#I worried for a second that I was bragging

[httpuckdrop]

ashes – day 1

his eyes were stuck on you from the second you entered the club.

it wasn't a completely uncommon thing for you to have men staring at you in public places, especially not when you were out with your hot girlfriends, all wearing tiny dresses with hair fixed to perfection. nonetheless, you were more used to the men only ever entertaining the most gorgeous members of your friend group, and men losing interest after an hour of you not giving a shit about their longing gazes.

this specific one, however, didn't seem to understand the meaning behind your actions. nearing three hours after you first stepped into the room, you still caught him eyeing you up whenever you accidentally looked his way. could he not take a hint?

it wasn't like he wasn't hot enough for you – quite the opposite, to be honest. with his defined jaw speckled with just a faint hint of stubble, a smile that made something tighten in your stomach without him even trying, and those baby blue eyes (so bright they could blind you across the room), he could probably bag any girl in the world. he probably has, too, judging by the way he and his friend seem to think that they own not just the club but the rest of the world as well.

you're familiar with the type; likely some type of spoiled sports guys, celebrating a good game or season or whatever. caps on their heads, beer glasses in their hands, top buttons of their shirts undone. you truly couldn't care less.

the guy left your brain for a few moments when it was suddenly your turn to get your group a new round of drinks. you waited by the bar for a minute or two, and when the bartender was done mixing your round, he calculated the price for you before running off to get the card machine.

you really shouldn't have been surprised by the figure appearing by your side. you definitely should have figured out that he would see this as his chance.

"let me pay for the round." you hadn't heard his voice before, but you didn't need to – or want to, for that matter – look at him to know who it was. a mere shake of your head should've been enough, you thought. apparently not. "you're a group of like, what, six people? can't be too expensive, i'll handle it."

"i can handle it, too," you countered.

"i'm sure you can," he started with a chuckle. "but you shouldn't have to."

taking a deep breath, you finally turned to him, feeling the frustration building up in the pit of your stomach when your eyes met his because who allowed him to be this breathtaking up close? "i'm not looking for some sugar daddy, so you can leave."

his jaw dropped slightly at this, eyes widening and cheeks growing pink – or were they always that color? was it due to the alcohol or just the proximity to you? – but then he shook his head slightly to recover. "that's not what i meant," he said, and you almost believed the genuine glimmer in his gaze. "i just wanted to do something good, i don't know. i'm sorry if that came out wrong."

you couldn't help but nod at this, the corners of your lips curling up at the sight of his hand scratching the back of his neck. "don't worry about it," you assured him, wanting- needing to look away, but not finding yourself able to. he looked young, probably around your age instead of the typical nasty old men who liked to pick up pretty girls and brag about their wallets. his eyes were kind, gentle, the different shades of blue swirling around like a rough sea; easy to get lost in. the brown curls that poked out at the back of his cap were unruly yet soft, and in a weak moment, you found yourself wondering how it would feel to pull your fingers through them.

the bartender interrupted your moment – you weren't sure if only seconds had passed or if it had been minutes, hours – and a breath of relief escaped from you at the beep from the card machine after you tapped your phone against it. at the same time, you really didn't want to go back to your friends. you could spend your whole lifetime just staring at the man in front of you without being bored for even a second. you hadn't yet realized the spell you were under, or just how willing you'd be to agree to anything for him.

after making sure that the drinks were safely transported to your table, the man managed to lure you with him to his own table instead. most of his friends were gone by now, searching for single girls on the dance floor, and the three that were still sat there were too invested in a heated discussion about football to care even the slightest about you two.

he introduced himself as jack, 23 years old but turning 24 in the spring, the middle of three brothers. when you questioned him about sports, wanting to confirm your premature suspicions, he laughed and confirmed that he indeed "works with hockey", but never went any further than that. instead, he asked for your name, told you that it was beautiful and asked where you got it from. he asked to hear about your studies, seemingly authentically curious about your boring homework and annoying lecturers. he asked about your family, your childhood, your dreams.

no matter what story you told, he listened with great intent, that boyish grin permanent on his lips and a laugh never far away. jack looked at you like he was already in love with you; a look you're sure he has practiced for ages.

but at this point, you honestly didn't care.

after this, everything went by in a blur. one second, you were still just sitting on that couch in the club, chatting about anything and everything. the next, you were making out in the back of an uber, his calloused palms searching every inch of skin they could reach under your shirt. the next, your back met the covers of the bed in his apartment, dazed eyes watching as this masterpiece of a man climbed on top of you and leaned down to seal his lips against yours yet again.

his fingers left imaginary traces along your skin, his lips then following the path they'd drawn. you'd been in this position before, sure, but this sensation was new – something about him made it so different from anything you'd felt before. his touch drew out shallow breaths and sweet noises from you as he discovered your body, helping him understand how to please you the way you wanted.

the time spent with jack went on for hours, yet it was over in mere seconds. when he held you against his chest, you wanted nothing more than to stay there forever, to rest your head against him until the world collapsed under your feet, to feel his skin against yours until the end of time.

but you knew that couldn't happen.

so as soon as his low snores filled the air, when his breath became steady and you were sure he was asleep, you swiftly fled from his grasp.

getting dressed in a tight dress and your previously discarded underwear after a night like this was always awkward, and leaving a gorgeous man alone in his big bed always sucked. but you had no other option.

after closing his front door behind you quietly, you let out a deep sigh, as if to let go of what had just happened. you couldn't afford to let it stay on your mind, you couldn't obsess over it. there was no point. if you were lucky, you would never have to see him again.

unfortunately, luck has never really been on your side.

[thecagedsong]

When I post a chapter, I'm thrilled with every comment. The 'this is so beautiful :')' comments make me want to keep posting and sharing. Even mentioning just one detail a la 'my favorite part was where you made Zelda break a kiss because she realized exactly how much of an idiot Link was, had me laughing', gives me a chance to think oh, it was funny, that part worked like I hoped it would, I'm so happy the feelings I wanted to get across came across.

I'm not hoping for reviews because I expect some epic tolkein-esque poetry, five paragraphs long, showing love of my themes and characters and imagery through a parallel story.

I AM saying that reviewer Silversoul17, who did write my story epic tolkein-esque poetry, five paragraphs long, showing their love of my themes and characters and imagery through a parallel story, actually owns my heart and I wish I was getting married for the sole purpose of inviting them to my wedding and introducing them to my family as 'my friend Silver, who likes videogames and studies tolkein poetry and whom I adore very, very much.'

this is the comment, as it is too good to only be sitting in the comment section of Dear Hero.

This is the rest of the comment, the most important part, the poem! It didn't format right on mobile, but I got it all into tumblr friendly images eventually!

For context and comparison, the poem I left on Silversoul17's comment the previous chapter was just this:

This one is for Silversoul17, because the paragraphs I wrote gushing about the poem was not enough to show how much I loved it. I don't know if you follow me on tumblr, but I'm going to brag about you anyway. (Go ahead and message me/reply to this if you are following me on tumblr, I'd love to follow you back)

[wanderer-clarisse]

I've reached the Helm's Deep chapter :>>

'Where is Gimli?'

'I do not know,' said Aragorn. 'I last saw him fighting on the ground behind the wall, but the enemy swept us apart.'

'Alas! That is evil news,' said Legolas.

'He is stout and strong,' said Aragorn. 'Let us hope that he will escape back to the caves. There he would be safe for a while. Safer than we. Such a refuge would be to the liking of a dwarf.'

'That must be my hope,' said Legolas. 'But I wish that he had come this way. I desired to tell Master Gimli that my tale is now thirty-nine.'

---

'Forty-two, Master Legolas!' he cried. 'Alas! My axe is notched: the forty-second had an iron collar on his neck. How is it with you?'

'You have passed my score by one,' answered Legolas. 'But I do not grudge you the game, so glad am I to see you on your legs!'

[uniiiquehecrt]

Voice actors are NOT the same as actors.

It takes a specific kind of skill-set and training to be able to warp and meld the voice. It takes a certain kind of talent and dedication to hone that talent into the ability to meld the voice and invoke emotion with one's voice alone. Actors are used to using their voice secondarily to their body language and their facial expressions. It's all mirrored back on camera. They do have nuance. But it's a different kind of nuance and a different kind of training to produce that nuance.

Voice actors might get their likeness transposed on their character's design, and maybe their mannerisms might seep into the character's animation. But when it's all said and done: their presence is in their voice. They are bringing a character to life, showing that emotion in their voice, trying to keep a specific accent, drawl, pitch, tone in that voice and keep it consistent for their recording sessions.

The voice actor is like a classically trained musician who can play first chair in a competitive, world-renown orchestra. The actor (who fills the voice actor's role) is like a moot who played violin in beginner and intermediate high school orchestra and thinks they can get into Juilliard with that 2-4 years of experience.

This doesn't mean that the HS orchestra moot can't play. They can even be really good at it. Maybe they won competitions and sat first chair. But they are not in the same league as the person who's been training their whole lives and lives and breathes to hone their craft using the instrument and all of the training they've ever acquired to perfect it. They are not meant for the same roles. They are not in the same caliber. You do not hire the HS equivalent when you want to play complex music in a competitive orchestra.

Actors are not the same as voice actors.

And furthermore, actors - especially big name actors - taking the roles of animated characters for big budget films or TV pilots makes no sense anyways when - at least in the case of TV pilots - there's not a point to hiring a big budget actors anyways. That money could be used elsewhere (like paying your animators), and the talent that is brought onto the screen for X character could then be hired on to voice said character no recasting required.

I wouldn't say voice acting as a profession is in danger exactly, but it's certainly being disrespected and overlooked for celebrity clout, and this has ALWAYS been an issue. Shoot, even Robin Williams knew that much - which is why he tried so hard not to be used as a marketing chess piece for Aladdin and got royally pissed off when it happened anyways. People shouldn't go to any movie (but especially not animated films) because "oh famous actor is in it". People should go because it's a good movie and the voice acting is good.

People who honest to god think that voice actors are replaceable because "oh well anyone can voice act" or "I like xyz celebrity so naturally it'll be good" ... Honestly I just wish you'd reassess your priorities because you're missing the point and are part of the problem.

Voice Actors ≠ Actors.

[oncamelliastreet]

it’s so concerning how obsessed people online are with celebrities relationships. the same people who say “they don’t know you and wouldn’t want you” when you stick up for a celebrity who’s done nothing wrong proceeds to drag a man they DONT know and will NEVER know based on RUMORS like we’re in HIGH SCHOOL and proceed to drag his looks like that is ever a good place to go.

[draw-you-coward]

did some figure drawing! :) really helped bring back some confidence and reassure me that i “still got it”

[hyperlexichypatia]

This is a semi spinoff of this post, but really its own thought.

When a job pays less than a living wage, it generally attracts one of two types of employees:

Desperate people (usually poor and/or otherwise marginalized or with barriers to employment), who will take any job, no matter how bad, because they need the money, or

Independently wealthy people (usually well-off retirees, students being supported by their families, or women with well-off husbands*), who don't care about the pay scale because they don't need the money anyway.**

And sometimes, organizations will intentionally keep a job low-paying or non-paying with the deliberate intent of narrowing their pool to that second category.

People sometimes bring this up when discussing the salaries of elected officials -- yes, most politicians are paid more than most "regular people," but they're not paid enough to sustain the expensive lifestyle politicians have to maintain, and that's on purpose. It's not an oversight, and it's not primarily about cost-cutting. It's a deliberate barrier to ensure that only rich people can run for office.

The same is true, albeit to less severe effect, of unpaid internships -- the benefit of "hiring" an unpaid intern isn't (just) that you don't have to pay them; it's also that you can ensure that all your workers are rich, or at least middle-class.

When nonprofits brag about how little of their budget goes to "overhead" and "salaries", as if those terms were synonymous with "waste," what they're really saying is "All our employees are financially comfortable enough that they don't worry about being underpaid. Our staff has no socioeconomic diversity, and probably very little ethnic or cultural diversity." ***

This isn't a secret. I'm not blowing anything wide open here. People very openly admit that they think underpaid workers are better, because they're "not in it for the money." This is frequently cited as a reason, for example, that private school teachers are "better" than public school teachers -- they're paid less, so they're not "in it for the money," so they must be working out of the goodness of their hearts. I keep seeing these cursed ads for a pet-sitting service where the petsitters aren't paid, which is a selling point, because they're "not in it for the money."

"In it for the money" is the worst thing a worker could be, of course. Heaven forbid they be so greedy and entitled and selfish as to expect their full-time labor to enable them to pay for basic living expenses. I get this all the time as a public library worker, when I point out how underfunded and underpaid we are. "But... you're not doing it for the money, right?" And I'm supposed to laugh and say "No, no, I'd do it for free, of course!"

Except, see, I have these pesky little human needs, like food. And I can't get a cart full of groceries and explain to the cashier that I don't have any money, but I have just so much job satisfaction!

And it's gendered, of course it's gendered. The subtext of "But you're not doing it for the money, of course" is "But how much pin money do you really need, little lady? Doesn't your husband give you a proper allowance?"

Conceptually, it's just an extension of the upper-class cultural norm that "polite" (rich) people "don't talk about money" (because if you have to think about how much money you have or how much you need, you're insufficiently rich).

*Gendered language very much intentional.

**Disabled people are more likely to be in the first category (most disabled people are poor, and being disabled is expensive), but are usually talked about as if they're in the second category. We're told that disabled people sorting clothing for $1.03 an hour are "So happy to be here" and "Just want to be included," and it's not like they need the money, since, as we all know, disability benefits are ample and generous [heavy sarcasm].

***Unless, of course, they're a nonprofit whose "mission" involves "job placement," in which case what they're saying is "We exploit the poor and desperate people we're purporting to help." Either way, "We pay our employees like crap" is nothing to brag about.

[yanderenightmare]

Gojo Satoru

TW: implied noncon, yandere

fem reader

The way Gojo Senpai is so obnoxious, he doesn’t understand his flirting is making you uncomfortable…

He seriously thinks he’s making you fall head over heels in love with him even when you give him nothing in return to make him think that. He just thinks you’re embarrassed and nervous, flustered by his attention, and that’s the reason you divert your gaze and bite your lip when he has you against the lockers, leaning on his hand with his shades gliding low on his nose—telling you that you have no shot becoming a sorcerer, but that you look too cute in the uniform not to give it your best try. 

“Don’t worry, just say my name, and I’ll come save you,” he’ll say. “You can be my personal assistant supervisor instead.” 

His game isn’t anything to brag about. It's more in line with bullying than flirting, but you pick up on the suggestiveness. That heated saccharine look within his blue eyes can only mean one thing if the way he plays with your hair isn’t enough of a hint already.

But his words are nothing short of derogatory, and all in all, he simply makes you feel gross—a sentiment you thought you put across, but it seems that having six eyes only makes you blind.

It takes Shoko telling him to leave the poor Kohai alone for him to finally understand that you don’t like him. And then he’s just confused and embarrassed.

And a tinge bit irritated.

Gojo knows for a fact he could make any girl want him. Even those who seem to hate him would melt if he gave them the same attention he’s been giving you. Any girl. He could have any girl, but he chose you. And you reject him?

No. He can’t accept that.

“Most girls would be grateful for my attention,” He states plainly after having tracked you down.

Your head snapped, jolting. “Gojo Senpai—” You dropped the mop in your hands with a clatter, having been deep in your own thoughts on classroom cleaning duty. You sighed as the scare settled, giving a breathy laugh, “You scared me—”

“Is that it?” he interrupted. “I scare you?”

You quirked a brow with a tilt of your head. “What?”

“Do I scare you?” he repeated, louder, posted on the threshold in a stance you’d never seen him in—stiff and squared, not his usual lazy laidbackness.

Confused, your eyes looked around as if searching for clues but came up emptyhanded, “Uhm, I don’t understand—”

“It’s a simple question,” he said, cutting you off again, this time with a step into the classroom. He talked slowly, cradling the next words, “Are you scared of me?”

Where it all came from, you hadn’t a clue. But then again, Gojo Senpai has always been rather strange. 

Were you scared of him? It’s not really something you’ve ever thought about. Sure, if you were to go one versus one with him, you’d probably piss yourself. But in a regular setting, you just found him to be as grating as the next person.

“I don’t think so?” you end up answering.

“Good. So what is it then?” His shades were low enough for his stare to skim over. Brighter than clear skies, and yet, somehow, so dark. “Why don’t you like me.”

Oh, so he’s figured it out on his own then. It’s about time. And thank fuck for it—saves you the trouble of breaking it to him yourself. Though you were still left with the unfair task of telling him why.

“Honestly, Gojo Senpai, I’m not, or well… you’re just not my type.”

Stick to the basics, is what you told yourself. There’s no need to drag this out.

“Yeah, I figured. I’m asking why,” he countered, in complete disagreement with your thought.

Still, you wanted to fight for it. “Does it really matter?”

“Yes.”

This conversation was the last thing you wanted, but it seemed the white-haired prodigy wouldn’t leave without having it.

“Well…” you started, still pondering. Maybe he’d appreciate the honesty? He’s a rather straightforward guy himself. “I mean, there’s no way you don’t already know this, but—” You picked up the broom again mid-sentence. “You’re really obnoxious.”

He took a small second before he scoffed, “So? No one else cares.”

It reminded you of arguing with someone half your age—the petty anger in an ill-thought-through comment slung at you as if it carried all the weight in the world. But what everyone else thought of him hadn’t anything to do with you—and even so, out of the people on campus, you’re certain you’re not the only one who finds his attitude unpleasant—they just don’t tell it to his face. 

You had half the mind to tell him to go get a grip, but he was still your Senpai.

“Good for you, I guess?” You weren’t really looking to fight with him, after all. “So you can flirt with literally anyone else then,” you dismiss him and go back to finish cleaning the classroom—glad to have put it all behind you. You were starting to fear he’d never leave you alone.

There’s a woosh, then the hard thunk of your back hitting the wall. Both your upper arms are gripped tight, pinned. When you open your eyes again after adjusting to the impact, you look straight up into the full view of two crisp comet blues.

“You’re mighty rude for a Kohai. You know that?”

Your head stings. You blink crookedly.

“Senpai—”

“Maybe I’ve misjudged you. D’you have anythin’ for show to back that attitude up?” It’s eerie how he says it in the same flirty fashion he would otherwise—even the look in his eyes are the same. But his grip tightens.

“I don’t want to fight—”

“No?” he cuts you off with a pout. “I could've sworn you were asking for it—all but begging for it a second ago.”

You whimper, cowering at the sudden bite in his voice.

“What’s the matter, huh? I thought you said you weren’t scared?”

Your voice comes out weak, “Please, Gojo Senpai, I—”

“Please?” he questions brightly, eyes stark and burning like a stovetop. “Yeah, that’s got a nicer ring to it—suits you better.” The smile that splits across his face is nothing short of unhinged. “But it’s not enough for me to let your disrespect slide.” He licks his lips, and a chill runs up your spine, feeling like caught prey. “Lucky you, I know exactly what price to put on it.”

His mouth devour yours the same way—pouncing like a beast would, with teeth more than lips, then a tongue. You whine as you twist—it’s more instinctive than deliberate when your knee shoots up into the unprotected space between his legs—right into that thing that was rubbing and rutting against you.

You make a run for it as he staggers back with a hiss, but you don’t make it farther than three measly steps before you’re bent over the closest desk.

His fist wrangles your hair, using it to shove you face-down against the wood—the weight of his body on top of your back with his voice raspy against your ear. “We could’ve left this with a kiss, but I don’t think it’s gonna be that easy now.”

Tears spill hotly in a panic, but no matter how much strength you put into lifting yourself up, you remain down. Sobbing, “Let go—help—”

He snickers with a hand under your skirt, spidering delicately up your thigh. “Who’re you callin’ for help, hm? I’m already here.”

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

[fastandcarlos]

Padel Queen : ̗̀➛ Max Verstappen

summary: when max suggests couples padel with george and carmen, he worries about how good you'll be, little does he know though what a master of padel you are

“Are you sure that this is a good idea?” Max asked you one final time as you took the racket that he offered out of his hands. “It’s not too late for us to say no,” he reminded you, anxious eyes watching as you stood yourself up.

You looked the part, but playing the part? You weren’t too sure. When Carmen and George invited you for a game of padel you were keen to find out more about the game that Max seemed to love so much, but now that you were there, your confidence had diminished.

The noise of rackets hitting the ball continually made you jump as you put your trainers on, the speed that some of the balls were struck made you flinch in fear, and the groans of effort that echoed left you questioning how athletic you really were.

“I’ve got this!” You cheered, nudging against Max’s side, refusing to let him see just how nervous you were.

The two of you walked onto the court, picking the side you’d serve from whilst George and Carmen finished getting themselves ready. Max walked across and picked up one of the balls, taking you to the baseline at the back of the court.

“I’m going to teach you how to serve so you’re an expert in the game,” he informed you, turning you so that you were facing the right way.

You allowed Max to guide you, listening closely to his instructions, copying his movements whenever he demonstrated, constantly reminding you that he was an expert of padel.

The first time you served, you just managed to get the ball over the net, watching it bounce dejectedly on the other side of the court.

“How was that?” You grinned, spinning to face Max, his expression not matching your own. “What? What did I do wrong?”

Max scratched nervously over the top of his head, feeling his heart break as he saw how excited you were before him. “Well…you got it over the net, that’s a start.”

You could tell Max was trying to be kind as he went to fetch the ball, handing it back to you again. You stood sideways, like he said, body facing where you wanted to aim, like he said, arm holding the ball out, like he said. But Max wasn’t happy yet. The feeling of a figure right behind you made your body tense up as Max held his hands over both of yours.

“Let’s do it together,” he whispered, getting you to throw the ball up, swinging the racket back. You let Max guide you as the racket hit the ball, watching it go over the net with plenty more power the second time around. “And make sure you follow through with your swing too.”

The two of you practised a few more times before George and Carmen stepped onto the court. Max jogged over to you as you got yourself ready, draping his arm across your shoulders.

“We can beat these two easily,” he joked, trying his best to lighten your mood and fill you with confidence, “serve like I taught you and we’ll be just fine.”

You nodded in reply as George shouted for you to hurry up, taking your positions on the court. Whilst you and Carmen both stood relaxed, George and Max both looked up for the battle, determined to beat each other and earn themselves bragging rights.

George passed the ball to Carmen to start your game off, with Max easily reaching the serve and returning the ball. You found yourself a little lost on the court as Max raced around, almost forgetting as if you were there most of the time. After a bit of back and forth, mostly between the boys, Max lobbed the ball just over Carmen’s head giving you the point.

“That was perfect,” Max cheered as he turned around to approach you, offering his fist for you to fist bump.

You couldn’t help but admire the sudden competitiveness that appeared in Max, it didn’t matter if he was in a car, on the court, or just getting into the car with you, he wanted to be first no matter what.

“It’s your turn to serve now,” Max told you, placing the ball on your racket, “just remember what I told you and you’ll be just fine.”

You took the ball as Max offered you a reassuring smile, turning your body so that you were facing George. You could be forgiven for thinking he was a professional with how he stood, leaving you intimidated opposite him.

You remembered Max’s words as you swung the racket back, throwing the ball up into the air. You took a deep breath before swinging the racket forwards, watching on as the ball flew across the net, leaving a dumfounded George swinging and missing to return your serve.

“What the-“

“Babe! Where did that come from?”

George was frozen to the spot, feeling Carmen’s eyes on him. Meanwhile, Max ran over to you, wrapping his arms around your frame and twirling you around in the air.

“Have you secretly been practising or something?” Max chuckled as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, “that was one of the best serves that I’ve ever seen in a game of padel.”

You weren’t quite sure where it came from, and truthfully, you weren’t sure if you’d be able to hit a ball like that again, but feeling the excitement that radiated from Max made it all worth it. He couldn’t quite believe what he had seen, laughing away to himself in disbelief.

“Turns out I might be better at this than you,” you teased once Max put you down, “I guess you can just call me the padel queen.”

“You told me that she’d never played before,” George called out, letting the reality of what just happened sink in.

Max shrugged in reply, unable to help George. “I swear, I’ve never seen her play like that before. If you want to quit now, just say. I think we know who’s going to win this game now.”

George brushed his hand through his hair as Max took a hold of your hand, leading you back to your positions on court again. There was still a wave of surprise across the net from you as Max took the ball to serve this time.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do it?” You joked, feeling Max’s eyes land on you, the corners of his smile turning up.

“Hey, you might be good, but you’ve got nothing on me yet.”

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[chocogoldie]

Love Slip

bakugo katsuki x fem!reader

genre: fluff

contains: established relationship, a bit suggestive at one point

short continuation of Nip Slip 18+

It's been a while since the two of you started dating. Approximately three months, two days and forty-three minutes. But who's keeping count?

During your time together, you've come to learn many things about the blond ticking time bomb:

One, he's a very organized and clean guy. He has to-do lists separated into categories in his phones' notepad app, a strict schedule he follows everyday to stay in shape — not that he needs it, but getting to brag about being able to lift you up certainly strokes his ego — and an extremely neat room that stays neat no matter what. He brushes his teeth three times a day, eats healthy meals, has a proper skincare routine and smells of sweet caramel even when he's dripping with sweat coming back from the gym or from an intense training session with your classmates. ln short, his hygiene is top notch.

Two, he's a little bit of a gym freak. Not that you'd ever mind, you even find it hot most of the time, but sometimes he gets provoked by his other gym buddies, mainly Kirishima and Kaminari, to try out all sorts of exercises with you on his back. Push-ups, squats, even yoga poses, literally anything they can think of just to see if it'd work. You've fallen on your ass more than he'd like, or care, to admit. Not because he wasn't strong, no, but because you cannot concentrate on holding onto him for the life of you, always getting distracted by the way his muscles flex and how he grunts from exertion. It's a sight for sore eyes, strands of hair sticking to his forehead while his usually spiky hair dampens and falls down beautifully, framing his face. It reminds you of your first night together, so of course you wouldn't be able to pay attention to anything else. You don't mention how incredibly good he looks in his compression shirts. Yes, he bought multiple after you oggled him up and hinted at loving the way they fit muscly men.

And last but not least, he's clingier than anyone you've ever met which is a stark, and quite frankly adorable, contrast to his sharp appearance. You're working on some assignments? He's bringing you food and making himself comfortable on your bed while putting on a weird dating show on the TV, occasionally checking up on you to remind you to take breaks. You're going for a quick grocery run? He doesn't waste a second to throw on whatever clothes he can find and join you, walking around the store with the shopping cart and imagining you two as a married couple well into your marriage shopping for your little family. You're taking a bath? Scooch over, he's helping you wash your hair and back. You're feeling sad? He's bringing your favorite ice cream and listening to you vent while gently running his hands over your face, back, thighs, arms, anywhere to soothe you. He cradles your face when your sobbing gets louder, pressing his forehead against yours to help ground you into reality, to snap yourself out of your worries by murmuring “I'm here, baby,” or “I got you”. All in all, he's a big softie for you.

He often shows his affection through his actions, but sometimes when the two of you are alone and in the silence of your bedrooms, he pushes his embarrassment aside and spills his heart out. He vents about hero work, about how he doesn't think he's good enough, or rather, nice enough to be a hero, always ending up berating people to hide his true intentions and words. It's something he's always struggled with, but he's been working on it constantly with you, his friends, and in therapy. He tells you everything about what happened during his time in highschool, how the man literally died for a minute, and how much that impacted his life onwards. You listen intently and comfort him through it, crushing him into a tight embrace to remind him you're there for him as well and that you'd do anything to make him happy. He tells you that your presence is enough.

He whispers soft “I love you”'s each night before you two drift off to sleep, letting his hand rest on the small of your back underneath your shirt, needing to feel your skin against his to be able to sleep. The warmth your body provides gets rid of his reoccurring nightmares and allows him to sleep soundly throughout the night with you by his side. And he very quickly realizes he never wants to lose you. Ever.

Because he might've slipped into having a little crush on you, but he willingly chose to fall in love with you.

© chocogoldie 2024. do not translate, copy, or repost.

a/n: a little smth i came up with while waiting for the poll to finish :3 hope u enjoyed it! not proofread

[ghostfacesvalentine]

Princess treatment only - MultiMuse x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Multimuse x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Not many, some mentions of killing, but nothing graphic. Kind of fluffy

Type: HC’s

Request: N/A

Word Count: N/A

Prompt: Some HC’s as to how the muses would give the reader the princess treatment.

Notes: I don’t know where I was going with this, but this is mainly fluff, maybe sometime I’ll spice it up. I just had to get my writing juice brewing. Not proofread at all just go.

Jason Voorhees: Honestly, would treat you like a princess regardless. Will pick flowers for you when he’s outside. Always lets you borrow his flannels. Always walks in front of you to make sure there’s no danger, but looks back constantly to make sure there’s no danger behind you?? lmao. You won’t ever have to lift a finger when you’re with him. Literally at your beck and call. Will try his best not to kill in front of you, but sometimes it just ?? happens lol. Tries to be soft when touching you because you’re literally the most perfect thing that has ever crossed his path.

Michael Myers: Is your literal bodyguard. Will follow you anywhere and everywhere, you might as well call him your shadow. Lets you hug him and climb onto his lap whenever. Won’t hug you back yet, working on it. Nobody comes near you, no exceptions. Sorry. Stares at you most of the time. Can’t say it, but you’re literally flawless to him. Will use his body as a shield for you. Would kill anything for you. Eventually learns to put his palm against your cheek and that’s his second greatest accomplishment, the first being bagging you, literally and figuratively.

Tiffany Valentine: You won’t ever have to worry about a thing when you’re with her. Always gets her hands dirty for you. Lots of cheek and neck kisses. Praises your looks all the time. She will always brag about you whether it’s what you do, how you look, anything and everything. She would always make sure you have the latest clothes. She’d make sure you always had your staple make up pieces available. When it comes to killing, she’d get creative, that way you guys will never have literal blood on your hands, especially you, never you.

Billy Loomis: Lots of nicknames. Kinda only has a soft spot for you. Can never ever tell you no and stick to it. Won’t hesitate to kill anyone who makes fun of him for this. Drives you everywhere. Ties your shoes. Always makes time for you. Will help you pick out your outfits and tell you which one he likes and which one he doesn’t. Will wear the bracelets you make him. Anything in his closet is yours, help yourself. Always touching you, holding your hand, holding your waist, you’ve infatuated him enough to have him carelessly cover you in soft kisses, laying his head on your shoulder. Kinda creative with dates tbh.

Stu Macher: You will forever be his princess. Will carry you across puddles. Lots of cheek and forehead kisses. Would learn how to paint your nails for you during class. Always makes sure you have a good grade on your exam, whether he has to swap out the papers after class or make sure you get the right answers, you can absolutely count on him. You don’t have to use your brain around him, no worries. Thinks you look adorable in his sweaters, especially oversized. Loves when you sit on his lap. Prioritizes you over anything and everything. Even if you don’t like horror movies, Stu would absolutely find something else for you to watch.

Patrick Bateman: Honestly, when he falls in love with you, it’s princess treatment only. Will give you a skin care routine and help you follow through with it. Kind of makes you feel dumb, but not like a stupid dumb, more like a ‘oh dear sweet baby you are a little dumb but pretty, but dumb, let me help you’ Same thing if you fall asleep with your makeup on, Patricks on the way with the micellar makeup remover. Will speak up for you if you don’t like a service, he won’t be mean about it unless he has to. Always makes sure you’re hydrated (also part of your skin care routine). You will be a housewife/girlfriend. Feel free to splurge, you are his trophy princess after all. Will take you anywhere you want. Will make things up for you if he has to be at work late.

Leatherface: I don’t ever see a scenario where Bubba does not treat his s/o like a princess. It’s like part of the deal. Either way, expect wild flowers all the time. It’s his favorite thing to do for you. He even makes you a vase and makes sure your flowers are always fresh. Will literally die and kill for you without any hesitation. At his knees for you. Bubba will crawl to you across pins and needles if you asked him to. He’s always making sure you’re comfortable and safe, never hungry or in your mind for too long. Melts at your touch. Would learn how to dance just to dance to your favorite songs. Always gets awestruck with you.

Harley Quinn: Will absolutely take you anywhere you want, no matter how random it is. Always dazed when looking at you. Keeps pictures of you all dressed up in her bag or car or wherever she goes. Selina gave her a heart shaped locket once and yeah, you guessed it, the cutest picture of you is in there. Doesn’t hesitate to shoot any man for you. Leaves your face covered in red kisses. She would do anything to make you laugh. Anything you want, it’s yours! Just point at it.

Poison Ivy: Pamela will always spoil you, regardless of how you act. You’ve heard of people growing gardens for their s/o, she would grow forests for you. She’s the most gentle with you, gentle caresses and soft kisses. Paints your nails, brushes your hair while adding flowers into the locks. Always admires dressing you up and putting make up on you. Almost never wants you to leave. Slow dances with you. She’d do anything to keep you out of danger. You think Michael is a good bodyguard? Pamela is the bodyguard.

Bruce Wayne: hhnnnngh. Ok. No but you are the Princess Wayne. Spoiling you rotten goes without saying. Anything your little heart desires is yours. Helps you get dressed. His favorite is helping you with your stockings. Gentle kisses everywhere. Brushes your hair. Lifting you up constantly when there’s a crack in the pavement. Always the driver. Your safety is always first, always. No because whatever you want means whatever you want, which is why there are hello kitty plushies scattered across the Wayne manor. You’ve somehow managed to get your own cozy theater in there too. Princess treatment also means Bruce having to lay back just a teeny bit on Batman just to guard you too while you sleep.

Jason Todd: nmmnnmf YES. I don’t see him treating his s/o any other way. Lots of pet names. Loooves to help you get dressed. Sits you on the counter as he cooks. Never lets you out of his sight. Anything you want it’s yours. Always buying you cute socks and letting you wear his clothes. Forehead kisses. Oh man it’s so disgusting how much Jason loves his princess. Always taking pictures of you, no matter the angle. Would 1000000% tie bows into your hair if you asked.

Billy Hargrove: Honestly if he’s in love with you, princess treatment is granted. Always giving you his jackets, especially when you wear skirts or dresses out. Lifting you over mud and puddles. Subtle kisses on the head while you’re out. Body guard mode activated. He kinda becomes your shadow, appearing out of nowhere and greeting you with a kiss on the forehead. Ties your shoes without asking. Wiping any tears or smeared makeup off your face. Winks at you all the timeee.

Steve Harrington: Kind of similar to Stu, he always makes sure you pass your class. Poor princess doesn’t use her brain in school, too busy trying to stay awake. Always gives you his jacket, even if you don’t want to wear it, he’ll wrap it around you. Finds any excuse to carry you or pick you up. So affectionate. Kisses on the cheek, lips, forehead. Sometimes he will miss and kiss your eye but ugh it’s so fucking cute. Only has eyes for you. Tying your shoes, putting your socks on, literally just dressing you in general is a must. Literally will take you wherever you want, whenever. Drops everything when you call. Such a sucker with the nicknames for you.

Steve Rogers: Ugh another one. Think of him as a body guard who you get to kiss and sit on his lap. Always drops everything to make sure you’re okay. Cannot take his eyes off of you. So smooth with the reassurance. Kisses on the forehead constantly. Always tucks you in. Would help you bathe if you asked. Pulls you onto his lap every time you both sit down. Whatever you want, you’ll get. If he can’t do it, he’ll find a way. Cups your face in his hands when you cry, kisses your tears away. Ugh he’s your literal teddy bear, if you don’t like to be smothered? Pick another muse.

Bucky Barnes: Similar to Steve, he’s your shadow, but he’s a little more … upfront with it. He’s constantly wrapping an arm around you, eyeing anyone who’s eyeing you. He’s so gentle if you’re sensitive. Kissing your cheek is his favorite. Always lingering his fingertips around your crevices. Makes sure you’re never hungry. Always up before you are. Lets you sleep in. If you fight, he will never raise his voice at you. Ready to carry you if you’re too tired to keep walking around. Slow dances with you just because. He’s always worried for you, making sure you’re okay, you’re not sick or hungry. Pet names with him are a must.

Loki Laufeyson: Okkkk and in what situation did you ever think loki was not going to give you the princess treatment??? You are literal Princess Laufeyson. Though he, and Sebastian maybe, are the only ones who can probably, maybe, say no to you, if you pout enough maybe he’ll come to a compromise with you. He never wants to upset you though. Would literally wipe out a small world for you. Or a few. Ok even betray anyone for you. Always cleaning your smeared makeup, fixing your hair, wiping you because you spilled your drink. He’s so devoted to you, im going to throw up. He devours you with his eyes from a distance, you’re never leaving his sight.

Cloud Strife: Ugh ok. Literal bodyguard, as he’s hired to be at times. At your beck and call, though he’d never admit it. Such a sucker and can never say no to you. Though it may take time, he can start calling you ‘baby’ ‘sweet girl’ ‘love’ he’s so infatuated with you and doesn’t know how to handle it. Your safety is his priority. Always listens to you ramble on and on. Brings you flowers for no reason other than he was thinking of you. He’s such a sucker for you. Follows you everywhere.

Sebastian Michaelis: He’s probably the most tame out of everyone but that doesn’t mean he’s not a sucker. There are rules he’s willing to bend for you, literally willing to kill anyone that has the slightest interest in hurting you. Always makes sure you’re fed and if you want a sweet treat, he’s on it. Listens to you talk, even if it’s silly. Dances with you almost every night. He’s so graceful with it. Dressing you and feeding you is his favorite but he might throw in a few teases “poor sweet baby, you haven’t woken up yet to tell your left foot from your right” as you rub your eyes with the wrong shoes on. Of course he’s willing to help, even if he has the idea that you do this on purpose, he's more than happy to oblige.

Spencer Reid: Though his job wouldn’t encourage it, he still drops almost everything to answer you. Always finds a way to share time with his job and his attention to you. Reads to you all the time, whether in person or over the phone. He’s always making comparisons of you being the princess in most fictional stories that you both come across. He’s so gentle with you. Caresses your face all the time. You lay your head on his lap or sit on his lap as he reads away. Always making sure to keep up with your well-being before his own. Would 10000% pick up a habit of writing you little notes or picking flowers for you or taking Polaroids or something to remind you of your everlasting presence in his mind.

[acid-ixx]

I have this thought in my head of reader calling Connor "my heart" and Connor calling reader "lovely" and Jason calling Conner "bitch"

just a taste (again &. again drabble)

ft. yandere connor kent x reader w/ the batfamily.

masterlist ! reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

— tw suggestive, making out scene. i need someone to draw what i envisioned for this omg... pls let this blow up i love connor and u guys seem to love him too hehe. if u guys want to see me write more of these (w/ other characters) pls do comment below!

the 90's version of connor will have no filter in front of your ex-family and will literally appear right beside you moments before tim could drag your ass back to the manor, your already vulnerable state panicking at what seems to be a sleep inducing drug that he'll soon inject into your system.

but your boyfriend, kon, is one step ahead of your entire family, already having planned against them shall they ever abduct you.

he'll greet you with a flirtatious smile, even biting his lips as he checks you out, eyes flittering throughout your entire body like it was you were a glamorous display of meat for him, ignoring your brother's presence while at it.

"hello to my lovely darling!~" is what he tells you with a purr in his tone, kissing your cheeks for what seems longer than a second, hands immediately encasing your waist right before tim could make a show of grabbing your wrist. your boyfriend's grip is tight but comforting at the same time. you feel like you don't deserve it but if you voice out your insecurities now then you'll only find yourself smothered with kisses; him flirting with you in front of your supposed abductors would only worsen the situation. but you don't feel too anxious right now, because he's kneading the soft flesh of your waist, rubbing sensually in up and down strokes as if making a show in front of tim and the countless of cameras that litter the public space.

it's his way of telling you that you don't have to worry about anything but his affection, and his way of telling your family to 'fuck off, don't bother our moment together'.

you reciprocate with a hasty kiss to his lips, ignoring the side eye and the smug grin he gives to your brother after.

"hello to you too, my heart..." you fight back the urge to melt right into him, but it seems like he could easily read your mind, his hand settling itself into your head comfortably, scratching your scalp with well-timed precision whilst he leans your head right against his chest, right where you can hear the soft thumping of his heart.

what a flirt.

but you expect it. after all, he's the same guy who brags about your relationship to anyone and everyone he knows. it's no wonder tim easily tracked your location to the same place where connor lives, every puzzle seemingly being put into place.

when you had both caught bruce wayne tailing after you when you had gone on a date with him, it was connor who immediately devised a plan after he had to calm you down from panicking.

your lover is willing to sacrifice everything for you.

so it's not a surprise to you that his next course of action was to shamelessly take you flying away with him, off to somewhere desolate where he knows your family couldn't easily track you in, somewhere only you two kept a secret from everybody; a shared house, if you will.

nothing is shocking about what he had done...

... not until his grip on your body provides enough opportunities for him to just, make out with you then and there, tongue and all, without a care if your brother bears witness to his shameless display of lusting towards you.

what a prideful asshole he is, but he's your asshole now. and you can't bring it in yourself to reprimand him, enjoying the sweet sounds of your lips smacking in tandem and the taste of your favorite brand of coffee in his saliva as you two soar off into the air making out, exploring each other's body; your hand finding each other on his neck, another on his head, pushing him further near you, until your noses touched and until you struggle to breath, tongues lapping in tandem, refusing even a second of reprieve, even allowing him to bite your lips teasingly.

you love it when he uses his charms to take you away from the stress of your current life.

it was a distraction for both you and him, from the thought of your family turning kon into their new target as he defiles what little innocence they thought you had.

yet you enjoy this life, and you'd rather not come back to the stuffy manor, especially not right after kon offers you a taste of what you had never experienced; love.

and you embrace the giddy thumps of your heart for once with all the joy in the world, because you're not alone anymore in your own personal endeavors; you finally have someone. and that someone is your boyfriend who's always there for you, at the right time in all the wrong moments.

and kon? he especially enjoys using his superhearing just to eavesdrop on his ex-friend's seething because he was far too late, he loves hearing the growl on jason's voice over the comms as he calls connor a bitch, a seething pile of trash for taking away from them. he loves being an audience to their well deserved suffering. but...

but he can't focus solely on them, no, not when he's barely finished devouring every drop of saliva his eye candy offers him.

... ah, he loves it when you give yourself so willingly to him, when you let him wrap his arms around your body without fear he would hurt you, when you allow his hands to explore further below, fingers dangerously close to your thighs as it kneads the meat from your hips.

connor is never letting the world take you away from him.

it was you who parted first from the kiss, a string of liquid dispersing from both your swollen lips. if it wasn't for the fact you both are still high up in the air, you wouldn't doubt that your boyfriend wouldn't hesitate to undress you then and there.

but he could control himself for now, just for now.

'oh, babe... whatever you're doing to me is so irresistible.'

whatever happens after in your shared home is a different matter.

[pumpkin-bats]

One Piece Boys As Lovers - Headcanons

The poll has spoken! I kinda figured this was gonna be the result but I was curious anyway. So without further ado-

Law:

Works with you asleep in his lap.

Doesn't get jealous often, but it's obvious when he is.

Not big on PDA but loves subtly showing people that you two are together, and looks real smug about it the entire time.

Massages your hands when he's distracted or thinking about something and accidentally made it into a habit, so now he does it to bring him comfort.

Lots of late night cuddles. He's a big koala. The stickiest parasite, does not let go even when bribed.

Huffs at a lot of your most energy draining ideas, but always goes along with what you want or say regardless. Often has a fond smile as soon as you aren't looking.

Zoro:

A lot of nap time sessions where he's your pillow and blanket. But he'll wake up the second you ask him to.

Spars with you and tries to teach you to swordfight because he likes sharing his interests with you.

Does not make it obvious, but he worries about you a lot.

Doesn't like it when you're out of his sight for extremely long periods of time, it makes him antsy.

Holding hands almost all the time in public. Not as much in private, because the private time between the two of you is a different kind of safe intimacy.

Has a sixth sense for when you're upset and acts on it instantly.

Sanji:

Favorite foods, all the time, at all times. No food request is off the table, he'll make anything you crave when you crave it without any fuss. Sometimes he'll make it just because.

Really likes to dance with you, whether it's wildly spinning around the room or slow dancing under the moonlight.

The physical embodiment of 'just to be the man who walks a thousand miles to fall down at your door.'

He's very weak to cheek kisses. Melts. Like butter.

Rubs your shoulders when you're tired.

Matching couples outfits. His idea of matching with you is wearing a shirt or tie that matches the general color of your outfit.

Ace:

He occasionally takes you stargazing where you spend the entire time making up constellations and the stories behind them. Eight times out of ten you end up huddled together and asleep outside.

Cuddling gets rough in the summer because his temperature runs high, but it's non-negotiable during the colder months. Personal heater go brrrrr.

Holding hands while walking down the street, swinging your arms and laughing like love struck fools.

A lot of adventure themed dates. Amusement parks, hiking, canoeing, or even little walks through the park.

Needing to label your food in the fridge so he doesn't eat it all. He eats it anyway, but always apologizes and makes up for it.

Brags about you a lot to his friends.

Mihawk:

Candlelit dinner dates that become regular dinner nights because they happen so often.

Makes you breakfast every morning and knows how you take your coffee/tea like the back of his hand.

Pet names. It's always 'my dear' or 'darling' and never just your name.

Not the most physically affectionate but always takes care of you.

Occasionally he'll do something for you and you'll be like 'oh I love this' and then he'll proceed to respond with 'I know, you- [brings up extremely obscure habit/interest/trait/tic of yours]'.

Sleeps significantly better with you in his arms and the morning after a night without you he'll offhandedly mention how he slept well but not that well.

Buggy:

You do each other's nails and makeup. Sometimes when he's too tired, he'll ask you to do his makeup for him.

He adores it when you play with his hair. Whether that be styling it, washing it, or simply just running your fingers through it, he loves it all. Goes literally weak in the knees and has to sit down.

Bad jokes when drunk that are so bad the both of you spend an hour straight just laughing.

He gets very easily embarrassed whenever you do nice things for him or compliment him. His face gets redder than his nose- which you may or may not tell him.

A lot of singing together. All kinds of songs and tunes, at any time of the day. Also very loudly. Sometimes off key.

He'll try to be straight faced around you, but the second you say something or make physical contact he giggles like an idiot. He's very shy about physical affection, and acts nervous about it every time.

Crocodile:

The physical embodiment of 'they asked for no pickles.'

He really likes to keep an arm around you whenever he's next to you, and will occasionally tug you a bit closer.

Long, mellow conversations that turn into late night talks.

It's hard to tell when he's jealous because he tends to glare at anyone and everyone that gets a bit too close to you.

Buys things for you. Not to be nice, it's actually a genuine problem. He buys way too many things for you because he tends to get something if it reminds him of you, which happens often.

Does face masks with you on the weekends and you can occasionally convince him into doing a spa night with you

[luveline]

Hi Jade ! I loove your sunshine!readers, could I request one for Carmy ? Maybe someone calls her to get to the restaurant when hes feeling anxious to calm him down idk if thats good lol love ya !

ty for requesting <3 fem, 1.4k

Is it The Beef or The Bear? In your head, despite the wishes of everyone who works there (except for Ebra, who seems to have mixed opinions), you always call it The Beef. But the sign brags otherwise, and when you push open the doors, nothing inside is left to remind you of the old restaurant. It was a total gut. 

“Hi, gorgeous,” says a familiar, warm voice. 

You almost walk straight into her table, distracted looking for brown curls through the kitchen door’s little window. “Hey, Tina.” You grin at your second favourite chef. Your most favourite Sous. “You taking a break?” 

She offers you a round butter cookie from a sleeve of them. Her cup of coffee billows with steam. “Uh-huh.” 

“Hiding from a meltdown?” you ask, taking a cookie, fingers oily with butter, sugar grains falling to the floor. 

“It’s not like that,” she says. 

Well, what is it like? you think. 

Richie’s text wasn’t exactly descriptive. Need ur help with the little Bitch, he’d said. Then, when you didn’t answer, ASAP!!!!

You figured it must’ve been another rant. He’s prone to these… episodes of anger where he doesn’t realise he’s spinning out and hurting people who really care about him. You try to bring him out of it, but he’s a Berzatto. They’re all the same, sort of. Everything that’s wrong with them has been stamped into them a long, long time ago. 

He’s been better since Nat steel armed him into AA, but still. You tilt your head to one side, sugar cookie between your fingers, listening for the goings on in the kitchen. “Sydney’s here?” you ask. “I thought she was sick.” 

“Sydney gets sick, but she doesn’t take sick days,” Tina says with a loving shrug. 

You smile at her in brief goodbye for now and make your way to the kitchen, where you push in quietly. All their ‘Behind!’ and ‘Corner!’ and ‘Hands!’ makes you laugh, and you can’t take it seriously so you don’t, but you’re not trying to be dangerous in there either. 

“Hello?” you ask. 

Sydney and Richie look up from a cramped notebook at the table nearest to the door. There are employees you're unsure of prepping vegetables along the wall, but Carmy isn’t anywhere to be seen. 

“Fucking finally,” Richie says, before rubbing his face regretfully. “I’m sorry, it’s just– I texted you an hour ago, babe, you’re letting me down.” 

You laugh. “Sorry, babe,” you tease. “I have a job, just like you.” Your hands are cold where you tuck them under each armpit, crossing your arms. “Hi, Sydney. You feeling okay?” 

“No. He’s stressing me out.” 

“Which one?” 

“Both of them.” She looks like she might rub her face too. “I need him to be in here right now, he should be doing this, but he keeps walking away and– and not saying where he’s going.” 

“He is stressful,” you agree, though usually Carmy’s stress tends to bounce right off of you, “I’m gonna find him and strap him down for you.” 

Sydney just frowns. 

“I’ll see what’s up,” you say more seriously. “In the office?” 

“Out the back,” Richie says. “Smoking like his mother. He’s a fucking steam train lately.” 

It’s like they want to worry you. You give them grateful nods, sorry nods, and start to make your way out of the main kitchen, past the dishwashers and the dessert station to one of the back doors. Carmy isn’t your responsibility. You don’t have to apologise for him, you don’t have to mother him, he should commit to his responsibilities all on his own, but… it’s hard. You like apologising for him because his behaviour isn’t always on purpose, and he struggles with commitment for similar reasons. There’s this aching, stagnated grief in him that’s reawakening, there’s the stress of the restaurant, his business, the scars of the last ten years, and before that. You know it isn’t your job to come here and make him feel better, but isn’t it? When you love someone, it’s half the deal. 

Carmy shouldn’t yell at his friends, or employees. He shouldn’t chain smoke, and he shouldn’t be sitting on the low wall by the dumpsters shaking so hard with his head so low that you can see the first notch of his spine in his shirt. 

“Carmy?” you ask. 

His head ducks further down. You can hear him breathing, not too hard as to alarm you, and yet unrelaxed. 

You smile without thinking. You hate seeing him like this, but looking after him is a pleasure. “Hey, Carmen. Can I sit with you?” 

He forces his face up. “What are you doing here?” he asks. 

Trying to make sure he doesn’t tear another chunk out of Richie. “It’s my lunch break.” 

You perch on the wall beside him and snap your nearly forgotten cookie into two pieces, one side bigger than the other, which you offer him. 

Carmy takes it. Looks at it without expression, though that slowly turns to a dry ire you’ve felt directed your way a hundred times. “What the fuck is this?” 

“Cookie.” 

“I don’t want this.” 

“Could you just eat it?” You put your own half in your mouth in its entirety, all aligned to your teeth. It shatters into sweet, soft crumbs between your teeth. You talk with a hand over your mouth, “It’s not gonna kill you.” 

Carmy looks at it for a long time before he eats it. 

You watch him. He’s more tan than you’d think, that Italian gene kicking in, skin clinging to whatever sunshine it finds. He spends enough time inside that you’re surprised it can muster the energy. He looks better with it though, his curls look gold toned under the sun, and his clenched jaw doesn’t seem so harsh. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask eventually. Almost conversationally. 

“Nothing.” His hand shakes on his thigh. He turns his palm down to clasp his knee. 

“You sure?” 

“No.” 

“That one’s my favourite.” 

“What?” 

You poke toward a tattoo on his hand. It’s a simple flower, same style as most of his tattoos. “I like it ‘cos it’s just a flower.” 

“My least pretentious,” he guesses. 

“Something like that.” 

He tips his head back. 

“Richie texted me. He thinks I’m gonna… like, I’m gonna calm you down, I guess.” 

“You always do,” he says. 

You give him a long, smiley look. “So you’re in love with me?” you ask warmly, pushing up into a knee to wrap your arm behind him, hugging him before he can move away. “You’re totally fucked for me, Berzatto, that’s fucking crazy.” 

“Fuck off,” he laughs. 

You rub his arm, his skin hot in your hold. He touches your waist very, very lightly. “What am I supposed to do, anyway? I can’t cook. You and Syd are on your own.” 

“You already… already did enough.” He grabs your waist where you wobble on the brick wall, grit biting your knees, his hand comparatively soft. 

“Such a crush on me,” you tease in a whisper, his hair crushed under your cheek. 

You’re tempted to kiss his temple, but affection with Carmy is like oil and water sometimes. You give him a last protective squeeze and sit yourself down again. 

“Carm,” you say, “you know you can call me, right? Like, if you don’t feel okay.” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I know.” 

“Or text me. If that’s easier. It’s hard to say hard things out loud.” 

He laughs again. “Sorry.” 

“I know, I don’t– I don’t seem like I know what you’re talking about, I get it, but I do understand. N’ even if I didn’t, I don’t mind listening. Or laughing at you.” 

“What’s that about?” 

“The laughing?” you ask. “You tell me.” 

His hand slides behind your back in half a hug. “Guess it’s funny.” 

“Can I change my mind about the tattoo?” 

“The flowers not your favourite?” 

“No. You know which one I like best?” 

His thumb rubs into your back. “The snail.” 

“Absolutely the snail. You’re so fucking silly sometimes, I’m supposed to take you seriously when you’re yelling and red in the face with a snail on your arm?” 

You can’t see his face with your cheek to his shoulder, won’t know that he’s smiling at you with a rare aura of peace. Can’t see the wanting, either. 

[lightsoutnaway]

Am I Good for You?

PAIRING: Oscar Piastri x reader

WARNINGS: SMUT 18+, dom/sub dynamics, praise, p in v, fingering, safe word mention, edging, unprotected sex, use of ‘sir’,

SUMMARY: Oscar talks to Lando about his sex life and starts worrying that he’s not pleasing you. You decide to try things a little rougher.

WORD COUNT: 3,102

“Do you think I’m good at sex?”

Oscar asked the question as soon as he walked through the door. You laughed. He hadn’t even said ‘hello.’

“What are you talking about, Osc?” You asked. You were sitting at the counter flipping through a magazine.

“Do you think I’m good at sex?” Oscar repeated.

“Is this some kind of foreplay? It’s not really working,” you joked. Oscar looked truly distressed though. He sat down on the stool beside yours at the counter.

“Baby, I’m serious. Is it—Am I good for you?” He asked.

“Where’s this coming from?” You asked. Oscar had never done anything that made you suspect him of being insecure before.

“I was talking to Lando today,” Oscar admitted. You sighed.

“Oscar, Lando’s crazy,” you reminded your boyfriend.

“I know, but he was talking about some of the things he does,” Oscar started. “And he was really surprised that we hadn’t ever done any of them.”

“Okay?” You waited for something more. Oscar sighed.

“The way he looked at me just made me feel like he knew that I was disappointing you without ever asking you,” he told you.

“Well, he doesn’t know that because you’ve never disappointed me, Osc,” you said firmly.

“But do you get everything you want from me?” Oscar pushed. “I don’t do anything special.”

“Did Lando tell you that?” You questioned. You needed to have a word with the sassy little brit.

“No, but he might as well have,” Oscar said.

“What is it that he said?” You pushed.

“It wasn’t one thing,” Oscar told you. “He was just listing off all the things he does with his partners and…I’d never done any of them with you.” He dropped his shoulders. “I feel like I’ve been doing it all wrong.”

“Is there something you want us to do?” You asked. Oscar shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just—I thought I knew what you wanted, but I…I guess I never asked you.”

“What did you think I wanted?” You questioned. Oscar looked up at you. He had been avoiding your eyes for the last few minutes.

“I thought you wanted—I don’t know—I thought you should be treated like a princess,” Oscar finally said. You smiled at this revelation.

“You’re always so careful with me,” you said fondly.

“I thought I should be. You’re not just some fling,” he told you. “I don’t want you to feel like I don’t care about you.”

“I always feel like you care about me,” you assured him.

“But are you satisfied? Do you want more from me?”

“Do you want more?” You asked. “You’re more experienced than me, Oscar.”

“Don’t think about me,” he said. “I’ve always kept it….soft…with you.” He was quiet for a moment. “But I haven’t ever asked you if that’s what you want, and I should have,” Oscar reiterated his earlier thought. “So, baby,” he started. “What do you want?” Your eyes widened. The question was far too direct for your shy personality.

“I don’t know,” you replied quickly. “I like what we do.” Oscar smirked. You answered too quickly. You did know what you wanted.

“I do too,” he assured you. “But we could do other things. I’ve always taken the lead, baby,” Oscar said. “What’s something you think about when I’m gone?”

“Oscar, I always think about you,” you said, thinking that it was the most obvious thing in the world. Oscar grinned.

“C’mon, baby,” Oscar said. “Just because you weren’t experienced when you met me doesn’t mean you didn’t have naughty thoughts.”

“Oscar Jack Piastri, what are you saying about me?” You questioned. Oscar chuckled. His eyes were twinkling as he looked at you.

“I know you said I was the first person to make you come,” Oscar said.

“Don’t brag.” He chuckled.

“But I was second,” Oscar continued. “I think we both know the first person to make you come was you.” You blushed. Oscar was simultaneously turning you on and filling your chest with nerves. “You had fantasies before you met me.” Oscar’s eyes were hungry. “Tell me.” You looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Oscar, I don’t want to,” you whispered shyly.

“Why not, love?” He asked.

“I like what we do…and it’s embarrassing,” you mumbled.

“It’s embarrassing to tell me something you want from me?” Oscar questioned.

“Yes!” You whined.

“Why, baby? Don’t you trust me?” Oscar pushed. Your eyes softened.

“Of course I trust you, but…” You trailed off.

“But what?” Oscar pushed.

“You think I’m so innocent, but…” you started. Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Sometimes I want you to be a little…rougher…with me,” you admitted. “But I don’t want you to think I’m dirty. I like being your innocent baby.”

“It’s okay to be dirty, kitten,” Oscar assured you quickly. “And you can still be my innocent baby.” He reached out and took your hands. “But you want me to be rough with you?” He asked cautiously. Oscar had never tried being rough with you. It didn’t seem right to him. You were so sweet and innocent in his eyes. Your cheeks were burning and you couldn’t meet his eyes as you said the words though. Oscar was sure you were telling the truth.

“If that’s okay…” you whispered. Oscar kept his eyes on you, hoping he could draw another admission out of you if he just stayed quiet. “And maybe you could…make me…beg…a little.” Oscar’s face lit up.

“What do you want to beg for?” He asked at once. You raised an eyebrow. It seemed you had stumbled upon something he wanted too.

“Umm…Why don’t you pick?” You offered. Oscar grinned.

“You want me to be in charge?” He asked. He’d never been submissive between the two of you, but he’d never been particularly dominant either. The balance between you had always been fairly even. You nodded shyly.

“Please,” you squeaked out.

“My naughty baby,” Oscar started taunting. “All this time I thought you were so innocent.” His hands were on you now, sliding up your thighs. You pushed your knees together, as if that would keep him from knowing just how turned on you were.

“Oscar,” you whispered. You weren’t sure what you even meant to ask for.

“But you’re not completely innocent, are you?” Oscar teased you. “Just had this little head full of naughty thoughts while I was treating you so nice.” Oscar could tell by the way you were looking at him that he already had you wrapped around his finger. “Bedroom. Now.” Oscar had never given you a command that way, even in your most heated moments. It was turning you on though, and Oscar could see that. You quickly hurried down the hall. When you got to the bedroom you turned around and looked at Oscar, waiting for further instructions.

“We should have a safe word, shouldn’t we?” Oscar asked you. His new dominant facade wasn’t there. This was your sweet caring Oscar who always wanted you to be okay.

“How about ‘papaya?’” You offered. Oscar chuckled. He had closed the space between you. His hands fell onto your hips.

“Sounds good to me,” he agreed. “You can tell me any time you don’t like something, okay? I won’t be mad.” You nodded. “I want to hear it,” he requested.

“I’ll tell you if I don’t like something,” you assured him.

“Good girl,” he praised. Your eyes went wide and you looked down. Oscar ducked to meet your eyes. “You like that, huh?” He asked. “Should’ve told me that before, kitten.” He gripped the hem of your shirt and lifted it over your head in one smooth motion. You had been at home all day and you hadn’t put on a bra, so Oscar was blessed with the sight of your plush breasts. Your nipples hardened in the cool air of your bedroom. You started to wrap your arms around yourself as a shiver passed over you. Oscar smiled. “Cold?”

“A little,” you said. Oscar grabbed your hips, pushing you back towards the bed till he’d gotten you laid out on your back.

“I’ll warm you up.” He grabbed the waistband to your sweatpants and tugged them down with your underwear. He looked down at your naked body. He never got enough of your body. You were a work of art to him. You were the object of every one of his fantasies. He couldn’t help but stare.

“Yours too,” you called up nervously. Oscar met your eyes and smiled smugly. He kept his eyes locked on yours as he pulled his shirt off. His chest was tight and muscular and he flexed his arms as he tossed his shirt to the side. He started to climb on the bed, but you whined. He looked down at you, waiting for you to explain. “All of it.” You told him. He chuckled before taking his pants off, leaving himself as bare as he had you.

Oscar climbed up the bed once he was naked and laid his body over yours, his weight holding you in place. He had his forearms planted on either side of your head and he leaned down to kiss you. He was soft and sweet with his kisses, contrasting sharply from the dominance he was exhibiting everywhere else. You let out a small sigh of pleasure into the kiss and Oscar chuckled against your lips. He started kissing down your neck and body.

Oscar’s lips fell around your nipple. He sucked and licked at the hardened flesh, bringing a tingling feeling all over your skin. You could feel the burn spreading between your legs and you tried to push them together, but found your knees were blocked by Oscar’s hips. He sensed your intention immediately. He lifted one hand and slid it down between your legs.

“Osc,” you moaned softly at the mere idea of him touching your most sensitive spots. He laughed against your body. He had moved to your other nipple after he felt he had paid enough attention to the first. You were already whimpering and whining under his electric touch. His fingers had found your dripping hole but he refused to slip them inside. You whined in protest, shifting your hips up to signal what you wanted.

“Shh,” he hushed you sharply. You closed your mouth at once. He had never displayed anything like disapproval before. Instinctually, you wanted to please him. He continued to tease your entrance, his lips moving back to yours. You were growing impatient when you finally realized what he was waiting for.

“Please touch me, Oscar,” you murmured against his lips. Oscar smirked. That was all it took for him to slide his fingers inside your warmth. You arched your back and moaned loudly at the feeling of finally being touched in the way you truly wanted.

Oscar slowly started pumping his fingers in and out of you. You were whimpering under his lazy movements, desperate for him to give you more. He kissed your neck, surely making marks that would be seen in any photos taken at the race in the upcoming weekend.

“Are you feeling good?” Oscar asked. His voice was low and gravelly and his accent made his words sound even sexier. You nodded. He gave you a look that told you he was expecting a vocal answer.

“Really good,” you called up. Oscar started pumping his fingers faster. You whimpered. He pushed his thumb against your clit. You whined embarrassingly loud for the fact that he didn’t move it. He snickered at your reaction.

“You’re so fucking sensitive,” Oscar commented. He was saying it more to himself than you—it was like he was bragging to himself. He knew that he was the only one who had ever had you in this state.

The tension in your body was rising and you knew your orgasm was coming. You arched your back, throwing your head into the pillows and clutching at Oscar’s body. You were just on the precipice when suddenly, Oscar wasn’t touching you anymore. You opened your eyes and stared at him, but you were met only with a cocky smirk.

“Why?” You whined.

“You don’t come until I decide you do tonight,” Oscar said. “That’s what you’re begging for.” You closed your mouth and nodded dutifully.

“Yes, sir.” You let the nickname fall off your lips with ease—you didn’t even plan on saying it but there it was on your tongue. Oscar grinned when he heard you.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Oscar groaned. “You’re going to be so good for me, aren’t you?” You nodded quickly.

“Really good, sir,” you agreed. He chuckled.

“Then right now, be quiet,” Oscar said. That was all the warning you got before he was thrusting his fingers into your quickly, his thumb moving quickly against your clit. You whined loudly. “Shh.” The way he was hushing you was driving you up the wall and you clenched around his fingers. Oscar felt it and was spurred on. He moved faster with the hopes of drawing out another moan that he could hush you for.

After Oscar had gotten his fill of hushing you he told you to moan again, not wanting to miss out on the beautiful sounds you made. He drew you to the edge again, spurred on by the moans he could draw from you once he had told you not to be quiet.

Oscar couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He thought he might have been transported to heaven given how beautiful the sight in front of him was. Your face was contorted in pleasure, your eyes watering. Your fingers were dug into the sheets and your hair stuck to your sweaty forehead. You were whimpering and whining in ecstasy and every little ‘please’ and ‘Oscar’ that fell from your lips made him even harder. His thumb was slowly rubbing back and forth over your clit as he kept fingering you steadily. He could feel you tightening around his fingers and he knew he was bringing you towards the edge again.

“Osc,” you murmured more strongly than your small whispers. You knew that he knew you were about to cum. He’d always known your body so well.

“Yes?” He called down with a sly smirk on his face. You scowled at him, knowing he was teasing you.

“Oscar, please.” Oscar smirked.

“Please, what?” He asked.

“Please can I—ungh!” You gasped when Oscar rubbed the pads of his fingers against your walls.

“Can you what?” Oscar taunted.

“Please can I cum, sir?” You spit out.

“No, I don’t think so,” Oscar teased as he pulled his thumb away. You cried out in protest. Oscar stopped thrusting his fingers, and pulled them out of your heat. Oscar watched as your chest heaved, trying to recover from the sudden theft of pleasure. “God, I should’ve been playing with you like this since we met,” Oscar groaned.

“Please,” you whined. “I want to come.”

“Oh, I know, kitten,” Oscar cooed. You sniffled slightly, a single tear slipping down your cheek. Oscar reached up and wiped it away. “Is it too much?” He checked. His voice was softer. You were quiet for a moment.

“No,” you admitted quietly. Oscar smiled, but he was worried that you were just saying it to please him.

“You promise me, kitten?” He pushed. You nodded.

“I promise, Osc,” you said. Oscar smiled in approval and kissed you.

“You want my cock now, baby?” He asked.

“Please,” you said in a gasping breath. Oscar was going wild at the desperation in your voice. He couldn’t bring himself to tease anymore so he lined himself up with you. He looked into your eyes as he slowly slipped himself into you. He moved slowly as he pushed in, making the most indulgent moan you had ever heard from him.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he groaned. He was right. You could hear the slosh of your juices with every thrust Oscar made.

“I’m not going to last long,” you whined.

“I know, kitten,” Oscar said. He grabbed your legs and pushed them up against your chest. You let out a sharp cry at the sudden change in angle. You cried out Oscar’s name and dug your fingers into his arms, surely leaning bruises. Oscar could feel you clenching down on him and he knew you were nearing your peak. He looked deep into your tear brimmed eyes. You felt the panic of having your orgasm stolen from you again. Oscar’s eyes were dark as they stared into yours.

“Beg.” His voice was low and gravelly and firm and you were sure there wasn’t a person in the world who could have denied him.

“Please, sir. Please make come. I need it so bad. I need you. I need your cum. Please, Osc,” you were crying and whimpering the words out, terrified of the idea of having the burning pleasure you felt taken from you again.

“Where do you need my cum?” Oscar pushed.

“Inside me! Inside, Osc, please!” You cried. Your body was on fire, your mind outside your body. Oscar grinned at your words.

“Come.” Oscar’s order was the sweetest sound you ever heard and you let the tsunami of pleasure Oscar had built for you wash over your body. You were shaking and crying, your hips pushing up into his. You tightened down on Oscar and he gasped, letting himself go to the sounds of you chanting his name over and over.

You weren’t sure how long it was after you came but you found yourself back in your body with Oscar lying on top of you. He was pressing soft kisses to the crook of your neck where his head was resting comfortably. Somehow he knew that you had calmed down the moment it happened.

“How was that for you?” He asked. You laughed.

“Are you joking, Osc?” You asked. “That’s the best sex we’ve ever had.” He chuckled back.

“I didn’t want to assume,” he replied. You noticed the bruises you’d made on his arms and you gently ran your fingertips over them.

“I think we owe Lando a ‘thank you,’” you said. Oscar laughed.

“I’ll be sure to let him know.” You turned your head down to find Oscar’s eyes looking into yours.

“You better not tell him everything,” you threatened. Oscar smiled.

“There’s no secrets between teammates,” he teased.

“There is if you want to do that again,” you said. Oscar smirked.

“I think we just established that you’re the one who does the begging.” You smirked right back at him.

“Maybe this time. But Lando was right. There’s lots we haven’t tried.”

[reiderwriter]

So obviously Spencer is iconic for his wide range of haircuts over the show, and I have this vision of a Spencer x hairdresser fic where he goes to the same hairdresser all the time because he likes the routine and it’s what he’s used to. So like they’re low-key friends bc he’s been her client so long, but then she notices he can’t come as usual and he tells her it’s because he’s always away or working late. So because they’re close she gives him private late appointments after she closes bc they’re more accessible for him, and then they’re always together late at night, and eventually they fall for each other!! And like she loves his curls and cringed when he wanted it cut short but loves it regardless AHH I JUST LOVE IT. Bonus points if Spencer gets to recommend his hairdresser girlfriend to his teammates just to brag about the fact he has a hot girlfriend lmao. I get it’s kinda long lol, if it’s too long a premise then no worries, just sharing it is nice :)

A/N: Hi! I love the idea of hair stylist reader, so I had a lot of fun writing this~♡ Thank you for your request, I hope you enjoy it!

W/C: 2.1k

Warnings: implied Autistic Reid, brief mentions of sensory issues, writer does not care for the shows Canon hair continuity and does basically whatever she wants.

Masterlist

The first time you'd met Spencer Reid, you hadn't been able to cut his hair. Which was a damn shame because it really did need cutting. 

Sweeping up the floors of the hair salon you worked at, you had noticed the man lingering outside, wringing his hands together and pushing them awkwardly through his hair, approaching and retreating every few seconds. 

You watched him through the mirrors, and let him dance around like that for five minutes before deciding that the evening breeze would be a boon during the hot summer night that was about to set in on you. 

Opening the salon door, you stepped outside and soaked in the fresh air before turning to the now frozen, slightly awkward man. 

“Can I help you?” You tried to put a welcoming smile on your face, but the salon was past closing and empty beside you. You should've been heading home by now, but something in the man's posture had you dawdling.

“The barber shop down the road closed down,” he said quickly, as if the words were practised on his to guess moments before. 

“Yes, that's true. It's been six months now.”

“Six months?” he squeaked out, running a hand through his hair as he turned inwards. 

“Do you… need a haircut?” 

“Yes. Yes, are there any other barber shops in the area?” 

You rolled your eyes and walked back into the salon, picking up a robe and a shoulder cover and spinning around the closest chair to welcome him. 

“Well, are you coming in?” 

“But you're closed. Your sign says you're closed.” 

“And I'm still here, aren't I?” 

He didn't argue any further and hesitantly stepped into the salon. 

You helped him out of his bag and put it away before helping him into the robe and shoulder pad. 

He awkwardly stood around as you prepared your scissors and station again, switching on the mirror light so you could fully see his face and hair. 

And damn was he attractive. As you smoothed his hair out of his face, you were met with warm brown eyes, open and anxious, like a deer caught in headlights. Or, more accurately, a dear caught in a hair salon. 

You had to blink and look away as you remembered what you were about, standing up and leading him over to the sink. 

“I'm… I'm a little bit sensitive about my hair,” he admitted quite meekly as you tested the temperature of the water. 

“Okay. Is there anything specific?” 

He sat himself in the chair but didn't lower his head to the bowl, so you waited. 

After a minute or two, he gently lowered his head to the bowl, and you helped his progress, making sure he was comfortably settled. He didn't speak, just let his shoulders relax and closed his eyes as you turned the water on his locks. 

You enjoyed the simple repetitions of your job. Everyone's hair was different, that was true, but there were really only so many ways to wash hair. 

You rinsed his hair thoroughly, keeping the water away from his face and ears with a face guard before beginning to lather it up. 

For a man who hadn't seen the inside of a salon in six months and likely a hairbrush in the same length of time, his hair was healthy. 

De-tangling as you went, you ran your hands through the lengths of his hair, taking note of how it fell, which parts were healthy, and which had developed split ends. Then you began massaging his head, working the shampoo into his roots, making sure his scalp was free from any possible dirt or dry skin. 

This was the best part of the haircut for you, and you knew your regular clients enjoyed it greatly as well. Which is why you probably shouldn't have been too surprised when the man fell asleep. 

It took you a few minutes to realize that was what happened, the face guard obscuring his face from your vision. When you squeezed the water from his hair, patted it dry, and twisted it into a towel so the water wouldn't run down his back, you had no clue that he was away with the fairies. 

It wasn't until you asked him to stand, and he didn't even move that you moved around the sink and lifted the face guard. 

If he seemed anxious awake, it had melted away now. He looked younger asleep, more calm and confident somehow. His eyelashes were long, a fact you only noticed when you leaned in to get a better look at him. 

It was your hand unconsciously tracing a hand along his jaw that woke him back up, and for a second, you just stared at each other, faces inches apart. 

“I'm.. I'm so sorry, I should go. Thank you for… I should go,” he said hurriedly, pulling the robes and towels off and snatching his bag up, running out the door. 

“Wait, your hair,” you called after him, but he was gone. 

And he hadn't paid. 

It took a week for you to collect the payment, though you couldn't care less about the money anyway. 

But a week thinking about the man's delicate features, his shy smile and stutter, and you were very distracted. 

Thinking about him had become your full-time job, as much as cutting hair had, and you'd had a few close encounters with the scissors when you were lost in thought. 

You'd been thinking up back stories for the man ranging from the romantic to the obscure to the downright realistic. So, a week later, you found yourself behind on work and needing to stay late, just as he stepped into the shop a second time. 

“Hello?” You shouted from the backroom, hearing the doorbell jingle as it opened. “We're actually closed right now, so- oh.” 

He stood awkwardly in the door, his face already flushed slightly. 

“Hi.” 

“Hi,” you said, trying to stop the grin spreading across your face. You didn't want to scare him off a second time. 

“Last time, I… kinda ran away. I was… I'm not the best with-” 

“With haircuts?” 

“With change.” You both nodded at that, awkwardly staring at each other. 

“So…?” You lead, trying to encourage him to introduce himself, hoping he would reveal something you didn't already know. 

“You're closed again, but could you cut my hair?” He asked, pushing the long locks back on his head as he stood a little taller. 

“It would be my pleasure…” you trailed off as a question, needing to know his name. 

“Spencer. Spencer Reid. Doctor… just Spencer is fine if you'd prefer.” 

“I'm Y/N. Come and take a seat.” 

You slid him into the robes once again and got through a hair wash without any accidental naps this time. Though you did notice that he seemed to be enjoying it just as much. 

His sighs left you feeling hot, your heart beating as you focused on his hair to draw your gaze from his lips. 

When he was back I'm front of the mirror, he again looked like a scared cat that had been backed into the corner. 

“So, what'll it be, Spencer?” You asked cheerily, combing your hand through his locks to detangle them. 

“Hmm? Oh, a water would be nice.” 

“For your hair, Spencer. What haircut do you want?” 

“Oh! Oh, um, just a…just a haircut.” 

Your face scrunched up in confusion as he doubled down. 

“But what kind of haircut?” 

“What kind?” 

You pulled away from his chair for a minute and went to grab a cut reference book. 

“Okay, so we've got undercuts, or trims, I can do pompadour or bowl cut or-” 

You looked at Spencer's face again and saw that he looked more than confused. 

“How about I just cut your hair and after you tell me if you like it or not?” 

He nodded and gave you a weak smile as you grabbed your scissors. 

Twenty minutes of silence later, and you felt Spencer exhale in relief as you dusted off the back of his neck and pulled the robes off of his clothes. 

You'd gone for a shorter cut, but his curly hair had such a nice natural texture that you left it a bit longer on top. Without his hair in his face, his jawline was sharper, his eyes brighter, and you were somehow more infatuated. 

He stood up shyly and you smiled at how good he looked. 

“Okay, perfect! Let me just-” You lifted your hand and smoothed out some of his hair, picking up some strands and pushing them back and forth until it was just right. 

He caught your hand just as you were about to pull away, and you suddenly realized how close he was. Or more accurately how close you had gotten. It was like you were breathing the same air. 

“D-Do you like it?” You asked, voice small and high as it battled your heartbeat to be heard. 

“Yeah. I like it. It looks… it looks like a haircut.” 

You giggled as his grip became gentler, and your hand fell down to your side, brushing his chest gently as it descended. 

“How much do I owe you?” He asked, and you led him over to the register to complete the payment. 

“Thank you,” he said as he grabbed his bags to head out the door. 

“Just doing my job. I'll see you in six weeks,” you said, waving him off. 

“What for?” He asked, voice confused but bright. He sounded almost hopeful. 

“For your next haircut, Spencer.” 

He smiled and waved back as he walked back into the dark and disappeared down the street. 

No one could ever accuse Spencer Reid of being forgetful, and six weeks later, he was back in your chair. 

Except he didn't arrive at 11pm this time, but instead 11am. 

The other customers and stylists gawked at the man as he walked in, and you thanked the gods that your seat was free as he met your eyes. 

“Hi.” 

“Spencer! You're back.” 

He nodded shyly, head hanging a little as he ignored the many looks from the women in the room and the eruption of whispers and loud glances in his direction. 

“It's been six weeks. You said that's when I'd need another haircut.” 

You laughed a little as you pulled the robe around him. 

“You know, I say that every time, but most people ignore me. I love a man who can follow directions.” 

The eruption of red on his cheeks left you feeling suddenly tongue tied, and you carefully redirected the conversation back to the task at hand. 

“Same again, Doc?” You asked, readying your spray bottle and supplies. 

“Actually, could we, ah, go shorter this time?” Hesmiled sheepishly and watched as you ran your fingers through his tangled hair. 

“My boss, last time, said I looked like I joined a boyband, so…” 

“Your boss at the hospital?” You asked, clinging to every detail you could get from him. 

“The hospital?” 

“You said you were a Doctor, do you work in a lab instead or-”

“Oh. No, I work at the FBI. I'm not a medical doctor, I have a PhD. I have three, Chemistry, Engineering, and Mathematics.” 

You whistled. “Impressive. You can't be older than 30.” 

“I'm 29.” He said, smiling at you in the mirror, and you smiled back, hands still running through his hair. 

“So, no boy band haircuts, okay. For what it's worth, though, you look totally hot.” 

The words cut the conversation short, and you tried your best to take the words back as you went off to the sides to grab your sheers. 

Half an hour later, and you could swear that half the salon had given up pretending to be doing their jobs and were just awkwardly ogling the man. If the shorter “boyband” hair was good, the undercut you'd done for him was even better. 

You turned him around to get a closer look, using the excuse of making sure his hair was symmetrical enough to stare at him some more as you got closer to finishing. 

“Okay,” you said with a sad sigh. “You're all finished, Spencer. Let's get you rung up.” 

He nodded and followed you quickly, pulling out his wallet as he paid quietly. 

“Okay. And I'll see you tomorrow,” you said, as he picked up his bags to leave. 

“Tomorrow? I thought you said it was six weeks between haircuts.” 

“It is. But it's also my day off tomorrow, so I was wondering if you'd like to have dinner. With me.” 

He blinked at you once. Then twice, and another time before smiling and looking away. 

“Okay. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” 

He ran a hand through his hair and nearly walked into the door he was trying to walk through, but your heart still fluttered as you waved him out.