#raw-badger

[metal-sludge]

EXTREME (1985 - present) | RAW, July 1991.

[daisynik7]

Nanami is so used to treasuring you, treating you delicately like the sweet, precious gem that you are. It catches him completely off guard when one night, after he vents about work, you ask for him to be very rough with you. “Take it out on me, honey. Be as rough as you like. I can take it.”

He’s speechless at first, taken aback by the unusual request in the middle of him undressing from his office attire. He doesn’t notice that his signature tie is coiled tightly around his fist, button-up undone, revealing his brawny figure beneath his fitted undershirt. He has no clue how sexy he is right now, veins bulging from his beefy fingers, brows furrowed in a scowl, still frustrated from today’s nuisance at work. It’s a different side of him you usually don’t see, and maybe that’s why you’re so intrigued by it. You want to test him, see how hard he can give it you. 

It takes a while for him to agree to it; he can’t imagine being even the slightest bit mean to his darling angel. But the further and further you badger him about it, tugging on his cuff, begging please, please, please, the more convinced he is to just do it. So, per your request, he pins your wrists together against your back, knotting his tie around them, locking you in a compromising position. You nestle your head into the pillow, knees digging into the mattress, ass sticking up, completely vulnerable. The anticipation already has your pussy fluttering. 

He lies beneath you, eating you out first, slurping and sucking on your clit until your cunt is wet with your first orgasm, sleek enough for him to enter you smoothly. He kneels behind you, teasing your entrance with his fingers, feeling how juicy you are for him. He hums, satisfied, guiding his cock slowly inside you until he bottoms outs, groin pressed firmly to your ass. His thrusts are slow at first, easing into it to allow you to adjust to his size. But when you provoke him with a Is that the best you got? I know you can do better than that, he doesn’t hold back any longer. He grabs your wrists, pinning your shoulders back while he pumps himself deep inside you, bullying your sweet spot until you’re flooded with his cum. “You like it rough, don’t you, sweetheart? You like having this sloppy cunt filled with my seed. I’m gonna keep giving it to you until I’m milked dry and there’s nothing left. Understand?”

You can only nod, gasping when he starts fucking you again, still just as hard inside you, drilling into you until he gives you a second and third creamy load, relishing your unabashed moans echoing off the bedroom walls. When he finally pulls out of you, he watches his cum leak out of you, dripping onto the sheets. You collapse onto the bed, arms sore from being stretched out, wrists raw from the grip of his tie, pussy ragged by his intense pummeling. And the biggest fucking smile on your face, already looking forward to the next time he has a bad day at work. 

[skeine]

I love Taliesin for making Asha such a raw and unapologetic portrayal of godhood. She so beautifully embodies the dual aspects of Nature: the loving care and sacrifice for young and family, starkly contrasted against the brutal indifference of survival, the overriding need to do what you have to to live.

Does the tree care about the scores of smaller plants it starves as it blocks out their sunlight with its canopy? Does a honey badger care about the tens of thousands of bees that die as it rips apart their hive? Does the whale care about the hundreds of thousands of krill it kills as it eats? It's the brutal truth of nature: to survive, something else must be preyed upon.

There's something so honest about her philosophy towards humankind: they are our prey, in the end. They feed us. And if we need to kill them to survive, then we will. No fancy moral arguments about intrinsic evil, no set dressing about how it's for their own good, really.

No, just: They are our prey. That's where it begins and ends. And that's Caduceus's Wild Mother.

[wtfsteveharrington]

I need a just the tip smut with richie jerimovich

a/n: richie my beloved <3 thank you for requesting!!

contents: richie's a menace and badgering the reader in a playful way, unprotected p in v, fingering, semi public (we all love that damn office), reader referred to as princess once. when i say this is a quickie i mean it!

word count: 1,420 (lol)

•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*´¨`*•.¸¸.•*

Richie annoyed you - A lot. Constantly annoyed you in fact!

And things haven’t improved since you made out with in the heat of the moment a few months ago. Arguing outside the restaurant after a particularly rough dinner service. He blamed the way you ran front of house, you blamed him for sending table 18’s second course to table 31 (which he promises he didn’t do) and throwing off the flow of the kitchen.

There was a moment when the arguing turned to silence and the two of you staring at each other. Both trying to read the moment. You still don't know who moved first but it was passionate, sloppy, and seared into your memory.

Thus began a mess of touching and kissing when you shouldn't be. It hadn't gone all the way yet, much to Richie's dismay. The closest he got was eating you out in the backseat of his car which you promptly left after you finished and flipped him off as you skipped to your own car. Richie had to drive home hard and annoyed and teasingly gave you a cold shoulder the next day but you'd catch a wicked grin on his face whenever he turned away from you. Both of you loved this game.

You secretly loved the power it gave you when he'd beg and whine and grab any inch of skin you'd let him. Rutting himself against you, shamelessly needy. You made him feel like a teenager again. Stuck with the urge to fold his pillow around his length and fuck into it to get some source of friction besides his hand. It made him feel pathetic and you feel pride.

He loved it too, don't let him lie to you.

That's how you found yourself in the nice office, hips pressed against the edge of the desk while Richie stood behind you. His hands were cupping your breasts over your shirt, savoring the weight of them in his hands while he grinds against your ass. You, on the other hand, try to act unbothered while you look over paperwork even if the both of you know it's getting to you. Thighs turning slick and warm and God he feels good.

“C’mon, Babe. My dick is fuckin’ rock solid. Help me out, yeah? Don’t you want me focused for tonight or are you really gonna let everyone drown because you won’t help take care of ole Richie?” He’s grabbing a hold of the hem of your skirt, pushing it up at your waist and admiring the way your ass looked covered in some white lacey number you totally didn’t buy with the hopes of him seeing it.

You huff and pretend to be inconvenienced but you're reaching the end of your resolve too. Letting go of the papers you were hyper focused on and instead sliding your hands around your body and pulling your underwear to the side so he, finally, has access to you. There's a loud, drawn out groan coming from the man behind you which has you whipping your head around with a sharp, "Shut the fuck up, Richie."

He's looking up at you now and innocently holds his hands up in the air as an apology. There's wicked smirk as one of his hands come down to trace over your core. A rough finger dragging along the folds, bumping your clit before he presses two into you. "Knew you wanted me too, Princess." You can't help but roll your eyes, still adjusting your position on the desk so you're better able to arch your ass back towards him. "Just the tip."

Richie's motions stall, brows knitting together. "You fuckin' serious?" Which makes you laugh while you roll your hips back, chasing your own pleasure by using his hand that's still against your warm core. "Serious. Now - Just the tip and hurry up before we get caught. Think I'd die if anyone knew I was letting you fuck me raw in here."

His hand slides out of you and delivers a sharp smack to your pussy before he's taking your command and making quick work of his pants. Fine, if you wanted to play this game still he'd make sure to drive you just as insane as you were driving him.

You feel the head of his cock tapping against you now, teasing the both of you by rocking himself against your clit. "You're tryna give me shit but you're this fuckin' wet? Bent over the desk and begging. Play tough all you want but you need me."

"Jesus Christ, Richie. Are you gonna keep running your mouth or fin- Oh!" He's cutting you off as you feel him push into you. The head of his cock barely tucked between your folds as you both adjust to the sensation. He's giving you a second before pushing in another in, letting the tip of him rest snug inside of you.

Richie's rubbing his hands over your ass, the texture difference between your smooth skin and the lace of your underwear driving him crazy. Fine, maybe he was clowning you at first but there's something so... Intimate about this. Or maybe you just already had him whipped and he was hopeless.

He's fucking into you just barely, fully content to play along if that’s what it took to finally find himself inside of you.

There’s a pounding on the door snapping you both out of it. Richie’s startled and accidentally sinking a few more inches into you, both of you fighting every urge to moan. “Dinner service starts in twenty! Finish up your paperwork and get out here!”

You're in the clear. No door handle jiggling, no one barging in.

Everyone knew you took some time right before dinner to ensure there were no missed allergies, reservations, and nothing running short. Everyone knew Richie would take off his suit jacket so it didn't smell like smoke before taking a few minutes out back to burn through some cig's. Splashing on cologne from his car before coming back in. They all probably assumed he was somewhere in that circuit out back.

But yet, here you two actually were.

The two of you stand there, still connected, in silence for a moment. Making sure the coast is clear before continuing this already risky game. Once a few seconds have passed, neither of you know quite what to do.

So you take the initiative.

Rolling your hips back and fucking yourself on the few inches Richie has managed to sink into you. His hands are on your ass now, pulling it apart so he can get a better look at the head of his cock slowly pushing in and out of you. Neither of you dare make too loud of a sound.

Your head falls forward, pressing your mouth against your upper arm to muffle any sounds that threaten to slip out when Richie pulls all the way back just to resink himself halfway in. It's a quick motion but the sound of him just barely gliding through your wetness was sinful. Richie's torn between throwing his head back and savoring the sensation or focusing on what's happening right in front of him, "Fuck you, gonna make me come like this." He's squeezing at the handfuls of your ass, fighting the urge to bury himself completely but knows that isn't your game for now.

You can feel his resolve breaking so you decide to prolong this game. Giving him a squeeze of your muscles around his cock before leaning all the way forward so Richie has to slide out of you. His jaw goes slack and you hear a breathless whine from behind you as he instantly wraps a fist around himself to keep the feeling going. Your underwear are getting put back in place, skirt being folded down as you grab a towel from the pile of clean laundry in the corner of the office and hand it to him with a smirk. "Use this to finish in, don't make a mess of your suit."

Richie can't decide if he loathes you or wants to kiss the ground you walk on. You lean up, letting your lips work his jaw for a moment as you feel the head of his cock press against your thigh while he continues to jack himself off. "Don't fuck up tonight and I'll let you come home with me."

You pull back, throwing him a wink before sneaking out of the office door to go clean yourself up before dinner service. Leaving Richie standing there fucking himself into a rag and laughing at the mess you've made of him.

[suugarbabe]

magical creatures | m.r. x reader

prompt: may i suggest hufflepuff!reader, or just shy reader who often hangs around by herself or at hagrids hut helping w the magical creatures. yknow the type of person who no one notices is in class cuz she’s so quiet and he’s like,, enamored lowkey bc she’s so gorgiana but so shy. maybe draco calling her a mudblood and matty’s like abt to get in a fight w his own cousin bc of it.

word count: ~2.1k

warning: fluff

an: the end is a little shite, but the rest is good so bare with me.

It was both a blessing and a curse to see thestrals. They were very unique magical creatures in that only those who have seen death can see them. It makes sense, given their appearance. The black skin, the skeletal body, the reptilian face and the wide leather wings. To the unknowing wizard, the animal looked like it came straight from muggle hell. Historically, it was an omen of misfortune to see one, but they were protected on school grounds and oddly enough, they gave you comfort. 

You often found yourself out in this part of the forest after you had a particularly hard day. Hagrid was always kind enough to give you some raw meat to feed them, and this was the first day you could see the new foal since she was born. You tossed a portion of meat its way, the foal slowly coming up to sniff it. Once it had a taste, it came up to you, sniffing your bag and begging for more. 

You laughed at its enthusiasm, gently petting its neck, “You’re just trying to find your way, aren’tcha bub. That’s okay, me too. This world is hard, but you’ve got your mummy here, she’ll protect you.”

A snapping of twigs made you freeze. No one came to this part of the woods, no one but you and Hagrid, and he was going to be gone for another few hours. You stood up slowly, taking your wand from your jacket pocket. 

You held it tight to your side, trying your best to make your voice sound intimidating, “W-who’s there?”

A boy slowly crept out from behind a tree, his hands up in a surrendering position, “Don’t stupify me, please. I didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Your grip on your wand loosened slightly, but to say you were confused was an understatement, “Riddle? What’re you doing out here?” 

“Could ask you the same thing. What’s a badger like you doing out in the forest?” He wore his infamous smirk, and you weren’t sure if he was trying to be charming, or getting ready to bully you. The lot he hung around, was the leader of more like, made it tough to decipher his motives at times. 

“I was just…feeding the new foal,” you gestured towards the creatures behind you. 

He looked at you curiously, “You can see them, too?” 

You stood up a little straighter, “Yes, Mattheo. I can see them. Slytherin’s aren’t the only ones who can come from a tragic past.” 

Mattheo chuckled at this, “Okay, fair point.”

You looked at him curiously, “What're you doing out here?” 

He smiled sheepishly now, “I was watching you.” You raised your eyebrows at this.

“Not in a creepy way!” He tried to assure you, hands straight out in front of him. “I just, I’ve been noticing you.”

“You’ve been noticing me?” 

“Yeah, I mean. You’re…nice to look at. And you’re…cute when you’re with animals.” His cheeks tinted pink at the confession. 

You couldn’t help the blush that crept up your neck, definitely not expecting that from him. You offered him something to feed the foal and he quickly accepted. You watched at he knelt down to the ground, hand extended as the foal slowly walked up to him. 

He spoke in a hushed tone, “S’alright, mate, I won’t bite.” You smiled at the scene before you, rough and tough Mattheo Riddle being soft and gentle. He stayed with you in the forest for another hour or so, both of you getting lost in conversation. 

He had offered to walk you back to the castle, but you insisted on needing to stop by Hagrid’s before dinner, encouraging him to go on without you. 

After that first encounter in the forest, you expected yours and Mattheo’s relationship to go back to the way it was, which was nonexistent. But the next day, when he saw you in the hall’s he ran up to you, quickly falling into step to ask you how your day was going and if you planned on “feeding any strange animals after classes”. He started doing that often, finding you in the hall or after class, asking when you were going to visit some magical creature and asking if he could tag along.

He found himself fond of how soft you were with them, no matter how rough the creature seemed. He would tell you about the grindylows he could see from his dorm window, and the way your eyes lit up made him wish he could take you there and show you himself, just to see your smile take up your whole face again. 

He had made a vow to himself to never subject you to the ridicule you would get if he brought you to the Slytherin dorm. Not because you were a hufflepuff, but because of your blood status. 

As a half-blood he knows that most Slytherins would look at you like a roast to feast on and their utensils would be harsh words and hexes. Over the last several weeks he found himself growing protective over you. 

Around you he didn’t have to put on a mean face, didn’t have to act tough, he could let his guard down. The Mattheo you knew was not the Mattheo that everyone else saw. Where others saw brooding and flying fists, you saw gentle touches and whispers. 

You never expected you would ever call Mattheo a friend, but it seemed that’s what he became. Where you were once invisible in classes, you found Mattheo staring at you. When you were always able to slip past your peers in the corridor, his hands always found you, pulling you to his side. 

You weren’t naive, you knew the looks you were getting, but with Mattheo near you, you just couldn’t find it in yourself to care. At least that’s how you thought you felt, until you found yourself being dragged by said boy to the Slytherin table for lunch one afternoon. 

“Mattheo, no, there’s no way,” you really thought he had lost his mind. 

“Oh c’mon, darling, it’ll be fine. We’ll sit at the end or something. I just wanna have lunch with you, pretty pretty please?” He was batting his eyelashes at you. His stupid, dumb, long and beautiful eyelashes and looking at you with the most pleading amber eyes. 

You huffed out a long sigh and Mattheo cheered silently in victory, slinging his arm over your shoulder and leading you to the table. 

You sat down across from him, listening to him ramble about his latest potions assignment as you filled your plate. The longer he talked and joked the more relaxed you felt. It seemed like it was not going to be as bad as you had made it out to be, until a head of bleach blonde came into view. 

“Ya lost, badger?” Pansy Parkinson thought she was clever, but in reality she was just the same as a lap dog, following Draco around like a pathetic lovesick puppy. 

You shook your head no, looking down at your plate. “Fuck off, Parkinson,” Mattheo’s harsh words head your head snapping up to watch the scene that was unfolding in front of you. 

Draco tsked, “Oh cousin, ran through the lot of Slytherin women already? Needed to find yourself a little mudblood to entertain you?”

Mattheo was up so quickly it seemed like your eyes had glitched. The smirk was immediately gone from Draco’s face as Mattheo gripped the collar of his robes, teeth gritted as he spoke to him, “Don’t use that bloody fucking language around her, you understand me?” 

If looks could kill Draco’s funeral would’ve been yesterday. He seemed to understand how serious Mattheo was because the most he answered was a grumbled ‘yes’ before brushing his robes off and walking away, not even sparing you a second glance. 

When Mattheo turned back to you his eyes were full of remorse. You spoke before he got a chance, “S’okay, Teo. Let’s just go. We can feed the thestrals before curfew if we leave now.”

You started towards the doors, Mattheo quick to fall in step beside you. When you reached the top of the hill you stopped. Mattheo looked at you quizzically, “Y’alright, love?” You nodded your head, giving him the biggest grin before taking off running toward the forest. 

Mattheo stood frozen for a moment, in shock of how cheeky you were being before his brain caught up with him and he darted after you. 

“You know I’m captain of the quidditch team, love!” he shouted towards you. You shouted back over your shoulder, “Yeah, well you seem to be struggling without your broom, sir!” 

This bit of banter seemed to spur Mattheo further, his feet seemingly moving faster and getting closer and closer to you. You could sense him getting closer, and you could help the butterfly feeling that started to build in your chest. 

You reached your familiar spot, bracing yourself on a tree when you felt hand grab your waist and turn you to face him. “You cheated,” he was breathing heavy, but his tone was still playful. 

“I thought Slytherin’s were cunning, guess I was wrong,” you shrugged your shoulders, biting your bottom lip gently. 

He reached up, cupping your cheek. The pad of his thumb tracing your lower lip, dragging it down slightly. Your breath hitched slightly, watching as his eyes flicked from your lips meeting your eyes again. 

You stared into his eyes, wondering if what you think is going to happen is about to actually happen. 

“Can I…” he questions, trailing off tilting your chin up. You nod slightly, then his lips capture yours. It was tentative at first, like he was afraid if he kissed you any harder you’d disappear like a dream. 

He pulls back, breathing slightly heavy, giving you a silent look as if to ask, ‘is this okay?’ You press your lips back to his as an answer, with more passion this time. It’s wet and messy, tongues dancing as his hands caress the soft curves of your body, pressing you harder into the tree.

He bites down on your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth causing a whimper to leave your throat. You pull him back by his hair and he lets out a desperate huff. You start to kiss down his neck, finding his pulse point and sucking a fresh hickey to his otherwise flawless tan skin. 

You lean back, a smirk spreading on your face as you admire your work. “Proud of yourself, love?” Mattheo’s voice vibrates against your skin, his nose nudging playfully along your jawline. You nodded your head, “Very proud.” 

He was looking at you now, hands resting on your hips, but still pressing you into the tree slightly. His face had fallen ever so slightly, looking a little sadder than the moment called for. 

“I’m sorry for Draco earlier,” his tone was pained, like he was hurting just thinking about the earlier interaction. 

“S’okay, Teo. It’s not the first time someone’s said that to me. Honestly I don’t even think that’s the first time Draco has said it to me,” you laughed a little, but Mattheo could see it didn’t reach your eyes. 

He cupped your face again, thumb rubbing soothingly on your cheek, “He’s never going to call you that again, I’ll make sure of it. He should’ve never said that to you in the first place, or ever.”

You grabbed Mattheo’s face, holding it in your hands and making him keep eye contact with you, “Thank you for being so protective of me. It really does make me feel safer.” His cheeks were straining against your hands as he smiled. 

“Please, please understand that as long as I’m with you, it doesn’t matter what other people say. Even your cousin, okay? And if he is ever ever mean to me again, which I think is likely. You have my full permission to transfigure him into a ferret again.” 

Mattheo laughed at this, a full hearty, deep laugh and you wanted to hear that laugh all the time. Wanted to bottle his joy and happiness and release it on your toughest days to bring you cheer. 

Mattheo followed you back to Hagrid’s hut, getting the supplies you needed to feed the thestrals. You watched as he played with the foal. He looked as carefree as you’d ever seen him as you wished he could feel this way every day. The way he looked back over his shoulder, child-like grin adorning his face, you knew you wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else.

[bluemantics]

If Keith and Lance were going to fall together at any moment, it would’ve been when Keith was the black paladin.

Keith had successfully kept his walls up until then; battles left him mostly unfazed, team bonding barely nicked his armor, and even Hunk’s cooking wasn’t able to pry him open. 

Then, Shiro vanished, and everything changed. Keith suddenly was tasked with leading the team intended to save the universe. 

All his previous failings and outbursts piled up in his mind at once, nausea rolling through his body constantly. How was he supposed to do this? He was a dropout with anger and authority issues, a wild warrior without aim. Keith wasn’t meant to be anything more than a tamed beast. Even worse, if he wasgoing to step up eventually, to become something greater, he was supposed to do it with Shiro. Instead, a gaping hole had been left behind at the helm. Keith was too young. Too inexperienced. And worst of all, he was entirely alone. 

For the first time in a long time, he was vulnerable, and his aching edges were exposed to anyone brave enough to look. 

The team noticed when he started to crack, exposing his pain and his fear. 

Hunk tried to help, in his own unique way. He noticed the pale hue of the black paladin’s skin and resolved to feed him, maybe help him talk over food. However, that hardly worked, since Keith stopped eating regularly with the team. 

Even Pidge tried to relate through their unique bond. She teased him about the old stories they used to muse over together, but anecdotes about their brothers were still raw for Keith, and he lashed out. That caused Pidge to retreat quickly, her concealed hurt only worsening Keith’s guilt.  

Allura spoke to him in soothing tones that only riled him up more. It was the worst with her, even though she tried her best. Somehow, her gentle tone only reminded him of the wild thing he was. When he would respond in anger, she wasn’t afraid to rise to meet him, and instances where the whole team witnessed them clash only embarrassed him. 

But then there was Lance. That was always how it had gone since their journey started. Lance, appearing to help carry Keith’s brother. Lance, badgering him into a fight. Lance, constantly standing just to his right, prepared to offer unwanted commentary. And now he was the red paladin. 

For the first few days after the lion switch, Lance merely observed how Keith interacted with everyone silently. It made him uncomfortable. He was restless under Lance’s piercing gaze, his eyes that tracked his every choice, his normally discerning tongue that for once chose to still. 

The moment that caused Keith to snap occurred during training. He’d been staying up late every night, working extra with the bots to get better with the new black bayard. Logically, it was just as perfectly balanced as his old sword. Keith just wasn’t able to shake the feeling that the weight of it wasn’t suited to his hand.

So, he trained with it. Again and again. 

Which meant that team training during the daytime… well, it suffered. He was exhausted. Coran, watching over them, admonished Keith for it, but he could barely hear the royal advisor over the sound of his blood rushing past his ears and the clanging of his teammates moving their bayards and the bright lights shining into his pupils and the bruises settling painfully under his ribs and the pressure of his new black armor against his sternum and, worst of all, Lance’s unrelenting stare. 

He snapped back into himself, realizing the team was awaiting his reaction. Their eyes looked round and worried. Keith narrowed in on one person who was standing just at his elbow. 

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” he hissed.

There was a pause after his words. Lance’s expression remained careful, his hand coming up to rest on Keith’s shoulder, forcing a breath out of his lungs. The lights seemed to dim. 

“Let’s take a break,” Lance suggested to everyone. Marvelously, they nodded, Hunk exchanging murmurs with Allura as they both put down their weapons and began to walk toward the door. Pidge scampered up the stairs to Coran. Keith looked at Lance in bewilderment after noticing they were alone.

Lance just grinned, and it released something in Keith that had been knotted up.

“So, Samurai, I think we need to talk.” 

Lance quietly spoke to him about the team’s unease. That they all wanted to help him, but he’d regressed back to a place that was painful to see. Lance spoke of a small desert shack, a place that could be a shelter, but could also be confining in its limitations. A place to hide from the watchful stars. A place of anger, regret, and desperation.

Grief. 

Lance’s words carved out an image of a loner fulfilling his own self-destructive prophecy. It made Keith bristle. Then, however, he reminded him of other images, scenes from the recent past he’d rejected in his mourning. 

Helping Hunk perfect a recipe late at night, even if he didn’t know much about cooking besides canned beans and rice. 

Sorting Pidge’s small pieces of machinery as she ranted about a planet they’d visited. 

Allura laughing when he made a dry comment about a foreign diplomat, and then immediately failing to cover it up when said official turned around, making Keith smile as well. 

Lifting Lance off a bloody battlefield, the harsh sounds raging in the background as he carried him into Red and saved his life.

“You’re not alone.” Lance’s hands stretched out, beseeching. 

“Why did you wait so long to talk to me?” Keith breathed, as if he knew, deep down, that this talk was going to come the entire time. “Why were you so quiet?”

And Lance’s face fell. Keith regretted asking near instantly. 

“Well, you’re not the only one trying to fill in for a strong presence. I had to get used to some things, too, y’know? Convince myself that I can be right for this job.” He points between himself and the black paladin. 

It’s ridiculous. Keith wants to open his mouth, to assure Lance that he’s not just excelling, that he’s perf—

“You need to start showing up to team dinners. Stop working yourself to death at night— that was fine when you were number two, but now you gotta lead us in training,” Lance started to list off as he put a finger up for each point. “Talk to Pidge about Shiro, since she misses him too, not just you. Reassure Allura that you’re happy to lead alongside her. Just… chill the F out, dude.” Keith blinks, owlish in the face of a literal itemized list of things to fix. 

So, he tries to chill the F out. 

It isn’t easy. He still feels inadequate, out of place in every room he steps into, especially when his friends all look to him for answers. Keith often trembles with the weight of the universe. Thank god for Lance, always standing just to his right. Slowly, they open the door of that desert shack together, and he learns how to share his burden. He learns a lot of things. 

Like how Lance is deceptively smart when it comes to strategizing. Or that Lance’s empathy is a weapon, able to prevent a battle with a few well-placed words. He especially enjoys learning that Lance has curly hair, he thinks Keith is funny when no one else does, and he has a fondness for young kids due to his family. 

Lance is his right-hand man and co-leader in every sense of both terms. Their call-and-response has never been better. Oftentimes, before thinking about what Shiro might do, Keith begins to consider what Lance might do. 

And isn’t that frightening? 

They fell together after the lion switch in ways no one could have predicted. Keith feels a wild thing settle in his chest at the thought, his eyes turned toward the stars that watch him in return. 

He stays standing among the sand. He ignores the urge to retreat to shelter. Keith embraces the sky and its promise of warm, fresh rainfall. 

[wannaeatramyeon]

Vin Jin x Reader: Eyelash

G/N. Soft.

"Stop rubbing your eyes,"

"Piss off, it's itchy," Vin spits in your direction, never taking pause.

Which would be fine if he hasn't been excessively scrubbing at them for the last five minutes. It's distracting. Not to mention gross. The weird squelch of the eyeball and him grunting in annoyance.

With a sigh, you approach him. Standing almost chest to chest, you stretch up on your tiptoes, "Let me look."

Absolutely not, Vin thinks. He hasn't let anyone this close since... ever. At least not willingly. Just because you've seen his eyes bared and naked doesn't mean he still doesn't feel vulnerable around you.

Undeterred by his silence, you continue to badger him. "Hey,"

"..." Rub rub rub.

"Cmon."

"..." Rub rub rub.

"Might be an eyelash, some dirt, some dust. "

"..." Rub rub rub.

"Will you just let me-"

Goddamn you're annoying, "Fine!" Rub rub-

You hold onto his elbow, stopping him mid motion, and Vin positively growls at you. Sunglasses on askew, his left offending eye and twin pupils, peeking out over the top.

It's bloodshot to fuck. Rubbed red raw. Honestly, that stubborn asshole.

"Come here," you navigate him closer to the window and take advantage of the midday sun as he complains about you manhandling him. (Though you silently note he makes no effort to free himself from your grasp.)

"Stand still," you command and you remove his sunglasses. You're just about to tease him for how obedient and docile he is, when you notice his jaws clenched and hands fisted. Like a cornered animal. 

You change your tune.

"I'll be quick," you tell Vin, giving him a small smile and he gives you an even smaller nod.

True to your word, your fingers are swift. Gently pulling at his lower and upper lid, you peer this way and that into his eye.

"Can you-" You begin to ask, but Vin anticipates your question. Leaning down until he's at your eye level.

It feels humiliating, or at least it should. Having you this close, staring directly into the eye that made him feel like a monster all his life. Except your hands are tender and your smile is kind and instead of looking away ashamed, he can't help but watch you intently.

His usual demeanour is nowhere to be found. No biting words on his tongue, no sneer on his lips, no disdain on his face. He's captivated.

"It looks fine but," you murmur, picking something off his face. With a grin, you hold it to his mouth, "Make a wish-"

Vin peers down at your finger.

An eyelash.

"Idiot," he says without heat. Regardless, he still wishes. The same thing he has been hoping for more and more these days, and blows the eyelash away.

"Is your eye still annoying you?"

Vin doesn't know what to do with your concern and sincerity, choosing instead to default to how he always is. "You're annoying me," he teases, earning him a rough shove.

"Get your hands off me you hag!"

"You ungrateful asshole!"

As if on autopilot, your conversation once again devolves into bickering and snipes. All you can think about, however, was the proximity mere moments ago. The closeness to his face, the way he watched you, and his pupils blown wide.

And all Vin can think about is how childish his wishes used to be. Foolish and impossible, hoping to be normal. Futile. Desperate. 

But now, something else he wants, someone, finally feels within reach.

[brodorokihousuke]

I don’t think anything has ever filled me with so much raw terror as this blue badger chibi has

[adnauseum11]

Mess Hall (John Price x Reader)

John explains his early departure from poker night to you.

1.8k words

CW: swearing, explicit sex (MDNI)

second part of the two-part scene

feedback welcome! writing smut is hard (lol) if anyone has any tips I'm grateful for them. Always looking to get better so don't be shy :)

Dinner was not edible, to John’s lasting amusement. The veggies cooked at disparate times, some too mushy and some practically raw. The pasta had been fine, John’s contribution solid as always. The flavour of the sauce had been the real star, if one didn’t mind the shrapnel you had introduced to it. Both of you had decided after half a bowl each that it was more work than it was worth. Your real dinner ended up being the world’s saddest charcuterie board, but John assured you he’d made do with worse. 

“Just happy to be eating.” He said, brushing off your concerns about him going hungry. 

“We could go to the pub.” You pick at the salami, perched on one foot tucked under you on a chair at the table.

“I just want to be with you, not up for the pub if that’s alright, love.” John’s honesty takes you by surprise, you glance at him but he seems otherwise content, building cheese and pickle onto a cracker.

“Yeah, of course that’s alright. You want to tell me what happened?” You ask carefully, not wanting to call back his bad mood but curious what brought him to your doorstep now that he seems a bit more even keeled. He stuffs the food into his mouth and chews thoughtfully, looking at you from under his lashes. It’s the most indecisive you’ve seen him in a long time and you wonder suddenly if you want to know at all. Then he sighs and pushes his plate away, seemingly deciding something.

“I was offered a contract. Walk on, ready to go.”

Your lungs freeze, and you forget how to breath for a moment. Your focus narrows onto the man beside you, who is closely watching for your reaction. The question must have been written across your face because he answers without it needing to be spoken aloud.

“I told them no, love.”

“Oh, thank god.” You say in a rush, your lungs sucking in a breath desperately. You can’t help the selfish sentiment, reflexive as blinking. Your hand lands on your chest as if trying to keep your heart contained. John watches you, a soft smugness pulling at his features. 

“Good to know you want me around, darling.” 

“I always want you around, John.” The bald truth is out before you can temper it with humour.

If anyone had told you a year ago that you would be dating your oldest friend and making heartfelt confessions in your kitchen over a crappy dinner, you would have thought them crazy. But here you are, a mere few months into this with your heart in your throat at the thought of him leaving for any length of time. What used to be routine seems devastating now.

“Is that…are you upset you said no?” You ask cautiously, breaking the intense eye contact to pick at your plate.

“What? No, they wouldn’t take no for an answer. Can’t play cards being badgered like that. They ought to know better.”

Relief that you aren’t the root cause of the bad mood floods through your system, making you bolder.

“You are incredibly stubborn. One ‘no’ should be enough.” You agree, earning yourself a dark look. You smile sweetly at him and reach across the expanse between your seats to cup his cheek, leaning in to his space to press a soft kiss to his frown. 

His big palm slides up to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place when you would retreat. He deepens the kiss before you can move, his fingers sliding into your scalp with delicious pressure. When he finally releases you, instead of backing off you follow, slipping out of your seat and crawling onto John’s lap, his thick thighs spread wide. He accepts your weight without even blinking, shifting you into a more comfortable position before fisting his hand in your hair and kissing you again. The delectable rasp of his tongue against yours makes liquid heat pool in your lower belly. You’re suddenly desperate to feel his skin pressing against yours, your smaller hands grabbing at his sides and shoulders.

Your urgency seems to bleed into him, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt and tugging it up your back, pausing only for you to lift your arms before he’s pulling it free from your body and throwing it on the floor. You mimic his actions, pushing his shirt up to reveal the thickness of his chest. He grabs the fabric and tugs and it joins a growing pile of clothing. The dark wiry hair of his body whispers against your delicate skin, sending lightning bolts of desire through you, eager to be pressed against his heat. 

Without any warning John is shoving the plates out of the way, the clanking tableware startling you out of your lust driven haze. Before you can speak, he’s lifted you, depositing you on the cleared space of the table with a gentle tinkle as glass knocks together. You look up at him wide-eyed but his intense blue eyes are darkened with desire and locked on your bra, his fingers moving faster than your brain can catch up. The look in his eyes and the cool air has your nipples pebbling, biting your bottom lip as he leans into your space and kisses you again. You have a vague notion of him throwing the piece of clothing, in the next heartbeat both of his hands are on you, urging you to recline backwards. 

John’s hot mouth trails over your collarbone and sternum as you recline, your fingers curling into his short sandy brown hair. The wet pull of his mouth on your nipple has you gasping, arching into him. His hands have dropped from your sides to your abdomen, flicking your jeans open with hurried movements. He pauses long enough to cup your mound, the heat of your body making him groan low in his throat. 

“Fuckin’ hell love” 

His voice has slipped down an octave, desire making his cheeks and chest flush under his dark hair. Your body has a pavlovian response to his, anticipation spiralling through your limbs. When his fingers curl in your jeans and panties, you lift up automatically, using his thighs to balance as he tugs the clothing free of your body. 

He’s back on you as soon as the clothing leaves his hand, fingers tracing up your calves and thighs, making room for himself between them while his mouth blazes a trail over your ribs to the delicate underside of your breast. His whiskers dragging across your skin make you gasp and twitch, the tableware clinking together by your head with each sudden movement. When the wet heat of his mouth closes over your nipple again you moan, fingers pressing into the back of John’s neck to keep him in place. You can feel the backs of his fingers grazing against your low belly as he’s undoing his pants, twisting and pulling something out of his back pocket.

“John, let me.” You try to sit up but he won’t allow it, rasping his teeth over your nipple, making you suck in a breath and squirm underneath him. He releases your flesh with an obscene ‘pop’ and a smug smile slides across his face. 

“Too late, next time.” His voice is a rumble, one hand fisted around the condom on the base of his hard cock and the other landing on your chest, keeping you pinned to the table and spread out for his viewing pleasure. The slow back and forth glide of the head of his cock over the seam of your pussy makes you groan and hook your heels into the back of John’s thighs. Your hands curl around his forearm, your nails biting into his flesh as he presses into you slowly, eyes locked on your face.

The heat of John’s palm on your sternum makes you aware of how fast your heart is beating against it. Your rattling moan spurs John on, the rocking thrusts of his hips making the dishes dance by your head. The obscene symphony sends shockwaves of sensation up and down your spine, making you squirm as you clutch at his arm.

John hisses a curse, followed by your name and you can feel the muscles of his arm fluttering under your grip. The world narrows to just the two of you, John rocking you and the contents of the table with his thrusts, gripping your hip to steady you under his body. You can feel your body start to pull taut, your orgasm building in pressure and a whine climbing the back of your throat as your senses start to overwhelm. 

John slides his hand off your chest to hunch over you, putting his full weight behind his thrusts. He drops close enough to run his open mouth over your collarbone, panting hot breath against your skin. The increased pressure and change in angle make you clench around him, wrenching a low moan from his chest. The tableware crashes in time with your movements.

“John, please.” You’re begging mindlessly, wrapping your thighs high on his hips, your legs trembling. 

“You make me crazy when you say my name like that.” John rumbles into your ear, giving you what you want and sliding his thumb over your clit in small circles. It only takes a handful more thrusts before you’re reaching your peak.

Your orgasm overtakes you and you claw at the back of his neck and shoulder with your nails, desperate to ground yourself. Your keening cry bounces off the walls of the kitchen as your body clamps down on his, bucking underneath him. The throbbing grip of your inner muscles is enough to drag John down with you, his thrusts losing their rhythm as he cums hard, his cock pulsing inside you. He groans deeply, his grip on your body bordering on bruising as you both slowly come down and try to regulate your breathing.

“Holy fuck John” You whimper, aftershocks making you tremble and grab at his arms as he leans back, easing out of your oversensitive flesh with a hiss. His palms are stroking over your body, cataloging the shape of you, soothing both of your nervous systems before stepping back. He disposes of the condom in the trash and is back between your legs, giving orders like he never left. 

“Legs around my waist darling. Good girl. Up we go.” He’s gathered you against his chest and is hefting you off the table before you can process. Your brain finally catches up and you clamp your thighs around his waist tighter, your arms slung around his neck, hanging off of him like a burr. You trust him implicitly, doing as you're told, your brain still too gooey to do its own processing.

John checks the lock on your front door before carrying you upstairs to your bedroom. Both of you are too exhausted to give a shit about the state of the kitchen at the moment, curling together in your smaller bed. You try not to focus too hard on how suspiciously tight your chest feels when he spoons you, face buried in your hair with a contented sigh. 

Next Chapter

Taglist:

@deadbranch @beebeechaos @syoddeye @cadotoast

[metal-sludge]

EXTREME (1985 - present) | RAW, June 1991.

[jumpywhumpywriter]

PROMPT: Whumpee (Nico) Drugged for His Own Good part 1

TW: tortured, recovery, escape/rescue, drugged

PROMPT: a whumpee being drugged for their own good, looking up at their friends with fear/anger/betrayal in their eyes.

MY WRITING:

Nico was safe at last, surrounded by friends after months of brutal torture. He'd almost died in that wretched place so many times he'd lost count. But now he was at a familiar building, laying on a bed with his closest friend Marcus watching over him.

Nico had argued that he was fine, but the dozens of viciously-inflicted wounds across his body suggested otherwise. But he didn't want to be a burden. He didn't like to talk about what he went through in those months, but the memories haunted him every second of every day.

He put up a strong facade for his friends, mirroring his once tough-as-nails personality, trying to act normal again, but inside he was broken and afraid. He was afraid to sleep, for the nightmares. Afraid to eat, for the spoiled food he'd had to consume that made him deathly sick. Afraid to bathe, for fear of being drowned.

He was once the strongest member of his team as their leader -- unphasable, the most confident and level-headed of them all... but now... he was a hollow shell of who he once was. He wasn't the great and noble leader he used to be, but he desperately didn't want to let his team down.

He'd already done that once, the moment he'd made the heroic choice to sacrifice his life in place of Marcus's, given himself up to Villain to save his friend's life. That's how it had all happened. All the agony he'd endured... the days of endless suffering... it was supposed to be Marcus. Villain had tortured him for endless hours just to spite him for that sacrifice. Mock him for it. And it had taken months for Nico's friends to track down Villain's hidden hideout and rescue him. He'd been half-dead when they found him, barely clinging to consciousness.

And now here he was, trying to fit back into an old life with new limitations. His left leg had been shredded to bloody ribbons during captivity, so bad that it was hard to even walk a few steps. He'd probably never be able to fight again, lead his friends into battles.

Marcus sat on the edge of the bed he was laying on, gently rubbing his shoulder reassuringly, one of the few places Nico wasn't injured.

Nico had been hit with shrapnel from an explosion when he was at Villain's hideout, when his friends had blown in a metal wall to rescue him. The sharp shrapnel was buried in his abdomen, and his friends insisted he let them do surgery to remove the pieces that were dangerously close to vital organs, but every time he'd refused. He was terrified of the thought of being knocked out, an unreasonable fear because it reminded him of all the times he'd passed out from the agony during torture after screaming his throat raw and bloody, ruining his voice. He hated the thought of being that vulnerable, that exposed again.

But his friends had continued badgering him about it, trying to convince him to let them take the shrapnel out... except for today. For some odd reason none of them had mentioned the shrapnel today, despite constantly talking about it every day prior.

Nico's head pounded with pain, his whole body a vessel of pure agony. He'd been stuck in bed for three days now, barely able to do more than sit up and lay down again.

Marcus stayed with Nico almost every hour, sleeping on the floor just to stay near him and make sure he was still breathing. The guilt must be tearing him apart, knowing that Nico suffered all the pain in his place.

"It should have been me," Marcus said quietly, voice cracking as he rubbed Nico's shoulder.

"No," Nico wheezed, "it was my choice to make. Don't blame yourself for it."

Marcus still looked heartbroken, but he shook his head, reaching to the table at his bedside to pick up a glass of milk. "At least drink something," he offered sadly. Milk and other nutrient-rich drinks had been one of the only ways to sustain Nico, seeing as he couldn't keep any food down.

Marcus helped Nico sit up, and Nico couldn't suppress the sharp cry of pain at even that simple movement, making Marcus wince sympathetically. Nico took the glass with trembling hands and forced himself to drink. He had almost finished, when the room started dimming, and he stared down at the near-empty glass with dawning realization.

"No... you wouldn’t really..." He breathed out the words, tearing his gaze from the glass to stare at Marcus in sheer disbelief, utter betrayal twisting his features at the knowing expression on his friend's solemn face.

"I'm sorry," Marcus whispered, guilt and shame filling his eyes. "But we have to get the shrapnel out before it kills you." He stood up from the bed to stand in front of Nico.

Nico's face was devastated and hurt, before helpless anger took over. With an anguished shout, he summoned what weak strength was left in his ravaged body and lurched to his feet, swinging a punch at Marcus's face. Marcus easily sidestepped the attack, and Nico stumbled, a cry of agony tearing loose from his chest as broken ribs ground together. His legs buckled, the burst of strength gone, and he crumpled. But Marcus caught him before he could hit the floor, holding him up.

"...How could you?" Nico choked out, eyes stinging. The one friend he thought he could trust with his life had betrayed him.

"Because you're not taking care of yourself," Marcus answered softly. "And someone has to keep you alive."

Like a dam that was shattered, all the agony, all the feelings and pain Nico had been suppressing surged to the surface, hitting him all at once. He tried to jerk out of Marcus's grip, but Marcus held him tightly against his chest, limiting his futile struggles.

And then Nico couldn't help it anymore. He broke down, sobbing pathetically, tears rolling down his cheeks. He didn't care anymore if he was falling apart piece by piece in front of his friend, his teammate. Didn't care if Marcus could see his weakness and pain.

Nico's whole body shook and trembled, and another anguished sob escaped him as the world around him grew fuzzy and distant, falling farther away with each passing second.

"It's going to be okay," Marcus murmured soothingly into his ear, the guilt openly edging his voice. "You can let go. Rest."

But Nico was terrified of that lingering darkness creeping over his conscience, if he closed his eyes he might never wake up again. But it was getting harder and harder to fight it. He slumped against Marcus, slowly going limp in his arms even as he cried and sobbed helplessly into his friend's shoulder, the pain overwhelming. It broke Marcus's heart to betray him like this, but it was for his own good.

"No... please don't let me... fall asleep..." Nico begged pathetically, his voice starting to slur and fade.

Marcus's face twisted with regret. "I can't do that, but I can assure you that I'll wake you up when it's over."

"...P-Promise?" Nico croaked, his voice now barely more than a raspy whisper.

"I promise," Marcus answered without a beat of hesitation.

Nico clung to consciousness with everything he had, but the sedatives were too strong, and eventually it slipped out of grasp, tossing his mind into darkness, and he gave up, letting himself go limp. He was distantly aware of his friend gently lowering him to the floor, but nothing more.

Next ⏩️

Masterlist

[ghostlyglimmer]

Unlikely Roads: Chapter 1

Summary:

Danny and his rival, Wes Weston, as they join forces to escape the GIW. On a tense road trip, they uncover personal truths and forge an unexpected bond while battling both the GIW and their own conflicts.

Fic is inspired by @greenglowinspooks's post!

The quiet of Amity Park’s night was shattered by the frantic pounding on Danny’s window.

Danny Fenton sat bolt upright in bed, heart racing. His first thought was that some ghost had decided to wreck his night. Again. But when he glanced at the clock—2:17 AM—and looked outside, what he saw wasn't a ghost at all. It was Wes Weston. Bruised, bloody, and visibly shaking.

“What the hell?” Danny muttered, more annoyed than alarmed at first. Wes had always been a thorn in his side. Always trying to "out" him as Danny Phantom to everyone in school, even though no one ever believed him. But this? This was...different.

“Fenton!” Wes’s voice cracked through the glass, desperate and raw. “Open up!”

Still half-asleep, Danny threw back his blanket and padded across the floor. He opened the window just a crack, enough to hear the panic in Wes’s voice more clearly. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“They’re after me,” Wes gasped, leaning against the window frame, struggling to catch his breath. His face was pale, and his clothes were torn, as if he’d barely escaped something—or someone. “The GIW… they’re after me. And you.”

That got Danny’s attention. “Wait, what?”

Wes took a shaky breath, wincing as he touched a cut on his forehead. “They’ve been watching me. For weeks. Ever since I started poking around, asking too many questions. An hour ago, they got a warrant. They want me in custody because of what I know... and they want you for what you are.”

Danny’s stomach flipped. The GIW—the Ghost Investigation Ward—had been a constant threat ever since they’d set up camp in Amity Park, hunting ghosts with their high-tech weapons and zero tolerance. But for them to be after Wes too? That was new. That was bad.

He could feel the cool buzz of his ghost sense curling in his chest, a sign that danger was near, though not supernatural this time. It was human—and that made it scarier. He narrowed his eyes at Wes. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because I didn’t have to come here!” Wes snapped, his voice breaking. “I could’ve run. I should’ve run, but I didn’t! They’ll kill me just for knowing your secret, and you? They’ll do worse to you if they catch you.”

Danny clenched his jaw, weighing his options. Wes had been a royal pain for so long—constantly badgering him about being Phantom, always trying to expose him. But Wes looked absolutely terrified. There was no mistaking the desperation in his eyes.

“Look,” Wes pleaded, his breath ragged. “You’ve got powers. You’ve got a chance. But I can’t... I can’t do this alone.”

Danny stood frozen, staring at Wes. The easy thing would be to slam the window shut, let Wes deal with his mess. But if what he said was true—and Danny's gut told him it was—they were both in deep trouble.

“Fine,” Danny grumbled, yanking the window open fully and helping Wes climb inside. “But we’re gonna need more than your paranoid rambling to get out of this.”

“I have a plan,” Wes said, his voice still shaky but firm. “My uncle. He lives out of state. He doesn’t trust the government, hates the GIW, all that. He’ll help us, no questions asked.”

Danny raised an eyebrow. “Your uncle? And where does this government-hating conspiracy theorist live?”

“Florida.” Wes rubbed his hands together, trying to shake off the cold sweat from his skin. “Or Alaska. Either one works. The farther the better.”

Danny groaned. “Great. So, what? We hitchhike to Florida?”

“I have a bike. It’s my brother’s old one.” Wes hesitated. “But it’s in bad shape.”

“You think?”

“I didn’t have time to fix it, okay?! They showed up out of nowhere. We don’t have time to be picky.”

Danny frowned, pacing. He didn’t have many choices. If Wes was right, the GIW could be busting down the door any minute now. His parents were out of town, Jazz was staying at a friend’s, and Tucker and Sam were both unreachable at this hour. Danny didn’t know how much he trusted Wes—actually, he didn’t trust Wes at all—but he knew one thing: the GIW wasn’t going to stop until they had him. And if they thought Wes was connected to Phantom, they’d take him down too.

“Fine,” Danny said. “Let’s go.”

They crept downstairs as quietly as possible, slipping out the back door. As promised, Wes’s “bike” sat at the edge of the driveway, looking like it had seen better days—years ago. Rust clung to the metal frame, the engine sputtered when Wes tried to start it, and the tires were half-deflated.

“Oh, this is just great,” Danny muttered sarcastically, arms crossed. “We’re going to outrun the government on this thing?”

“Shut up and help me,” Wes hissed, yanking on the choke to get the engine going. Danny rolled his eyes but grudgingly stepped in, using his powers to subtly jumpstart the engine. After a few coughs and splutters, the bike roared to life—well, more like it wheezed to life, but it was running.

Danny climbed on behind Wes, the smell of gasoline thick in the air. He glanced behind them, half-expecting to see the black vans of the GIW pulling into his neighborhood. Nothing yet. But he knew it wouldn’t be long.

“Alright, Weston,” Danny muttered, gripping the back of the seat. “Let’s see how long we last before this thing breaks down.”

Wes glanced over his shoulder, his expression a mix of fear and determination. “Let’s just hope we make it out of town first.”

With that, Wes twisted the throttle, and they shot forward down the empty street, the wind biting at their faces as they sped into the night. Danny could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on them. He didn’t know how far they could run, or how long they could hide, but one thing was clear: for better or worse, they were in this together now.

As they tore through the deserted streets, the tension between them simmered. Danny kept one eye on the road ahead, the other on Wes. Part of him still wondered if this was some elaborate trick—if Wes would sell him out the second he got the chance. But then Danny saw the way Wes’s knuckles whitened on the handlebars, his breath hitching every time they passed a streetlight.

For the first time, Danny realized Wes wasn’t just scared of him. He was scared of the same thing Danny was: the GIW.

[kochevni-k]

This boy wears a heart on his sleeve.

Traveler's company passport notebook refill cover. Part two, SOAP.

Total time: 21 h.

Materials: 

1. Fabriano Artistico Traditional White Watercolor paper, 300 GSM, Grain Fin;

2. White Nights Watercolour paint (Scarlet, Burnt sienna, Raw umber, Mars brown, Sap green, Green, Green shadows, Dark blue shadows, Perylene violet, Neutral black, Titanium white);

Royal Talens Van Gogh Watercolour paint (Raw Sienna, Naples Yellow Red)

3. Handmade synthetic/badger liner brush.

I finally finished it! 😤 Not all of my artistic decisions were successful, but... it is what it is. Next time I'll try harder!!! 💪 And yeah, my light sucks. I'll scan full result and post it in recent days.

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

For "Never Have I Ever"

...Chef Peeta/Server or Food Critic Katniss? (Or some such variation of this)

Yes chef? 🫦

Madame. You are already on my shit list for the number of fic idea documents I've added to my drive because of you. Clearly you are determined to badger me into writing this one, and le sigh. I like it. A lot. So much so that I have two options for you:

Option A: When Katniss left her home town at the age of eighteen, she had no intention of returning. Ever. Too many painful memories, like a pregnancy at the age of sixteen that ended in miscarriage. Or her father's death while she was still grieving the loss of her baby. Her mother's suicide attempt. The way all of that left her so raw that she destroyed her relationship with her high school sweetheart.

Now Katniss writes a food critique column with her work partner, Gale. They specialize in small restaurants with unique "local flavor." Then their boss assigns them to a newly opened restaurant in her home town, and Katniss begs Gale to do all the work this time. Their boss refuses to let her off the hook once he finds out Katniss grew up in that town, but a last minute family emergency with Gale's mother results in Katniss checking in alone to the only decent hotel in town.

Of course, she didn't do her research and when she calls to make a reservation for that night, she finds out the restaurant she's meant to review closes early on Thursdays. Stuck in town for an extra night, Katniss makes her way to the one decent bar in town. She's already a few drinks in when old news walks through the door.

Despite all the hurt lingering between them, it's clear that the sparks are still there, and Katniss never could resist Peeta Mellark's kind blue eyes or his sweet, shy smile. Which is why, even though a one night stand with her high school sweetheart is a horrible idea, Katniss convinces herself she won't ever see him again anyway.

On Friday night, Katniss eats at what she quickly deems "a hidden gem almost good enough to make me move back home." Enchanted with the food and the ambiance, she asks to meet the chef and is granted her request.

Suddenly, she finds a hundred and one things wrong with the food.

As much as he wishes he had, Peeta knows he's never stopped loving his high school sweetheart. He tried dating other girls after they lost their baby and Katniss left his heart in shreds, but no one seemed able to fill the hollow feeling inside his chest. Which is probably why, when he sees her in Abernathy's Pub, he reverts to his teenage stupidity. Even though she tells him that she's only in town for one night, he still returns flirt and somehow winds up in bed with her.

Of course, it doesn't matter that the sex was incredible, she's still gone when he wakes up in the morning. So he throws himself into his work, the one thing that's kept him sane all these years.

At least until one of his servers bring Katniss into his kitchen, claiming she wanted to meet the chef and introducing her as one of the writers behind the famous Local Flavor food critique column. Small restaurants like his live or die by her reviews, and she's got nothing good to say about his place.

Lovers to haters back to lovers, second chance romance fic. Spicy up front followed by a long, slow simmer.

Option B: For the life of him, Peeta cannot seem to keep a staff in his kitchen. His best friend Delly, the kindest person he knows, has suggested that maybe it's because he's too soft. Too kind, and people take advantage of him. Enter Katniss Everdeen (aka Gordon Ramsey ala Nightmare Kitchen) to whip Peeta's struggling restaurant into shape. Tempers flare and it gets hot in the kitchen until things come to a boil one night while Katniss and Peeta are alone, trying out new recipes. Peeta orders her to do something and she responds the way she's been training his new staff to respond. "Yes chef!" And Peeta discovers that he likes hearing her say that to him... a whole lot more than he should. He wants to find out if there are any other ways he can get her to say it or otherwise moan it...

Spoiler alert. He does find out, and discovers that she likes saying it to him as much as he likes hearing it.

Never Have I Ever

<3 kdnfb

[not-neverland06]

Broken Machinery

Pt. 6 (completed series)

Series masterlist

Connor RK800 x fem!reader

A/N: I’ve just got this weakness for one love interest calling the other baby while they’re injured. I can't help myself 

Content Warnings: Cussing (duh), shots fired, asshole government agents, me not knowing what android parts are called (everything’s getting called a bio component idc), nothing too bad honestly just one near death experience and existential crisis

Word Count: 3.3K

Series Summary: You and your grumpy partner Anderson gain a new addition to the team. He’s supposed to be CyberLife’s best, but there’s something not quite right with his programming, and the problems seem to revolve around you.

“You know, you really scared me up there.”

“How do you think I felt?” 

You might have gone a little crazy, back there, you nearly broke a few toes beating the shit out of Connor.

It was like you were so blinded by your rage you just went into a trance. There was thirium eveywhere, Hank and Chris both had to grab you to get you off him. One of the deputies had to take him to CyberLife for repairs. 

Serves him right. 

Hank had immediately driven you to the hospital afterwards. Despite your incoherent garbling that you were ‘in tip-top shape.’

He was sitting in your room with you and for the last forty minutes since the doctor left, he had been staring into the coffee he got at the vending machine. Not talking, not looking at you, you had almost begun to believe he had passed out. 

He was still staring at his coffee as he spoke. “I’m not talking about the roof. I knew I’d catch you.” There was an absolute certainty to his words, like there was no other possible outcome he would have accepted except your survival. 

You wanted to be happy, wanted to feel like you had a dad that loved you and would risk falling off a roof with you, rather than let you go. 

But you knew that he saved you out of a feeling of duty. He saved you because he couldn’t lose two kids. Not for any other reason. Sometimes you felt like he was more of an android than Connor. 

“Back there, what you did to Connor,” your shoulders stiffened in defense. You didn’t need to hear that you look like a rabid badger when you’d gone after him. You already knew that you went a little insane. Hank raised his hands in defense before you could go on another rant. “Hey, I’m not saying the fucker didn’t deserve it, I’m just saying I was…. I was scared, okay?”  

He finally looked at you now, and you almost wished he hadn’t. For years all you’ve seen was a vacant look or drunken rage. 

Now, there was something there. Something real, and it hurt. It physically hurt to see the pain in his eyes. The raw grief and loss. 

He seemed to lose track of what he was saying, caught up in one rare moment of actually allowing himself to feel instead of masking it with rage or drinking it away. “I feel like I lost you both.”

You didn’t know what to say. There were no words of comfort you could offer him. No white lies he would accept. 

And there were none you were willing to give, because he was right. 

He had lost you both in that car crash. 

Amanda was waiting for Connor in a boat. It was clear he was expected to row her, his resistance at the unspoken order was surprising. 

“I love this place, it’s all so calm and peaceful. Far from the noise of the world. Tell me, what have you discovered?”

Connor felt the need to keep the development in his relationship with you to himself. Amanda wouldn’t understand why he was living with you. She surely wouldn’t approve of his newly prioritized mission. 

PROTECT Y/N

“I found two deviants at the Eden Club, I had hoped to learn something but…” There had to be a way to phrase this that she wouldn’t know the truth behind his actions. “They managed to escape.”

“That’s too bad,” she saw right through him. “You seemed so close to stopping them.” Connor chose to row rather than speak. “You seem… lost Connor. Lost and perturbed.”

Connor debated being sincere with her. If anyone had advice or could tell him what to do about what he’s been going through, it would be Amanda. 

“I thought I knew what I had to do, but now I realize it’s not that simple.”

“You had your gun trained on those deviants at the Eden Club.” There was a forced replay of the footage at the club. It felt so invasive that they could reach through him and rip out what they wanted. 

“Why didn’t you shoot?” 

He chose to tell the truth, “I don’t know, I don’t know.”

He knew he made the wrong choice immediately after. At least he hasn’t told her about you.

But, his doubt was concerning. His main concern should be the mission, now, he’s not so sure. 

“If your investigation doesn’t make progress soon, I may have to replace you, Connor.”

He wasn’t sure how to feel about the idea of being replaced. If it was for the sake of the mission then he should be willing to do anything. Yet, the idea of being deactivated made him feel… wrong, almost angry. 

“I understand.”

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

“Something’s happening, something serious. Hurry, Connor. Time is running out.” The ominous warning left Connor with a feeling of pressure on his chest. 

Hank kept tapping his foot and staring at Connor as he flipped his coin. You smiled at his irritation. “How do you do that?” 

Connor stopped toying with the coin to give you his full attention. It was a bit intimidating when he stared at you full force. He’d seemed irritated this morning when you left the house to come to the news tower. 

The stormy look on his face was still present and now directed at you. It was an effort not to pick at your nails. 

You’d been trying to stop, everytime Connor would catch you he’d shoot you a warning glare before slapping your hands apart and taking them in his own. Although, sometimes you did it because he would interlace your fingers together. As pathetic as it was, the feeling of his skin against yours was soothing. 

He blinked a lot before the look on his face lightened and he tilted his head, “The coin trick?” Connor demonstrated again for you, flipping it between his fingers. You nodded and he flicked it back and forth between both hands before Hank finally snapped. 

He yanked it out of the air, “You’re starting to piss me off that coin, Connor.” 

“Sorry, Lieutenant,” he put the coin back in his pocket. “I’ll show you later,” he paused before finally adding, “at home.” Your cheeks felt warm as a smile slowly crept along your face. He’d never referred to your house like that, it brought you joy knowing that you could provide somewhere comforting for him. 

“The fuck did you just say?” Hank turned towards you, “Is he staying with you?”

You reached forward and clicked the button for the floor a couple times. How slow was this freaking elevator? 

“Were you not aware of that, Lieutenant?”

“No I wasn’t.” Hank shot you a disbelieving look, you slunked your way behind Connor, avoiding both of their gazes. 

“I found her passed out on her couch in a distressing condition. I’ve opted to stay with her and help her take care of herself while she heals.” 

Hank looked around Connor at you, “You didn’t tell me you needed help.”

“You didn’t ask.”

You were the first out of the elevator. “Hey, Y/N.”

You took in the multitude of SWAT and CSI agents. “Shit, what’s going on here? Was there a party and nobody told me?”

Chris scoffed, “That’s an understatement. It’s all over the news, so everybody’s been butting their nose in. Even the FBI wants a piece of the action.”

“Fuck me, that’s the last thing we need. Some FBI prick trying to take over.”

Hank walked up to the two of you, “Now we got the Feds on our back, I knew this was gonna be a shitty day. So what do we got?”

“A group of four androids. They knew the building, and they were all very well organized.”

You glanced back at Connor and gave him a narrowed eyed look. “Well if I know anything about androids,” you turned around again. “It’s that their real good at getting their hands on things they shouldn’t have. They probably managed to download the building schematics.”

“Building plans or not, I’m still trying to figure out how they got this far without being noticed.”

“Maybe they had some help,” Chris seemed a little surprised at your words. 

“What are you saying, they had someone on the inside?” You nodded absently at Hank's question as you took a look around the hallway where the deviants ambushed two guards. 

It’s definitely the least violent, hostile takeover you’ve ever seen. No casualties, only a few woozy guards and one technician in shock. 

Hank examined some bullet holes in the wall. “How many people were working here?”

“Just two employees and three androids.” You let Hank take over the rest of the briefing while you examined the evidence around the room. “The deviants took the humans hostage and broadcast their message live. They made their getaway from the roof.”

“The roof?”

“Yeah, they jumped with parachutes. We’re still trying to figure out where they landed,” do they know anything? “But the weather’s not helping. If you want to take a look at the video broadcast by the deviants, it’s on that screen over there.” 

You made your way over to the broadcasting room. Someone in a trench coat was standing in the middle of the room, blocking you from looking around. 

“Lieutenant, detective, this is Special Agent Perkins from the FBI. Lieutenant Anderson and Detective Y/L/N are in charge of investigating for Detroit Police.” Connor walked over the the group of you. 

SA Perkins nodded towards him, “What’s that?” You got immediate douchebag vibes from him. 

“My name is Connor. I’m the android sent by CyberLife.”

You wanted to face palm, did they not program him with any other greetings?

“Androids investigating androids, huh? You sure you want an android hanging around?” The irony wasn’t lost on you, but he didn’t have to be a dick and act like Connor wasn’t standing right in front of him. Hank scoffed, seemingly prepared to dismiss him, but SA Perkins wasn’t done yet. 

“After everything that happened…” The insinuation had your hands curling into fists. He didn’t even know the two of you, yet he thought he had the right to speak about something he knew jack shit about. You had taken a half a step forward before someone’s hand was on your wrist, stopping you. 

You looked down expecting to see Connor, instead Hank was gently holding your arm. He didn’t look at you, just kept staring at Perkins until the agent had made himself uncomfortable. You got a sickening amount of satisfaction at the way he crumpled under Hank's stare. 

“Whatever, soon the FBI will take over and you’ll be on another case.”

“Pleasure meeting you.” Hank was clearly done entertaining the rat faced asshole. 

“Have a nice day,” you gave him the fakest smile you could muster until he just scoffed

“Don’t fuck up my crime scene.” 

You watched him walk away, “I really wish you had let me just knock him down a peg.”

Hank gave you a long suffering look, “He would have had your badge faster than you could blink. God, what a fuckin’ prick.”

“I’d kill to see that asshole humbled.”

“Let’s have a look around,” Hank started towards the broadcasting desk. 

You made your way to the stairs, “I’ll check out the roof,” your foot was almost on the step, but then Connor appeared in front you out of nowhere. So close. 

“I think that’s unwise. You should stay somewhere both Hank and I can keep a watch over you, you’re still injured.” He made a pointed look towards your sling. You huffed out in frustration, his coddling was getting out of hand. 

“I’m a big girl, Connor, and you’re a detective bot. Not a caretaker, act like it.”

Connors head tilted and he squared his shoulders. Oh, this was about to be an argument. “You told me to prioritize my partners safety.”

Damn, that was really biting you in the ass. “Oh, well depriotize it.” Connor crossed his arms and stared you down, you really didn’t need him making a scene but shutting down on the stairwell to make a point. 

You threw your one good hand up in surrender, “Fine! Whatever,” you stood by the desk and sulked. He seemed way too smug as he walked off. 

“I’ve identified its model and serial number.”

Hank continued to stare at Connor, “Anything else I should know?”

“No. Nothing.” He didn’t know why he lied, but for some reason Connor didn’t want Hank or Y/N to know that the android leading the revolution was from the same line of androids he was. 

He was confused, he was RK800, a prototype and supposed to be the only one of his kind. Yet he was staring up at an RK200. He’s never thought about why he was 800, there was no reason to. But If he had, he would have assumed that his predecessors were just failed versions of himself  that couldn’t pass the Turing test. 

He would be wrong, because here in front of him was something completely different from himself.

What was CyberLife hiding? 

“You okay, Connor?” He was brought out of his stupor by the sound of your voice. He looked towards you, your arm was still in its sling, your hair still in the braids he had done for you and the jacket and jeans he had helped you dress in. Focusing on all these little things about you was helping him remember what he had to do. What he came to the tower for in the first place. 

He observed the slight tilt to your head and the suspicion on your face, “I’m fine. You?” 

Your eyes held the same untrusting gaze before you just nodded your head and moved to the other side of the room. Connor examined each piece of evidence, reconstructing the scene of the crime. SWAT came in through the hallway, shooting at the group of deviants and managing to hit one. They then made their escape towards the roof. 

He debated between the roof and investigating the androids in the break room. One of them was in charge of monitoring security, they would have seen the deviants making their way through the building and not have informed anyone. A deviant was somewhere in there. 

He knew that if he went up to the roof, inevitably you would follow, he didn’t want to run the risk of you getting further damaged. Connor made his way towards the break room. You lifted your head from the security footage you were examining to briefly glance at him as he passed by, before going back to reviewing the video. 

Three androids were lined up along the wall of the break room. One of them was deviant. 

LOOK FOR A REACTION TO SPOT THE DEVIANT

He turned towards the one on the far left, “What is your function?”

“I am a broadcast operator.” Connor’s eyes narrowed, its eyes were blinking continuously while answering. Connor didn’t recognize that behavior in any of the other androids standing before him. He continued questioning the one on the far left. 

“State your model.”

“Model JB300. Serial number 336 445 581.”

Connor turned to the android in the middle, still keeping one eye on the other one. “Were you present when the deviants broke in?”

“I do not remember.” The one on the left turned its head to face Connor before quickly looking away. 

He’d found the deviant.  

“Has anybody accessed your memory recently?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Deviants could lie, he wasn’t going to get any information out of it this way. He needed to switch to more aggressive tactics. 

“One of you saw the attack on the surveillance cameras and said nothing. Which means there is a deviant in this room… and I’m going to find out which one it is.” He hovered over the one on the left. 

“You’re going to be switched off. We’re gonna search your memory and tear you apart piece by piece for analysis. You’re going to be destroyed! Do you hear me? Destroyed!” It wouldn’t budge. 

Deviants could feel, perhaps if he used empathy against it, it would be more willing to provide information. 

“Why should all of you be destroyed, if only one is deviant? Turn yourself in, or two innocent androids will be shut down because of you. If you give yourself up, maybe I can convince my humans not to destroy you.” 

He switched tactics again, “The deviants have just been caught. They gave you up.” The one on the left’s LED was fully red now. “There’s no point in lying. We know everything.”

He was successful in revealing the deviant, but not in the way he wanted to. It lunged at him, taking him by the throat and slamming him into the counter. Connor struggled fighting off the androids hands and trying to shove him off. The android reach down and ripped Connors core component out, stabbing him in the hand with a knife and nailing him down to the counter. 

Connor had two minutes to shutdown, he kicked a chair nearby across the room, “Y/N, help! I need help…”

Connors optic units were failing, everything around him was going in and out of focus. He barely managed to tug the knife out of his hand before collapsing on the floor. 

He crawled as close as he could towards the component, instructing each arm to move one at a time, they gave out nearly a foot away from the device. 

Just as you came barreling into the room. “Connor!” You rushed over to him and dropped down to your knees, your hands were shaking as you rolled him over. “Connor, oh my god, oh god it’s okay. You’re okay.” Your hands were hovering over him, unsure where to touch before finally landing on his face. “It’s alright, you’re gonna be fine baby.”

Your eyes left his and you looked around for something. You let out a shuddering breath and moved away from him. His arm grabbed yours without prompting. 

He didn’t want….

Didn’t want what?

He couldn’t want or desire he was an android, yet deep inside he knew… 

He didn’t want to die. 

He didn’t want to die alone.

“Connor, I’ll be right back, it’s gonna be okay,” but it wouldn’t be. Shutdown was imminent and Connor knew that whatever progress he made would be erased. And whoever replaced him would prioritize the mission, they wouldn’t care if you were going to die. Your life would mean nothing to them. 

That was more terrifying than the thought of dying. 

You finally managed to rip your arm free and then you were shoving something in his hands. “Here!” When he made no move to look at what it was, you ripped it back out. “Fuck, Connor!” 

His body shot forward and you caught him by the shoulders before he could fall over. You had slammed the component back into his core. 

DIAGNOSTIC 

Memory…. 100%

Optics…. 100%

Auditory…. 100%

He dismissed the rest of the diagnostic check and rushed out of the room. He slipped and slammed into a wall on the way out, his body still calibrating. He ignored your shouts and continued after the deviant. 

It was nearly to the elevator by the time he caught up, “It’s a deviant stop it!” The android grabbed the rifle from the SWAT agent's hand. Connor processed the quickest possible options for him to take. 

BANG

The deviant was on the ground, deactivated by the gun Connor had swiped from the police officer next to him. 

“Nice shot, Connor,” Hank helped Chris back to his feet. He gave Connor an appreciative look just as you ran into the room. 

“I heard gunshots, are you okay?” You were looking at Connor, waiting for an answer, a frantic look about you. 

Was he okay?

He didn’t know anymore?  

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY^

“You saved human lives, you saved my life,” it was the warmest he’d ever seen Hank. 

Yet the only response he could give was, “I wanted it alive.”

end. — I do not own the characters or the game Detroit: Become Human, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2023. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[lesbianmaxevans]

meant to make a post months ago LOL but some heartbreak high jumbled thoughts (after watching thru a second time to refresh my memory LOL)

quinni is probably the best autistic rep I've ever seen. when she decided to stop masking her autism >>>>>> her speech during the debate >>>>>>>>>

ca$h is probably the best ace rep I've ever seen. ca$h and darren's relationship is literally everything I've ever wanted, I feel like ace characters are never allowed to date someone unless that person is also ace/celibate, so it means soooooooooooo much to me to see a relationship btwn someone who is very into sex and someone who is very uninterested in sex. and to see darren be so committed to their relationship even tho it's difficult just warms my heart so much

I think the way harper's trauma is depicted in s1 is really raw and beautiful. this show gives everyone the space to be messy and her spiraling after her bodily autonomy was taken away is very realistic and imo good to see. that being said I need girlie to get some therapy and form a healthier relationship with sex asap.

I am once again uncomfortable with a show about minors having so much explicit sexual content. whyyyyyyyy is this allowed

darren, quinni, malakai, and missy have never done anything wrong ever in their lives :) also missy and malakai are bisexual icons, I love them both so much

writers go to jail for the missy/spider plot. he spent all of s1 being such a vindictive asshole to amerie bc she rejected him and then he was publicly shaming missy (albeit thankfully w/o naming her) for the same reason. he's incessantly misogynistic and racist. he also had the idea of the fraudulent accusation of mrs obah sleeping with a student bc he wanted the slt classes cancelled!!! and fueled the reactionary bullshit that voss was trying to start. like whyyyyyyyy are the writers trying so hard to redeem him I'm sick of this (if he actually sticks to his speech in 2.08, I'll be thankful tho. I still won't like him lol but at least he won't be making everyone else miserable anymore)

ppl hate dusty too much. like yeah he undeniably was in the wrong for his part in starting the rumor about mrs obah and amerie. but imo he's put in more effort to altering his behavior (as seen by him being a safe person for darren to go to) than ant or spider and both of them were involved too and I don't see ppl at their throats like they are for dusty.

I live for chaos and drama so the malakai-amerie-rowan triangle was soooooo fun (altho I wish there hadn't been the extra drama with the rowan being "bird psycho". just stick to the love triangle messiness. also do not get me started on rowan threatening malakai WHAT WAS THAT why did the writers do that 😑 anyway I want rowan back in s3 and making amends w the ppl who were collateral damage in his revenge quest against amerie)

also re the love triangle mess, it seems like the writers are intending for amerie/malakai endgame and I do like them but I feel like the show did gloss over amerie's repeated boundary violations (which honestly was also a problem with her dynamic w harper in s1 too, like girl you have to let people come to you instead of badgering them into talking to you and trying to force them to confess things). like everyone repeatedly told her to give malakai space as he was processing that he was bi and she just kept hovering and trying to force him to open up. like.... girlie please he just needed some time to figure out his feelings.

sometimes the show wants to treat the women as #girlbosses when they actually do things that are really fucked. like I don't hate harper, but the speech she gave to embarrass dusty at the basketball game was really gross and the narrative treats it as epic and her standing up for herself when she and dusty took advantage of malakai not being sober and the fact that he was in a bad headspace after just being attacked by that cop. also the writers act like dusty deserved this just bc harper thought he was acting weird after the threesome like...... is he not allowed some time to process his feelings about a new experience??? like..... how did the narrative treat this as a #girlpower moment what the hell

the demonization of mental illness is pretty uncomfortable. we only really see the symptoms of harper's dad (and presumably rowan) when they are actively being a danger to people. like mental health issues that cause ppl to see delusions doesn't equal that person being violent but the show kind of ties their anger/violence to their mental illnesses... which is another reason as to why I hope rowan sticks around for s3. let's see more of him being soft while still acknowledging these symptoms.

amerie going back to save rowan is one of my fave moments. like she has come such a long way from the girl who aired out everyone's personal business :')