#so they don't want to overburden me or something but!!! i promise it's okay!!!

[darkworkcourier]

I was wondering, could you write Ghost x fem!reader hand to hand combat training that leads to them making out

YES'M COMING RIGHT UP

reader doesn't have a nickname or any identifying features other than, idk, having hair i guess? also no real warnings except for making out and some suggestive stuff. y'know, promises on the horizon. 👀 i didn't want to go much further in case all you wanted was just makeouts.

---

"No. Hands here. Right. Just about level with your chest."

It's hard to focus with Ghost's hands on your wrists, guiding you into a stance that feels off. You're accustomed to one particular style of defense, and he shifts you into another that makes your muscles ache.

You furrow your brow. "Is it supposed to feel like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like I'm about to throw my rotator cuff out?"

He shrugs, resuming his original stance—one where his hands are lower, parallel to his waist, arms spread like he's going to hug you. "Just means you're using muscles you're not accustomed to exercising," he replies.

"You saying I don't exercise?" you joke.

"Just hold your hands there."

You do, and he gives you about two seconds of warning before he comes at you.

Going up against Ghost in hand-to-hand combat is terrifying. There's no other word for it, no way to describe it outside of using terms like 'pants-shittingly scary'. He's a wall of muscle garbed in black, mask cementing the vision of a very buff Grim Reaper launching himself at you, dragging you into death in some judo move. You're still not accustomed to it, even this many months into your assignment with the 141. The second he moves, that fight or flight instinct screams flee, idiot! and you flinch.

He stops before touching you, sighing like an overburdened elementary school teacher. "You did it again," he says.

You fall out of the stance and raise your hands helplessly. "What do you expect me to do? You ever see yourself in a mirror?"

He ignores that latter question. "I expect you to defend yourself," he replies. "You're gonna meet people far bigger than me out there."

Doubt it, you think. You don't need to remind him that you have gone into the field before, and that you earned your place in the 141 through skill and tenacity. However, at this point, you still haven't seen someone like Ghost out there.

"Okay," you say, rallying yourself and raising your hands again. "I got this. Big, scary dude coming at me. No problem."

You think he raises a brow at you. Not something you can see, but you feel it. "You sure?"

"Yeah. Yep. Totally good."

Ghost goes back into the first pose with his arms out. He hunkers down, looming at the edge of the mat like a very large specter of the imminent end, and yet all you can think is can you use those arms for something else, please.

Which is why you miss the two second warning, and promptly get knocked off your feet by a skeleton-garbed missile of a man.

Because it turns out that he only corrected your stance from the waist up, and you completely forgot what to do with your legs. You didn't brace, didn't set your feet shoulder-width apart to lower your center of gravity and make you more solid. That, and Ghost has such a size advantage of you that it feels a hell of a lot like someone shooting a grenade launcher at a lawn chair.

All to say, you topple and hit the mat hard. Air whuffs out of your lungs, compressed under the sheer weight of Ghost. Sparks dance in your vision for one hot second before you come back to yourself, registering aches in brand new places and the feeling of one of Ghost's (impressively beefy) thighs between your legs.

Unfortunately, robbed of all oxygen, all you manage to eke out is a sad wheeze.

"Fuck," Ghost groans. He manages to hoist himself up on his forearms, lifting the stone weight off your chest so you're not getting compressed like a panini. "Ugh. You okay?"

It takes an embarrassingly long time to get your breath back, and a moment longer to work around the ache in your ribs from having a bulldozer of a man on your chest—not even in a sexy way. "Yeaaahhh," you force out, gritting your teeth and blinking away the last jittery sparkles in your vision. "Gimme a second."

He does, but you register that he's not getting off of you. In fact, he's holding pretty damn steady and not doing something in the name of good teamwork like, say, standing up and helping you off the mat, or asking if you need medical assistance, or making fun of you. Instead, he's most definitely staying quiet, and when you look at him, you suddenly feel pinned anew.

Because he's staring, and it's made so much more intense by the greasepaint around his eyes, drawing out his dark eyes by contrast. You feel his gaze like added weight, and it keeps you still, unable to scoot out from under him even though he's given you room to do so.

Your breathing's back online, but it's not steady, and your mouth is very, very dry.

"Um," is all you can say, and you're proud of yourself for getting that much out.

His eyes flick down, watching your mouth move. They widen when you lick your bottom lip to give it some reprieve.

There's no training for to do in this situation.

And there's certainly no training for— for lifting up his damn mask and revealing a mouth that you're pretty sure you've had wet dreams about. Plush lips, faint silvery scars, fine stubble. God damn, and he was keeping this a secret.

"Ghost," you try again, searching for anything to say. Any word, any question, any kind of affirmation that can give you a litmus test on what the hell is going on here.

Rather than explaining himself, his eyes find yours again and he says—in the lowest of low rumbling voices, "Is this okay?"

How do you say yes or, perhaps, fuck yes without sounding desperate? It's like he reached into your head and plucked out those fantasies you've kept under lock and key since you joined on and saw him for the first time. Hell, you're not totally sure this isn't one of those dreams right now.

So you nod. Just two quick jerks of the head, fabric on the mat definitely fucking up your hair. You can hear the static next to your ear, but you could care less.

Because once Ghost's lips are on yours, nothing matters.

He's so warm, lips deceptively soft (what did you think, they were going to be as calloused as his fingers?), the tang of sweat on his skin, his forearms bracketing you. He's in every direction, kissing you and siphoning out the air again, leaving you gasping when he pulls back.

One breath.

Two.

And he kisses you again, like a confirmation that yes, this is very real and it's happening to you. He didn't trip and fall and kiss you on the way down. His right arm comes up so his fingers brush against your cheek, and then he cups the side of your face with his enormous palm. You open your mouth against his, tasting him, hearing his heavy breathing in tandem with your own.

At the same time, your mind rushes to make all the connections to figure out how you got here, how Ghost is on top of you when he's supposed to be teaching you how to defend yourself. How—

How you missed all of those signals.

Too-long glances at meetings; hands brushing yours when he passed you documents, ammo, rations, a radio; the way he kept close to your six so it was never undefended; every nickname from him teeming with a little more whimsy than you thought him capable of. Never once did you stop and consider if that was how he treated everyone in the 141, or if that was saved for you.

You never asked the question, but you're sure as hell getting an answer.

His tongue brushes against yours, sealed between your lips, teasing whines out of you. He hums in satisfaction, or possibly pleasure; vaguely, you wonder if he's wanted this just as badly, or if this is a spur of the moment decision and he's enjoying the payoff. Regardless, you can't ignore the slight pressure of his thigh between your legs, riding up higher and higher until—

Until you get an incredibly stupid idea.

He doesn't get a two second warning. What he gets is your arms around his back—the hug you wanted and now he gets—and the sudden upward jerk of motion that sends him flailing backwards. In a move you had no idea you were capable of, he's now on his back, mask still riding up to his nose, eyes wide, expression damn near cartoonish.

"Wh—" is all he gets out before you're kissing him.

You're the one bracketing his hips with your thighs. You're the one pinning him down and making him breathless. And, damnit, once you pull back enough to get a look at his face, you're the one getting him to look up at you like he's seeing you for the first time.

You grin, leaning in close and whispering, "Is it supposed to feel like this?"

He licks his lips, and your eyes trace the trail of his tongue. "Like what?" he asks, quieter now than you've ever heard him.

Your answer is another firm kiss, the ache in your muscles shifting course and alchemizing into something far hotter, liquid heat settling between you. And you pull back one more time, dropping your head so your lips brush his ear. You swear you feel him shudder.

"I think we have a few more forms to go through," you say.

[shortstrawberry]

Professor Donna and a stabby Mia in a tense stand off over MC

Okay, lessgooo

TW: mild violence

You were looking lost in a small corner at the college library, searching for a Botany book for your next test. Ideally, this would have never even been required as Donna usually lends you her books all the time.

But your girlfriend is right now in her Professor mode, buried neck deep in grading. It's the exam time, and that means your girlfriend is most time either invigilating the exams or is checking papers.

You sighed, keeping another book back at the shelf. You understand your girlfriend has responsibilities, of course. But it's just been a couple of months since you two started to seriously date. So to have your time cut short so soon has you a little miffed.

It also doesn't help that last time you nagged Donna to get some break, she became a little...snappy at you.

I am busy! I have responsibilities !I cannot be with you all the time!

Those words spoken in Donna's harsh voice made you flinch. You had wanted to retort that no, you just want the overburdened professor to have a break! It's okay if she doesn't spend time with you! But no, instead you just stupidly nodded your head, and left her.

And here you are hiding away in library. Donna has called you thrice by now, probably to apologise, but you just don't want to talk to her right now.

You'll probably end up crying.

Before you can start sniffling at your pathetic state, you heard a rustle behind you. You turn around, and there stood Mia Winters, the local sorority head and treasurer of the student council. And she was leering down at you with murder in her eyes.

You gulped, stepping back. Something doesn't feel right.

"Hello. How can I help you?"

Mia only sighed at you in what looks like pity.

"I wish it didn't have to come to this. Why can't you make the correct choice for once?"

You have absolutely no idea what she's saying. But you get this deja vu feeling, as if this has happened before.

"I have no idea who you are, but I do feel like saying that the correct choice is not necessarily the right choice."

That seems to be the wrong thing to say, because Mia, no kidding, took a knife out and waved at you.

"And this is exactly why this keeps happening, every single time. You always choose her."

Before you could ask who, or run away for that matter, Mia lunged for you. You let out a loud scream, ducking down in hopes it will somehow save you.

But the knife never came for you. Instead there was a loud crash, as if someone was shoved against the library shelf. You heard the books clattering down on floor.

You opened your eyes slowly, and saw a very angry Botany professor holding Mia against the library shelf in a chokehold.

"You fucking bitch. Ti ucciderò una volta per tutte!"

If you thought this morning Donna was angry, this Donna was downright furious. Her pale was was twisted in a murderous rage, just seconds away from killing Mia.

Shit, you have to do something. You cannot have your girlfriend be jailed for murder of a student! Even if she's just defending you!

You hurriedly got up, then slowly approached Donna, who was now tightening her squeeze on Mia's neck.

"Donna, let her go. She's not worth it."

Donna in response squeezed harder, making Mia kick and thrash against her.

"Oh no, cara mia. She tried to kill you! Take you away from me!"

You have a feeling that Donna knows more then she is letting you on. That somehow this has happened before. But you let it go for now.

You place a soft hand on your girlfriend's tense shoulder, trying again.

"Please. If you do this, you'll be taken away from me. People will accuse you, babe. Let her go! I promise, we'll sort it out later!"

Those words seems to get to her, as Donna blinked a few times to get her bearings back. Then with a frustrated cry, she threw Mia down on the floor, with a spitting warning.

"Consider yourself lucky that my girl is so compassionate. Even though you don't deserve a single ounce of it!"

For a moment, just for a moment, guilt flashed on Mia's eyes. But it was soon take over by fear, as she scarmbled away from the scene.

That just leaves the two of you, alone.

[peachcitt]

Can I ask for Alyadrien with "kiss me" "what?" "just kiss me"?

thank you for the request!!<3

cherries by peachcitt / read on ao3

“Kiss me,” Alya hissed, and Adrien choked on air so violently, Alya had to pat his back while also attempting to shush him.

“What?” Adrien croaked, still coughing.

“Just kiss me,” she said, and she didn’t bother waiting for another of Adrien’s coughing fits, looping her arms around his neck and pulling him down so that his lips crashed with hers.

Now, if Adrien was being honest, this was not the weirdest way his day could’ve started.

Alya’s teeth dug into his bottom lip, and he let out a small whine. “Whoops,” she whispered, and she continued kissing him.

Sure, at eight thirty in the morning, this was, like, kind of unusual, but he also could’ve woken up to earthquakes caused by a new rainforest sprouting up in the middle of suburban Paris, complete with frogs, exotic birds, and towering, dewy trees. That was actually something he woke up to once. And that was fine. He’d barely batted an eye.

But even though this was not the strangest thing that could’ve happened this early in the morning, it was, most definitely, the most surprising. And the most pleasant.

He realized absently that his hands were on Alya’s hips, and that fact - more than the fact that he and Alya were, in fact, kissing - made his cheeks heat up. She had moved her hands so that they were cradling his face, and he realized that she must feel how hot his cheeks were. His hands flexed against her hips - he wondered if she could feel how sweaty his palms were through her high-waisted jeans - and she sighed against his mouth, her warm breath brushing along his skin.

She smelled like coffee and spearmint gum.

When she pulled away, it took Adrien a full eight seconds to realize that she was talking to him, voice hushed. He was staring at her lips, watching them shape the words coming out of her mouth before he actually heard them. 

“...Some kind of Zombiezou ripoff? Except this one’s pairing everyone together, so” - Adrien noticed she was wearing lipgloss; he swiped his tongue along his lower lip and tasted cherries - “I figured- Adrien? You good?”

Adrien blinked. He wiped his hand across his mouth. “Uh,” he said, intelligently.

She was staring at him, eyes wide. She had such beautiful eyes - green and a little brown, too. Like spring. 

Her fingers appeared in front of his eyes, snapping twice. “Adrien,” she said. “Akuma.”

“Akuma,” Adrien repeated, and then he blinked, and then his whole body shifted into fight mode. “Akuma? Where?”

“They just passed us, while we were kissing,” she said, and she didn’t even seem embarrassed that they had just kissed. “Anyway, you should find a good place to hide. I’m going after them to get some good shots for the blog.” She waved his phone at him, flashed him a grin, and bounded off.

Adrien stood there for a second, dumbstruck. And then he remembered there was an akuma, and he had a job to do.

---

Figures that, on the very same day -  in the very same hour - that Alya had wrapped her arms around him and kissed him senseless that Adrien would also have to rescue her. He and Ladybug had done it a couple of times before just because Alya had a knack for getting too close to a fight for the sake of an HD video, but it had always been fine.

But she had just kissed him. 

And Adrien’s lips still tasted like cherries.

Her arms were wrapped around his neck as he sprinted across the rooftop, and Adrien’s had to focus hard on his footing or else he’d remember the last time she had her arms around his neck. He had one arm under her legs, the other supporting her back, and curls of her hair kept brushing against his cheek, soft and smooth. Adrien felt like he was going through several stages of cardiac arrest. He started counting down from one hundred in an attempt to focus.

“Hey, Mr. Noir, sir,” Alya said, interrupting him at 96, “do you have to carry me so far away from the fight? I kind of still need a good photo of Ladybug.”

“Yes, I do, because I know you’ll just run back to the fight, and I want to keep you out of danger for as long as possible.” 95, 94, 93, 92. He blinked. “Mr. Noir?”

She brought one arm down from around his neck to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “Didn’t know if we were on first name basis,” she said, her lips - her lips - curling into a little smile. “Didn’t want to overstep my bounds.” She flicked the bell around his neck.

A very small and very manly noise squeaked out from Adrien’s throat. He stumbled on air, and his arms tightened around her at the same time her arms flung around his neck again, one hand gripping his hair.

He wasn’t running anymore. Just holding her.

They stared at each other.

Adrien remembered the taste of cherries.

“Uh,” Adrien said, intelligently, gently letting her down onto the roof. “Here’s fine.”

“Sure,” Alya said. Her arms were still around his neck. She tilted her head at him. She smiled.

Adrien bit his lip, without really meaning to, and he saw her eyes flick down to track the motion. He quickly stepped out of her arms, heart racing. “Gotta run,” he said, his voice cracking. He gave her a salute and then sprinted off the roof, leaping onto the next and trying his best to focus.

Focus.

On the fight.

Not on warm skin, soft lips, the taste of cherries.

He stumbled, cheeks burning.

=

thank you so much for leaving this request!! it was a lot of fun to work on, and i hope it lived up to your expectations :”) much love<3<3<3

also p.s. im still taking requests so please don’t be shy<3

[muskaankaur]

My heart feels so heavy today , the uncertainties, the past , the present everything scares me. And I always wonder how actually you can feel the heaviness in your heart when you don't feel good , as if someone put a rock over it. But can I go out and vent it to someone? No , not today. And maybe so many of you cannot , because of whatever reasons. And as good as it is to always share your feelings , sometimes you know you cannot, you don't feel like it and maybe it's okay. And I just wanted to tell you that you are not alone trying to fight a battle within , something you don't talk loud about. We all are. It's very hard and becomes even harder when sometimes you can't vent it out but you are stronger than you think you are. Everything will resolve slowly and at times like these , cling on to hope. You will feel better very soon. Just don't let it overburden you , keep going. I promise it gets better.