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#WHY DOES ERIN NOT SEE IT
yuridovewing · 7 months
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Feel like one of the best ways you can convince someone that no, villains with compelling motives that have sad backstories are not terrible writing compared to straight up born evil villains who just want to kill everyone and be done with it, is to tell them that Warrior Cats writes born evil villains constantly while literally preaching “That’s how evil works, you can’t CHANGE, you’re either touched by demons at birth or you aren’t!” and it blows chunks
#brokenstar tigerstar hawkfrost darktail one eye etc etc would all be so much more interesting if they werent so one note#and just had ‘’born evil’’ slapped on as their explanation for being evil#‘’ew why are you woobifying tigerstar’’ because i think a villain who feels emotion besides ‘’evil’’ and ‘’angry’’ and actually does care#about his clanmates but is also a bigot that deserves to be beaten down is more interesting than canon#to get like real world political here… abusive people and bigots like. are not one note born evil demons#they have loved ones and reasons for turning out the way they did. and im not saying that to go ‘’so you need to give them grace!’’#im saying that because the line of thinking that every bad person is a super obvious mustache twirling villain with no soul#makes it so that people justify abuse and crimes from REAL people. like ‘’oh my friend says some racist things but he isnt BAD! he loves me!#would an abusive person be nice to his wife in public? of course not!’’#and its rhetoric like that that lets abuse and bigotry thrive. if you put the world in categories of born evil and born good#then you will dismiss all the ‘’good’’ people in your life who have done horrible things with ‘’but she donated to charity once’’#i mean. hell this LITERALLY happens in wc where the ‘’born good’’ characters are abusive and murderously xenophobic#where characters like clear sky and blackstar just get a sticker like ‘’oh you cant be TOO mad at them! theyre good at heart!’’#‘’ignore all the times they killed vulnerable people for the crime of being born somewhere they didnt like! they were nice to a kid once!’’#the message there is literally ‘’bad people cant REALLY be bad if theyre nice to people sometimes’’#like. im not even mad at clear sky being motivated by witnessing his loved ones starve to death for why hes such an abusive control freak#thats an interesting reason to become a villain especially since the change happened when he was put in a position of power#the problem is not him having a sad backstory. the problem is the erins think his sad backstory means he was never that bad#and anyone who’s upset at him can go eat shit and die cause he looked sad#like. i get this line of thinking often comes from writers doing this for abuse apologism and just wanting to see abusers be held accountabl#accountable#but how exactly does it help victims of abuse to portray abusers and bigots in a christian ‘’touched by the devil’’ light
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imwritesometimes · 10 months
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I had to pay eye watering prices for them but look what I encountered today (finally)
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dvarapala · 9 months
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most people see udyati as someone who's quick to forgive - maybe too quick - and while that is true to a certain extent, there are some people exempt from this rule. forgive and forget? no, resent and remember. she is a taurus, after all, and she'll hold a grudge until she dies except, oh, right, she can't. chances are, udyati will hold a grudge until you die, instead.
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woso-dreamzzz · 2 months
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Redemption
Sam Kerr x Hardersson!Reader
Millie Bright x Hardersson!Reader
Part of The Big Adventures Universe
Summary: Sam redeems herself
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Magda opens the door on a random Saturday afternoon.
"Can y/n come out to play?"
Sam's standing outside the door and Millie, Guro and Erin are waiting by the brick wall.
Magda has to smother her laughter. It does look like a bunch of naughty kids trying to get their friend's mother to let their friend go out and cause mischief with them.
Sam's holding a helmet.
Magda looks at her suspiciously. "Why? What are you planning?"
Sam looks back at the others helplessly. The three of them whisper to each other before Millie approaches the front gate with a little bike.
"You didn't," Magda groans," Tell me you didn't."
"It was Sam!" Guro yells.
"Is it your life mission to injure my child?" Magda asks dryly," Because you're doing very well."
"Kristie picked it out!" Sam says quickly," I called her in the store! And, I picked up a helmet and same pads. I promise we'll be careful."
"She doesn't know how to ride a bike. You'll have to teach her."
"We will!"
"Hmm." Magda looks over them all suspiciously. "If she comes back with even a little scrape then all of your playdates have to be supervised. Agreed?"
"Agreed!"
"Princesse! Your friends are here to see you!"
In a matter of minutes, you're ready to go. You take Millie's hand and she and the others take you to the park that you train with Zećira at.
"Okay," Millie says," Safety first."
She helps you into the helmet, tightening it nice and tight and then pulling on your elbow and knee pads.
Sam stands a little bit further away. She'd called Kristie the day after she accidentally poisoned you with kiwi and was warned to keep a little distance from you if Jessie wasn't around to keep you safe.
"Right," Erin says," Now get on."
You look at the bike. Guro's holding it upright and you inspect it.
It's two tones of red. One is a more orangey style of red while the other is a kind of maroon red. It looks pretty cool but you're still a little worried so you grip Millie's hand nice and tight.
She leads you over and you poke at a few things before getting on. Momma and Morsa have been promising to get you a bike for a while now but said that it's an after-winter thing so you don't fall on the ice or something.
You think it's kind of cool that Millie, Guro, Erin and Sam have gotten you one early.
You get on.
Erin points at a few things. "There are the brakes. You have to do them gently or you'll go flying off the bike. And these are the pedals. You have to pump your legs very fast, okay?"
You nod. "Okay."
Millie moves behind you to grasp the back. "I'm not going to let go. You just need to pedal, alright?"
You let Guro show you where the hold the handles and then how to get the pedals moving. You go slowly at first because Momma always warns you that you need to start slow on new things.
Millie remains behind you like she said she would and she's gently tell you when to start breaking and when to pedal a bit harder. Guro and Erin jog next to you while Sam stays at the very back.
"Very good!"
You give a Guro a high five as you dismount.
You like your new bike. It's very fun but the seat is a little weird but that's just something you'll have to get used to. Momma and Morsa can both ride bikes and when you were much littler, Momma told you that she used to strap you to her chest so you could ride with them.
You think that's cool but you're much too big for that now so it'll be nice to ride one by yourself.
Guro helps you back on and teasingly taps your helmet. "Working!" She confirms as you giggle," Got to keep that genius brain of yours intact!"
You don't recognise one of those words and furrow your brow. "What's genius mean?"
"Someone who's very smart," Millie says as she tucks your feet under the little straps over the pedals," Like you."
You think for a moment. "But I'm not smart."
"You are," Guro insists, bobbing her head up and down like you see the seagulls do at the beach," Because you can speak so many languages."
You don't really understand that. Languages are easy and Morsa once told you smart people are people that can learn and do lots of hard things. Languages are easy though so you're not that smart because what you can do isn't difficult.
"You're like a sponge," Erin says.
"I'm not a sponge!"
"It's a good thing," Millie promises you," It means you suck up all the information we give you and it stays in your head."
You fall silent to think again. Maybe you are like a sponge. Momma says you have a very good memory and having a good memory is exactly what Millie's just described.
"Hmm," You say, not agreeing or denying because you don't know which response is correct. You don't like being wrong so sometimes it's better to just say nothing when grown-ups are being confusing.
"Should we have another go?" Guro asks," I'll stay at the back!"
"No fair!" Erin complains," I wanted to help!"
Guro sticks her tongue out at Erin and you giggle as she takes the spot that Millie used to be in.
Millie hangs back with Sam as Guro and Erin start pushing you along. Your feet are pumping furiously to get up to speed.
"It's was awful," Sam laments as she jogs lightly with Millie at the very back," The look on Kristie's face when she found out!" She buries her face in her hands. "She's never going to trust me with kids again. She told me if anything ever happens to y/n because of me again, she'll kill me! They've not even met in person!"
"Mate," Millie snickers," She'll have to get here quick if she's planning to beat out Magda."
Sam groans again. "It was awkward knocking on there door. She made me feel like I was a kid again."
"It's the Mum stare." Millie shivers at the thought. "It's terrifying and Magda had all that time before y/n and Pernille even moved in. I hate to think about how well Pernille's perfected it."
Sam shivers now too. It's one thing to see Magda angry, that's expected but she rues the day that someone gets Pernille angry enough to explode.
She looks over to where you and the others are and then freezes.
There's a long patch of ice on the path that you swerve into uncontrollably and you lose control of your new bike. That wouldn't be a problem on its own but Erin and Guro both get totally wiped out by the ice and tumble into each other.
"Oh, shit."
Sam barely hears Millie's words as she takes off into a sprint, making sure to stay on the grass borders rather than the stone path. You've got a good distance on her (and you're also going down a slight incline) but you're still only little so it's not too far to catch up.
In your blind panic, you've forgotten about your brakes and, honestly, Sam's kind of glad. If you slammed them on now, you'd probably go headfirst over your handlebars and land painfully on the ground.
"Whoa!"
Sam manages to get in front (barely) and grabs onto the front of your bike. You're still going pretty fast, a combination of the little hill and the ice, so the bike slams into her groin.
It's painful but Sam can't really feel it as she's focused on you.
Millie's further away, helping Guro and Erin to their feet as Sam wheels the bike onto the grass and helps you off.
You're panting a little bit but not crying so she counts it as a win. You look back at where you lost control of it all, your shoulders falling and rising quickly.
You move into Sam's arms, burying your head into her neck like you would do with Momma and Morsa if they were here.
"Hey," Sam says softly, drawing you in and rubbing your back," It's okay. It's okay."
You nod. It's a barely noticeable movement but you're pressed up so close to Sam that it almost feels like you want to hide away under her skin.
"It's alright. Hey, you did so well for your first try. So well. I know it got scary pretty fast but that's okay. Next time, we'll go somewhere with no ice. Does that sound good?"
You nod again.
"Let's get you home."
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lovinpelova · 4 months
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prove them wrong | j. fleming
summary; the chelsea girls believe jessie is too innocent to fuck you, she proves them wrong. [SMUT]
🎵 private landing - don toliver
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jessie had always acted differently around you. around others she was quiet, shy and reserved with a blush adorning her cheeks out of embarassment alongside a soft tone of voice you could listen to all day. she made sure to keep herself toned down even around her best friends. when it was just the two of you she grew confident, louder even, and although she still reserved a quiet side for you sometimes she was mainly a completely different person.
that's what led you right here, your arm around the canadians shoulders as she pushed her body further into yours whilst you watched your teammates dancing drunkenly and sat with some others. you were in a comfortable silence whilst listening to the conversation, jessies hand finding yours as she smiled up at you and you kissed her forehead in response, content in your own little bubble until guro popped it with her tipsy rambling.
"speaking of people who don't have the confidence to do things, what do you reckon jessie doesn't have the confidence to do when it involves y/n?"
sam sat with her in silence for a moment, erin also joining in on the thinking as you and jessie readjusted yourselves to listen properly, interested in where drunk guro would be taking this next.
"definitely doesn't tell her when she's mad at her."
"no, she definitely does everything y/n tells her to."
jessie blushed at the comments as you snickered, knowing only half of them were true whilst sam and guro bickered back and forth with erin joining in to share the occasional opinion, her eyes suddenly lighting up to break apart the two sad beside her.
"i got it!"
sam and guro stopped arguing, the drunk norwegian taking another sip of her rum and coke as you all listened to what the scot had to say.
"you can't tell me sweet little jess has the confidence to top someone!"
"holy shit you're so right! she's way too shy."
the three of them agreed in laughter as you joined in, chuckling and refusing to confirm or deny it whilst they continued bickering about how they strongly believed jessie was a pillow princess. the canadians hand found its way to your thigh, making you look at her and smile like usual, thinking she just wanted some form of physical contact to ground herself from the embarassment- only to find her eyes blown out and staring back at you lustfully.
the midfielder made sure the others didn't see, turning towards them with a blush on her face and sinking back into her chair with the occasional argument when she was called 'too precious' to even think about having sex. as much as jessie loved the girls and the way they spoke about her timid nature it could get annoying sometimes, they thought just because she was quiet that she wasn't a grown woman with needs and her own experiences. when they first found out you were dating they were shocked, understandably, but they were even more shocked when they learned jessie wasn't a virgin.
i mean, she's a twenty-five year old grown woman, why do they act like she's never had sex before?
the thoughts made jessies hand tighten on your thigh quickly, feeling herself grow more furious by the second at the constant misinterpretation from her teammates (and sometimes public eye) before she excused herself and headed towards the toilet without an explanation. the four of you looked up in shock at the sudden movement she used to back away, your instincts immediately figuring out she wanted you to follow her as you excused yourself to check on her.
as soon as you opened the door an inch and peeked your head in to check if she'd actually gone to the toilet a rough grip tugged your wrist and pushed you against the sink, not bothering to wait for the door to close as you felt your lover push her lips onto yours in a needy manner. it took you a second to kiss back due to the unexpected action but you eventually gathered your thoughts, feeling jessies hands move to your waist as she picked you up and placed you on the counter before standing between your legs.
as soon as you started wondering why jessie wanted to do this here and now it clicked like the final puzzle piece. you had no doubt in your mind she was going to fuck you until the girls heard you moaning her name out- not the other way around. she wanted to prove their assumptions wrong without having to argue, she was going to give them an undeniable piece of evidence and shut them up.
before you had a chance to even think about slowing jessie down her hand slipped into your underwear as she bit down on your lip roughly, slowly sinking her digits into you with a smirk at the needy moan you let out. your fingers found purchase in her hair with a tug, relishing in the groan that fell from her lips for a moment before she started moving her fingers at a rapid pace.
"jess what if they hear?"
you whispered against her ear breathily as your hips grinded in time to her thrusts, the canadian grunting in response whilst leaving sloppy kisses along your neck and curling her fingers. she was eager to get you to your high and she wanted it now.
"get louder."
she demanded gruffly, one hand holding onto your hips to keep you still before she started abusing your g-spot, not even needing to search for it because she remembered everything about you so well.
"but-"
"i said, get. louder."
she emphasised, watching you nod in response to her sudden rough aura before you started to really focus on how good she was fucking you. not long ago she was curled up into your side and in awe of the way your fingers looked laced together- now she was demanding you moan out her name with her fingers pistoning in and out of your pussy at a god-like pace.
"feels so good jess, keep going. 'm almost there."
"gonna scream my name like i want you to? gonna be a good girl and let everyone know who makes you feel this good?"
"yes, jessie! yes- fuck baby! keep going jess!"
she hummed in content at your response, continuing to push against your g-spot until your fingers tugged at her hair one final time as you let out a guttural moan the girls outside definitely heard, your release spilling all over her digits with your thighs shaking around her waist. she held them open with her hips whilst slowing down her thrusts and eventually pulling her fingers up towards your mouth, watching with dark eyes as you sucked them clean without her even having to ask.
"good girl."
she mumbled, leaning in to kiss you softly and continue doing so until you'd fully recovered from your orgasm. the canadian helped you down and out of the bathroom after you both fixed your appearances, a smug smirk on her face whilst your cheeks grew bright red at the amount of eyes you now had watching you.
"have fun in there you two?"
erin asked sarcastically, the girls who heard bursting out into laughter as jessie wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you closer to kiss your forehead. the team were never gonna let you live this down.
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c0pkiller · 2 months
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ROOMMATE EREN
cw: afab reader, smut, mature language, explicit adult content, general submissive/dominant behavior, teasing, mutual masturbation, masochistic behavior, cum eating (f), fwbs (sort of), you and eren dislike each other and intentionally get on each other's nerves
tags: @ekaterinatepes @dellalyra @sunaishotsstuff @bloompompom @ravereina @tojishugetiddies @i-literally-cant-with-this @hehehehesthings @thecookiebratz @chocoyanchan @niko-ash @hinata7346 @r0ckst4rjk @d4ddies-wh0re @ploylulla @131patpat @etlftl @doestalker @chariottethecat @jottositto @missphanosaur18 @darkstarlight82 @sodoney @xocherishxo @ilysmmdouma @sousblogga @xukoii @viisgrave @mriixxx @iminlovewqr0w @luv4th3m taglist form
more content on my masterlist.
a/n: trying to use a much simpler format for hcs to help me post a little more often! I have no idea where I got the mdni banner below. it's been in my phone for weeks so if it's yours and you need credit, just let me know :)
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Roommate! Eren didn’t like you when he first met you. Sure, the idea of living with a girl was appealing at first, even if the two of you were put in the same dorm because of a computer error that had his name spelled as ‘Erin’ but that excitement waned as he got to know you. Eren found out pretty soon that he got paired up with a little spaz when you went ballistic on him for leaving a mess on his side of the room.
Roommate! Eren sighs when you go off on him about leaving socks on the floor and has to hold himself back from snapping at you, trying to play the nice guy but – really – he doesn’t need you acting like his mommy. “Back off, freak!” He yells in your face. He instantly wishes he could take the outburst back, afraid that you’re about to cry. Imagine his surprise when that only irritates you further and now, you’re hurling your own insults at him, yelling about how you shouldn’t have to live with a pig like this and how you think he’s beneath you. You’re yelling about how he even got into this college when all he does is fuck around and avoid studying. Pretty run of the mill sneers until you let your last insult slip. “Why girls even fuck with you is beyond me.” You finish, before swinging the bedroom door open and slamming it shut behind you.
Roommate! Eren puts his hand over his mouth and stifles a chuckle. He picks up the offending socks and throws them into the hamper. He promises to ease up on you after seeing how fucking pissed you got but he can’t help but think back on how cute you were when you were trying to be intimidating. You must’ve thought you were scary, yelling at him like that, but it was actually the most attractive you’ve ever been to him.
Roommate! Eren lied to himself. He’s never gonna ease up on annoying you to get you to show off your cute little angry side to him. Your roommate does everything he can to bring the little nerdy girl out of her shell and goes out of his way to intentionally piss you off. From hiding your stuff on his side of the room (knowing how much you hate going through his stuff out of fear of finding his condoms or something), to staying up all night on his xbox and screaming into his mic for hours. Weeks pass like that and, eventually, you grow accustomed to the faux-obnoxious behavior and stop letting him get a rise out of you. You’re too mature for him. If Eren wants to act like a child, he’ll be doing it alone. That’s what you tell yourself, but your friends get earfuls of your complaints daily.
Roommate! Eren tries to step his game up a little and starts eating your snacks, right in front of you, starts taking stuff directly out of your hands and giving you a sly smile. You don’t break though. “You not gonna give me a reaction?” He asks one day after having just taken the pen you were writing with out of your hand and sitting back on his bed to twirl it in his hand. You exhale and roll your eyes at the childishness, thinking that he’s really only getting worse with time – not even suspecting that he’s getting off on the insulting phrases you hurl at him when he pushes your buttons. “Scared of me now, princess?” He teases. He stays seated on his bed, on the other half of the shared bedroom, and almost gives up when you don’t answer him immediately. “You fucking wish I was scared of you.” He smiles when you take the bait.
Roommate! Eren pushes all the right buttons. He knows how to get a rise out of you by now and when you’re really letting him have it, just the way he wants you to, he faces you on his bed and pushes his hand past the waistband of his jeans to play with himself a little. It takes about a full minute of you blowing up about how insufferable he is and how much worse he’s gotten and, just before you threaten to go to the admin’s office to move out of this shared room, you take a breath. And, finally, take notice of the way his hand is moving in his pants.
Roommate! Eren wouldn’t exactly call himself a masochist or anything but there’s just something about the way you yell at him, really putting effort into each word to hurt him, that gets his heart racing. You really fucking hate him, and he really fucking loves it. You suck in a breath of air and stay silent, eyes glued to Eren’s motions. You part your lips to ask a question, but it dies in your mouth. You’re so confused at his reaction. Usually, Eren just gives you his signature smirk and ignores you when you accuse him of weaponizing his incompetence, but this is... new. He doesn’t like how silent you’ve gone. “Keep yelling at me, baby. Call me a bastard again.”
Roommate! Eren isn’t sure what he’s expecting from you but it’s not a hesitant, “B... ba...” squeaking out of your mouth. Has he rendered you speechless? “You like when I yell at you?” You ask, shaking your head to collect your thoughts. The sound of Eren unzipping his pants fills the room and you can’t tear your eyes away when he pulls his long dick out, exposing it to the cool air of the room. “More than like it as you can see.” He strokes himself, eyes on you the whole time.
Roommate! Eren is attractive, sure. You’d be a liar if you couldn’t admit that. More than once you’ve thought of how you’d probably be into him if he weren’t the actual worst. Maybe if you two weren’t roommates and you met naturally in public or something, you’d flirt with him. But your impressions of each other weren’t great. You know him as a disruptive jerk, and he knows you as an uptight bitch. You’re like the most uptight person he knows so, of course, you take him by surprise when you bite your lip and sit back on your own bed, facing him and gently running your fingers along your bare thighs – clearly daring yourself to pull your shorts down and mirror his filthy actions. You watch Eren stroke himself and watch you, wondering if you’re going to cower away like a scared little mouse. You’ve made your mind up though. He’s hot and the need between your legs is hard to ignore. The bun he’s got his hair tied into is falling apart, allowing his long auburn locks to frame his face. Sweat collects on his hairline as he picks up the pace.
Rooommate! Eren watches as you try to stay caught up with him, unbuttoning your shorts and pulling them down your legs so slowly that it’s almost as if you’re trying to tease him. “Panties too, pretty girl.” His voice comes out low and strained. Your roommate leans over and spits onto his cock, coating the length and creating even more lewd sounds to come from his palm’s actions. You moan at the sight alone and hurry to get your panties on the floor along with your shorts.
Roommate! Eren almost cracks a joke about you being the one leaving clothes on the floor now but bites his tongue, thinking it may be more worthwhile to have you bare for him. He doesn’t cross the line and come to your side of the room but he does seduce you into pulling your shirt over your head so he can get an eyeful of your supple chest. He watches you pull at your clit with your thumb before expertly circling the little nub. You lose your bashfulness when you’re starting to feel good and Eren pumps himself to your pretty vision.
Roommate! Eren can’t believe how it easy it was to get you naked and playing with your little pussy right in front of him but it’s not long before you’ve got two fingers in deep up to the knuckle and you’re moaning as you squeeze one of your tits. You squeeze your eyes shut, fucking yourself and letting the sounds of Eren’s low moans and slick hand stroking himself get you off. You’re so close and embarrassingly fast but the tension in your shoulders is loosening and the stress that you feel like is always piled up on you becomes relief.
Roommate! Eren is feeling just as good as you are. It’s not long before you’re both in a room filled with the sounds of your own pleasure. “You’re so sexy, roomie.” He teases. He squints his eyes, concentrating harder than he’d like to. “Shut the fuck up so I can cum.” You curse at him, his voice annoying you and almost throwing you off. Your words are as harsh as always and like a breath of fresh air. The masochist would thank you for being such a bitch towards him if he weren’t suddenly overcome with the feeling of self-pleasure. A simple outburst like that has him hitting his peak in no time. When you open your eyes and see him, sprawled across his bed, body slick with sweat and wrist working his own cock right in front of you, you cry out loud.
Roommate! Eren watches as you fuck yourself into your own orgasm, panting and moaning something reminiscent of his name. You breathe the word out as you finger-fuck yourself through your orgasm, translucent slick flowing out of your seizing hole and dampening your bedspread. Eren’s own cums runs across his knuckles in hot streams. He comes down soon and watches you sob from overstimulation. You pull your tired fingers out of your puckered hole and look back at him – too tired to be embarrassed.
Roommate! Eren gives you that same smirk and, somehow, finds the energy to annoy you to no end, even while basking in his afterglow. "If you want, I can come over there and give all of this to you.” Eren offers, holding his hand up and flexing his long fingers to show off all of the cum that's suck between each digit. You’re too tired to puzzle out what he means and you’re not about to ask him. You just nod, giving him consent to toy with you a little longer before you come to your senses.
Roommate! Eren giggles as he gets up and stands over your tired body, balls nearly hovering over your face. He prods at your pouted lip until you open your mouth to him willingly and let him smear his seed all over your mouth, feeding the piquant substance to you, one finger at a time. He praises you when you suck each one and promises to never ease up on getting on your nerves after this.
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okthatsgreat · 25 days
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did anybody see the newest episode of danganronpa 52 lollllllll
#there is something deeply wrong with team dr im afraid #A DEATH SO SOON JESUSSSSSS where was the ult cardiologist at......... #dr52 liveblog #dr52 spoilers #lee chat
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🐻 dangronper Follow
Gonna try getting into the new season lol, I stopped watching at season 37. No spoilers please
🐻 dangronper Follow
Okay wow a lot has changed! Everything is so high tech now??? I kinda miss when they just kept it more simple and had them all locked in a school ngl but maybe thats just me liking season 1 lol. Im really liking Jiro so far Im hoping he at least makes it to chapter 3 because I really wanna know more about that guy
🐻 dangronper Follow
You've gotta be kidding.
#CHAPTER ONE? HE DIED CHAPTER ONE? #THIS IS WHY I HATE ALL OF THE NEW SEASONS SO FUCKIGN BAD #THEY ONLY CARE ABOUT SHOCK VALUE AND THEY DONT CARE ABOUT STORY #THAT DEATH MAKES NO SENSE THERE ARE YOU ACTUALLY JOKING #Im logging off.
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💀 youvegotthatrite Following
12,433 notes
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🫖 nagitosleftleg Follow
just a reminder that wishing death on any of the danganronpa writers makes you a terrible person and all of your favorite danganronpa characters hate you if you do that! 🤗 this is danganronpa so a lot of them will die 🤗 that doesnt mean you get to be a dickhead to team dr 🤗 get over it! 🤗
🍳 naeggieggin Follow
oh my god can anybody in this fandom just be normal and not use this weird passive aggressive tone for every single post. the writers do not give less of a fuck and neither do the actors theyre all dealing with their own shit
#i hate this fandom istg. and stop calling them characters the flashback light doesnt make them entirely fake #theyre still actual people #with feelings #danganronpa 52
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🍀luckyguy Follow
this is NOT what ultimate hope makoto naegi would have wanted
#dr52 spoilers #lucky student killed first chapter <;/3 #shut up you [txt]
4,013 notes
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🔧 sorryiwasbornstupid Follow
kazuichi sighted in the new post-season promo video he looks so g.ood .... . id let him do anything to me
🌸 neverminded Following
@kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial @kazuichisodaofficial
🔧 sorryiwasbornstupid Follow
HELLO?
34 notes
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🔪 danganronpa Following
Puhuhu! New episode of DANGANRONPA 52 out TODAY at 1pm JST! Make sure to bring your popcorn and your bagels, this episode sure gets.... despairful 👀You won't wanna miss it!
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🍀luckyguy Follow
K
🔱 ultscubafan Follow
U
🎆 chickencoopexplosion Follow
N
🫖 nagitosleftleg Follow
G
🎸 lightmusicplayer Following
P
9,012 notes
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🍳 naeggieggin Follow
can early season purists please get their heads out of nagito komaedas ass. he does not want to fuck you
106 notes
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🎞️ kirigiririririri Follow
Waiittttt Jiro is so cute actually XD He keeps tripping over his shoelaces in the background of scenes LOL he's so smol ..............
🎞️ kirigiririririri Follow
I'M GONNA KILL MYSELF
#he's DEAD?????????????????????????????????
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🍳 naeggieggin Follow
keep in mind the danganronpa actors are still real people and they can see all of you thirsting over them ok. please be normal. just because they went through the effects of the flashback light doesnt mean its ok to be a fucking weirdo to hajime whenever he walks outside
🧊 kokoroicebox Follow
They're celebrities. People are going to find celebrities attractive, especially if these are people they see on screens and billboards every day. If you pick up the nearest magazine you find you're probably going to find Junko Enoshima in it. And maybe you should consider that those "weirdos" who are walking up to Hajime are simply fans that want to greet him. We've watched these people fight through hell, cry, laugh, and find hope along the way. Of course we are going to get attached to them, especially to those of us who have been keeping up with them for a long time now. You're basically asking a bunch of teenagers to close their eyes and pretend their favorite media doesn't exist.
🍳 naeggieggin Follow
i literally did not say that
🌀 cageofdeath Follow
have you maybe ever considered that maybe some people get hyperfixations??
🍳 naeggieggin Follow
oh my fucking god.
🎸 lightmusicplayer Following
anybody in this thread smoke weed
1,034 notes
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🍊 hinataorangejuice Follow
OKKKKK WAIT WHY IS RANTARO KINDA 👀👀👀
#the way he got so serious while investigating.............. #wasnt a huge fan of him at the start but he's growing on me lowkey #dr52 #danganronpa 52 #dr52 #orange speaks!
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💀 youvegotthatrite Following
JIROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭
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#FUFUUUCUCKKCKCCKKKCKKCKC I REALLY LIEKD HIM!!!3!@!#(!# #FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK #ORUUGH WHY COULDNT HAVE BEEN MOMO #dr52 lb
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🍧minimarruuuu Follow
no chapter 1 death is ever gonna beat sayaka imo #girl
#it just really started the series off so well and no other chapter 1 victim has impressed me tbh #ugh but idk shes kinda annoying now with all of her interviewssss like girl its ok to not smile sometimes lmfao #sayaka maizono #dr52 critical #maru.txt
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🎸 lightmusicplayer Following
guy ists ok hes not actually dead hes just sleeping guys
#guys #danganronpa 52 #danganronpa 52 spoilers #<- ??? just in case
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🔍 kirigiri Following
a
🍊 hinataorangejuice Follow
ok queen speak your truth i guess
🌸 neverminded Following
THIS MIGHT BE A CLUE THIS MGIHT BE A CLUE TO JIROS KILLER IM LOOKIGNGGGGG SO HARD AT AKEMI RIGHT NOW
🎆 chickencoopexplosion Follow
i think she might have just accidentally posted a draft lol
🌸 neverminded Following
I dont know............. team dr has done this before where they leave littel clues in places and this seems a little TOO coincidental
🔍 kirigiri Following
I hit the post button too early.
🌸 neverminded Following
KYOKO KIRIGIRI?
43,033 notes
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🐰monomini Follow
okkkkk im kinda over rantaro already lmao. heres hoping we dont get another season of him
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themultifandomgal · 1 month
Text
Jay Halstead- All My Fault
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Trigger warnings- hospital, passing out, blood clot on the brain, near death
4 hours, just 4 hours left of my 12 hour shift left. I can do this.
For the last few days I’ve felt like I’m catching the flu but when I woke up this morning I felt so much worse and it’s only getting worse as the day goes by. If this was the start of my shift I would have gone home, but I’m so close to being done and then I have 4 days off to recover. So I’m going to power through the last hours.
“Feeling any better?” I hear my husbands voice. I look up at squint at the brightness off the lights, but I notice Jay looking down at me
“No”
“Why don’t you head home? We’re just doing paperwork” I glare at my partner, Adam
“Don’t jinx it” I groan making Jay chuckle
“In all serious babe I’ll take you home”
“No I’ll be fine” I give Jay a weak smile then return back to my paper work
“At least take some painkillers”
“Fine” I slowly stand up, but Jay places his hand on my shoulder and pushes me back down in my seat
“I’ll get them. You stay put” I give Jay a thankful smile. I look at my computer, but have to blink a few times as my vision blurs, probably due to this migraine that I’m having.
“How long has this migraine been bothering you?” Erin asks concerned
“Have had it a couple days now, just today it seems to be worse”
“Here” Jay comes back with some painkillers, a water bottle and a cereal bar “try and drink all of that and eat this. Might help. If your still not well tomorrow I’ll call Will to come over” I roll my eyes at Jay, but instantly regret it as the pain behind my eyes feels like I’m being stabbed. I take the pills and drink half the bottle then open up the cereal bar.
Finally my shift ends, Jay has another couple of hours, so Adam drops me off home
“You sure your going to be alright?”
“Yeah. I’m just going to have a bath try and eat some toast then head off to bed”
“Ok, but if you get worse please ring me and I’ll come over until Jay gets home”
“Thanks. See you” I wave goodbye and close the passenger side door, get my keys out of my bag and unlock my door. I give Adam one last wave and close the door behind me. Sighing I drop my bag on the floor, take my shoes off and head upstairs into the bathroom. Turning the tap on the blurry vision returns and I stumble backwards feeling dizzy. The last thing I remember is the way my head feels like it’s going to explode.
Jays POV
I return home expecting to see YN in bed asleep, or at least trying to. Heading upstairs I notice the bathroom light on and can hear the water running in the bathroom
“I’m home” I call out but don’t get a response. That’s when I notice the floor is wet. Panicking I open up the door and see my wife on the floor unconscious “YN? YN baby can you hear me?” Not getting a response I immediately take my phone out of my pocket and dial 911
“911 what’s your emergency”
“I need an ambulance at ‘address’ my wife is unconscious”
“How long has she been unconscious for sir?”
“I- I don’t know. I just got home. She’s been home for 3 hours on her own”
“Ok can you check her breathing for me?” I lean down and see if she’s breathing, thankfully yes
“Yes” I breath out
“Ok I have sent an ambulance to you, they should be with you in 5 minutes, keep checking her pulse and breathing until paramedics arrive”
5 minutes go by and they feel like the longest 5 minutes ever. Brett and Dawson arrive, I feel slightly relieved that the paramedics on shift right now are these two as I trust them the most with my wife
“Jay we’ve got her” Gabby says after I lift her onto the stretcher
“Can I ride with you?”
“Sure”
“What the hell happened?” Boden, YNs dad shouts walking over to me sat in the waiting room
“I don’t know. I just came home and.. fuck she looked…” I rub my hand over my tear stained face
“Does will know?”
“Yeah. He’s gone to see if he can find out what’s going on. Fuck I should have brought her here earlier, she wasn’t feeling good when she was at work”
“Jay, Wallace” I look up and see Will walking over to us nervously “I’ve spoken Abrams, she’s in surgery right now”
“What? Why? What’s wrong with my daughter?”
“YN had a blood clot on the brain. Has she hit her head recently?” both will and Wallace look at me. I think back to the other day, before her headache started
“Fuck this is all my fault. She hit her head on a job, she told me she was fine and I looked at her head, there was no bump so I didn’t….. fuck I should have forced her to….” I choke on my own words. This is all my fault.
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Text
Spilled Ink
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Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader
Word Count: 7.5k
Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.
Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it
A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3
Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.
Masterlist
It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.
A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.
No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.
Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.
All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.
“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.
“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested. 
“Why?”
“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”
“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.
“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”
“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights. 
She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly. 
“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”
And here you are. Checking it out.
The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort. 
The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.
He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.
Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.
“Um.”
While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.
“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.
“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”
“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly. 
“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”
“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”
“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”
The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”
Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.
You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.
“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”
There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it. 
“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”
You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”
“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”
“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”
Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”
“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”
Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty. 
A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.
“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”
“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.
“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”
“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”
Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”
“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”
He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.
“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”
“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”
“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”
“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”
“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”
You nod eagerly.
“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”
“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.
“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.
“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside. 
You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.
“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”
“I trust you.”
His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”
“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.
“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”
Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him. 
“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.
And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant. 
“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.
Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.
“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.
“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.
“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?” 
You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.
“That’s perfect.”
“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”
“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm. 
“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin. 
“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”
At your nod, the camera clicks one last time. 
“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”
You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.
“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”
Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.
“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.
Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.
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Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.
Subject: Initial Sketch
Hello,
Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!
Best regards,
Marcus :) 
Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.
It’s beautiful.
Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet. 
At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.
Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.
Subject: Re: Initial Sketch
Marcus,
I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.
Thanks again!
Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.
Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch
I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.
Marcus :) 
You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email. 
Subject: Final Design
Hey there!
Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.
Best regards,
Marcus :) 
Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection. 
Subject: Re: Final Design
Marcus,
If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.
Thank you so much.
After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out. 
You can’t wait.
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As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.
You’re really doing this.
Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely. 
“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner. 
“I’m okay for now.”
“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”
“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table. 
“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”
“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair. 
“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.
You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you. 
“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”
“Yep,” you nod.
“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”
At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve. 
“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.
Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.
You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up. 
Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.
“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”
“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”
“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction. 
Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.
“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning. 
“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”
Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”
“What made you leave?” 
He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.
“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.
“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”
And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk. 
Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.
“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully. 
“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”
Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily. 
“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where. 
“Okay.”
The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.
“...That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.
Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”
You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”
His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”
His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.
“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.
“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly. 
“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”
“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly. 
“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”
You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.
In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.
After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.
“You like art, huh?”
It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious. 
Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”
“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.
“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”
“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”
Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root. 
“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”
He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”
“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.
“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”
“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”
“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”
You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”
Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”
“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.
“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you. 
“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.
Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”
You shrug.
The gun switches off.
“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”
“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.
“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”
You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.
“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”
You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.
No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine. 
"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."
"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it. 
"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing. 
"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement. 
"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"
"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.
"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"
You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly. 
"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.
"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you. 
“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.” 
The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.
You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you. 
Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.
Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh. 
“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”
“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.
“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.
His fingers brush yours.
If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…
You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.
Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’
Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.
“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”
Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.
“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”
“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.
“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”
“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.
“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”
“So you just… quit?”
“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”
“Did it work?”
“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.
“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”
“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.
An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Wanna keep going?”
Breathlessly, you nod. 
In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.
“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”
It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.
“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest. 
“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.
“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”
You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.
“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.
“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”
You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.
“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”
“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.
Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response. 
“Yes.” 
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As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.
“Break time?” you ask.
Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”
“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right. 
“How’s it feel?” he asks.
“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”
It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.
“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.” 
He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.
After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch. 
“Yes,” you whisper.
“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.
 “You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”
“Don’t pick the scabs.”
“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.
“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.
“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”
“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly. 
Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”
“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”
“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”
Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.
“Marcus…”
“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.
“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”
“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.
It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.
The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.
All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him. 
When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–
He can’t seem to stop kissing you. 
You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.
“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so. 
“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”
To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.
“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”
“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.
“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”
“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”
Another kiss.
“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”
“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.
Another. 
“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”
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tojisun · 1 month
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dbf!simon x fem reader; dbf!simon x ofc
!! suggestive - minors dni; simon's a dick; is it cheating if you two are on-and-off
: draft :'D - i didnt want to post it as part of the dbf!simon series because it felt too juvenile and not in-line with the series (as i tend to avoid writing simon's pov to further shroud doubt to how he feels for the reader) but i miss writing so i tweaked this a bit
it is laughable, really, how you never seemed to have good people in your corner. how, at every turn, you keep getting betrayed. left broken and weeping, your heart full of festering wounds.
simon's guilty of it, of course.
he is no saint. he knows the shit he does hurts you but he has always known the bed he's made in hell and was more than ready to lay in it. to submerge himself in the fire because there is just something so addicting in the way he seeks for you, all mangled soul and yearning—ugly in the way he bears the burden of his affections to you—only to be accepted with nothing but a wet sniffle and a, "you hurt me." and simon hears it for what it is—his absolvement.
in return, simon whispers his apologies, all half-meant because he can't change. not when he loves the way you love him.
but this.
oh but this is just too cruel, it makes him twitch with a crude sense of delight.
"she doesn't deserve you," she mumbles, eyes glassy with tears. she introduced herself, said her name's kara. said she's your friend.
("see?" he would tell you much later, his palms warm as they clung to your waist. "she didn't mean a thing to me, baby."
"o-okay," you would reply, choking on your tears. "m'sorry for doubtin'."
simon would bite a grin and pepper kisses all over the column of your neck and up to the cut of your jaw, feather-light as they danced just past your lips.
"s'okay," he would whisper. "i knew you didn't mean to."
you would bury your face on the juncture of his neck with a wet sniffle, and simon would suppress a tremble because this.
this was exactly how he likes you.)
"oh yeah?" simon asks, snorting to himself. "and what? you reckon you're a better option?"
she flushes, cheeks filling with heat and eyes darkening as she frowns. simon expected her to storm off, taking his dismissal for what it is and running away to pretend to be your comfort place again.
instead, she seems to make herself more resolute, fists tightening on her skirt before meeting his eyes head-on.
"yes," kara says, all faux confidence. "i am."
simon hums, swirling his glass of gin as he looks away. "why's that?"
"because i know how to love you."
simon pauses, eyes shifting back to her.
kara says love in a way he knows isn't all that softness you have always associated with it—ghosting kisses and whispered confessions—or similar to the weight erin has always cloaked the word in—something that was beyond dinner parties and bike rides. kara says love and simon sees what she wants.
she wants the passion. the danger. she wants to submerge herself in the taboo love that she must have heard from you—the rough sex, the fast burn, the way he engulfs you whole until you are left twitching on the bed, gaze faraway and oversensitive as you come down from your high, before dealing with a heartache as he leaves.
it was a dance with you. it was something he tried to curb with erin only to realize, half-way, he wanted the thrill that you gave him.
with kara, simon knows it's all a front.
he flits his eyes down at her, licking the back of his teeth as he takes her in because kara is beautiful, alright. not really his type but he sees the appeal.
(she isn't anything like you and, somehow, that makes it easier for simon to indulge.)
he takes her to a hotel. he fucks her against the wall on the entryway of the room, and leaves after he came across her back.
simon fishes for his phone and rings you.
"si?" your voice is a sleepy croak on the other side. it makes his heart clench with desire.
"i wanna see you, sweetheart."
a static. sheets rustling. then, "okay." a yawn. "i can't wait."
what a sweet thing you are. this is why he can't really give you up.
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ewanmitchellcrumbs · 4 months
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Something Borrowed
Pairing: Tom Bennett (World on Fire) x f!reader Warnings: Smut. Word count: ~1.5k Summary: An addition to Best Intentions. Read as a standalone, if you'd like.
Author's note: A birthday gift for @hoosbandewan - husband Tom on your birthday. Happy birthday, Erin! No tag list. Follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.
“God’s got bigger things to worry about than me makin’ an honest woman outta ya,” Tom had told her with a wink. “Besides, the money we save we can put towards a bigger do. Would rather everyone have a few beers and sarnies to celebrate, than sit in a stuffy church with their arses going to sleep.”
That had settled it. Her and Tom were to have a registry office wedding, with a reception at The Ducie Arms afterwards. 
Even without money being as tight as it is she knows that this is what they would always have chosen. It’s just irrevocably them. Theirs is not a love born of grand gestures and material possessions. They share a soul connection, a lifetime of scraped knees, shared sweets, building their lives around each other, growing together. They are already two halves of the same whole, this is simply the string that ties it all together.
Despite keeping the ceremony itself modest, she feels like a princess as she stands in front of the mirror, her mum behind her fastening the last few buttons on the back of her wedding dress, as she places the last of the pins in her hair.
They’d gotten a deal at the haberdashery on some end cuts of lace and satin, and her mum had worked her magic with her sewing machine. The dress looks shop bought.
She smiles as she smooths her hands over the skirt, taking in the high neckline and draped sleeves, grateful that she’d woken early enough to clasp herself into the lingerie and slip that lies beneath - a wedding night treat for Tom - before her mum had arrived to help her get ready.
It had been a struggle to get out of bed that morning. Her mum, Lois and Connie had all popped round to the flat the previous evening to make sandwiches for the reception. She’d been half way through spreading margarine on a slice of bread when Connie had produced a bottle of gin from her bag.
“Well, if Tom and the rest of the lads are all at the pub, why shouldn’t we?” Connie had asked with a smile as Lois had rushed to get glasses down from the kitchen cupboard.
The pounding in her head the next day tells her exactly why she shouldn’t have. She wonders if Tom is in as much of a sorry state as she is. Thankfully, her make-up does a good job of hiding it.
Tom has called in a favour with a customer at the garage, so she can travel to the registry office in style. She has to stifle a laugh behind her hand as the sleek black motorcar pulls up outside the shop to pick her up. It’s the exact same one that her and Tom had vigorously made up in the back of.
As she slides onto the seat, gathering her skirt so that it doesn’t catch in the door, the memory of Tom laying between her thighs replays in her mind, causing her skin to heat up.
“Everything alright?” Her mum asks, climbing in next to her. “You look a bit flustered.”
She blinks, swallowing and nodding, startled out of her reverie. “Yeah, Mum, bit nervous is all.”
Tom stops fidgeting with his tie knot the moment he sees her, a grin spreading across his face as she walks towards him and the registrar. He lets out a low whistle as she stops beside him, turning to face him. She bows her head, giggling. She feels like a school girl all over again.
Time seems to stand still for her as she gazes into Tom’s blue eyes, not really registering the words being spoken, or the vows she utters in response, fixated only on Tom’s beaming smile. Once more he is that little boy, face full of sunshine and the sweetest little rabbit teeth she’s ever seen. 
Except now he is hers. Her husband. She is a wife.
“Fuckin’ finally,” Tom mutters, surging forward once they are told they can kiss.
He grasps the back of her neck, pressing his lips to hers in a motion that steals the air from her lungs. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, smiling into it, her heart fluttering just as it had the first time they’d ever kissed. In a way, this is a first too, the first of many things they’ll share as a married couple.
“Hello, Mrs. Bennett,” he whispers against her lips when they finally part for breath.
The words have heat pooling between her legs almost instantly. She is certain she’ll never tire of hearing them.
As everyone heads in the direction of The Ducie Arms, she is confused when Tom pulls her back in the direction of the shop.
“What you doing?” She asks, brow furrowing as she resists his gentle tug on her arm.
“Left something in the flat, need to go back for it,” he tells her, nodding his head in the direction he wants to go.
“Can’t you just quickly go back for it on your own, and meet me at the pub?”
He shakes his head, tugging at her hand again. “Need you to help me, come on.”
She sighs, relenting and allowing him to pull her along. “We’re gonna be late to our own wedding reception.”
Tom smirks, glancing sideways at her. “They’ll wait, they have to.”
As soon as they’re home, he’s upon her, backing her up towards the bedroom as his hands grasp her waist and his lips find hers.
She giggles between hurried kisses, their breaths intermingling. “Is this what you forgot then?”
Tom pushes her back against the mattress, placing hot, opened mouthed kisses against her throat. “You look so good in that dress, darlin’, couldn’t wait any longer.”
She gasps as her hands slide up her skirt, bunching it at her hips. He leans back, arching a brow appreciatively at the white lingerie he finds beneath. His fingers hook beneath the strap that attaches her stocking to her garter belt and pull back slightly before letting go. It snaps against the flesh of her thigh, making her squeal.
“Tommy, we can’t!” She protests. “I’m wearing things that I won’t be able to put back on if you take them off.”
“Why ever would I take ‘em off?” He asks mockingly, cocking his head. “It’d be a waste.”
She whines as, forcefully, he pushes the gusset of her knickers to one side, swiping through her slick folders, grinning at the wetness he finds. “Gonna make us late to our own wedding reception with this. Naughty, naughty.”
Writhing against the bed, she no longer cares for her fancy lingerie, or if she rumples her dress, not when she hears the metallic clink of Tom’s belt buckle opening. The noise travels straight to her core, causing her to clench around nothing, until finally he’s lining himself up against her entrance and pressing inside. No matter how many times her and Tom make love she’ll never get used to the exquisite torture of that first initial stretch. It robs her of all coherent thought every time, only able to focus on the feeling of him pushing her walls apart.
She expects him to be quick and brutal with her, but he stills once he’s fully inside, resting his forehead against hers. It’s comforting to have him this close, just to feel the weight of him.
As she runs her hands down his back, met with the wiry yet solid expanse of muscle, she’s taken back to a time when he first returned from France and was so thin she could feel every vertebrae in his spine. This is testament to how far he’s come, how far they’ve come; not just the weight he’s put back on, but that he’s healed enough to be in a place where can be someone’s husband, and he has chosen to be hers.
Feeling a prickle of tears in her eyes, she blinks them back, feeling embarrassed when one strays its way down her cheek, until she looks back up into Tom’s eyes to see his are similarly wet.
He holds her close, he takes his time with her. It’s gentle, unhurried, and full of love.
“I love you, Mrs. Bennett,” he whispers to her.
They are late to their reception, but met with rapturous applause as they enter through the pub doors nonetheless. They drink lager, and eat spam sandwiches, and Tom treads on her feet when they attempt to slow dance to ‘Sentimental Journey’ by Doris Day. She can’t imagine a more perfect evening, that is until Tom guides her outside.
They walk back towards the wall, their wall and Tom helps her up onto it, before sitting beside her. Her legs don’t dangle as high from the floor as they used to, and it’s odd to look down and see her legs draped in white lace, instead of littered with scrapes and bruises.
She grins when she turns to Tom, watching as he produces a paper bag of sherbet straws from his inside jacket pocket. “Just wanted to say thanks for helping me with my maths homework fifteen years ago,” he says with a cheeky smile, “Mates, yeah?”
Warmth spreads throughout her chest as she leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder. “Always.”
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tastesousweet · 2 months
Text
⭒ the girl with the tattoo (iv) - pt 1 pt 2 p3
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matt sturniolo x fem!oc / reader
summary : maybe the only way matt and y/n can stand being around each other is to fuck each other
warnings : weed, alcohol/drinking, smut (slightly rough but not very?? pretty filthy tho), profanity
mickey speaks : rlly hate how the smut turned out but maybe its jus me being a perfectionist + i changed a lot of shit ab UCLA (mostly grad dates) to fit into my narrative okay, i knowwww. only sorta proofread bc ive been busy, enjoy <3
THIS IS PART FOUR GO READ THE FIRST THREE PARTS DUHH
"FUCK!"
the turn of spring to summer in LA is typically the most eventful time of year. more parties are thrown than ever before in celebration of the season change, the boom of tourism begins, and of course school years are ending.
you celebrated your college graduation from UCLA only a week ago, with a large dinner at your favorite seafood restaurant and your friends all excitedly in attendance. matt was also there but you let it be known you invited him only so you wouldn’t feel bad (though he claims he wouldn’t have cared if you did or not).
you also shared an excruciating breakfast that same morning with your parents (both suffocating you with their traditional views that reminded you exactly why you moved hours away from them to attend school). you were cautious to wear items of clothing that would hide your tattoo and kept any conversations on the topic of your schooling rather than outside interests (not that they even care to ask) out of fear you may expose your routine of going out to party most weekends.
your brother was also at breakfast and you could tell he was trying his hardest to keep a positive attitude for you. you immediately noticed his wet face when you gave him a full hug after your ceremony, which made you cry, mostly out of missing him and love.
"it's not that bad!" andrea looks at you in the mirror as she continues to give herself soft curls.
“how the fuck did i manage to make this one downturned and this one up,” you reply in frustration while you point to either wing of eyeliner on your grimaced face.
andrea giggles and aims the stick of the curling iron at makeup remover lying in the sink, “just get a q-tip and fix it, cariño.” (“honey”)
you move around her to grab a q-tip from a small jar in the medicine cabinet before following her instructions, getting extra close to the mirror.
remi barges in the bathroom dressed in a mini skirt and a detailed patterned top, “hi nick!” she exclaims to her phone screen, placing it down on the counter while untwisting her lipgloss.
you can see nick’s awkward face as he sits in the car (making his camera jump at any dip or bump in the road), “sooo…this better be erin’s bathroom ceiling im staring at.”
“and if i say it’s not?” remi giggles to herself before rubbing her lips together to spread the gloss further.
“i’d say what the fuck are you guys still doing at home?! y/n’s our mutual friend that even got us into this bitch and i’m not just walking into some sorority house acting like i know any of these fucking people.”
“and we didn’t go to college!” chris exclaims to add to the point.
“yeah, we didn’t go to fuckin’ college!” nicks adds before his face falters, “the fuck does that have to do with it?”
chris’ voice is low as he explains himself, “you know…like, obviously we aren’t gonna know shit about some delta kappa omega?”
nick comedically pauses and the three of you watch the screen to see him staring at chris with no facial expression, “…okay chris. anyway, get your asses over here ASAP. we need you.”
“okay, we don’t need them. you’re being dramatic just chill out,” matt huffs from the driver’s seat.
“hey, we’re leaving soon i promise, nick.” andrea assures and remi picks her phone off of the counter to show the girl.
"thanks, but we'll be fine. erin told me where to find her, let's not get ridiculous." matt continues dismissing the conversation he finds so unnecessary.
you hold yourself back from saying anything but you can’t help but wonder just how close erin has got to matt. and how she managed to hold any conversations without pissing him off (no way a little lap dance dismissed matt’s entire personality). she hasn’t been too explicit about anything happening between them, only cluing you all in through her frequent mentions of him.
chris’ loud voice beams, “yeah, you ladies take your time! nick gimme the phone-” chris’ smiley face takes up remi’s screen now that the phone has shifted, “you know, who the fuck are we to tell any of you to rush?!” he sees andrea in view (with a form fitting dress and warm toned makeup) and can’t help the rush of words that decide to spill from his mouth, “andreayoulookfineasshitbytheway- and i just think, uh,” he giggles at his poor recovery and at andrea shaking her head and biting the side of her mouth (her very andrea way of blushing). “um, yeah, fuck, what was i sayin’?” he turns to matt.
nick laughs from the backseat at chris’ comment (he thinks it’s generally embarrassing opposed to andrea who finds herself embarrassingly flattered by him).
“nothing important, say your goodbyes now, we just pulled up.” matt gives his short advice and takes the phone. “see you, bye,” he hangs up and chris punches his arm immediately.
“dudeee!” chris groans. matt doesn’t give any reaction besides handing nick his phone back without looking at him.
“we’ll see them in less than an hour, get your shit.” matt tilts his head out the door as he opens it and exits the car.
“he’s so annoying.” chris huffs and turns to nick as he unbuckles his seatbelt.
“i don’t know him, he’s your fuckin’ brother.” nick shrugs and acts clueless. chris laughs into his seat and nick knows making chris laugh makes him feel way better than just shitting on matt would’ve.
matt opens his door again, “get your gigglin’ asses out here!”
౨ৎ
matt's suprised he's lasted this long at this party without a fucking drink.
he's seen just about every partygoer trope there is - drunk guys and "you need to sober up" girlfriends, overly excited drunks far too impressed by each new song that plays, the loner type who strictly speak within their circle even when wasted, et cetera - and has managed to lose everyone he knows in this crowd, leaving him alone with DD responsibilities in a sorority house bouncing with excitement in honor of their “graduating senior sisters.”
speaking of, he’s only spoken to erin once all night. he did see you with your friends briefly, early in the night before you were swooped away with nick to be introduced to some guy he just met.
so like all times matt is bitchless and bored, he decides to smoke. he reaches in his jacket pocket for the joint he rolled before the party, in case of emergency.
but just as he raises the lighter towards his mouth he's interrupted by an airy, high pitched voice, “um, excuse me!” matt looks over, “yeah, you. sorry, you can't have drugs in the house.” the blonde frowns.
“it’s weed…” matt clarifies, taking the joint from between his lips.
“uh huh! and that is prohibited, outside please,” she guides her hand, drink in tow, towards a sliding door behind her.
he's not gonna nitpick with some chick about the umbrella term of 'drugs' or debate whether the alcohol she's drinking lies under it, so he just nods his head “cool,” and removes himself from his spot against the wall to walk around her and out of the door.
౨ৎ
you slump against a nearby couch as you recover from a hour of dancing alongside your best friends. remi sits next to you and leans her head on your shoulder as you both look around at the room full of people (a shade of deep fuchsia covers the room from multiple LED lights around the large house).
when you feel your own blinks become slower you shrug your shoulder and look at remi's profile, "we should probably get up rem, or else we'll fall asleep. this couch is way too comfy." you sigh.
"mmm... yeah. kinda want another drink but," she turns to look behind you both, "the kitchen's all the way over there..."
"now i know you two aren't tapping out of my party already?!"
you both look over to see erin dressed in a small glittered party dress, making her shine as she walks closer. "erin, where the fuck have you been?!" you excitedly rise from the couch and give her a hug.
"it's actually so fucking hard to host a graduation party, especially with my sorority sisters- they've had me doing all these traditions and shit, i haven't had time to talk to like anyone!" she explains to both you and remi.
"well, at least you look good, bitch!" remi adds and holds erins hand to make her twirl in her dress.
"thank you," she blushes and looks down then back to you two, "have either of you seen the triplets?"
"i think nick's off with some dude and chris is 'teaching' drea how to play beer pong..." you trail off and look to remi, "have you seen matt at all...?"
"not recently, i don't think so?" she looks over to erin.
"oh okay, that's fine. just wanna make sure they're having funnn." she draws her words out as she plays with the ends of her hair and smiles. you and remi can both tell she something bothers her more than she's leading on.
"e, come with us to grab drinks," you hold both remi and erin's hands and guide them with you to the kitchen.
౨ৎ
matt hadn't realized how hard he was staring at you dancing until chris came up to him with wild eyes and a loud laugh, making him snap away from whatever trance he was in.
"you okay, matt? your brain's not buzzkillin' right?"
matt straightens himself to no longer lean on the wall, "no."
"you sure?"
"yes?"
"maybe you should say fuck DD and have a drink or two, might give you somethin' to smileee aboutttt!" chris laughs.
"don't be stupid, chris. 'm not driving drunk."
"obviously we'd get an uber, matt." he emphasizes with a 'duh' attitude. "i get funnier when drunk, not stupid."
"right," matt offers a light laugh.
he throws a hand over matt's shoulder as they both face the crowd of dancing people, "god damn andrea's fucking hot- swear she's been feelin' me all night," chris hypes himself up then brings his red solo cup towards his mouth.
matt's eyes shift from you to andrea, who's limbs move just as freely and smile is just as wide. "that's good, that's good," matt nods. "she's nice."
"she's everything, bro." chris shakes his head in awe, "but, uh, do you have any cash on you?" matt turns his head, eyes showing his annoyance. "i'll pay you back, you know that matt. just like $20 to get me in the poker game outside."
"chris-"
"please, matt," he begs.
matt lets a heavy sigh out through his nose as he rustles in his pocket for his wallet. "you're my favorite now," chris kisses matt's hand quickly before he's heading off with a crumpled twenty in hand.
matt's eyes follow him until he's fully gone, then he's turning to look for you again. only this time it's not a challenge at all, you're already on your way.
you pull at the bottom of your little black dress (which rode up some due to your eccentric dancing) as you approach. "hi, matttt," you sing. it's known to most of your friends that when you're drunk your emotions are ten times stronger, and right now you're feeling extra carefree.
matt can tell you've definitely had a few drinks, so he tries to keep the conversation civil. "hey," he cracks a smile.
"are you not having fun?" you ask. you've wondered ever since you recognized him across the room.
"sure, i'm having fun." he shrugs, keeping eye contact with you.
you notice his all black outfit and blue jean jacket, "we kinda match," you look down at yourself then towards him, "i had a jean jacket too...it's um, in a closet somewhere i think."
"then you must have great style," matt jokes.
"oh i think that was clear before i happened to match you," you joke making use of your hands while speaking.
"mhm, sure..."
"so, do you wanna dance with us?" you smile in question.
"absolutely not," matt laughs and brings a fist to his mouth.
your smile drops, "right, you watch us dance but laugh at the thought of participating...?" you move your eyes to each side, "'cause that makes sense, matthew."
"no, it's not like that. you go have fun, i'm just not one to make myself look stupid for fun." he shrugs.
"so we...look stupid?" you squint your eyes in amusement knowing matt is trying to be such a hard ass for no reason.
"you said it," he laughs.
now you're a bit annoyed. "so you go back to being a loser all alone right here in this corner, and i'll go back to this stupid party and enjoy myself."
"alright," he rolls his eyes, "go ahead and be dramatic about it."
"will do," you sigh and begin to walk over to your friends, presenting matt with the gift of your middle finger directed towards him behind your back.
and matt thinks he just might take chris' advice on having a drink or two.
౨ৎ
you hate that matt is still on your mind.
and it irritates the fuck out of you that you're now giddy seeing him for a third time tonight. but to give yourself the benefit of the doubt, you've gotten to the point where you're so buzzed you've become horny.
you came outside on the hunt for remi, who told you she was looking for erin, and ended up finding all three triplets at a makeshift poker table full of rowdy men.
and as some wise person must have said: when horny, find someone to fuck.
"y/n!! whatcha doin'?" nick notices you and gives you a wide grin offering you a chair near the table.
"hey, nick. 'm sorry i can't really stay i just, um, need to borrow matt."
matt. who isn't paying much attention to anything around him now that the four shots he took settled. with his phone in one hand and a beer resting in his other, he's bound to be startled when you come behind him and whisper in his ear, "heyyy, sorry to bother but can we talk?"
he blinks and looks behind him, "y/n?!"
"come," you motion with your fingers and begin to walk away as he rubs his fingers over his eyes and starts to stand up.
"yeah?" he asks getting closer to you.
you wordlessly bring him back into the heated house and navigate until you find a mostly empty hallway (all while he keeps annoying you by repeatedly asking what you want).
his back falls against the wall, "way to confuse the fuck outta me. what's good?" the hand you were once holding dives into his front pocket out of habit and the other continues to hold his beer.
"i just need you to take me home."
"y/n, i'm no longer driving myself home, let alone you," he shakes his head.
"right, i figured, smartass."
"glad those comprehension skills still work. grab your phone and order an uber, 'm sure you dont need my help."
"matt. i want you to come home with me." you sigh in defeat.
"oh shit." matt dead pans. "ohhh shit." his eyes widen before a a laugh breaks through his closed mouth, "sunshine...you're tryna' fuck?" he looks up at you from his spot against the wall.
you scramble a lie to make yourself look less pathetic, "you're a last resort trust me," you roll your eyes. this was way better in your drunken mind than reality.
"still made the list though!" matt jokes, "wow. who knew you were so romantic? bringing me all the way over here just to tell me you wanna fuck. and at your place? how sweet," he can't help but poke fun.
"fuck you," you say under your breath.
"well only because you asked so kindly!" he goes to wrap his arms around you before you push him back against the wall.
"are you done?"
"i guess." he shrugs.
"so will you or not," you try to keep your confidence and not allow matt's comments to embarrass you. "it's fine if not, just-"
"yeah," matt's smirk slowly grows. "meet me out front, i'll have to go lie to my brothers but i can be quick."
౨ৎ
"why am i shocked you're actually here?" you ask as you shut the car door and look over to matt, phone screen reflected on his face.
the car begins to speed out of the neighborhood as he turns off his phone and shoves it in his jacket pocket, "let's be serious for one second," he reaches over and pulls at the end of your dress, "you wear this and look like that and you think i'd say no? i'd be crazy. i mean, yeah, your fuckin' mouth can irritate me to pieces but-"
"actually just shut up, matt" you remove your head from leaning against the window and move across the middle seat to kiss him. you pull apart fairly quickly though, "how are you less mean yet extra annoying when drunk? i shoulda went with my last last resort." you shake your head.
matt grumbles before leaning to kiss you again.
౨ৎ
after a car ride full of teasing and rushed kisses, you both made it to your apartment complex.
you fumble with your purse as you search for your house keys, distracted by matt’s lips moving over your neck. you pinch your eyes shut in frustration, “mattt, give me a second,” you nudge your shoulder into him to get him off of you.
“let me see it,” he grumbles grabbing your purse and finding your keys with ease, moving his arms around you and unlocking the door.
“you make it look so easy,” you breathe and open the door with your body pressed against it.
matt lets go of you and follows you inside.
you lean a hand on the wall next to the door to quickly remove your heeled shoes and matt watches you with dopey eyes and glossy, excessively bitten lips before deciding to take his shoes off as well.
you walk closer to him once he’s done, your dress riding up your legs and barely covering your ass at this point. you look up to him and softly ask, “do you need anything to drink?”
he brings his right hand up to hold your face and moves close to your lips, “you know i don’t want a fucking drink.”
“you don’t?" your pout is genuine even though you're teasing him. he knows you're sweet enough to really get him a drink if he desired. he draws his thumb across your slumped lip before you speak again, "well…what do you want, matt?” you move your hands to the waist of his jeans, tracing the outer seam.
he pinches his eyes shut and moves his head to lean on your shoulder, he’s not gonna be the one to say he wants to fuck you. you want to fuck him, that's why he's here. so he’s definitely not begging you to touch him.
“hmm…?” you hum as your hands go to either side of his face, bringing him back to look at you. he looks into your eyes as he drops his hand from your jaw. you notice the pink splotches that still linger on his face, recovering from the heat of the party atmosphere and now the heat of this moment.
matt looks down at your lips, “you know what i want, and you want it too.” his hands travel down and push the front of your mini dress up as he feels over your underwear.
you mouth hangs open and you move your hips against him softly. begging him with your actions rather than your words. and those tend to speak the loudest.
"so what do you want, y/n?" he asks quietly without breaking eye contact.
"matt-" you breathe, wanting him to do anything more than a juvenile rub over your underwear.
he licks and sucks your neck as your hands capture his hair. “where do you want me?” he sounds out of breath when he asks so close to your ear. he finally moves his fingers past the waistband of your panties to nudge your clit as he taunts, “hmm…? you want me right here?”
you whine, “we can’t right here."
"why not?" he breathes against you, annoyed.
"i can't have you fuck me in the foyer i share with my best friend,” you just know andrea would be pissed if either of your body’s fluids made it onto the freshly vacuumed carpet.
he retracts his hand, “then why are we just standing around? show me to your room,” his voice is rough.
“why don’t you try to guess which is my room is mine?” you smile with your faces far too close together.
“why don’t you be a good host and give me a tour?” he retorts.
“that’s not fun,” you push.
he growls and lifts you up, walking past the living room and into a hallway that splits in two (all while you incessantly kiss his jaw and upper neck). he huffs at his ridiculous situation and reaches for the first door he sees. a toilet sits at the end of the room and a cluttered counter to the left.
“bathroom,” you mutter with a giggle.
matt responds with a snipped tone, “mhm yeah i’ve seen one before.”
his grip on your waist grows harsher as he opens and closes a multitude of doors with you commentating over.
he finally makes it to your room with you mocking him in a cheer of celebration as you climb off of him and turn on the dim light near your bedside.
matt would normally take in the room around him but his headspace is far too sexually frustrated to give a shit about how you decorate your room.
he opts to stand near the door and eye you from afar, wanting nothing more than to pounce on you.
you notice this (as well as the fact that matt hasn’t listened to a word you’ve said about minding the mess of clothes piled in the corner from your struggle to pick an outfit earlier) and slowly walk back towards him. the soft yellow light blurs behind you and highlights the edges of your figure in a mouthwateringly pretty way that makes matt antsy.
when you’re close enough matt somehow pulls you closer. his nose nudges against yours messily before capturing your mouth in a heated kiss. your hands feel for the end of his shirt and move underneath it to touch his warm lower stomach. you can feel how his body expands and curls as he breathes through your unwavering kiss.
despite wanting to keep the tension high, you break apart from matt to tease a bit, “can i touch you?” his face is scrunched absentmindedly from his desire and his lower lip finds its place tucked behind his front teeth when he rushes a nod to you in encouragement.
you push him away from you softly, “take your jacket off.” you move to your bed and after the sound of a jacket hitting the floor, you find him right on your feet, chasing your kiss and heat.
he leans over you and immediately finds your lips once more. now that he’s on top of you he finds himself wanting to get you to say how bad you want him.
his hands meet your thighs and move your dress as they run up to your rib cage before moving back down to squeeze your thighs.
matt’s surprised when you’re the one to involve your tongue in the mix, making the kiss sloppy yet intimate. your hand then crawls into his hair to keep him close.
but he doesn’t let you hold him for long, taking your hand from his hair and laying it against the bed, raising himself above you. “what do you want sweetheart?” he lowers his other hand towards your stomach, grazing your tattooed hip gently before feeling your underwear.
“you,” you respond in defeat and desperation.
“oh? and you want me to…?”
“matt. touch me,” you take your free hand and guide his own under the waistband of your underwear.
“but i thought you wanted to touch me? now you’re just bein’ selfish.” he keeps his hand close to your pussy, running his index finger across your lips kindly.
you look at him with droopy eyes, “please."
so matt lets you be selfish. he selfishly wants to taste you after all. he lowers himself to your face and captures your bottom lip once more, sucking then biting down slightly before moving his face further down your body slowly. your dress maintains its rippled shape in a bunch right where your tits lie.
he makes his way to your tattooed lower hip, still a little impressed with his execution of the cartoon (as it's not his typical style) and showing this with a kiss, then a light lick (making you shudder the tiniest bit). as he furthers, he finds the space on the bed is not enough, opting for the plush, carpeted floor.
matt sits on the back of his calves to watch how your body reacts when he pulls your panties down, only he misses the satisfied smile curling onto your face when you move your head to the the side.
he shifts your pliable legs to give him a better view of your heat's entirety, spreading your folds gently as he gathers spit in his mouth and spills it onto your clit. his eyes flicker from your face (choking on a moan) to the bead of saliva mixing with your natural slick that has him on edge. “that feel good?” he asks and moves his fingers up and down your pussy slowly, bumping your clit but not lingering long enough.
“yes...so good, matt,” you encourage in a broken whimper.
he hums, placing his mouth over your clit and sucking hard. you moan out lowly and you can't help but close your legs around matt's head. he normally would lay them flat again and tease you but he finds the pressure and dizziness turns him on so much more. his hands rest at your hips, moving up and down and your legs cradle his head as he works his mouth and tongue on you.
"mm fuck," you reach above your head to grip the soft colored comforter in your manicured hands. matt never falters, his licks only become needier when he adds two of his fingers to curl inside of you.
he continues his restless actions until the moment right before you have registered you were about to cum. then, he's immediately removing himself and standing up, wiping his face with one hand as the other hurries to unbuckle his chunky black belt.
you grumble and fix yourself to sit up and look at him, now discarding the belt into his own growing pile of clothes on your floor. he begins to unbutton his pants when he hears you whine and pull at his ego to get him to come back. “how fucking typical. should’ve known i'd barely get one orgasm, let alone two out if this.”
matt immediately stops unzipping his jeans and comes closer to stand above you, his face clearly annoyed. he gives your pussy a light slap, making you whimper. “keep talking shit, brat.” he grits through his teeth and slaps it again making a filthily wet sound that has you moaning.
he doesn't stop at that; he begins to harshly rub your clit back and forth without mercy, keeping eye contact as his face hovers your own, before moving his fingers inside of you while his thumb continues to work your clit. continuous loud moans crowd your room before you eventually meet your high with rolled eyes and shaking legs.
matt quickly pulls his fingers out and wipes them against your thigh leaving it sticky and shiny like golden honey. finally able to unzip and remove his jeans and boxers, allowing his needy cock to be free from the tightness. you move to the edge of your bed when you hear the small clap against his stomach, eager to find matt as ready for you as you are for him.
he watches from above as you admire his length while your fingers ghost over his sensitive dick. you then bring your mouth closer, dribbling spit over his tip and wrapping a fist around him. you look up into his hooded eyes for approval then take him in your mouth and jerk the rest of him with your hand.
he groans and bites his pink and undoubtedly swollen bottom lip as you suck and hollow your cheeks around him, even taking him all the way at some points. and though this feels fucking amazing, he wants nothing more than to be inside of you right now.
he holds the base of your neck then squeezes lightly to get you to pull away, spit erotically traveling with your lips. “can i fuck you now?” his voice is perfectly hushed yet demanding in tone.
you nod and matt wipes your lips, “good, take that dress off.” he removes his own shirt and reaches for a spare condom he’d put in his pocket before leaving the house (for no particular reason). he turns back to you, with your breasts now on display for him, ripping the package with his teeth.
you motion for him to give it to you and he complies. somehow even when you’re literally putting a condom over his dick, you’re a sweetheart about it: kissing it once he’s fully covered and turning yourself over onto all fours without him having to ask. because you understand yourself and have the confidence to choose the position you’d like to be fucked in. and matt would be lying if he said that isn't so fucking attractive.
he smirks as he adjusts himself on the bed, feeling out every inch of your full ass before moving his hands to squeeze your waist. you lay your head against the plush comforter, arching yourself further in anticipation. “matt,” you blubber out a whine.
he takes the base of his cock and guides it through your folds, “mhm…i know.” he sees your face twist in amusement, “oh, you like that, huh?”
you lick your lips and nod your head before matt finally pushes himself fully inside of you. his hips start in slow, rhythmic patterns before becoming uncontrolled and incomplete- and the same goes for your moans.
matt's almost hypnotized by the way your ass moves in reaction to his thrusts (slowing himself down just to watch in detail and only speeding up when you start to get really antsy over it).
as you both get sloppier and chase your highs, matt decides to flip you over and tuck your legs into your chest for a different angle. there's something especially needy in the way he rubs at your clit and makes a mess of your tits with his mouth that drives you insane with pleasure.
"my- shit!" you moan harshly under matt.
"hold it," he huffs.
"can't," you whimper, "just-"
"shhh," matt captures your lips as he quickens his pace, feeling his own climax approaching. after a few moments you're breaking the kiss to roll your head away, exposing your neck as you uncontrollably cum around matt.
"fuck," he moans, stilling his movements to maximize his release.
he takes a moment to breathe before removing himself from you, immediately fucking his fingers into you while rubbing your weak clit (just to be annoying) until you push him away and tell him to fuck off.
he lets out a chuckle as he removes the condom and discards it appropriately. when he comes back over to you you're on your side with your own arm wrapped around your waist in comfort.
matt sits next to you, "that good for you?"
you just nod and bite back a smile.
matt hums in pride, running a hand over your exposed ass before leaning down to kiss and suck a dark hickey into the skin.
"c'mere," you tug his hand.
he complies and you turn to open your legs for him once more, grinding a bit once the two of you begin to kiss again.
you reach between the two of you, taking matt's half-hard dick in your hand and stroking. as you pick up your pace he whines and begins to thrust into your hand in need.
until you hear your front door open. to which you push matt off of you and on to the floor, hearing him groan as you snap at him to get in your closet.
you crawl under your comforter while matt hurries to gather his things from your floor and get into your closet.
you hear andrea stumble a little making her way through the house and you catch your breath just as she knocks on your door and cracks it to check if you're sleeping.
"y/n, you awake?" she slurs a whisper.
"yes. hi drea, how'd you get home?"
she opens the door a little further but continues to lean on the door frame, "how did you get home? was lookin' all over like 'where's my girl?' everyone was usless though," she sighs.
"sorry, i took an uber," you giggle, "i got sleepy, i guess."
"mhm...you and me both." she yawns expectedly.
"you should get some sleep, we can talk in the morning, okay?" you smile from your bed.
andrea nods, "'kay, love you." she leaves with a sleepy smile.
"love you," you reply as she shuts the door again.
you let out a relieved breath, glad she hadn't suggested a sleepover like you'd both normally do when drunk.
matt walks out of your closet, almost fully clothed, buckling his belt again, "gave me fucking rug burn, thanks."
you move a hand over your face, "sorry- i just don't need anyone seeing you here."
"'s fine," he shrugs and takes a seat on your bed, "how long is it gonna take her to sleep so i can leave?"
"less than five minutes," you pick at one of your acrylic nails, seeing matt place his jacket on your bed makes you almost laugh to yourself, "shit, i left my jacket at erin's."
matt grins to himself and adds, "shit, i left my car at erin's," with a shake of his head.
you both laugh softly before it fizzles.
matt's back is towards you as he opens his phone to order another uber home. and now the silence brings you back into reality and suddenly you're feeling sick to your stomach about erin.
it takes you a little but you eventually mumble towards his back, "matt you didn’t fuck erin, right?"
"no," his voice sounds distracted and like he wouldn't care even if he did.
you focus on a loose thread in your comforter that you pick at, "...kay. not that it matters 'cause this was only for tonight. but i know i would probably die from guilt knowing i fucked with you after she did."
he turns to see you genuinely out of it and seeming to shelter yourself under your blanket. he leans towards you and rubs your arm softly before whispering, "don't make it a big fucking deal, nothing's different." his stare actually makes you feel far worse but you nod as if you agree anyway.
he stands up and puts his jacket on, “you sleep well okay, sunny?”
"shut the fuck up, you don't care about how i sleep," you whisper.
he breathes a laugh and reaches for your door.
꩜⋆ ˚。⋆🎱˚
tag list (ily):
@rootbeerworshiper
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lunas-side-anime-blog · 3 months
Text
Modern College Student/Gf Mikasa Ackerman Headcanons
Armin Version: Here Eren Version: Here
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scary goth girl that everyone is too scared to talk to but secretly crushes on
psychology major bc I think she had a tough childhood and wants to better understand trauma / help others
somwhere in the middle between Armin and Erin when it comes to academics
like I don't think she is as intense about grades as Armin is, but I also don't think she's as laidback about school as Eren
moderately studies throughout the week, but it's just basic note taking and chapter reading, i don't think she's afraid to miss a few classes though if she feels like it
only really crams and does all-nighters right before an exam if she thinks she needs it
i think she wears men cologne and deodorant and it fits her soo well, idk how to describe it but she smells powerful but comforting at the same time?
maybe like woodsy with strong notes of vanilla and cashmere
loves a black cold brew: no creamer, foam or sugar like she's so intense that way
i think she's that one cool girl who always walks into class like a few minutes late with a hot resting bitch face, AirPods in and a cold brew in hand
tall girl and I think her height is prob her fave feature about herself, like I can see her wearing more heeled boots or platforms to exaggerate it
wears lots of black and hardly any makeup besides some light eyeliner most days
doesn't talk alot unless she fr knows you, i think most people would just hear her say "here" for attendenace and that's it
doesn't go to parties unless she has to
I think think she'll only go to watch eren and armin. she knows eren loves to go overboard and armin will most likely get distracted so she takes it upon herself to be the sober one watching everyone's drinks
def a girls girl like if she sees another female in an uncomfortable situation shes jumping in, no questions asked
i can see her working out with eren so in my mind shes ripped too and yeah...most guys don't fuck with her
has a cute lil skincare routine, only has like a three step process tho since I think she has naturally good skin
she secretly loves facemasks tho and doing her nails with armin as rewards for studying lol
I think out of the main three mikasa would have the most instagram followers, which is so funny bc she doesn't know why she's so popular?
I just think her aesthetic and vibe is very cool, if her account is set to public she would quickly get a lil following
lots of secret admires with this one, men and woman alike
I can see her being BI or Pan too so like that's very conveient
other than armin and eren, I think Mikasa would be besties with Yimir and Sasha
i can see them going to concerts together, shopping, late night drives, getting food (at sasha's demand lol) like i think they'd be a chill lil trio
views eren and armin as brother figures btw, gets grossed out when people ask if shes dating them
obviously a very protective friend
the type of freind whose like "what's their name" when you tell her you're seeing someone new and within an hour Mikasa will have an entire report on where they went to school, all their exes, hobbies, pets, address, ect.
I can see her getting a masters tbh, I def think armin would talk her into it so I think they would be grad school buddies while eren finishes his BA (he'll lag behind them a year or two since he changed his major so much anyway)
Loves cats and I think she'd have one or two if armin and eren are cool with it
I think she would have a few tatooes and piercings, but very subtle ones she can hide since I think as a psychologist she'd want to be taken seriously
music taste is kinda stuck in middle school tbh, still loves my chemical romance with a passion
I don't think she'd smoke weed or drink
^^ not that she has anything against it but i think she just hates the feeling of not being in complete control of herself so she stays away from things like that
never gets sick? it's actually medically fascinating
Overall she's that one quiet girl in class who looks scary but is a sweethear and everyon'es dying to be friends with
As your GF
omg I think she'd be the best significant other tbh
I think you would meet her in a meet-cute way since it's always the people who you least expect to be cheesy
I think maybe like you accidentally tripped and made her spill her coffee in class. you look up an see this tall, ripped, emo looking chick and you rush to apologise and give her your drink in hopes she doesn't flip
shes like "...ok." and takes it. but then the next class she randomly sits next to you and passes you a drink and is like ... "i hope i got your order right?"
the dork memorized your drink akjglalg
after that she kinda keeps sitting next to you and attempts small talk, so you realize she's actually v sweet and exchange socials
which is great bc I think mikasa is way better at flirting over text than in person and you'd quickly understand that she likes you
First date would probably be a show, i think she'd take you to a local band she likes and would get a quick bite after it
I think for second date she'd like you to choose what you guys do and then third she chooses, you guys switch bc she's all about that equal effort
once you agree to be her s/o she'd gonna be so annoying on social media like she's def gonna loose some followers as she only posts you now
type of partner to notice the smallest changes in you right away
you give her a peck and shes like "why aren't you wearing your usual lip balm? do you not like strawberries anymore?"
in bed she's a dom, is that even a queston?
I think she's actually a brat tamer, in my head rn she gets a lil smirk when you act up and i think she just mentally notes what to punish you for later
mikasa views sex toys as allies not enemies, and yeah i think she has an impressive collection so buckle tf up
okay so she's kinda yandere (tbh i think most ppl from the aot universe are but esp mikasa) I think shes very protective and a touch paranoid?
like i think her past is kinda messed up and I can see her mind running wild with ideas if not reassured
so you can just oversleep for a bit and you'll wake up to mikasa practically breaking into your apartment to make sure you're okay bc you suddenly went silent on her
some trust issues too, would def be really upset if you didn't give her the passcode to your phone
doesn't like your friends or anyone else you talk to tbh, she just doesn't think anyone else has your back like she does and will always remind you
i also know her manipulation skill is cray being a psych major, I don't think she's as good as Armin but ik she can weaponize some therapy speak and make you feel a lil stupid (only does it for your own good she says)
doesn't get jealous but does get even
I can see the little shit putting thumbtacks in pockets or laxitives in drinks if someone dares flirt with you, she can be so evil sometimes i just know it
she isn't even scared of the aftermath bc she knows eren and armin have her back so she wants the smoke tbh
the type of partner to death stare someone from behind your back but when you turn around she's suddenly all :)
would love matching tattoos with you if you're down
think she'll be the quickest to bring up marriage too, porbably only a few months of dating and she's like "so when we get married-" and you're like "!?"
big spoon gf, you can be bigger than her and she don't gaf she's still holding you not the other way around
Overall a really sweet girlfriend who just wants to protect you and keep you all to herself
Can be a lil crazy at times, but she means well I swear !!!
Nicknames for you: love, my other half, wifey/hubbie
Songs that fit the vibe: The Perfect Girl by Mareux, Breezeblocks by Alt-J, Me and Your Mama by Childish Gambino
"You're such a strange girl, the way you look like you do."
"She's morphine, queen of my vaccine, my love, my love, love..."
"Girl you really got a hold on me, so this isn't just puppy love"
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(She's so hot omg I love her, i developed a lil crush writing this! Anyway srry the moodboard didn't include couple stuff, girlfriend aesthetics are way harder to find than bf aesthetics and the ones I did find looked nothing like her :( tell me if you guys like this series, totally open to doing more characters! not even just from aot, i also kinda wanna do demon slayer or hxh, also love jjk and chainsaw man but I didn't read those mangas yet so I may not be the best at it!!)
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woso-dreamzzz · 4 months
Text
Rival II
Hardersson x Child!Reader
Summary: Your parents reaction when you wander off
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When Pernille is finally free from her interview, her eyes instantly search for you.
You've been restless all day, full of wiggly energy that she knew she would have to wring out of you if she wanted you to fall asleep tonight.
But she couldn't spot you anywhere.
She found Magda easily enough, taking pictures and signing shirts. But she can't spy you anywhere. Her eyes glance to Jessie and Niamh but you're not with them. She looks to Millie and Sam but you're not with them either.
"Where's y/n?" She asks Magda.
Magda frowns. "Is she not with you?"
"Would I be asking if she was?" Pernille only feels a little bad for snapping but worry is flooding her body and it's the same kind of panic when you wandered off in Germany and appeared with Caro nearly an hour later.
"Is she not with the other girls?"
"No!"
The panic finally settles into Magda's face as she glances around. Her throat bobs. "We'll find her. I'll go and check in with Emma, see if she's with the staff. Why don't you ask the girls where they last saw her?"
Pernille nods and she hurries away. Jessie and Niamh both report last seeing you on the bench, as does Guro, but promise to keep an eye out.
"Whoa, P," Sam says as Pernille approaches," Is there a fire or something? What's got you moving so fast?" Her jovial attitude is warranted, seeing as Chelsea had just won but it rubs Pernille up the wrong way regardless.
"y/n's gone!" She snaps and both Sam and Millie's laughter is wiped off their faces.
"What do you mean she's gone?" Millie asks, looking around as if you'll just appear out of thin air.
"She's gone! Missing! Magda and I haven't seen her since the match ended!" Pernille feels close to tears, likes she's going to have a breakdown on the field in front of all these cameras.
Millie catches her arms, holding them tightly. "We'll find her," She promises," I swear. She's only little and nobody would be able to get onto the pitch to snatch her. She's probably wandered off. You said she likes to do that, right?"
Pernille nods. "Y-Yeah."
"Then she's just wandered off somewhere," Sam says," I'll grab some of the others, tell them that she's disappeared. We'll find her, P."
Pernille nods, albeit shakily and hurries to Magda, hoping that you've appeared at her side by now.
"Any news?"
Magda shakes her head. "Why don't you head back to the locker room? She might have gone back there."
Pernille nods slowly, hurrying off.
Magda watches her go and tries to ignore the guilt swirling in her stomach. She was meant to be watching you. She should have at least held your hand while she was signing things.
"Hey!" Erin jogs up to her," I heard y/n's missing? Any luck?"
Magda shakes her head. "I just sent Pernille to check the locker room but I'm not sure...She shouldn't have been allowed to get this far. It's all my fault."
"She likes to wander," Erin tries to console her," Yeah, you should have kept a closer eye on her but she'd have wandered regardless."
Tears prick in Magda's eyes. "She can't be lost," She says," She's only little. She used to fit in my arms. I can't have lost her."
"You haven't lost her," Erin says firmly," Go to the locker room with Pernille. I'm going to try and catch Jen and Kim, see if any of the Arsenal girls have found her."
Magda nods slightly but relents, slipping off into the tunnel with her head down. By the time she gets to the locker room, she already knows what she's going to find.
Pernille's sitting in her cubby, sobbing her eyes out and Magda breaks instantly. The girls in the locker room try to console them both but they can't.
Pernille curls into Magda's embrace and she's clutching the little blanket they had stuffed into your bag in case you got sleepy. You hadn't touched it since they left the locker room.
Magda doesn't know how long they sit there, sobbing, before Jen Beattie from Arsenal bursts in.
"We found her," She says, panting like she had just run a mile," Your kid, we found her. She's in our locker room. We've got her."
Pernille shoots up instantly, hand wrapped tightly around Magda's as they hurry after Beattie.
And there you are.
Sitting in McCabe's cubby with your swan, settled easily amongst the Arsenal girls.
Pernille's in tears all over again as she holds you tight, tucking you securely into her body before she pulls away, hands fluttering around your face to check for injuries.
Magda finds herself thanking Little profusely before hugging McCabe - a move that shocks before herself and the Arsenal player. She looks down at you fondly when you appear at her side, completely unharmed and happy as Pernille keeps a tight hold on your hand, not willing to let you go for even a moment. Magda smiles back at you.
"I like Arsenal," You say," Can I have an Arsenal jersey for the next match?"
Her smile drops.
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bonefall · 2 months
Note
(dif anon) So is Ashfur grooming Shadowsight a plotline you would keep/rework in BB? I'm not so keen on the way canon used it to retcon his epilepsy, but I do think a plotline examining how clerics can be vulnerable to abuse from StarClan spirits is kinda compelling
Shadowsight's epilepsy is staying in BB, the Erins can try and take it away again over my dead body
Yes, that's staying and BB!StarClan was reworked with unfairness in mind.
This time around, I'm considering the idea that Ashfur didn't work completely alone. After the events of Squirrelflight’s Horror, Silverpelt's divisons are starting to crackle the stars.
Skystar and the other more traditional spirits are losing patience with the peace that Fire Alone brings, and the ways that the code has been bent.
They feel that honor is being lost in their descendants.
Even angels disrespect the collective; see how Skypelt has its own heaven? With a demon in its midst? There is blasphemy even in the skies.
Firestar and the more modern pantheon are ferociously defensive of the choices of the living. StarClan exists for them; not the other way around.
Meanwhile, Mousefur has gone missing. Others start to blink out, too. This is causing panic... and Ashfur keeps it quiet that he's the only one who knows where they've gone.
The angels that plan action probably were a small group to begin with, radical spirits. Skystar and Ashfur are two of them, and Ash is the "youngest." So when he comes down to the mortal plane and betrays them, very few other angels knew what had happened.
(I might even have a few angels be doing the various supernatural things in that first book, but slowly, Ashfur is wittling down their numbers until it's just him.)
I'm still working out specifics, but the other angels that Ashfur has consumed are giving him a massive power boost. He can use this to jump between planes freely, and he's able to do some whacky things like weave dreams and pull nightmares out of the Dark Forest.
The most important unique power he has, which he can do ALL on his own once he's absorbed enough starpower, is blast Shadowpaw with a bolt of lightning. The electric current runs through Shadowpaw's brand new scar, giving him a connection to StarClan like he's a little radio tower.
Thing is... when StarClan is blocked off, the only signal he receives is Ashfur's.
So, Shadowpaw.
From the time he was very young, Shadowkit has had an unhealthy relationship to life and death
He watched a lot of cats die before he was old enough to really understand it, and the only one who came back was Heartstar.
His epilepsy was so severe it would have been terminal. He was prepared to die as a kit.
Tawnypelt took him to the Tribe to learn more about treatments, bringing back a method of refining chamomile to manage the convulsions.
When people come back from death, it was to serve "a purpose."
He feels like he needs to be special, like he needs to find the great meaning in his life. The reason why he's still here.
In BB, there can be guardian angels. Cats you knew in life who decide to watch out for you in the afterlife. Moleflight is Jayfeather's, Shrewface is Squirrelflight’s. Ashfur poses as Shadowpaw's.
THAT is how I plan to address my criticism. Ashfur DOES build a very personal, trusting relationship with Shadowpaw, pretending to be the one who's here to give him the destiny he craves. Pretending like he's someone looking out for him.
I actually LIKE how desperate the situation was in-canon and I want to stress how none of this was Shadow's fault, so I also plan to keep that they had very little choice. Shadowpaw trusts his angel completely, and Ashfur coaches him on saying all the right things.
The older Clerics are suspicious, but... what else can they do?
Also, instead of framing this all as something Shadowpaw needs to "atone" for, I'm going to make certain cats unfairly scapegoat him for bringing the Impostor into the forest. Shadowpaw himself agrees with them, blaming himself, but he has to learn it wasn't his fault.
He DIDN'T let anyone down by failing to live up to great expectations, and there's no way he could have known that Ashfur was using him. This never happened before, he always made the choice he thought was right and tried to make up for harm done, and he's not responsible for what his abuser made him do.
I actually want to have him figure out some of this by talking to DF demons, towards the end. Cats faaaar more responsible for what they did in life than him.
Ravenwing in particular, who was also mislead by a rogue StarClan spirit, but... ultimately decided that if StarClan was right in their judgement.
He was told (by Birchface, but he still doesn't know who it was in particular) to make three kittens unsafe by revealing their parentage. His choice killed three innocent children, and lead to the Queen’s Rights.
And StarClan was furious that he'd ever believe they'd want something so CRUEL.
And even if they DID want something so cruel... "Then they wouldn't have been ancestors worth following. And that's why I believe it's right that I'm here."
As a Cleric, he had authority on their behalf. And if they would misuse it through him, he wishes he could have just given it right back.
And Shadowsight's lightbulb goes Ding!
The very last thing Ashfur does in TBC, when the jig is up and he's about to be killed by the Lights in the Mist and a bunch of Demons who have come to defend their home, is swallow a Founder-- Skystar.
He takes the level of a true god, and reaches a nearly undefeatable level of power. Instead of black water, he's so large, malicious, and has a gravitational pull so massive it starts destroying the afterlife. It shatters the purgatory (Meadow of Young Stars) into floating cosmic fragments, and Heaven and Hell are set to collide.
Shadowsight confronts Ashfur, politely explaining that he's, well... done a lot of thinking, and, he doesn't really want what he gave him. "You can, uh, have this back!"
And blasts the lightning from his scar right back at him, like a chain, holding the screeching eldrich horror in place. Every ally he's made, here in the DF, come down from StarClan, and as Lights in the Mist, jump to his side. They can't hold down Ashfur, but they can hold SHADOWSIGHT
While they're all supporting him, Bristlefrost sees the one chance to get rid of him, once and for all. A clear shot. She bolts, pounces, and SHOOTS right into Ashfur like a falling star, knocking them both off the edge of the heaven he destroyed, burning up in orbit with a monster a hundred times her size.
And after that, Shadowsight has to go home and live with this.
He gave up the very connection that made him so special, and now he has to go back to being a Cleric without StarClan.
but the other Clerics accept this. They have to. They were all complicit in the choices that allowed the Impostor to rise.
What Shadowsight learns is... everyone was part of this. From those who made the follies with him, to the supporters and rebels against the impostor, to those who helped him realize his worth, to Bristlefrost who ultimately killed Ashfur.
He is valuable because living is valuable.
Everyone, and everything, matters. All cats have a role to play, and he was never alone.
I want to close him out in BB!TBC on a tea scene that parallels the various points in his life. Others used to prepare his chamomile treatments FOR him, in careful doses, because it is a very serious medicine. Now, at the end, he's the one brewing it.
A fully fledged Cleric, who realizes he's never been alone. Cats who love him were around him the whole time, making his medicine, and they'll love him even after he's given up his powerful gift. So now he's at the stage in his life where HE can make that medicine, share his wisdom with others, and find fulfillment in the skills he's acquired over a hard life brightening.
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beardedhotchh · 6 months
Text
a little preview of what’s to come 🫣
“Well,” you hear Derek’s voice call out before you’ve even entered the conference room, “Look at who finally decided to grace us with their presence. Not like you to be late, Y/N.” Your friend grins at you boyishly from his chair. You’re going to miss seeing it every day. Don’t give in, don’t show any resistance. It’s the only thing that will save you now.
You offer as much of a smile as you can. “Guess there’s a first time for everything, Der,” you murmur, trying and failing to sigh away the prick of tears behind your eyes. Your gaze travels to a spot on the far back wall, just between Spencer’s and Emily’s shoulders. You can’t let yourself look them in the eye. If you do that, this will have been for nothing. “I...” You try to swallow the growing lump in your throat, “I want all of you to know that I love you with everything I have left in me, and... that’s what makes this so fucking unfair.” You take a deep breath to steady your voice, tears already seeping through and breaking down the walls you’ve built. “I didn’t want to do this, but I see no other choice.” You unclip your badge and place it and your gun on the table. You then take the manila folder out of the bag hanging heavily on your shoulder and slide it across the table in front of Aaron.
The sound of your heartbeat thundering in your ears muffles all other sounds around you, and you fear that you’ll break your hand if you clasp them together any tighter. It’s the only thing anchoring you to reality. Aaron’s voice brings you back, the folder opened and his eyes stormy. “What is this?” The sound of his voice makes you shudder. You’ve known your boss long enough to know that if he raises his voice any louder, all the restraint he has will be out the window.
“My resignation,” you tell him and watch his left eye twitch, “Effective immediately.”
Five bodies stand all at once, spines ramrod straight. Rage, desperation, bewilderment, and a few other emotions that you can’t quite decipher mix into a cocktail of misery on their faces.
“You’re leaving?” Derek demands, his tone harsh. “Just like that, no second thought?”
“I said that I didn’t want to do this, that I had no other choice, and I meant it,” you stress. “I’m going to spend the rest of my life hating myself for what I’m giving up. But... I don’t see any other way out.”
“Can you at least tell us why?” Penelope asks, and you feel the knife in your chest twist. You never wanted it to end like this; hell, you didn’t want it to end at all. You remember the text you got earlier this morning, right before you walked into the building. You’ve made your choices. Now, live with them.
“Somehow, confidential information from one of our cases—one of my files—was leaked,” you lie. “The Brass wants someone to blame. And they’re going to blame me because my name was attached to that file.”
“Do you have any idea who could’ve gotten ahold of that intel?” Emily asks. You shake your head.
You knew exactly who it was.
“Why wasn’t I told about the leak?” Aaron asks, his Hotch voice making an appearance. “That’s something I should’ve known.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” you tell him, and you are sorry. Just not for the reason he thinks. “Strauss said that the director wanted it handled quietly. This was the fastest way to do that.”
“So, some asshole is going after one of our own, and we’re just supposed to do what?” Rossi asks, his shoulders tight. “Sit with our thumbs in our asses until he’s brought in?”
“Dave’s right,” Aaron agrees. “Y/N, you’re not going anywhere, I won’t let you. I’m going to talk to Erin.” He takes a step forward, but you place a hand on his chest to block his path.
You feel his heartbeat under the tips of your fingers. It’s quick. He’s angry. “Sir, don’t. Please. I’ve already caused enough trouble. I need to just... take it with grace, I guess.” You try to give him a reassuring smile, but it does nothing to ease him. “Thank you for trying to fight for me.”
With that, you take your hand off his chest and walk out of the room without another word. Your palm still tingles from where it laid on Aaron’s chest.
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