#Consumer Shopping Behaviour

[aronasouris]

Actionable Consumer Insights with Geotagging Techniques

Borderless Access utilizes geotagging as a means to understand consumers and their shopping and consumption behaviour. One of the many ways we help our clients gain insightful data about their customers. 

 Contact Us more information: www.borderlessaccess.com/contact-us

[ronkeslens]

The Rise of Paid Returns in Online Shopping: Will Shoppers Return to the High Street?

Remember the days when online shopping meant you could order anything, try it on, and return what didn’t fit completely free of charge? Well, it seems those days are behind us. ASOS recently announced that customers will now have to pay for returns. Naturally, this has caused quite a stir in the online shopping world. But the truth is, ASOS isn’t the first to do this, and it’s becoming the norm…

[abcworldnews]

The Role of Emotions in Online Shopping Decisions

In the ever-evolving landscape of online shopping, understanding the role of emotions in consumer decisions is crucial for any brand looking to thrive. It's not just about offering the best deal anymore; it's about connecting with your customers on a deeper, more emotional level. If you're not tapping into the emotional journey of your online shoppers, you're missing out on a key ingredient in the recipe for e-commerce success.

Emotions drive decisions. It's a fact that's as true in life as it is in online shopping. From the excitement of finding a new product to the joy of a hassle-free return policy, every touchpoint in the online shopping experience can evoke emotions that heavily influence buying decisions. In the UK, where e-commerce is a way of life for many, understanding these emotional drivers is not just beneficial; it's essential.

But how do brands go about harnessing these emotions? It starts with creating an online experience that's not only intuitive but emotionally engaging. This could be through personalised recommendations that make the shopper feel understood, engaging content that resonates on a personal level, or customer service that genuinely makes them feel valued. By aligning your online presence with the emotional journey of your customers, you create a connection that goes beyond the transactional.

However, the clock is ticking. The online marketplace is more competitive than ever, with new brands popping up left, right, and centre. Those that fail to recognise the importance of emotions in online shopping decisions will find themselves outpaced by brands that do. It's not just about the urgency of now; it's about setting the stage for long-term loyalty and connection. Brands that succeed in making their customers feel good about their purchases are the ones that will enjoy lasting success.

In conclusion, the role of emotions in online shopping decisions cannot be overstated. It's a powerful tool that, when used correctly, can transform the online shopping experience from purely transactional to deeply personal. As we move forward, the brands that will dominate are those that understand and cater to the emotional journey of their customers. So, the question is, are you ready to tap into the emotional heartbeat of your online shoppers? If not, now's the time to start.

[sophsweet]

Preserving my Little Patch of Earth - Ethical Consumer Guide

Many people sound perplexed and annoyed by the imposition of trends, which either don’t preserve the environment or are actually destroying it. For example, wood and paper products are one of the 4 biggest drivers of deforestation. This is known, as discussed by the Union of Concerned Scientists here. While corporations are using “tobacco tactics” to skew any public discourse to promote their…

[easynotes4u]

How Augmented Reality (AR) Changing the shopping experience of Consumers towards eCommerce Websites

In this article we will discuss about the very current and unique topic: How Augmented Reality (AR) Changing the shopping experience of Consumers towards eCommerce Websites. What is Augmented Reality (AR) Augmented reality (AR) is indeed transforming the shopping experience for consumers on eCommerce platforms in several ways. Here are some key ways in which AR is making an impact: How the…

[mortalityplays]

You need more free art.

I quit my job yesterday. Well, actually I quit my job eight weeks ago, but they finally released me yesterday for good behaviour. Don't get me wrong, I love what I do - but I do it for the wrong reasons. Working for major charities, you learn very fast that 'I want to make the world a better place' is a phrase you use to ask people for money, not to give them things. I was an ass-backwards fit for that world.

You need more free art. I need more free art. Everyone has felt the shift in our media landscape over the last ten years, away from access and towards nickel-and-diming the human experience. That lack of access is making life and culture worse for all of us, across the board. Paywalled news sites leave us less informed, attacks on the Internet Archive leave us less capable of research. Algorithmic social feeds and streaming walled gardens trap us inside smaller and smaller demographic bubbles, where we are increasingly only likely to encounter ideas that have been curated for us by marketing departments. Hasty efforts to resist AI commodification have only led to more artists locking their work away and calling for even more onerous systems of copyright law. This is not good for us.

We all need more free art.

So what am I going to do about it?

This is a question I have been asking myself for years. It's easy to sit here feeilng frustrated and thinking 'boy I hope SOMEONE does SOMETHING'. It's harder to take action in a world where I still have rent to pay. But hard doesn't mean impossible. Sometimes hard just means time-consuming, frustrating and slow. And sometimes it's worth doing something time-consuming, frustrating and slow because...I want to make the world a better place.

I'm going to do this:

1. From April 1st, I am relaunching as a freelance writer and editor.

This is the one that will (hopefully) help to pay the bills. I am a very good and experienced editor. I've worked on hollywood movies, I'm a member of the Chartered Institute of Editors and Proofreaders, I have clients who have been coming to me exclusively for more than 10 years.

Alongside bigger contract jobs, I am going to refocus on offering my services to small-press creators at a reduced rate. That means you, graphic novelists. That means you, itch and amazon writers. I want to help you develop your work, the same way I help large organisations. You can learn more about what an editor even does and what kind of pricing you can expect here.

2. I'm also going to start giving shit away. Like, constantly.

Next week I'm going to launch a new free shop. If you're unfamiliar, a free shop, giveaway shop, swap shop, etc. is an anarchist tradition of setting up a storefront where anyone can take what they like for no cost. Offline, this often means second-hand clothes, tools, furniture, food etc. Online, I am going to be giving away digital art. Copyright-free, no strings attached. It will (eventually) feature everything from print-res posters to zines, poems, tattoo flash, t-shirt designs and anything else we come up with.

Yes, I said 'we' - while this is a curated collection, it will feature work from a variety of credited and anonymous artists and activists, all of whom have agreed to give their work away to the public domain. Some of it will be practical, some of it will be political, but a lot of it will be decorative or personal. This is, in part, a response to recent difficulty I had finding somewhere that would print a one-off joke poster for a friend that featured the word 'faggot'. Enough. No middlemen - no explaining ourselves. Just print our shit and enjoy it.

I'm very, very excited about this project. I'll have more to say about it closer to the launch, but you can expect it to go live on March 27th.

2.2 I forgot to mention the ACTUAL LAUNCH GIVEAWAY

To celebrate my launch, I am going to be giving away a ton of physical prints. When I went looking for my old stock to see if it was worth setting a new (paid) storefront up, I realised I had way more old work in storage than I thought. This will be announced in its own right on Monday, but this is why I've been hinting you should go follow my Patreon.

On April 1st, I will pick 8 random patrons (from across all tiers including non-paying followers!) and mail them a bundle of assorted prints and postcards. The prize pool includes A3 and A4 posters, packs of A6 postcards, and printed minicomics that I've previously sold for up to £12 each.

You don't have to be a paying subscriber to enter - this is strictly no-purchase necessary. It is purely and entirely a celebration of the concept of GIVING ART AWAY FOR FREE.

3. PORN, YOU PERVERTS

Because I still have to pay to stay alive, I am going to be subsidising all this free art with the introduction of Fuck You Fridays. Starting from March 29th, I will drop a new 18+ short story on the last Friday of every month, over on itch.io (yes I know my page is desolate right now, don't worry I'll get there).

The first edition, Go Fuck Yourself, is about, well - telling your boss where to stick it. Julia has had it with her millionaire man-child manager, and is just about ready to let him know what she really thinks. It's a short and steamy 5k words, with a gorgeous cover illustration by @taylor-titmouse, and you can pick it up for $3 starting from March 29th.

4. ANOTHER BIG SURPRISE

I'm keeping this one under wraps for now, but April 1st will also play host to one more (FREE) launch. If you've been following me for a long time, you might remember the other significance of this date (no not April Fool's day, though that is certainly thematically relevant to this entire effort). That's all I'll say right now. Watch this space.

tl;dr: I'm sick of paywalls and career ladders. I'm literally putting my money where my mouth is. More free art for everyone and I'm not kidding around!!!

[desertcart-uae]

The pandemic has created a sea change in the way UAE shoppers make purchasing decisions. Consumers are shifting their shopping habits to online and digital platforms, emphasizing convenience, cost-effectiveness, and safety.

[godihatethiswebsite]

Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Three - Deja vu

Remember when I said this was supposed to be the easy side project made of easy to consume chapters that was supposed to be easy on my brain? Oh the way life throws a wrench in things.

Apologies for the wait but thank you for the patience! A bit longer of a chapter this time (almost double the length) because if you also read my other fic you'll know I have a moderation problem :)

Trigger warnings: angst, depression

Time converted its seconds into a slow-motion camera, capturing the hectic moment as a series of shutter clicks in your mind. Rich earthy elixirs trapped like icicles in a frozen pour from heated spouts. Spare precious change suspended in mid-air spilled from jittery hands. A systolic heartbeat waiting to finish its rhythm. An overplayed Christmas jingle with the record player set to the lowest speed. 

How did you not pick up on the telltale signs sooner? It wasn’t as if this was a first occurrence for you anymore. Precious moments of escape wasted daydreaming of warm comfort when it could’ve been spent backpedaling to the safety of your vehicle. Even more insulting when you considered how perceptive you’d been not ten minutes prior, untrusting of your nose to keep you from trouble in the supermarket bakery, head on a dizzying swivel for any more unwanted surprises.

Yet here you were again, betrayed by the very caffeine that was supposed to be your savior, too slow to duck back out the shop before your scent had a chance to reach his nostrils. 

Now you were pinned in place by a complete stranger who had no business smelling that edible.

Pupils blown wide mirrored your own. Blue irises framed by full lashes contrasted against a faded tan that spoke of time spent abroad in warmer climates. Dark brown hair shorn close on the sides peaked into a mussed up mohawk, slightly damp from melted snow and tousled by the wind. Your eyes unfocused to take in the body belonging to the man - shifting lower, past slightly parted lips greedily inhaling your scent and a craggy chin scar encircled by a dusting of dark stubble. 

A deep brown leather bomber jacket stretched tight across broad shoulders only a few shades darker than his hair, upturned against the elements and protecting a tree trunk neck, accented along the trim by matching tufts of a lighter insulating sherpa. A hint of medium wash jeans caught in your periphery, unable to glance further at the lower portion of his body, too encapsulated by the cosmic force that kept you snared within his gaze.

The back of your neck prickled with the knowledge that whatever was passing between you in the charged space across the checkerboard tiles was a transient mirage at best and a dangerous amalgam of broken aspirations at most. That grim lesson had been embedded into your retinas the hard way– 

No matter how potent the connection, this man was not yours. 

You shouldn’t be here. You should not be here.

The alpha didn’t miss the way you transferred your weight onto your back leg. Predatory focus latched onto the subtle way you shifted, instincts preparing behind barely contained canines. You’d accidentally triggered something; a millennia’s worth of ingrained primality overriding the structured norms of good societal behaviour. Like an old timey saloon, it was an overstrung standoff to see whose will would break first.

Your need to run outweighing his need to possess. 

Eyes narrowed slightly, he pointed right at you with a warning look. In a rough brogue, “Don't…”

You didn't listen.

“Hey hey hey–!” 

It was all too familiar now - this choreographed dance of avoiding uncomfortable affairs instead of facing them head on, ignoring the startled clamor of bewildered customers as you darted past a group of unsuspecting teenagers through the narrowing gap of the cafe door.

Nearly bowling an elderly couple over in your haste to escape, you fumbled out a half-hearted apology as you skidded around the next corner with a high pitched squeak, losing traction on the glassy ice in your well-worn snow boots and catching yourself on a vintage lamp post that you used like a springboard to gain a few precious milliseconds of a head start. 

This was twice in two days now that you’d undergone a fateful encounter the majority of the population could only dare dream of. And here you were bolting from destiny like a frazzled rabbit scurrying helplessly through the underbrush from what should have been your savior.

What the hell kinda luck was this?! And why did it have to choose now of all times?!

The door flung open only moments after, the previously innocent bell chime now a harbinger of doom. Heavy footfalls slapped through the condensed slush of snowfall. Something feral rose up in the presence of a hunter in pursuit of his quarry. 

There was something on your tail, and it felt far more intimidating than a starving wolf leering at his lunch.

Your pulse was bellowing in your ears, weaving through the conglomerated foot traffic as best you could with a body not prepared for a long winded chase. A hot poker stitched your side and hobbled your gait. Frost coated your lungs with every ragged inhale, sapping what little breath capacity you had and crippling until you were little more than a wounded mammal, panicky and acting on pure foolish adrenaline. The rational part of your brain spoke of the futility against someone his size, the brief glimpse afforded to you of his stocky frame earlier proof that your alpha was capable; well fed, sculpted for survival, muscles made of endurance and stamina. 

Everything desired in a good mate, the back of your mind unhelpfully supplied.

Long strides ate up the distance, navigating the pavement far more sure footed than you.

“Bleedin’ Christ!” growled out the voice. “Will ye jus’– wait!”

The firm grip on your bicep rather than his frustrated words was what halted you in your tracks. The slippery slush beneath your feet gave way to an involuntary squeak as another hand snapped out to steady your skidding, keeping you from tucking ass over tea kettle. Heavy breaths turned visible in the frigid winter air as you panted from exertion, sucking in a heady mixture of espresso and chilled vapors that fogged up your mind and muddled your senses. 

Fuck, he smelled good.

A gloved hand shuffled you further out of the way from the crowds of passersby, huddling beneath a shopkeeper's veranda, muffled conversation from the building’s interior a muted buzzing compared to the ringing in your ears. He shifted so as to take the brunt of the whipping winds on his back, sheltering you from the worst of it and allowing you to blink clear the stinging snowflakes from your eyes.

Although you never really stood any substantial chance of escape, there was still something surreal to be said about standing toe to toe with an alpha outside your family circle. He beheld you with the same wide eyed stare you gawked at him with, pupils stuck in a constant state of dilation as he huffed in your shared air, just as drunk off his scent match as you were. At this proximity, even the outside breeze wasn’t enough to dampen the waves of pheromones spiking like heated tesla coils between you. Unlike you, he found it in him to scrounge together just enough self control to soften his stance and manage a relaxed smile your way.

“There now, lass.” His words weren’t winded in the slightest, something that petulantly annoyed you in your weakened state - even if the accented baritone of his vibrato was soothing the consternation from your veins. “See? No need fer misbehavin’.”

There was an obvious gentling to his tone; something placating with an edge of sternness that felt at odds with his choice of haircut. Blue orbs roamed your face as if he half expected you to collapse on him, no longer holding on to you but keeping a readied hand hovering in case your shaky legs gave way. Truthfully - with how you were still sucking in breaths - you weren’t quite sure his assistance wouldn't be needed.

“Christ, LT was right about ye. Got a scent that can skelp a man flat on his arse.”

Even in your current state he must’ve judged you steady enough to maintain balance, despite still keeping the rigid preparedness in his shoulders as his hands sought a place in denim pockets. “Got a habit fer runnin’, dontcha?”

The capability of speech was all but lost to you, tongue cemented to the roof of your mouth and dry as a wilted prune abandoned on the vineyard soil. You’d at least managed the bare minimum of appearing less like a beached guppy by snapping your jaw shut, but the snicker from his lips at whatever he found while searching your face revealed your inadequacy to mask as a functioning human.

Azure eyes sparkled with mirth. “I ken I’m a looker, hen, but I ‘ave tae say it’s been a while since I’ve left a bonnie lass like yerself truly speechless. Strokin’ my ego a bit, ye are.”

“Your coffee…”

The first words you say to the man of your dreams and all you can think of is his wasted cup left unoccupied on the counter.

“Eh, it’s only a drink.” His shoulder’s finally loosened with a shrug. “More concerned about yers. Not tae make ye feel bad, lass, but ye’re lookin’ a wee bit peckish if I can say.”

So your mirror liked reminding you every morning. 

You waved him off on instinct, not needing the alpha to start concerning himself with your health. Not like there was much either of you could do about it. “It’s fine. Shouldn't be spending the money anyways.”

He wasn’t satisfied with that answer, raising an eyebrow at your justifiably frazzled appearance, but choosing not to question it just the same.

“Gonna be honest, lass. Wasn't exactly expectin’ ta bump into ya.”

You could tell by the bite marks on another woman’s neck.

No. Stop it girl. That’s not fair to him.

You shoved back the bitter taste of jealousy, forcing a smile you both knew was awkward. “Yea… what are the odds…”

“Mind ye, when the others mentioned their wee run-in with ye at the shop the other night I ken’d there was a chance– Christ, when Cap’n finds out the…” His words carried on, but you stopped processing them beyond a certain point in his ramblings, focusing more on the melody as it slowly faded to the background. There was a lilt to his speech that didn’t quite fit the occasion - at least to you. A restrained awe; measured happiness so as not to overwhelm you right off the bat with unbridled emotion. 

Part of you was thankful for his careful insight considering the delicate nature of the situation. But even so, the squiggly edges of his personality felt forcefully crammed into an elaborate puzzle rather than fitting naturally into a predetermined space.

You should be thrilled to be having this conversation. Things should be clicking and the world should make sense and his voice should be songbirds twittering in your ear on a beautiful summer’s day without a cloud in the sky and…

All you can hear is the man in a blue camry honking at the lady jaywalking in front of his car, the squeal of halted tires and shouted insults from hot spilled coffee across his lap. The poor woman on the corner shaking a can of loose pennies in hopes of a two dollar meal from the shop down on 7th Ave. Dogs barking at strangers and high heels clacking on wet slushy pavement. 

Overstimulation hits you hard, leaving you incapable of making out anything but the shapes of his mouth without any of the feedback. His voice muffles despite only the foot distance between you, and try as you might you have no idea what’s causing that smile on his face. For all you know he could be just as easily discussing the week's snowy forecast or reciting Chaucer like those lunatics on the steps outside the performing arts college. 

The nagging presence makes itself known in the back of your mind, adding to the chaos plugging your senses and making the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end in a way that has nothing to do with the chill. The disgruntled alpha half a country away calls to your fraying nerves, taking advantage of your weakened mentality and twisting like a gnarled root around your windpipe. You disguise the full body trembles with a forced shiver, the restlessness of your fingers giving in to the urge to claw at your mating mark, hiding the motion by readjusting your scarf more securely and clearing your throat. A cold sweat breaks out underneath the insulating layers of warmth, adding to the already miserable conditions of the snowy bluster. There’s only so much more you can take before you split apart at the threads and reveal to the stranger just how rotted your insides were.

You needed to end the interaction.

“Look–” you interrupt his languid tirade, voice barely holding steady and as timid as a field mouse, mittened palm up to keep him from going any further and stunning him into silence. “You don’t have to do this. This kinda thing just… doesn’t happen to normal people. I’m not gonna hold anything against you when it was a one in a billion chance of us ever crossing paths. You have your life and I have mine.”

Something hard caught in your throat and gummed up your words, threatening to crawl into your lungs and make a permanent home if you focused on it for too long - gave it too much power. You hoped he didn’t see the way you forced yourself to push through. “Let’s just… be adults, acknowledge that it happened, and go about our day as if we were two strangers passing by on the street. No expectations, no mess. ‘Kay?”

Clearly not envisioning that reaction now that he’d finally gotten his paws on you, something in his look tightened at being told ‘no’. “Hardly seems fair.”

Who was he to know ‘fair’?

“And what about us?” he continued with an unexpected bite. “Ye think we can jus’ ignore the fact that our scent match is wanderin’ about somewhere in the city unguarded and at risk of bein’ hurt or– or taken?”

You could almost taste the self satisfaction flaring across the tainted bond, fighting back a wave of nausea and bristling at the emotional wound he unknowingly gut punched.

“And your omega?” You watched him flinch at the obvious retort, both hating and relishing in his discomfort at having reality thrown back in his face. At least you both knew there was an element of betrayal lingering beneath the surface. “You really want her to have to come home every day with you smelling like another woman? Your fated woman? Do you realize the damage that’ll cause not just to her but to your mating bonds?”

In a perfect world, this whole encounter would be different. He’d say hi, you’d give him your most winning smile. The two of you would go back to the cafe and he’d pay for your coffee. You'd sit across from each other with stars in your eyes, getting to know the ins and outs of their soul for however much time your schedules allowed, blowing off prior commitments in favor of lyrical words dancing sugar plums around your head. Numbers would be exchanged and you’d both part ways feeling lighter and hopeful and impatiently waiting for the start of the next exciting chapter.

God, you hated fairy tales. 

The alpha was clearly frustrated at how the conversation was playing out, scratching a rough hand through his mohawk with a groaned out hiss, eyes darting around empty space as a grimaced mouth searched for the right words. “Look, lass. The four of us–” 

Four. There were four of them. Four mates. 

“–aren’t gonna stop worryin’, not now that we ken ye’re within reach and without a pack of yer own.” Blue eyes skimmed downwards trying to peer beyond the veil of your scarf, flicking back up to your face when he failed, searching for a sign that you remain unmated as he suspects by your reactions thus far. 

Glancing off to the side, you avoid his gaze and focus on the piles of brown snow gathered along the curb, not trusting yourself to keep a straight face under his careful scrutiny. He must take your avoidance as confirmation, returning to the conversation at hand.

“Alright, yea. We’ve already bonded another. Nothin’ tae be done about it now and there’s no use bawlin’ o’er what might ‘ave been. But if ye think that's gonna stop us from tryin’ tae be a part of yer life then yer sorely mistaken.” 

There’s an endearing quality to his convictions - as misguided as you believe them to be. So sure of himself, reflected in the take-no-objections posture and firm set of his brows. All confident alpha bravado. 

A small part of you keens at his certitude, recognizing it on a primal level and wanting to bask in the commanding presence your– the alpha provides. But those same instincts that scream at you to welcome his protective nature also serve as a reminder of why that could never work.

There’s a reason packs only keep one omega. While alphas are stereotyped as being the possessive pigheaded brutes who covet your kind like unstable beasts, everyone knows there is none so fierce as a territorial omega, baring her teeth to encroaching females without a moment’s hesitation to defend. It’s not like you’re the worst sorts of overly attached pack mates though. Society wouldn't be able to function if an omega snapped every time they all came within three feet of each other. 

But to have the two coexisting within the same ecosystem fighting over the affections of the same alphas…

If the heartbreak wouldn’t kill them, the blood on their teeth will.

The fact that he’s trying to send all that flying out the window is both impressive and infuriating in its stubbornness. 

Your own voice is far more subdued as you fidget with the hem of your coat. “That’s not how this is supposed to work…”

“Oh aye? Turnin’ down gaggles of soulmates jus’ a light Saturday mornin’ fer ya then?”

Despite the dour mood, you huffed in something akin to levity at his words, feeling some of that tension unreel from your bones in the face of the small upward curve of his lips that accompanied them. “If I say yes will that convince you to throw in the towel?”

Enchanting eyes sparked with determination and something playful. “Hate to break it tae ya, lass, but we’re a right stubborn bunch o’ blokes.”

“And her?” 

Cerulean eyes hardened again. “We’ll sort that out between us.” 

A leather covered arm reaches out to guard your left side, a firm body stepping into your space to block you from a passing beta encroaching too close on your private conversation. You don’t miss the slight rumble in his chest given as a warning to the traipsing man, the subtle growl claiming this spot and two of you in it, an intimidating scowl berating him for nearly knocking into you because of it. It catches you off guard, unconsciously leaning into the alpha's safety from the unaware intruder, the heady scent of freshly ground coffee beans permeating his clothes and coating you in a fresh pot to ease your delicate nerves.

It takes the two of you a moment to separate despite both of you knowing the ‘threat’ is gone; and even then the amount of space between is kept minimal at best. It’s hard to deny the pull molecularly chaining you to this man whose pheromones are carving out spaces in the cracks between the marrow like rapids, filling the pock marked gaps and branding your existence as something completely different than it was before. 

The structural fibers in your body are being split in half like colliding atoms in a particle accelerator. It’s a molecular tug of war between listening to ancestral instincts imploring you to stay with the protective alpha and past emotional trauma begging you not to give in to complicated matters of the heart. You’ve been hurt once before by someone of his kind and the last thing you needed was to punt yourself all the way back to square one when it had taken you so long to reach this part of your healing journey. 

You know where that path leads. There’s nothing waiting for you but despair.

Unknowing or lacking regard for your internal struggle, the alpha surprises you by shifting his arm to sprawl across your shoulder, a gentle but unrelenting force ushering you back in the direction you’d originally come running from, the deceptively casual grip brokering no room for argument. “Now, what’s say we make up fer scarin’ ye earlier with that cup of caffeine ye were gantin’ after, eh?” 

Maybe if you’d possessed a stronger will you might’ve opened your mouth to protest his commanding treatment over you. Instead, nestled close to his body and tucked in tight against his shoulder, he was gentleman enough not to comment on the small whiff you snuck on your way back to the cafe.

The soft instrumentals playing festive tunes over the cafe speakers were an appreciated break from the harsh monotony of whirring kitchen equipment. Depictions of snowmen and candy canes painted artistically on the inside glass celebrated the joyous season. Evergreens and mistletoe; frozen fractals falling from white fluffy clouds. A veritable winter wonderscape - the natural frost accumulated on the outside only adding to the weathering effect. 

Red and green twinkle lights hung strewn across overhead support beams. Garlands with small plastic ornament bobbles snaked around the insides of display cases. An electric votive nestled cozily in miniature wreaths and placed at every table flickered warmly for an added ambience to the already welcoming interior.

The holiday decorations had been up since Thanksgiving, but you’d never taken a moment to really notice them, too focused on the transactional exchange and the time on your phone to give it more than a passing glance of acknowledgement. Fidgeting in your seat, it was a welcome distraction.

You’d been ushered towards one of the secluded tables upon returning to the cozy cafe, your companion either ignorant or uncaring of the odd glances tossed your way by those still inside who witnessed your previous outburst. You kept your head ducked from the initial embarrassment, blood heating your face as he helped you out of your coat and slung it over the back of your chair, making sure you were settled before sauntering off towards the register to place the drink order you’d rattled off. 

While he stood distracted at the counter amongst a sea of waiting customers, one of the older baristas with a candy cane apron discreetly tried to flag down your attention, meticulously cleaning one of the espresso machines with a soiled napkin purposefully tilted away from his view. 

The words in scribbled sharpie pointed your way: ‘You ok?’

Touched by her concern, you gave her a surprisingly genuine smile despite your jittery insides, easing her enough to pass along a thumbs up as she goes back to working on whatever festive drink concoction the lady at the drive thru has deigned to torture her with. It was kind of her to look after you given the strangeness of the day. But against what should be all rational thought you trusted the man who was for all intents a complete stranger.

Here’s to hoping life didn’t pair you with a serial killer.

Shaking your head of such nonsense (hopefully), it took you a moment to recall the last time you gave yourself permission to linger somewhere. With the exception of the hour spent every week in Dr. Miranda’s office, you avoided congregating in public spaces for more than the few minutes it took to get in, get out, and return to the safety of your abode. Crowds made you skittish; the abused animal inside burrowed deep within your rib cage voicing its objections and reflecting its displeasure in the way it made you outwardly twitch. Once upon a time even stepping foot in a place like this - enclosed, swirling with clashing aromas, a singular point of escape - seemed like such an unattainable goal. Even now the awareness of the situation caused your agoraphobia to writhe under your skin, poisoning like fire ant venom and tempting your lungs into anaphylactic shock. 

Deep breaths, girl. In… out… in… out… let it wash over you… inhale… exhale… 

You are safe. You are safe. You are– 

Like nails on a chalkboard, the scratching of wood against ceramic jostled you from your meditative process, an involuntary yelp met with a small grin of apology as the imposing alpha placed your own drink in front of you before taking up residence in the open seat across. Something about the setting exacerbated his already potent smell, mixing with the sweetness of the beverages and leaving you with a deep gnawing ache to lean across the table and drink it straight from the source.

The tide of anxiety receded back to the depths of your mind, your inner omega settling in the presence of your scent match. Even if you couldn’t escape the dark presence prowling like a half-starved panther on the other end of the bond, the natural relief that came with sitting three feet away from your opposite designation had you breathing steadier than you had since leaving therapy a short while ago. You may not be entirely comfortable with this predicament, but at least the attention came with a few built in perks. 

The fake candle in the center highlighted the limited edition designs on your respective drinks, but it’s the name scrawled in sparkly black sharpie that catches your attention on his disposable cup. “MacTavish?”

“John,” he confirms, “pleasure ta meet ya, lass. Though I s’pose tha’s how I should’ve started things out in the first place. With, ya know… manners.”

“Not like I made introductions easy for us…” you mumbled with a wince, tracing over the cafe’s symbol on your cup as a small distraction from having to make eye contact at the admission.

“Aye, ye didn’t. But I cannae fault ye fer havin’ a sense of self preservation starin’ down a big burly Scotsman, now can I?” 

It had been moreso about running from your problems than being outright intimidated by the man, but you weren’t about to question his assumption and open up a whole new can of worms in the process. “Right...”

There was a brief pause as he stared at you expectantly, hoping you’d return the favor now that he’d taken that first step with an official greeting. Something about offering up even that little part of yourself scared you though. It felt like handing over power to the fae folk; like once he knew your name he could strip the autonomy from your spirit and ensnare you forever in his enchanted domain.

Instead, you took a sip from the hot liquid in your hands, soothed by the syrupy blend like a steady palm rubbing lines down your back. Not nearly as good as the earthy bouquet your nose had been sampling with every inhale. Maybe if you’d added a pump of caramel…

You fought desperately to ignore the part of your brain that whispered comparisons to the rich espresso-y figure across the way, stopping any and all sidetracking towards scandalous thoughts of a more private taste testing. 

This was not the time for slick inducing fantasies.

Once he realized he wouldn’t receive an echoing answer, he mirrored you with his own brew, humming in approval at whatever pleasant taste he found and dropping the subject temporarily. Thankful he didn’t push, you read further down on his own drink, unable to help the small scoff of surprise after reading the incriminating label.

“A sugar cookie latte? Not the most masculine of drinks, is it?” You’re not sure where you found the courage to softly tease him over his beverage of choice. Clearly his heavy alpha pheromones were messing with your logic receptors. “Thought your kind liked to keep things dark and bitter.” 

“I'm an alpha, lass. Chasin’ after sweet smellin’ omegas is what we do fer fun.” There was a sparkle there that hinted towards your earlier predicament, a not so subtle implication combined with his cheeky grin that reassured you it was all good natured. You at least had the decency to duck your head abashedly, face heating up from more than just the warming drink. “Kinda gives us a wee proclivity fer honeyed tastes.”

Honestly, he had a point. Can’t say you’d ever thought of it that way before. I mean, seriously. Whoever said alphas needed to be gritty when they came naturally ingrained with a sweet tooth?

“Guess that’s why she smells like chocolate.”

Your lips formed the words without thought, something mean tugging at you the same time he did. Nails bite into the recycled coffee sleeve like sharpened teeth, taking out the urge to scratch on the poor item rather than call attention to the scarf still secured around your neck. Couldn’t even get through a normal outing without him adding his two cents to the mix.

A hard tap on the tabletop called your attention back to John. You’d maybe expected an affirming response, but what you don't expect is to find him staring at you from across the table with a suddenly serious expression, speaking to you in an almost chiding manner. “I'd rather ye didn’t bring up sore spots to intentionally cause yerself pain.”

He didn’t allow you to hide, his face moving in tandem with yours as you attempted to duck his gaze, the blunt observation leaving you sheepish as you worried your bottom lip. 

“...can't avoid the conversation forever.”

“Aye. But the least we can do is get ta know each other first.”

That genuinely puzzled you. “Why?”

Even through the bulk of his winter coat you could see the way the material stretched to make way for his biceps as he crossed them over his chest, leaning back in his seat as he regarded you with easy going eyes. “Yer my scent match, lass. Ye think I'm not o’er ‘ere stewin’ in a fruity cocktail wishin’ I’d ‘ave taken ye tae a juice bar instead?”

Your face heated again at the implication. Seems his own thought pattern wasn’t too terribly dissimilar to the wiley suggestions pawing at your psyche with scintillating ideas of debauchery. “Wouldn't go that far...”

“Got no shame in admittin’ yer drivin’ me up the wall.”

He really didn’t, did he? 

“Not sure you should be saying things like that.”

“Probably.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “Ne’er been one fer followin’ rules though. Doesnae make sense when we're both wantin’ the same thing.”

You examined him over the rim of your cup, forearm resting on the sticky laminate as you leaned in closer, almost imploring in your tone. “Isn't that just further proof we shouldn't even be talking right now?”

Taking a sip of his own, he brushed off your concerns like a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Ye really think ye can jus’ wipe yer hands and forget about us?”

Silence laid thick in the air between you. There was no point denying when he felt every bit the earth-rattling gravity well that had the two of you touching toes beneath the table. 

He didn’t even bother trying to hide the smugness from his expression. “Exactly. I may not be takin’ ye ta my bed, lass, but yer mine nonetheless.”

You shouldn't have liked the way that sounded. For the past four years of your life you’ve been unwilling property to a man holding you confined in a secret realm of bleak oblivion. You’ve begged and pleaded through every starless sky to go back to being the woman you were before fate intervened, desperate for peace in an internal war. All you ever wanted was freedom; to bound over mountains and soar across fields. To scrape off the layers belonging to him and build castles in the clouds far beyond his reach.

Yet here you were thanking the maker of scent wicking panties that your match couldn’t detect the perfume wafting up between your legs at the thought of him staking his claim over you.

“So,” he went on, “we figure out a way tha’ we can be in yer life that doesnae cross any boundaries and ye gain four brutes that'll gladly shank a man fer ya.”

You raise an eyebrow at his choice of wording before taking a sip from your cup. “Sounds a tad extreme if you ask me.”

Canines gleaming, the look he sends you is downright carnivorous. “Oh, yer in fer a spell, lass.”

Chatter turns to small talk in an effort to distract you from the discomfort of previous conversation. Turns out he’d drawn the short straw when he and his pack mates realized over piles of paperwork and exhaustive meetings that certain individuals who would not be named - but he’d been more than happy to throw under the bus - hadn’t checked some things off their list while out doing a routine grocery run the other night. Seems like the previous two you’d met were left nearly as shaken as you after the encounter, forgoing the last few needed aisles in favor of ending things early to process tough decisions behind closed doors.

That’s all the information he offers; no further details exchanged on the matter. The internal workings of your personal lives kept private. It didn’t take a mathematician to understand why you prefer to remain guarded, but you assume on his end it had a fair bit to do with the obnoxious purple elephant in the room, trumpeting and stampeding all over the future you could’ve built had it just stayed locked in a zoo. There’s still some moments along the line where he lays a trail of tiny bread crumbs, challenging you with hungry eyes to follow the path through winding woodland and glittering caves towards whatever lay beyond. You’re tempted a few times to chance a couple steps, toeing the line of curiosity but always pulling back to the safety of the unknown. 

The less you know about their lives the better. You never even inquire as to the missing three names.

Eventually you settle on the topic of just how exactly he proposed this hairbrained… relationship?... was going to work. Fuck, there really had to be a better word for it. Not friends, not lovers. Not a situationship. Not total strangers anymore.

Companions? Counterparts? Symbiotes?

Either way, you’d both been spouting suggestions for the better part of five minutes and you weren’t any closer to a solution that would leave both parties feeling satisfied. Granted the only thing that could work for you would be as little interaction as humanly possible, but he was firm in his convictions.

“We can keep it ta texts fer right now if ye like.”

“But then she'll feel bad if she sees you writing them.”

“Then we'll jus’ ‘ave tae come visit.”

“But then I'll feel like some sleazy homewrecking call girl.”

“Now yer jus’ bein’ a numpty.”

“I’m being realistic.”

“Yea, ye should stop tha’.”

“John!”

“Lass.”

Oh, how you wanted to wipe that flippant laughter off his face and pry it from his mouth with dental tools. The damn thing was unfairly infectious in the way it warmly beckoned a smile to your lips. Here you were trying to be sensible about the situation he created and so far all attempts to come to some sort of compromise were met with off handed ribbing and facetiousness.

You wouldn’t admit that some of the holdup was partially your fault - looking for desperate excuses to keep this from happening - but it hung suspended in the quiet between your words. And what’s more he knew it too.

“What about the occasional email?” you threw out for the hell of it.

John outright guffawed at the ridiculous suggestion, drawing the attention of some of the surrounding tables without a care towards who heard, brawny arms tossed upward in fond exasperation. “This ain’t a business transaction, hen! Saints, what a notion…”

“Well…” you sputtered, “then it seems like we’ve reached an impasse.” 

Please just drop it.

He just looked at you with further amusement, swirling circles on the table with the bottom edge of his now empty coffee cup. “Ye always a neurotically charged mess or is this jus’ my lucky day?”

Oh god. In your desperation to undo the upheaval he’s already causing in your life you really weren’t painting a pretty picture of yourself were you? 

You cringed backwards at the realization. “Pretty sure you’re the reason I’m making myself look like one.”

“Aye, but a bonnie one,” he agrees.

“And you’re not worried about the mental stability of the person which life has comedically deemed yours and is making a complete fool of herself?”

“Just tryin’ tae make ye smile. It's been workin’.” A fact he looked quite proud of.

And it was. You couldn't deny that. For how much havoc this was wreaking on the parts of yourself that had become so ill equipped to handle basic human interactions outside your minuscule inner circle, there was a part of you that was glad to find you still possessed the capability of laughing with a stranger.

The conversation paused as his brow knit in confusion, the faint buzzing of a cell phone rattling in his pocket barely audible over the din as he drew it from the interior lining of his coat. The way he held the device and flicked through it with his thumb implied a text message as opposed to a phone call, huffing as he read over the contents before palming it in his meaty hand.

“Och, the louses are houndin’ me fer their caffeine fix. Hang on a tic, lass.” Flashing a quick smile, his chair slid back with a sharp squeak as he stood, strolling back towards the counter and flagging down an unoccupied barista. It was impossible not to follow him with your eyes, ogling his stocky frame as he rattled off coffee orders from the conversation pulled up on his phone. Even the sweet beta girl behind the register wasn’t impervious to his roguish charms; just a little more subtle in the way she admired the casual arrogance in which he leaned against the marble. 

How long had it been since you last let your eyes wander over the shape of a man and thought of something other than a rancid dumpster and abrasive brick scraping morse code across your exposed back?

There was something uniquely disarming about the alpha. In many ways his ability to break past your bullshit reminded you of Dr. Miranda. Both refused to let you spiral to darker thoughts, spinning the world into one of muted colors rather than shades of desolate gray. But where she spent years undoubtedly locked in a study hall pouring over dissertations and cramming decades of designation theory over red bulls and ramen, John had accomplished that same level of trust in a matter of–

You checked the time on your phone. The pair of you had been sitting in this cafe for roughly fifteen minutes now. That’s all it took for this whirlwind of a man to blow away the cobwebs accumulating in your chest and deliver a shot of adrenaline to your synapses.

Too bad the monster in your veins would make sure it didn’t last.

John came back from the counter holding a cardboard coffee carrier by the handle, looking down at you expectantly from his position towering over you. “Right, lass. Need tae be droppin’ these,” he raised his arm a smidge, gesturing to the drinks, “off tae the lads. So hows about we quit the stallin’ and skip tae the part where ye stop overthinkin’ things and lemme have yer number?”

He didn’t even let you open your mouth in feeble defense of that (true) statement before serving you a warning look that dissolved the syllables from the tip of your tongue. From what little you’d gathered during your brief stint together, you didn’t doubt his potential gumption to wrangle you to the cold tile floor - even in the presence of all these people - just to fish the device out of your pocket himself if need be.

Personally, you didn’t feel up to testing his bluff. 

Working off pure muscle memory, you handed over your phone and watched as he pulled up your messaging app, inputting his name amongst the scant others on the list and shooting off a fruit emoji. If he noticed the sparse amount of contacts in your phone he didn't comment on it. Not like it was hard to miss a grand total of four separate text chains.

His phone buzzed again from the text he sent himself, handing back your device with a smile that erred on the side of slightly devious contentment. The bastard knew he won and was being unfairly smug about it. “There now. See how easy that was, lass? Perfectly painless.”

That’s when it hit you.

“What if she says no?” The sheer panic gripping your chest catches you off guard as much as the blurted out words. Trepidation crushes like a hydraulic press, the thought of this precious fleeting moment being all you ever get seizing your body like a hundred electrified shocks. The rickety tower of emotional stability you’d been working so hard to keep steady seemed to crumble beneath your feet now that there was a chance he wouldn't be around to keep it from falling. “What if this is all just some big mistake and we never should have met and I end up ruining your pack–”

Gods, this was so fucked up. A minute ago you wanted nothing more than to never hear from John again and now your inner omega was giving you whiplash trying to cling to an alpha that wasn’t hers by the skin of her blunted teeth. 

This was exactly why you didn’t want to have anything to do with them in the first place! It was a no win scenario that was only going to make things worse by confusing your already emotionally precarious omega. Delaying the inevitable. Dragging things out. Torturing her wounded soul trying to wring water from stone.

But you couldn’t give him up anymore - not now. Maybe once you’re home safe in your nest and can breathe clean air not tainted with his fragrance. When you’ve forgotten the oceanic hues that gleam at you with such open eagerness. When his brogue and his candor are replaced with flashes of doe eyed brown and thick flowing locks and the taste of chocolatey truth cuts too deep to heal. Maybe distance will make this ache inside easier to bear. 

But at this moment, despite your earlier hesitations, you weren’t ready for the clock to strike midnight on the impossible.

If he couldn’t read the distress on your face then he certainly was made aware of it by the sour smell of overripe fruit cascading off of you, bitter and tart and pungent as you began to spiral, getting lost in a torrent of what ifs and worst case scenarios. 

You never got to finish your verbal stream of consciousness. Alpha instincts snapped into action before you could begin blowing fumes, disregarding his coffee as he hoisted you up from your seat with immediate alertness. Strong arms encased your vulnerable form, one hand cradling the back of your neck with gentle pressure, engaging the bundle of nerves located there with a direct line to the body’s limbic system. An omega’s weak spot; it overrides all internal circuitry and sends calming signals to the brain, disengaging stress receptors, activating the amygdala, bringing you to a headspace of obedience and security. It was highly taboo to touch an omega there without their explicit permission; a right reserved only for close family members and chosen pack mates. 

You should be angry– you should be furious. How dare he assume that just because he was your scent match that it gave him any right to manhandle you! Robbing your ability to retake control and leaving you just as helpless as that fateful night in the alley.

But he was. And you just didn’t care. Call it biology working against you, but all you felt in that moment was a deep rooted need to sink into his grounding embrace and let your mind go blissfully blank. Trusting in fate to send you an alpha with morals and integrity. Handing over the keys to a man who knew how to drive.

Releasing more of his smooth creamy scent into the air around you, body and designation worked in tandem to soothe every aspect of your overwhelmed being. Outside influences floated away with all the cares of the world, revolving around a fixed point in space exactly where you stood. Nothing else existed in this fraction of the universe. Just two souls destined to be together by forces beyond comprehension.

This was what you were made for. This felt right.

And, god– he was purring for you.

“Hey hey– shhh shhh. Settle, omega, settle... easy now. Jus’ like tha’... There’s a good lass.”

Slowly but surely, the acrid odor of anxiety faded back into the sweet juicy scent of a fresh crisp pear. A small whine escaped your lips as he sapped your body of strength, held aloft only by the taut muscles in his forearms. Glazed over eyes reflected the haze fogging your senses, melting you down into something gooey and malleable that dripped like corn syrup, sticky and coating every inch of your skin in a clear varnish. Breathing became easier. The heavy thumping in your ears faded back to white noise. Bones turned rubbery and tendons fell limp until you could no longer remember what upset you in the first place.

No longer needing the subduing effects of gentling, his hand moved from its spot at the back of your neck to the base of your skull, thumb tenderly stroking where skin met hair, shushing soft assurances against your temple.

“Ye needn’t worry a strand on tha’ bonnie wee head of yers. Ye dunnae ken her like we do. Jus’ leave everythin’ tae me. I’ll sort things right as rain, yea?”

The rational part of your brain knew better than to believe honeyed lies, but in the cloudy serotonin you simply nodded into the dark leather of his coat, spellbound under his tranquilizing touch.

“Atta girl. C’mon, let’s get ye tae yer car.”

Helping you back into your coat, he made sure you were bundled up nice and snug before shuffling you outside into the frosty air, a hand resting over the small of your back in a way you didn’t object to in your current slothful state. The chime felt a little less abrasive this time around as you exited the cafe, moving in the direction of your car parked in its spot alongside the bustling rush hour traffic.

You knew the elderly thing was a spectacle to behold; all chipped paint and rusted metal, duct tape holding the bumper together, a dent in the passenger door from where your neighbor’s kids had kicked a ball into it last spring. There was a crack across the windshield from where a bird made friendly with it earlier in the year that sliced through your vision but didn’t impede you from driving. 

‘Character’ was the word you used to describe it, but it certainly wasn’t what everyone else usually chose. John obviously fell into the latter camp.

“Ye sure tha’ thing’s operable, lass?” He scrutinized every banged-up, well-worn inch of it, pulling a face at what he found lacking and raising an eyebrow in disbelief. “Not sure I trust it ta get ya to point b without a few bumps and scrapes.”

You sighed at the familiar criticism, having heard much the same from your fathers. “It gets the job done. Still safer than walking around by myself anyways. I promise I wouldn’t drive it if I thought it’d get me killed one day.” Only a partial lie at least.

He was clearly unconvinced, but blessedly didn’t say anything further besides whatever mumbled remark he kept under his breath. Watching quietly while still keeping an eye on the surrounding area, he stayed near your side as you fumbled with the keys, grabbing the handle to hold it open as you tossed your bag on the passenger seat. “Right. In ya go then.”

You thought that would be the end of it as he closed the door behind you, buckling your fraying seat belt and hoping he was far enough away that you could safely attempt to start your car without any more judgment from him if this ended up being the one time it didn’t turn over.

You jumped slightly as his gloved hand tapped on the glass, turning your head to watch him motion for you to lower the window. Rolling the old school contraption down, you were again hit with a velvety shot of espresso as he half leaned in towards you, forearm resting against the top of your car.

“If ye think fer one minute tha’ I’m gonna jus’ up and forget about ye now tha’ we’re partin’ ways ye’ll be sorely disappointed lass. Tha’ there thing in yer purse’ll be ringin’ before ye ken it and I’m not afraid to come lookin’ if I dunnae get an answer.” 

The promise in his tone felt suspiciously like a threat, but one without any real intended consequence. His relaxed posture and sparkling irises assured you that while he’d probably still be cross if you ignored his attempts to reach out, you wouldn’t be awoken in the middle of the night to someone taking a battering ram to your flimsy front door.

At least, you hoped they wouldn’t.

Flashing you a playful wink, John took a step back from the vehicle. “Take care, omega. Be seein’ ya real soon.”

You’re shouting your name at him before you even realize what you’ve done, the small part of you that longs for a deeper connection clawing free from the part that fears having her heart shattered. From a few feet away you could still see the fireworks bursting in his eyes, the way he stands a little taller and puffs out his already broad chest with euphoria at your proffered olive branch. You can’t bring yourself to regret it when his unabashed smile conjures images you never dared hope for.

He waited until you rolled up your window and heard the telltale click of the locks on your doors engaging before finally taking off, crossing to the other side of the slippery street and walking with a hand tucked into his coat pocket until a line of cars finally blocked his retreating form from view. 

You sat there for a moment with your hands on the steering wheel, the silence in the vehicle more deafening than the wind howling outside. The past twenty minutes played like rewind on a VCR, speeding through the chain of events leading to the present to be watched again and again and again. 

After the fifth or sixth replay, all you could think of was rushing back to your apartment before fate could intervene once more and you accidentally run over your fourth scent match’s pekingese with your fucking car. 

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[cloudzoro]

omg can I request headcanons for one pice girls and what they're like when they're jealous?!

of course! I love writing for women so PLEASE feel free to request more one piece girls

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

when they're jealous ♡

characters: nami, reiju, robin, tashigi

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Nami

Nami is, in my opinion, the most jealous and easily riled up. She sees someone else talking to you and is immediately filled with rage. She has to take a few deep breaths and regain her composure before walking over to you.

As you're watching her walk over you can see her eye twitch and you can tell her smile is fake.

“Hi baby, I missed you” she says, wrapping her arms around you. She presses a kiss to your shoulder and looks up at the person who's talking to you. They look uncomfortable, which was Nami's goal, and walk away after getting the hint.

However, if they don't run away then she gets loud and vocal. You're hers, she's yours. no one else can have you. It is slightly embarrassing to you but it works.

Reiju

Reiju is not so much jealous as she is possessive. You're hers and she loves to show you off. When it comes to other people flirting with you, she just thinks it's funny. It's laughable to her that anyone else thinks they have a chance with you when it's her you go home to her everyday.

She sees someone approach you while you're out shopping together and just stands behind you, listening to what the other person is saying and audibly laughing at their lack of game.

“C'mon baby, let's get out of here.” She says, when she no longer finds the flirting amusing. She was listening in so she knows that you weren't reciprocating, and the guy just couldn't take the hint. Now, she just wants to take you home and mark you up so everyone will know you're taken.

Robin

Robin is the least jealous. You two have had deep conversations with each other and vowed to be honest with one another. She's not worried about you running off with anyone else, nor is she bothered by anyone else thinking they can win you over.

When someone approaches you while you're out, she'll simply assess you to see if you need any help and if not she'll leave you to finish your conversation and send the person away. If you do require assistance, she'll simply knock the person out with her powers and walk away with you. If that would cause too much trouble she'll join the conversation and say something weird to freak them out before dragging you away without another word.

On the rare occasion Robin does get jealous, it's probably because whoever is talking to you has a similar personality to hers. In that scenario she'll linger around you until she gets the chance to enter the conversation and change the topic to distract them from talking to you and then she'll shut down any further talk and take you away to discuss how she feels (and eat you out as an apology for interrupting your conversation.

Tashigi

Oh lord, poor Tashigi 😭

I headcanon Tashigi to be inexperienced in relationships. She's in love with you and she doesn't even realise how irrationally jealous she gets.

She sees someone talking to you and getting awfully close and she goes into a blind rage and confronts the person, telling them to back off because you're taken. After the person leaves she's immediately consumed by embarrassment and cringes at her own behaviour. You don't seem to mind but she thinks about the interaction for the rest of the day.

She does eventually apologise to you saying she doesn't know what came over her but when you tell her you appreciate her and aren't upset with her she feels a weight lift off her shoulders

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Just One Reason: New at This

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Lloyd Hansen

masterlist - to be added

Summary: A chance encounter at the sandwich shop doesn’t end how you expect.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

Lloyd tugs in his ear lobe as you get up to take your empty bowl to the counter. The lone cashier smiles and gives a nervous look past you to the corner. You return to the table and wonder if he has a reputation here. You wouldn't be surprised with his behaviour. 

"Is your ear alright?" You ask as you take the cup of iced tea. 

"Huh?" He turns to you and drops his hand. "Yeah, hearing's f-- off. Just got back from a job and... the machinery was loud." 

"Hm, it could be a busted ear drum. I know someone who had that. He never could hear me but that coulda been the TV too," you shrug. 

"It's fine," he taps his fingers on the table as you stay standing. "So, you headed out?" 

"Yeah, I guess I should. Getting dark." 

"Right," he nods. "Well," he stands and tugs at the bottom of his shirt, shaking off the crumbs. "You need a ride?" 

He zips up his jacket, the collar ending just below his chin. You button up your blue houndstooth coat. "No, I can make it." 

"Wait, you're not walking are you?" He asks as he gathers up the wrapper and napkins. 

"Not too far if I cut behind the barbershop--" 

"Cut behind-- are you serious? You can't be walking down alleys in the dark. Trust me." 

"Oh?" You give him a curious look, "you hang out in dark alleyways a lot?" 

His brow tweaks and his lips twitch, "is that a joke?" 

"Not a very good one," you smile. "I always make it." 

"And this might be the time you don't. Least I can do. You bought me dinner, I feel like I owe you a ride." 

"You don't owe me anything," you assure him. 

"Huh, you're too nice, you know that? You could give a guy the wrong idea." l

"No, I don't think so," you sigh. "Being nice isn't anything but. I hope your enjoyed your dinner." 

"You know what? The chipotle wasn't bad," he says. "So now that's two things. I owe you for paying and for the good advice. What's that you said about paying it forward?" 

Checkmate. Using your own words against you. As it is, you're starting to feel rude for saying no so many times. It would be nice not to have to walk home with your phone light on. 

"Is taking a ride from a strange man better than walking home alone?" You ask, "since you're the expert?" 

"Wow, you can be mean," he snorts. "Reading me like a book." 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m kidding.” 

“I know, tootsie roll,” he says, “sweet like candy, aren’t ya?” 

You smile again, “well, you can be too. I’ll take the ride. Thank you.” 

He dumps the garbage in the bin and heads for the door. He lets you out ahead of him. It’s colder than when you got there. 

“It’s cold as... hell out here,” he says follows you out. He points you ahead, “the white one.” 

He blows into his hands and rubs them together. You’re no fan of the cold either but you can see his nose already turning red. You approach the white car; it’s sleek and shiny. You’re not sure what make it is but it must be expensive. 

The doors click loudly, “should be unlocked.” 

You nod and open the passenger door. You sit daintily, wary of the luxury interior. You shut the door just as carefully as he gets in the other side. He grumbles as he starts the engine and flicks switches. 

“Get those seat warmers on,” he says. “Ah, better.” He puts his palms to the blast of warmth from the vent before he grips the wheel. “Help me out, tootsie roll, where am I going?” 

“Right down to Harbour. East.” 

“Harbour East... you kidding me? You were really going to walk there alone?” He scoffs. 

“It’s not so bad once you get to know the area,” you say.  

“How’d you end up there?” He pulls into a three point turn as he reroutes. 

“I guess it’s just where I am right now. Thing’s changed fast and I had to make it work,” you lean into the seat. You’ve never been in a car with seat warmers. 

“Huh, that’s too bad,” he clucks. “You still looking for a place? I know a guy, owns a few properties...” 

“Oh no, it’s okay,” you hum lightly. “Really. It’s nice. I got my own space, I got food, I’m happy as can be.” 

“Simple things, so I’ve heard,” he mutters. 

You let a lull wash over you. Judging by his car, simple isn’t exactly to his taste. 

“So...” you brush your fingertips over your palm, “what do you do for work? You travel? When you mentioned your ear...” 

“Ah, yeah, er,” he squeezes the wheel tighter and coughs, “you know, I’m on the road when I need to be. Work can be sporadic but pays well enough. Specialty type of work.” 

“With loud machinery...” 

“Military engineer. You know, artillery, tanks... whatever,” he peeks over at you as blows through a four-way. 

“Hey, you missed the stop sign,” you crane to see behind you. 

“It’s fine, no one was crossing,” he says. 

“Yeah but... it’s not safe.” You turn forward again and frown. 

He’s quiet again. He sucks his teeth, “fine, you’re right. Not fair of me to offer you a ride then drive like a maniac. I’ll do better.” 

You let out a breath and subtly grab onto the door. Despite his promises, he doesn’t let off the gas. With how quiet the car is, it must be easy to go over the limit.  

He pulls onto Harbour and finally slows, “so, uh, why don’t you give me a call next time you head down to the shop? We could do it again. I’ll be nice this time.” 

“I don’t go too often but sure, I could use a friend,” you perk up and direct him to your building. 

“You telling me you don’t got friends, tootsie roll?” He stops in front of your apartment. 

“I... did. They’re gone now,” you look away. You try not to get to wistful about it. “Anyway, thanks--” 

“Holy f—moley,” he corrects himself as he leans forward to see around you, “this place can’t be up to code--” 

“Lloyd,” you blurt out. “I’m fine. Really. Home safe. Thanks to you.” 

“Mhm, well, friends are supposed to worry about each other, right?” 

“And as your friend, I’m telling you not to worry,” you smile and pull the handle, “have a good night.” 

He huffs as you undo your seat belt, “yeah, good night.” 

[itachiiwrites]

𖹭 𝕯𝖊𝖆𝖗 𝕯𝖎𝖆𝖗𝖞

𖹭 Synopsis— A random act of kindness was all it took for you to be infatuated with Gojo Satoru, what about him?

𖹭 Dear Diary Archives.

A/N: this is my first time writing a long fic idk what this is but it's something? Let's see how it goes. Divider by @/cafekitsune

𖹭 CW. This story will content dark elements, hence it's 18+. It includes: Murder, Gore, obsessive themes, stalking, suuuuperrr unhealthy behaviours, everyone is insane, the reader is not a healthy person, or exactly a good person for that matter. There are other warnings too but i forgot, gojo satoru is his own warning

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝟎𝟏. 𝑾𝒉𝒚?

All your life, there was an absurd kind of thirst present in your body. You could never pinpoint what exactly it was, what drove you menselessly crazy, made you deranged.

It was hard to put the pieces of the puzzle together, blaming your moldable brain areas for not being able to figure out what was wrong with you. What was wrong with you that the girls in kindergarten wouldn't want to play house, inclusive of you? The question of why was so predominantly present in your vocabulary that it presented itself in your mind even as no curiosity to seek answers to was present. The answer was always the same anyway.

'We don't like you because you're a freak.'

Creep. Freak. Oddball. Psycho.

If you didn't know you had an actual name, you'd be convinced that these were your real names with how often you were labelled that. It wasn't like you didn't have any friends, there were friends present but their presence felt as if it existed only because there was some pity.

Not for Gojo Satoru, however.

The first time you talked to him it was near a cheap, a little worn, worm eaten walled—candy shop. The purpose of going there was to pass time, having nothing better to do when all people would do in your class was draw vile things on your desk, how childish. If they had the balls they should tell you those seemingly outrageous incentives on your face, but it didn't matter because you had found your reason for being.

Was he fucking stupid? Offering you one of his sickly sweet candies? Couldn't he tell what you were already?

"Your eyes are gonna fall off if you keep looking at me like that, miss girl" What an infectious laugh. How cute.

"Come on, take it, I'm doing this only 'cause I have an extra" The boy with the white hair sighed and groaned at how stupidly frozen you were in your spot—making the effort to wrap the chocolate bar in your fist, his cold, clammy hands made you wince. He walked away before you could even get out a spur of a word�� away with a casual wave of his abnormally large hand.

At first all you could do was stare at the chocolate bar that he handed you, taking a soft sniff to make out a tiny hint of his scent. There was nothing, all blank, as if he didn't exist, as if he was a figment of your imagination.

That chocolate was placed onto your table, tucked between your trinkets like a souvenir. Because it was, it was a reminder that someone made an effort to give you this diabetically sweet chocolate, just because he could. You didn't even dare to open it.

Frequent visits around the same crippling shop lead you to the information that his name was Gojo Satoru, an 18 year old student at Jujutsu Tech, a religious school.

And with a name in your hand, everything was in reach with internet at disposal.

Checking his myspace became a ritual. Satoru was a social person because.. Ofcourse he was. This was your only gateway to him for now but the desperation to know more was catching up.

He was beautiful.

You found him absolutely captivating, a sight that made your heart race with an intense langour.

The more you looked at him the more his beauty became ethereal, a vision that awakened something so grotesque within, it scared you.

Each feature of his face, every move he made no matter how ridiculous it was to others, fueled your obsession further until it was all-consuming. In his very presence that you never came too close to, you felt an overwhelming need to possess him completely, to have him all to yourself. His beauty was like gasoline to your raging flame of yearning, making your desire grow exponentially. For him.

This love of yours made you question yourself, it was idiotic to be in love with someone so unreachable, someone so beautiful. But an idiot is never complete without their mindless optimism for the better.

And you, were truly an idiot.

The way your heart dropped to your guts and your body manoeuvred nausea as if it was the only thing it knew. Seeing an equally beautiful man holding his hand, looking at him with the same longing in his eyes, the one that leveled yours. The pain was shrill, piercing, tinnitus and unbearable.

He wasn't yours.

The walls of your room that were plastered with his face all over felt smaller, it was getting hard to breath. Something simple like air came so difficult, with emotions risen like a tempest making your chest incredibly tight.

He had to be yours. He was yours.

The question of 'why' was up yet again, but this time with burn in your throat so harsh that it felt lacerated and while a thousand knvies gauched into your heart.

Why. Why. Why.

Only one of all the why's you've had in your existence, this was the one you could answer.

A knife like that from him felt bearable enough.

He had to be yours.

Taglist (Open :D) @rinachains

All rights reserved to ©itachiiwrites, 2024. Plagiarism not authorised. Do not copy, distribute my work on other platforms. Reblogs and feeback appreciated!

[prospectingnightnovel]

Spoilers ahead:

So, as it is commonly accepted, and talked about in the manga: Laios prefers monsters to humans.

Laios does not care for the complexities of humanity - this is probably due to his autism, and his lack of ability to read people. From a child, he didn't understand why everyone hated his sister. In adulthood, he faced issue with Toshirou, because he didn't realize his "fake" politeness. Later on, he doesn't pick up on Kabru's desire to be friends until they pointedly say it.

This brings me to my next point... Why monsters? Why did Laios not become introverted? He could have easily left the army and started a bakery. He could have lived through others in a merch shop. Why was his fascination with the fantastical consume him? (Note: to a point him and falin did, if daydream hour is considered canon, Laios did join a travelling caravan and lived a "normal" life.)

INTRODUCE MY MAIN POINT!!!!!

LAIOS AND HIS CHILDHOOD DOGS!!!!!!

Even to his parents, Laios never felt like he could properly confide in them, thus he turned to the farm life he grew up with. Things that don't talk back, but listen attentively. His father, who was the town mayor, and his mother, who was pregnant at the time, possibly had little time to tend to him. It could also be due to his lack of socialization, which we don't know much about at this age, but we can later see that he never quite fit in with the town's children.

However, Laios doesn't continue to treat these animals as "inanimate objects", things that will listen to him without any response. Soon, animals become "people".

A boy who was rejected socially found family in dogs; thus they taught him much of what he knew. His behaviourisms make a lot more sense, I feel like, if you look at it this way. Dogs are blunt creatures - when they're mad, they bare their teeth. When they're in a good mood, they wag their tail and show their belly. Compared to humans, who you have to deeply analyse their smallest twitch of a brow, it's outright confusing.

But, in the end, Laios cannot hate humanity because he loves his friends. This group he's collected are all people he cares for, equally as much as his sister. Even in the perfect world - a world consumed by the dungeon - Laios does not have a desire to see his friends harmed.... because they are "simple" people.

Chilchuck is outspoken. He's not afraid to growl and snap his teeth, though he struggles with the secrets of his life, and is tight with his affections.

Senshi? He's one of the few who actively support Laios' interest in monsters. He offers advice without cruelty, and anything he says is always genuine and with the best intentions.

I think that Marcille is easily understood by both the Touden siblings due to this. She shows her distaste easily, and her emotions seem to pour out of her. You always know what Marcille is feeling. I think Marcille reciprocates that feeling: As confusing as his desires for monsters might be, she knows Laios will always be there for her. They are a pack. I found it interesting out of all the desires he might feel, he wanted Marcille to be safe and happy. And I would argue it wasn't simply due to the string of the manga, having Marcille as the previous dungeon master. It's a long build-up of their friendship: From the succubus scene to curing Marcille's nightmares.

[tonydaddingham]

✨already on the metatron erasure campaign™ let's fucking go✨:

*EDIT, IMPORTANT* I can't believe i even missed this...but metatron is dressed in a dark coat and (iirc) tie

we know from s1 that metatron has very little patience for aziraphale, was pro-armageddon, and at least claimed to be the voice of God (when my man is basically a glorified answerphone)

the half-and-half miracle was conducted on top of the sigil, the transportation circle through which aziraphale dialled 101-metatron in s1, and we know the miracle ended up being Very Powerful

michael doesn't seem to recognise metatron... which is odd as theyre high ranking, uriel and saraqael seem to recognise him, they've definitely met, and michael was shown in the job minisode to have pretty good recollection for job's kids' names - possible memory wipe? saw something they weren't supposed to?

says he has consumed human matter before - why would metatron have been on earth??? and know what to order in a mf café???

speaking of the café, the dialogue, about people asking for death? "No... I don't suppose they do... So predictable."not sure on what this means but 💀 fckin weirdo

refers to muriel as the dim one but still puts her in charge of a heaven sanctuary on earth? as far as we know, the only one? hmmm seems like you want a puppet metty babes

butters up aziraphale with the sweet, cosy coffee - but indicating that he barely knows him at all given that we mainly see aziraphale drinking tea

what he ordered in the café was a small dash of almond syrup, but then describes it to aziraphale as being a hefty jigger of the stuff, indicating something added? wondering if there's further significance to the laudanum poison - an opiate? planning to essentially kidnap aziraphale knowing that crowley won't come looking now?

'hmm it's nice!" "yes I should jolly well hope so" 😁

a veeeeeery faint miracle chime as the coffee is handed over and when aziraphale raises it to his mouth, but hesitates... He asks "shall i...?" And metty goes:

"DRINK IT???😠 of course🙂"

definitely History™ with crowley; crowley readily recognises him after a moment, the look metatron gave him as they left the shop was filthy, and: "ah well! always did want to go his own way... always asking damn fool questions, too!"... like i get metatron is the voice of God, but was it metatron that actually made crowley fall? does metatron have that power, not exclusively god? did metatron say it was on god's orders?

plus - metatron tells aziraphale that he can reverse falling which, to me, seems like a pretty bomb ass power... and a bit OP even for the highest Archangel of heaven, leading me to:

very low, sultry ass voice, maintaining eye contact with aziraphale - all trademarks of hypnotism (temptation?) behaviour? while aziraphale was possibly drugged?

and was the promise of getting crowley restored to heaven actually a bluff, metatron knowing the aziraphale even attempting to broach it with crowley would split them up?

"go tell your friend the good news!!" Said in a voice that makes me think metty knows it's very Bad News Bears

is the whole thing a ploy to split them up? they came together in heaven, and then again on earth; is metatron trying to solve this one by essentially making aziraphale an offer he can't refuse, but that crowley absolutely will?

why choose the lift? why not just power up the circle and go through the sunroof???

and im sorry metatron but you must realise that aziraphale is severely underqualified right💀

[reidspharb]

part two on the angst spencer reid (happy ending if u want) 🤞🤞

How You Get The Girl

*Part two to The moment I knew

Summary: After four days of no calls, Spencer tries his hardest to fix things with you

Word count: 1.14k

Warnings: angst, fluff, lead by pure vibes idk

Note: idk whats with me and writing at ungodly hours of the night but this one was written mostly at like 1am so any errors are due to sheer sleep deprivation! also thank you so much to anon who submitted this it was really nice to give this little story a happy ending :) also first anon ask super cool on enough of this now.

It had been 3 days 2 hours and 43 minutes since you had last spoken to Spencer. He knew because he couldn’t stop thinking about that short exchange, how you were so upset you didn’t even let him explain. 

Spencer couldn’t stop staring at his phone, picking it up every few minutes, maybe I missed the notifications he told himself.

The truth was, he knew he fucked up and he knew he hurt you and missing that party was the worst decision he had made in a long time. 

Thinking about you had consumed him so much that he found it hard to complete his work. He never used his phone at work, unless he needed to call someone for something work-related.

Of course, working with a group of profilers, people began to pick up this odd behaviour. The first to notice was his best friend JJ. 

She immediately recognized his anxious demeanour, but she just didn’t know why. After a while, she ruled out problems with his mother, and that didn’t really leave many options.

Spencer didn’t have many friends - at least that they knew of- and most likely didn’t have a girlfriend either, so what was it?

JJ approached him after their round table meeting on a case just a few miles west of Quantico. 

“Hey, Spence,” she sighed settling her hands on her hips.

“What’s up JJ?” He replied, obviously trying to act as normal and natural as possible, but it wasn’t really working. 

“Nothing, I was just wondering how you’re doing,” Immediately Spencer blushed, obviously embarrassed that his co-workers were noticing his new habits “You just seem… off. Worried. Is everything alright?”

Spencer had tried to hide his shame but clearly, it wasn’t working and he just couldn’t keep it all contained anymore. 

“No, I-“ he sighed and looked down at his feet, trying to decide what to say next. Jennifer didn’t even know about his girlfriend, how would she react knowing he hid that from her all this time and also did such a heartbreaking thing to an innocent girl.

He faked a laugh and a dull smile, “No, JJ everything’s fine! I've just been a little anxious because,” he swallowed and tried to come up with a lie as realistic and believable as possible, “I’ve just been awaiting an interview for this teaching job at Virginia Tech, and uh, they haven’t told me the date yet.” He said in a nonchalant tone, praying that JJ wouldn’t push harder.

She obviously knew he was lying, the guy was a genius but he wasn’t a very good liar. Even though she knew there was something deeper, she thought if he wanted her help, he would be honest. 

“Oh, cool! I’m sure you’ll get that response soon.” She said cheerfully before walking away and clearing the conversation out of her brain.

After the fourth day had passed Spencer knew he had to do something to make this right, the regret had nearly swallowed him whole. 

When he got off work, he drove over to the closet flower shop and purchased a rather large bouquet of your favourite flowers. He remembered when you told him that a bouquet of flowers was always the best apology.

To go along with your flowers, he purchased you a birthday card, to make up for missing the party. It was a rather cute thing, with a pop-up kitten inside, he knew you would love it even if you didn’t say it. 

He scrawled a short birthday wish into the card before starting up his car and heading in the direction of your home. 

As he drove towards your house in the darkness and rain he couldn’t help but worry about what would happen when he arrived. Would you be so angry you would throw it all in a puddle? Or would you welcome and forgive him and this would all be over. Of course, he hoped for the latter, but he would understand if you were upset by seeing his face again.

Once he had arrived, his heart raced as he stepped out of the car and headed towards the front door. When he walked up the stairs, already wet from the rain, he thought of the first time he ever strolled up those short steps and your first kiss standing right there in front of your front door.

He rapped on the door two times fast and two times slow, just like he always did. He could feel himself nearly shivering as his hands just about vibrated while he waited in that infinitely long moment for you to open the door.

He heard the chain on your door unlock and as the door swung open, he saw your face. Your tear-stained, puffy, red face. Seeing you like this almost brought tears to his own eyes.

The way you looked at him ate at him from the inside.

You sighed and looked him up and down, inspecting the flowers he was holding.

“Oh my god, Spencer. Are you insane?” You practically shrieked when you realized he was standing outside your door at 9 PM in the pouring rain. 

“I know, I’m sorry. I should have called first before I just showed up, but I nearly lost my mind missing you.” He said truthfully. “I was just too afraid to see you and tell you that what I did was so fucking stupid and I just really h-“

Just like you had on the phone those few days ago, you cut him off, but instead of with a snarky remark, with a hug. You nearly jumped into his arms. You didn’t care if you got wet or if the flowers got ruined, you just wanted to feel him. 

After the lengthy embrace, you let your boyfriend in. He gave you your flowers and your, now wet, card and made you both tea while you placed them in a large glass vase.

The two of you sat down on the couch and you let him explain this time, fully explain. You could feel his remorseful aura, and even though what he did sucked, you didn't care anymore, you were just so happy to have him with you.

After your long discussion, you ate leftover cake, then celebrated your birthday by binging your favourite tv shows and remembering old memories.

The following morning, Reid decided to move in with you, telling you he never wanted to be away from you at a time like that again. He hung up framed photos of you all over the house of kisses on cheeks and happy memories. He would remind you nearly every morning how much he loves what you have and wants you no matter what, for worse or for better, nearly like wedding vows.

And you can say proudly he never missed another birthday.

[lan90]

Yandere boyfriend: Rowen

Nickname: Ro

Rowen is your sweet boyfriend who brings you flowers everytime he visits. He's also the same man who constantly checks through your phone, warns you to stay away from everyone and forces an unbreakable bond - one more along the lines of captor and captured.

• Rowen had initially planned to kidnap you but to his shock and absolute delight, you confessed your feelings first. Now for as long as men have ears to hear and eyes to see, he’s going to make sure you stay with him.

Personality: strives to play perfect boyfriend but when it cracks, he’s a very insecure man who thinks he is unworthy of your love. He fears you’ll leave him more than anything, that you’ll realise that he’s not worth it and will move on. If you ever did try to leave him, you won’t. Rowen will have to go back to his first plan and as much as it will break his heart to see you like this, it’s for your own good.

As a boyfriend, he tries to be normal but can come off as clingy, touchy and affectionate. At times, it’s suffocating but he feels embarrassed to tell you you’re his first. He has eyes for you and you only. His hands just naturally gravitate towards your skin and oh, you’re under him once again. He loves you so much. It drives him crazy! There are times where he just zones out mid conversation to just look at you and take you in. Not a thing he wouldn’t do for you. If you asked for the Moon, he’d bring you the Solar System as additional gifts.

Although that might sound sweet, there’s a lot more red flags he tries to keep hidden.

Firstly having only corrupt exposures to love, it’s no surprise that he also starts to believe love is meant to be something consuming. Personal space? Minimal. You want to go out with your friends? But why when he’s here… is he not enough for you? The corner shop? Only if you let him tag along. You’ll soon realise that even if you think you’re alone, you’re not. Talk to another man, even if it’s just the barista, God he’ll interrogate you to no end once you’re home. You don’t even get to ask how he knows because holding your shoulders and searching for any lies in your eyes. It can be exhausting. Please don’t ever talk to that man again. Let him come and do the talking for you, okay?

Rowen is so insecure. In his eyes, any man or even woman that appears is a threat to your relationship. His self-worth is rock bottom and the only good thing he has in his life is you. Other red flags are subtle because they’re done behind your back. You’re still not sure why all the male contacts in your phone are missing… even your landlord and manager? Must be a bug.

Rowen is actively aware that what he’s doing is wrong. Does he feel guilty? Absolutely. Even when he tries so hard to convince himself it’s for your own sake. But thanks to that, he tries almost pitifully to compensate for his behaviour by showering you in everything from expensive jewellery, clothes, designer products and all the fancy stuff he read that’s trendy.

Rowen would do anything for you. After all, he’s the perfect boyfriend.

Would he kill for his darling?

Of course! Only one thing is holding him back from shredding the limbs of those who try to do harm onto you. You. Rowen wouldn’t be able to stand the look of betrayal on your face. You’re such a pretty, small thing what if it scared you away? In the story I have planned, the only character Rowen does end up murdering is his mother after he finds out what she did to you.

Random facts:

• Suffered from night terrors as a child. Struggles to sleep because of that often waking up in the middle of the night to walk around.

• Has a twin although they didn’t grow up together. Rowen was raised by his grandparents while his sister was raised by their uncle. As siblings, they aren’t very close and neither have a desire to get to know each other. She travels a lot and barely stays in one place as well.

• Dropped out of university.

• Not close with parents. Their birth was not planned and his mother gave birth very young. She does appear more in his life as he got older but for all the wrong reasons. He would feel quite happy until he would learn that his mother would despise you for taking her son away from her.

(Will add more later)

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Bex would you be down to write a dom ethan and sub reader type dynamic smut? This isn’t a request just wondering if it’s something you’re into 😻

Anon of course this is something I am into. First time writing more dominant Ethan! I hope you like it Anon, I haven't posted a fic in over a fucking month! Everything has been so hetic and nuts, I've been working on this behind the scenes and I am hoping this gets me back into the swing of things! Let's go!

---

Now Or Never.

---

Rating. Explicit. Length. 2.5K. Ethan Landry X FEM! AFAB! Reader. Warnings: DUB CON! Stalking. Creepy And Delusional Behaviour From Ethan. Obsessive Ethan. Man Handling. Degradation. Vaginal Fingering. Vaginal Sex. Raw Sex. Implied Cream Pie. Hold The Moan. Don’t Get Caught. 

---

Ethan has never been the kind of guy to really go after what he wants. He is much more passive, go with the flow, he doesn’t want to upset the apple cart nor ruin the image that people have of him. He knows it isn’t the best practice, he wants to get out of that, he wants to start doing things for him, maybe he should have made the call to start standing up for himself before agreeing to help his family avenge his brothers' death via a complex murder plot. However, Ethan was committed now, and he wasn’t going to back out, more importantly he saw no way how to, and so he stays. 

Assuming an identity in a new place and pretending to be someone he isn’t to infiltrate a group of people, pretend to be their friend just to be close enough to kill them was stressful. It felt like it was consuming his whole life, losing who he actually was in some regard, he needed a distraction, something to help give him purpose, ease his worries and the harsher edges of it all, or he’d go nuts. 

You were his outlet. 

Stalking just went along with what he did in service of the grand plan, you were not part of it, not involved, but you caught his eye in one of his classes. The first time, he was just going the same direction as you, he swears to God, he wasn’t being a creep, at first. That did not last long. He started to watch you, learn your schedule, get into your routine, and whenever he wasn’t having to continue his charade he was consumed getting lost in you. 

He knows where you live, he knows your class times, the coffee shop you frequent, your order at said shop, he knows what soap you use, the part-time job you hold and that one of your biggest pet peeves is when the tag in an item of clothing itches against your skin. 

He’s been watching you for an amount of time that he is sure if you knew would make you very fucking uncomfortable. You seemingly hadn’t caught on to what he was up to, which was good, it meant he could keep it up without worry, watching you living your life while you were totally oblivious. To be fair, how observant you are or are not, is not what he liked best about you, honestly what he liked is that you were the opposite to him in a lot of ways. No real responsibilities other than the ones you wanted to have, just living the way you want to, he felt some modicum of jealousy over that, he imagines what life could be like if he could get out of his current situation and have a more normal existence with you, it’s a good escape, but it’s just that, a fantasy, an unattainable one. 

It is getting harder and harder to ignore the situation he is stuck in, the same way it is becoming impossible to ignore the clawing feeling of dread in his chest. He wanted to stop feeling so helpless, wanted a sense of control, to feel like he was living for himself, even in a tiny sense. 

Time is running out, and he needs to correct this, or he might fuck up everything without some serious stress relief. 

Ethan learned about the Halloween party you were going to attend, and he thought maybe that would be good, to go and cut loose a little while near you. That plan changed, morphed, got away from him once he was actually there and near you in the costume you chose. 

He tried to keep distance, to just watch but between observing you having fun, the mounting pressure and the frankly bordering on painful erection in his jeans that would not stop throbbing finally a piece inside of him broke.

You had to know what you did to him. You had to know the effect you had on him, it was like you were aware you were being watched, doing this on purpose, it’s maddening. He could crush the red solo cup in his hand as he observes you dance with a friend, the way your hand rests on his arm, your head tips forward to press against his shoulder as you laugh, the sway of your hips, it should be him, why not him? He stews in his thoughts and the anger, the unfairness and the budding arousal threatening to boil over inside himself. 

He’d brought his Ghostface costume along, had it in his bag for something he needed to do later, it was like he acted on autopilot. He sneaks off, he got into the costume, and then he waits for the right moment. 

You are on your way to the bathroom, but not the main one people use, no these were your friends, and you knew about the lesser used one, he knew about it because of course, creep that Ethan was, he followed you there. When you are close enough he strikes, his hand over your mouth, his other arm loops around your middle, and he drags you the rest of the way to the bathroom. The door is already ajar, it’s no trouble to get you inside, a backwards swing of his foot to the wood makes the door close. The light is dim, there is a nightlight plugged into the wall outlet near the counter top by the mirror, so someone stumbling from the basement guest bedroom can find their way to the bathroom he assumes. 

You are struggling against him, squirming, muffled sounds trying to get out from behind his hand, but he is struck by just this. He is touching you for the first time, holding you, he draws you closer, makes it so you are flush against him. He’s thought about this countless times, you are warm and softer than anticipated, he can fucking smell you and it is intoxicating. He is so caught up in this, taking in every detail and small movement, he presses his hips forward, grinds himself on you through the layers of jeans and black fabric as he smells your hair and then what you do next? Ethan never would have thought in a million years you’d respond like this, by your eyes closing and you grinding back, pressing your ass closer to him with a sound behind his hand that might sound like a moan if he let you express it fully. 

You aren’t fighting him, not any longer, no you are rocking with him, trying to stimulate yourself in any way possible against him-

Oh.

You are better than he thought, he knew you were a slut, he’d seen you in your place, knew your porn search history and the collection of toys you owned, but to be down to fuck a masked stranger you hadn’t exchanged a single word with? You were a world-class whore, he was going to take advantage of this opportunity to the fullest. 

He knows he doesn’t need to hold you so closely, his arm releases your mid-section, his hand slides down your body and between your legs and up the short skirt of the costume you wore, fingers press to your underwear. You are already wet enough he can feel it through the thin material and his gloves. Your hips buck, wanting to get closer, feel more of him, it feeds his ego and emboldens him, you want him, and he isn’t going to deny you. 

He gets his glove off, he needs to feel you, skin on skin. His hand slides into your panties, his fingers dip as low as they can and feel the source of your extreme wetness, he presses, tease the hole carefully before his digits slide up through your folds, and he knows he finds what he needs when you gasp, head thrown back against his shoulder. 

His hand works, fingers circle over your clit, and you inhale sharply through your nose, brows furrow, and he watches you in the mirror. The way the pleasure plays out on your face as he teases you, he enjoys how your body responds, the small tremors of your limbs, the twisting and squirming of your form, the way your clit throbs under his touch as he presses harder. 

He needs to feel you inside. Fingers move, you whine, he dives inside, and he curls them, it causes the biggest reaction out of you yet. Your body pitching forward, hands on the counter and your walls clenching around his fingers. You are so soaked, soft, hot and so thoroughly alive. He can barely move them inside of you, but he does, he slips them in and out, presses to that same spot that got such a big reaction out of you, and he moans quietly, he swears he can feel you getting wetter. 

In and out, flex and push, you writhe, and he wants to hear you, he pulls his hand away, but before he does, he has one finger over your lips, that classic symbol of “shhh” and you nod, eyes half lidded and lust filled. You let out quiet moans, his palm grinds against your clit as his fingers fuck in and out, he can’t take much more. The simple movement, the motion, how hard he is rocking against your ass, he wants to be buried in you, wants to fuck you. 

So he does. 

His hand moves, fingers pulled out, and your eyes had slipped closed again, at the loss of him they open, confused and when you see him pulling the robe up you get the hint. You make your own move, shaky hands lift off the counter and your fingers hook under your skirt, you tug down your underwear and you step one foot out, leaving them hooked around your other ankle. He has the robe up and his pants open finally, the relief of pressure on his straining erection has him letting out a small sigh. His hands are on you, he adjusts you, one knee on the counter and pushing you forward, your hands braced on the sink, and you adjust too, your hips tilt and soon with a hand on your back and the other on the base of his cock he is lining up. 

It’s rushed and faster than he wants, but he just wants so much, it’s been so fucking long he can't stop it, can't help himself. He feels you, the heat coming off of you, the wetness on his tip, he lingers for only a moment before his hips move involuntarily, and then he is helpless. The first half inch pops in with no resistance, and you are perfect, you feel incredible it makes him let go of himself, hands lock on your hips, and he pushes further, slides deeper, and he watches you in the mirror. The way your mouth falls open, the exhalation, the way you tense in some regards and relax in others, but mostly he can’t focus on much else other than how your cunt feels around him as he settles in, finally to the base. 

He soaks you in for a second, you are more impatient than he, you whine again, needier than before, and you move first, pull your hips forward before sliding them back, and it makes any semblance of control break. He takes over, the grip on your hips tightens, and he pulls out almost totally before driving back in, you have to bite your lip to hold the moan back enough to not be overheard. The party is on the main floor, you are in the basement, but you are sure that he could make you alert everyone up there. 

This was insanely hot for you, a masked stranger pulling you away and touching you, groping you, fucking you without you seeing his face or uttering a single word? Unbearably hot, his fingers were good, but even two minutes in his dick puts his hands to shame. He is greedy. He touches more, he didn’t touch you enough before, his other glove comes off, and he touches your legs, your thigh, a firm squeeze of your ass, he feels up your sides and your chest. You lean closer into his touch, moving still with him, loving the pace he took as he fucked you, rough and quick, he pulls the top of your costume down, exposes your tits, palms them, and you moan louder than you probably should. 

This is good, but it could be better still, your hand is between your legs, you stroke your clit as he fucks you, the stretch of him is delicious, you find yourself gasping, arching your back a bit more so he hits that spot inside just a bit harder, a touch better. You are so close to the mirror you are in danger of fogging it up, but you want to look at him, you’d been staring at his masked face this whole time, wondering who is under it. 

You move back, press yourself closer to him and away from the mirror, and you get this urge. This urge that you don’t question or think about. Your back is to his chest, he is still preoccupied with fucking you and rolling your nipples between his fingers, perfectly distracted, huffing and letting out small sounds of pleasures, groans, you reach back behind him and the move is fast. You push the hood back, fingers grip, and you pull and twist, the mask comes off. He’s shocked.

He was so consumed with the feeling of getting to have you, with the mounting pleasure, he even had his eyes closed like an idiot, you got the drop on him. He stopped, held deep, and your eyes met in the mirror. 

He’s hot. Hotter than you thought possible, dark sweat soaked curls and hard eyes, pretty pink lips are wet and parted, he’s strong and has had no issue throwing you around and holding you down. The low orange light playing off your body and his face is going to be burned in your mind forever.

You don’t want him to stop, you want to keep going. You maintain eye contact, you move again, pull him out slightly before bucking back, he inhales hard, and you do it again, and again, slip more out and take him harder on every movement, and he comes back to himself. 

You like this, like him, you liked him as a stranger doing this, but you were still into this now made it even better. He takes over again, he fucks you harder while still meeting your eyes in the mirror. He wasn’t going to stop now until you came around him, and he filled you up.

God, he needed this.