eyes burned cold. “The one you met for lunch. You touched his hand. You laughed like you used to laugh with me.” His voice didn’t raise, but each word was carved sharp enough to bleed.

You stared at him for a moment before blinking. Then you laughed—soft, almost disbelieving.

“That?” you said. “That was my cousin. He flew in from out of town. I haven’t seen him in two years.”

His jaw flexed.

“I would’ve told you,” you added, your voice going smaller, “but you’ve been so… busy. You don’t exactly make time for small talk anymore.”

Silence stretched between you. You watched him process, piece by piece, his composure folding in at the edges.

“…Your cousin,” he repeated quietly.

“Yes,” you said. “I’m not cheating on you.”

He nodded once. Curt. Dismissive. But then he sat down—heavily, like the weight of what he nearly believed crushed something in him.

“I didn’t think I’d care,” he said after a long pause, his voice lower now. “I didn’t think it would matter if you left.” You swallowed, stepping toward him. “But it would?” you asked.

He looked up at you. For the first time in days, something warm and fragile broke through the surface of his gaze. “…Yes,” he said. And you knew that was as close to an apology as Mark would ever get.

VILTRUMITE MARK

Mark wasn’t one to hover. He’d never say it aloud, but he trusted you. Still, you were his wife—and the mother of his child. So when he couldn’t find you around the house that morning, a flicker of curiosity stirred. He didn’t panic—he never panicked—but the quiet absence of your voice made the silence feel too wide.

He flew a lazy loop above the property, scanning.

Then he saw you—kneeling in the backyard garden, your hands deep in the soil. Beside you was your daughter, a little smaller than she should’ve been for her strength, with your same sharp eyes and stubborn jaw. Her hair was tied messily like yours, dirt streaked across her cheek as she furrowed her brow in concentration.

“No,” you said gently, guiding her hands. “You press the roots in, not yank them out. Like this.”

“But it’s hard,” your daughter pouted.

You chuckled, brushing the dirt off your palms. “Yeah, well, life’s hard. Plants still grow. Try again.”

Mark hovered in the air, watching silently. He didn’t interrupt.

Instead, he landed quietly on the roof’s edge, arms folded, just… watching.

His expression, often hard and unreadable, softened around the edges. The quiet pride he felt burned low and deep in his chest—not the battlefield kind of pride, not the Viltrumite brand. This was quieter. He wasn’t proud because you were strong.

He was proud because you were kind.

And you were passing that kindness down to his daughter. A family. His. Mark smiled—just a little—and waited for you to notice him.

PRISONER MARK

Mark’s arms were always tense at night, like even in his sleep he was fighting phantoms. But tonight, his grip around your waist stiffened in a different way. His breath, hot against your shoulder, suddenly drew in—and didn’t release.

He shifted, nose brushing against your neck. His brow furrowed.

That wasn’t your scent.

You stirred at the sudden tension, blinking yourself awake to see his face shadowed in the dim light of your shared room. His eyes were half-lidded, but alert—suspicious.

“Why the fuck,” he rasped lowly, voice still gravelly from sleep, “do you smell like a man?”

You blinked at him, slow and confused. “What?”

He pulled back just slightly, not letting go but giving himself room to breathe. “Don’t play dumb with me. I know cologne when I smell it. Expensive shit too. That isn’t yours. That’s not mine.”

You frowned, then squinted like you were trying to remember.

“Oh—shit, no, Mark. I went out with Jules earlier—”

“The guy?” he snapped, sharp but quiet.

You held up your hands. “No, listen. We were at the mall. I was looking at cologne for you. I wanted to surprise you. He sprayed me with one of the testers to mess with me—he thought it’d be funny.”

His jaw flexed, like he was still grinding down suspicion. His eyes flicked over you, from your sleepy expression to the slow blink of realization on your face. No nervousness. No lies. You weren’t clever enough to lie to him in your half-awake state.

“…You were buying me cologne?” he said finally, voice quieter.

“I was going to,” you mumbled, “until I got soaked in that crap.”

Mark stared at you for another long second, then pressed his face into the crook of your neck again. His arms wrapped tighter, like he needed to crush the insecurity down with the force of his grip.

“You reek,” he muttered. “And if he ever sprays you again, I’ll break his fucking fingers.”

You smiled into the darkness, even as your heart still beat a little fast. “Noted.”

“Good,” he grunted, his body finally relaxing again behind you. “Still smells like shit.” But he didn’t let go.

TAG LIST: @onlybatsyy

[sourstroll]

Summer Of Cum 2023

Day 3 - Free use

Pairing: Lewis/Mick

WC: 1412

❀❀❀❀

Mick is sitting on Lewis’s couch when it first happens.

They hadn’t discussed it in detail, didn’t lay out boundaries and whatnot, but Lewis had mentioned it enough for Mick to assume it was something he was really into.

It’s not that Mick wasn’t excited by the idea of Lewis taking what he wanted, whenever he wanted, it was just the other factors that made him nervous. Lewis was bold, so uncaring of what people thought of him, that Mick wasn’t going to put it above him to touch him in public, or when someone was looking. Lewis was shameless like that.

Mick is watching some shitty sitcom on a streaming service he’d never heard of, one that Lewis insisted had all his favorite shows. He can hear Lewis’s approaching steps and expects the older man to come sit next to him. Instead, Lewis stands behind the couch and leans over it, wrapping his arms around Mick’s neck and planting several kisses on his cheek. Mick laughs, because it tickles, and Lewis is so sappy sometimes, so sweet.

Lewis doesn’t even say hello first, not before one of his hands is snaking down Mick’s chest and landing on his groin, squeezing the soft length in his jeans.

It makes Mick gasp, both in confusion and pleasant surprise, remembering the talk they’d had about this. He would definitely have to get used to the fact that Lewis wasn’t going to give him a warning first. His eyes are wide, bright and baby blue, lips parted slightly as he looks at Lewis for guidance, which he isn’t going to give, Mick is pretty sure.

Lewis has to contain his own excitement at the look on his boyfriend’s face, coy and innocent. Lewis keeps touching him, squeezing and stroking him slowly, lips hovering over Mick’s. Mick is always so pliant and so trusting of him, Lewis can’t help but want to take advantage sometimes.

Lewis pulls away once Mick is fully hard, walking slowly around the couch to finally meet him, stopping in front of him. Mick looks like a deer in headlights, watching his every move. Lewis undoes his own belt first, only the sound of his rings clinking against his buckle and Mick’s ragged breathing could be heard. Lewis motions with his chin for Mick to do the same.

Mick follows along with shaky hands and undoes his belt, pushing his pants and boxers down to his knees.

Lewis wants to ruin him, just from the sheer love and obedience he radiates.

Lewis prepared for this by stretching himself beforehand, that way he could take Mick whenever he wanted. He takes out something from his pocket before pushing his pants down, throwing a packet of lube right next to Mick. Lewis takes his shirt off too, leaving him completely bare for Mick. He watches as Mick stares and looks at him whole, eyes scanning every tattoo and every muscle.

Mick is much more turned on than he’d expected. He still feels a little shaky and nervous, but with Lewis being so sure of himself, he knew he had nothing to worry about. Mick’s eyes land on the lube and he grabs it, tearing it open with his teeth. He knows the drill and understands wordlessly what Lewis wants. He spreads his knees a bit and grips his length, stroking himself in languid movements of his fist while he pours the lube on his cock, making the slide of his hand slippery.

Lewis is hard, too, though he’s not touching himself. He’s waiting, making sure Mick is ready before he pounces. He looks pretty like this, unsure and moving slow, looking to Lewis for assurance. Mick surprises him when he pats his lap with his free hand, signaling for Lewis to come closer. It’s the only motivation he needs to climb onto Mick’s lap and kiss him deeply, both hands cupping either side of his face, licking hotly into his mouth.

Lewis practically tears the white cotton shirt off of Mick, even though he loves the way it hugs his torso so tightly. He reaches down to touch Mick again, feeling how heavy and warm the length was, arguably his favorite part of Mick. Lewis steadies himself on his knees and leans forward, kissing Mick again to distract him from what he was doing below, guiding the head to his entrance and pressing it into himself without a struggle.

Lewis lets out a breathy moan as he sinks down, arms wrapping loosely around Mick’s neck while Mick’s hands found their rightful place on Lewis’s waist. Lewis struggles to hold himself together, especially when he hadn’t even asked if they could do this. It felt wrong, even though he knew Mick would do anything for him.

Mick was in awe of the man above him, taking his whole cock without complaint. He’d never thought he’d meet someone who wanted him this badly, so much so that he didn’t even want to ask to have him, just wanted to have him whenever he could. Mick mimics Lewis’s arms and wraps his around the older man’s waist, pressing them flush against each other.

Lewis moves his hips in measured figure eights, his cock leaking profusely between them, barely getting any friction. He pulls away just a little, just to watch Mick’s face contort in pleasure. He could do this all day, ride him nice and slow, make him come over and over until he couldn’t anymore. Lewis gyrates faster, pressing his forehead against Mick’s.

Mick was teetering on the edge, letting out soft gasps and puffing out breaths against Lewis’s face, prompting Mick to kiss him again. Lewis’s hands were all over him, tangled in his hair and feeling down his chest. It made his skin flush a deep red, like freshly picked cherries and dusty dried roses. Mick’s fingers press harshly into Lewis’s flesh, moving back to grip his thighs, guiding him up and down on his cock.

Lewis can tell Mick needs more, and he obeys easily by moving with a little more intent, his noises turning whiny as he felt Mick’s cock press into his sweet spot over and over. He’s close too, worked up from the fact that he was finally doing what he wanted, using Mick for his own pleasure.

It isn’t enough, of course, Mick always wants more. Mick only takes a second to move them into a new position, pressing Lewis into the couch and starting to fuck into him with snappy thrusts. He hears Lewis get even louder beneath him, whimpering whenever he’d hit his prostate dead on.

Lewis doesn’t know how he’d gotten this lucky. He didn’t have to say anything for Mick to know what he was thinking, what he needed. He can feel himself squeezing uncontrollably around him, tight like a vice. Lewis’s hands are cupping Mick’s face again, pulling him down for another sloppy, desperate kiss.

Lewis mewls against his mouth and throws his head back, fingers digging into Mick’s shoulder as he found his rhythm.

Mick has his hands on the couch, on either side of Lewis’s head, finding little purchase on the fabric as his thrusts became frantic, spurred on by Lewis’s reaction to his movements. Mick brings a hand between them to take hold of Lewis’s weeping cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts.

Lewis lets out a choked noise, his voice high-pitched. Mick’s hands feel like heaven on his sensitive dick, and it only takes a few strokes to have him coming all over himself, hips twitching and lifting off the couch as his orgasm hit him.

Mick made a valiant effort to keep going, to fuck Lewis until they were nothing but soft sobs and tangled limbs, but seeing Lewis feel so good pushed him over the edge. Mick let out one last groan before bottoming out completely, filling Lewis to the brim with come.

Lewis’s cock jerked at the feeling of Mick coming inside of him, legs tightening around Mick to keep him in place.

Mick slumped over him as lightly as he could, breathing harshly against Lewis’s neck. “That was..”

“Incredible.” Lewis finished. He gently lifted Mick’s head from his neck and kissed him gently, eyes looking over his face to try and detect any ounce of regret or shame on Mick’s expression.

“I love you,” Mick said easily, putting his hand over Lewis’s on his cheek, stroking his skin warmly.

“I love you more,” Lewis insists.

❀❀❀ Previous Days ❀❀❀

[bastard-aziraphale]

NO LITERALLY SOOO REAL. sparrow as a trans allegory is literally canon to ME!!! her fighting the allegations [vine boom shes laying on the ground family guy style] your art is so everything to me its sooo<3

WAHHH thank you :,,,,) yeah like fully it is so just. integral to how i read her character at this point? like, i don’t think it’s text and don’t want it to be text but it is like. So clear to me as subtext/allegory.

would like 2 draw more sparrow actively experiencing trans joy, though :,) but do know that in my head i am always rotating a complex series of intricate thoughts about sparrow and her gender identity.

[moss-dwelling-mob]

Tw blood, body horror

Forced Metamorphosis

[meggie-moo]

classpect art :)