#Team Shoplifters

[lunastars21]

CYBER SINGER MIKA FANS!!!

I wonder how they were able to get tickets?

[askteamhooligans]

Fang, hadn't you poisoned your companions in prison?

"i didn't have any companions till Bean and Bark, or been in prison in sometime with cellmates..so maybe you just either had a similar dream...orrrr this is some other multiverse mumbo jumbo bean keeps talking about.

nonetheless...I'll certainly keep that idea in mind in case i get tossed into the slammer again, Thanks for the info..heh"

[anim-ttrpgs]

"Kleptomaniac," investigator Trait from Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy. Every investigator has 3 to 6 Traits!

[il3x]

hm... now the red glasses would look great with his costume, and depending on how you characterise him, he might wear them as a joke (or claim to be wearing them as a joke... he really just likes the look) (you could also characterise him such that joking about being sexy would make him uncomfortable so 🤷‍♂️ dealers' choice here i think either works). however yellow glasses meaning is SO quintessentially how he comes off. yellow glasses are the secret true alec glasses but he wouldn't actually wear them it would either be red for the look or (most likely) he couldn't bring himself to care and just picked black

some observations on color coding eyewear in ficton and their meanings

[realcube]

— mall security! toji who coudln't care less about people shoplifiting.. until he meets you.

tw & tags ;; klepto! reader x security! toji. degredation. power imbalances. implied age gap. vaginal fingering. mentions of anal play. tit play. unhinged. p with NO plot.

why did he even bother attending such a banal and 'wet blanket' style job? well, he needed the fucking money. but they couldn't force him to be good at it or even try; they gave him the job without a second thought because he visually appears like an adept candidate. unfortunately the mall hiring team didn't probe any further, otherwise they would've realised how unsuitable he is for such a position.

he made it clear on several occasions he wasn't going to concern himself with chasing petty thieves. not only is it below him, but if he figured that if someone is so broke that they need to steal from a cheap ass mall, they probably need whatever it is that they are taking. so he never bothered to confront people, even when he knew for a fact they were stealing.

that is, until he first laid eyes upon you.

and he could instantly recognise your type: innocent and sweet-looking girl who wears pretty dresses and the most feminine hairstyles. who has such kind eyes and even smells like the embodiment of an angel. yet when no one is looking, you'll slip a nail polish into your pocket, or allow a chapstick to 'accidentally' fall into your purse.

albeit, when he initially saw you, he was moreso ogling at your perky ass in your dress and watching your plush thighs rub together as you walk, but during his lecherous staring sessions, he also happened to pick up on your thieving habits.

maybe you femininity and wholesomeness wasn't necessarily a charade, but you certainly did use it as a defensive mechanism and a way to mask your true intentions. toji realised this as he watched you exit a jewellry store, still wearing a designer ring which you didn't pay for; one of his try-hard colleagues approaches you as you are leaving, and accuses you of stealing the ring. but he cannot even finish his sentence before the waterworks begin, and you are gently sobbing into the sleeve of your jumper and apologising profusely, claiming that it wasn't on purpose and you had simply forgotten to take it off after trying it on. in your squeaky voice, you hiccup and plead that he doesn't arrest you for your terrible act of thoughtlessness.

the other customers and even the jewellry store manager begin to rally around you and chastise the security guard for even implying that a sweet girl such as yourself would ever do such a thing. because why would a shy, docile girl like yourself even think of shoplifting?! it doesn't make it any sense, so clearly he was just some mean bully on a power trip that got-off on victimising young women. the people around you console you, while the secruity guard is scorned for attempting to do this job.

usually toji couldn't give less of a fuck about what happens at his shitty day job, but this scene happened to pique his interest. because he knew for a fact you intended to steal that ring; there was not a doubt in his mind. the reason he was so certain was that he's seen you do it a million times before. you were a certified kleptomaniac. but since it was none of his business, toji never mentioned it before.

however, seeing your reaction and defense to be confronted about your shoplifting by the other security guard intrigued him. you clearly had experience in guilt-tripping the people around you and feigning innocence. you were almost too good at it.

admittedly, toji wanted to try — he wanted to see if he could make a crack in that perfect little facade of yours. perhaps it was just his affinity for humbling spoiled brats, but he wanted to sort you out himself. so, he did.

the next day, he watches you like a hawk. he probably looked like a massive creep staring down a younger girl as she (seemingly) innocuously perused the aisles of a make-up store. but his keen eye wasn't just fixed on your tits or ass this time, no, he was watching all of your little sly tricks. you'd keep a empty foundation container is your purse so you could sneakily swap it with a full one. or when you'd hold a fresh eyeliner pencil in your hand while 'fixing' the buttons on your blouse, but really you were just slipping the pencil under your shirt and into your bra.

leaving the shop without buying anything after another successful 'browsing' session, you were ready to move on to the next store. that is, until a buff, overwhelmingly big security guard cornered you in an awkward spot between the make-up store and an adjacent staircase. his overbearing frame cast a chilly shadow over you, and his mere presence made you back away into the darkness of the corner, hidden away behind the stairs (just like he wanted).

"erm, can i help you, sir? is everything alright?" you gaze up at him with gleaming doe eyes.

toji swallows a lump in his throat as he mentally reminds himself of your charade and not to fall for it! even if you were just the cutest thing he's ever seen. "take your top off." he states bluntly.

your eyes widen, your voice cracks, unable to believe what you're hearing. "w—what?!"

"don't play dumb with me." he scoffs, flicking your forehead with his strong hand, "look, kid, i know what you're up to. so there's no point in putting up the whole 'innocent little girl' act with me. i can see right through you." he grinds his teeth together and his imposing figure moves forward, caging you in as you stumble back against the wall, "you're just a spoiled brat and klepto bitch who thinks she can take whatever she wants without consequences."

your heart skips a beat at the sinister way he speaks to you, as though he has something planned. there's a fullness in your chets upon hearing him pierce straight through your demeanour. despite being busted, you would've continued to play clueless for a little while longer, but unfortunately, his words provoked you and caused you to snap back at him, "and what's it to you? gonna arrest me, mall cop? just leave me alone."

toji smiles down at you, girmly. there's a darkness in his eyes that sends a spark of fear down your spine. "i'm gonna do far worse than arrest you, darlin'." he coos, hot breath tickling your face and making even the faintest hairs on your neck stand on edge. "first, you're gonna take that top of and give me that pencil you stole."

you cross yours arms over your chest and pout. "not happening."

"if you do what i say, it'll make things a lot easier for you."

you narrow your eyes up at him, and after properly soaking in his features, you realise that perhaps taking your top off wouldn't be such a bad idea — especially if it meant you could avoid the alleged trouble he was going to put you in.

your eyes quickly dart around the space. currently, he has you cornered under a staircase. there is no one around that would be able to see you, but there are plenty of people who were walking up the stairs. if any of them were to hear what was happening, they could quite easily investigate and would hence find you half-nude in the mall. wouldn't be a good look for you.

"there's too many people around." you whisper.

"then you better be quick."

you huff in response. there was really no pleasing this man. "fine," you begin to undo the buttons of your blouse, and you can feel his rough eyes boring into your chest as you do so. once the buttons are fully opened to reveal your pastel, lacey bra, you dig your hand underneath the fabric and begrudgingly pull out the pencil.

he swipes it from your grip and returns a cocky smirk. "thank you, sweetheart. see how easy it is when you just do what you're told?"

"pssht." you scoff, rolling your eyes. your arms subconciously move to cover up your exposed chest and bra, "whatever, can i go now?"

his strong hands wrap around your forearms and viciously yank them away from your supples tits, so he can appreciate the unobstucted view. "nope. i need to search you for the rest of the contrband." his big hands caress your supple boobs as he looks down at you.

you don't even question it at this point. you've already established that he's a (hot) perverted creep who somehow convinced you to unbutton your shirt so he may as well fondle your tits while he's at it. though you do mewl and jerk away from his touch from time to time, lest you enjoy it too much.

"what contraband? i didn't steal anything else.. oh, besides this," you pull out the foundation bottle that you traded with your empty one from your purse and offered it to him. "take it. i've not got anything else on me." but he didn't seem interested; he plucked it from your grip and simply tossed it aside.

"i need to check, don't i? can't be to thorough." his hands wandered over your body and down your back, until he got to the hem of your short skirt. "and you're not exactly the sort of girl i can trust." he muses, then straightens himself out, abruptly pulling his hands off your body. just as you were beginning to melt into his strong touch.

"turn around and bend over against that wall." he motioned the wall behind you, the one that was supporting the stairs above your head. you sighed, and were surprisingly obidient. you pressed your palms against the cold surface of the wall and bent over, just as instructed. you weren't sure exactly what his agenda was, but in this situation, you weren't too afriad to find out.

toji's hand ghosted over your ass and stroked your supple skin, before pulling up your skirt to reveal a sight for sore eyes. thankfully you were facing the other way otherwise you may have been turned off by his crazed grinning. but he couldn't help it; you were just so beautiful. the way your damp panties clung to your folds so he could see the outline of your perfect cunt. and how the fabric moulded to the curve of your soft ass.

"sorry, darlin'. just got to make sure you didn't pick up anything else. let this be a lesson 'bout stealing." he mused, but he wasn't sorry at all. in fact he was quite the opposite; absolutely elated to finally get a try at the sweet cunt you've been hiding all this time. he pulled your panties aside to reveal your sopping pussy. all slick with arousal just like he anticipated, "fuck, baby. you like this, don't you? being caught red-handed and dealt with. dirty klepto freak."

his fingers dwadle over your sticky labia and clit, causing you to wince and writhe down in front of him. he roughly grabs a handful of your ass and rasps into your ear, "keep it down. don't want people hearing you and gettin' curious, huh." he chuckles lowly to himself at the thought, while still massaging your needy clit, "don't want them seeing you getting busted for stealing. they wouldn't think you're such a good girl after seeing this, would they?"

"no.." you mewl, and toji huffs in agreement.

"no, because then they'd realise what a horny slut you are. how your pussy's dripping for a man you don't even know. you proud of that, baby?"

"no.." you sob quietly, and he smiles.

"what i thought. anyway, need you to relax a bit so i can check you.." and just like that, without any further warning, he sticks two of his fat digits into your pleading hole. naturally, you gasp, and begin to moan as his fingers squirm and poke around inside you, as though he was actually looking for something.

"what the fuck?—" you groan, but not too loud, still weary that people might hear you.

"i already told ya, need to check to make sure you haven't hidden anything. girls do that all the time, y'know. it's their favourite hiding spot." he almost made himself chuckle at the observation. his eyes drilled into your cunt as he watched your entrance suck on his fingers; your needy cunt grew visibly wetter by the second, until a small ring of fluid had gather at his knuckles. "fuck, i think you're good though. probably tried but couldn't fit anything into this tight cunt. huh, klepto freak?"

you grimaced at the notion. normally you would've jumped to defend yourself against the implication that you have ever tried to hide stolen objects inside you — as that's a bit too far, even for you — but right now you were too concrated in surpressing your eargerly rising moans from the way his fingers deliciously curl within your walls.

but a couple of shallow and breathy whines do slip past your defences, causing him to say hoarsely, "you like that, needy bitch? thought so. your pussy's so wet, your basically begging for it." he emphasises his point by rapidly fingering your cunt, which causes embarrassingly loud squelching noises. your legs quiver and you begin to whine at the satisfying sensation, but it's over just as quick as it started, as he yanks his fingers straight out of you after around four seconds.

"too bad i'm not here to make you feel good. you don't deserve it, brat." he hisses while wiping his fingers clean against his black secruity top, "but at least your not hiding anything else. you're free to go."

you raise your eyebrows at his unexpected judgement, and without standing upright, you look back at him from over your shoulder, "really?"

"yeah."

still shocked to move, you inquire further, "h-how? aren't you gonna the other one?"

he erupts into laughter, so loud that it causes your whole body tot tense and was sure to alert any surrounding pedestrians of his presnce under the staircase. but he didn't seem to care. "what, you want me to? aw, you desperate spoiled slut. are you really that horny that you need an ass fucking too?"

"no!" you squeak defensively, finally straightening yourself out and whipping around to face him. albeit, you still can't muster up the courage to look him in the eye. "i was just worried about the consistency."

"you don't need to worry, that's not your job." he clicks his tongue, slipping his hand under your chin and using his index finger to force you to meet his piercing stare, "do you have stolen goods still hiden inside you right now?"

"no! obviously not."

"good. then, we're done here. you can get lost." he states casually, folding his strong arms over his chest, smirking down at you, "and don't ever come back. you're banned for life."

"huh, what?!" you huff, kicking at the tiled floor from frustration, "this is my only local mall; i've got no where else to go. you can't ban me!"

"of course i can. that's what happens to stupids little brats who steal shit. they get barred." he tilts his head at you, in horrifically mocking way. "simple as that." he clicks his tongue.

there's a sudden shift in your demeanour, as you slowly ease into a new act as it occurs to you. your head falls, and your balance on your own legs becomes unsteady as you begin to waver in place, "bu— but, if you kick me out, then.." you stutter, mostly staring at the ground but glancing up at him through your thick lashes, "i'll never get to see you again."

he can tell your being disingenuous: pretending to be all cutesy so you can weasel your way into his heart like the sneaky, conniving little urchin that you are. he grinds his teeth. unfortunately for him, your spell is just far too powerful.

he's hypnotised by the way your exposed tits push together, and how your glossy lips call to him. your eyes are sinister yet so so inviting. "fuck." he grits under his breath, "fine. you can come back. but only when i'm working, okay?"

he doesn't need any of his co-workers catching wind of his pretty new toy.

[radfemsiren]

Remembering my Afghani American best friend from my islamic elementary and middle school whose dad would get drunk every night and beat the shit out of her mother. She begged and begged for sleepovers because strangers in the house would make him leave, and I never told my parents about the situation (I lied and said she had no father or brothers) because I loved spending time at her house and staying up the whole night doing all the things we weren’t allowed to do that was “haram”… watching rated r movies, playing horror computer games, dancing to music videos on YouTube, cat walking in heels and makeup, scaring ourselves with creepypastas.

I remember we had a million stupid ass discussions about who the purple guy from five nights at Freddies was, or what a slenderman proxy meant, or if there were illuminati signs in Katy Perry music videos, or if emo drawings of Jeff the killer were hot. We’d whisper fight if Beyoncé or Lana del Rey was a better singer, or if teen wolf or maze runner had cuter boys. She was team Beyoncé and teen wolf.

We had to constantly be separated in school for talking, and we hated the creepy janitor and would throw wads of wet paper towel on the bathroom ceiling for him to clean up later. We got into so much trouble together, and would always smirk at each other in detention when we got yelled at. We’d shoplift lipsticks from the mall, and throw away expensive Quran transliterations from school, and sneak into the teachers break room and steal handfuls of ice and throw them on the imam/principal’s desk when he was gone to ruin his paperwork.

I moved away like I always had to do with my constantly migrating family and we lost touch. The last time I saw her in person was when we were still kids at her brothers wedding. I was laughing while I tried to ask her why the bride kept changing into different brightly colored dresses throughout the night. She wasn’t listening, and she burst into tears and cried about how her brother was just like her father and did every horrible thing he did. I held her and squeezed her so tight I thought her bones would break.

I recently tried to reconnect with her again but she’s already married, pregnant, and has abandoned social media and texting because it’s “haram.” Trying to talk to her was like speaking to a stranger… she had no interest in any of the things we would spend hours playing with before. “Islam is important to me now, I’m a new woman. We were messed up kids, it’s time to grow up.” She told me to never contact her again and hung up the phone.

Sometimes I feel like I failed her, and sometimes I understand that I was a girl trying to survive too.

One day I’ll save money to travel back there and talk to her in person. I’ll snap her out of it. We’ll spend all night up together again doing every terrible thing our teachers and parents and religious leaders warned us against, and laughing the whole way through it. We’ll get kicked out of bars and get into trouble and snicker our way through it all, knowing we’ve already won. I still have her dirty, worn, my littlest pet shop horse she gave me when we first met. I hold it in my hands when I see news of the what’s happening to the women of Afghanistan, and I feel like I’ve failed her again. That I’ll forever be stuck an immature child and her a miserable adult, both of us doomed, unable to be saved from our fates in the end.

[narcjsistx]

— 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄?, 𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐍'𝐓 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒... | sae, kaiser, rin

SAE ITOSHI - for me, you never left

... wish you'd let me stay, i'm ready now 🎶

It was complicated for you to explain your relationship with the prodigy of Japan, the one who most commonly for you was Sae. Everyone looked at him for what he actually was, that is, the lethal midfielder of ReAl, the ace who refused to play for his country; but to you, he was simply the boy your father coached on your prefecture's soccer team. It had always been like this, even now that he had no longer lived in Japan for some years, even now that the crush you had kept secret from him for practically always was finally getting over you after years of suffering

You knew he had cut ties with everyone, from his Japanese teammates to his family, but nothing had ever changed with you. From the first day he arrived in Spain until today, your relationship had never had any problems: you spoke every day, called, everything. For you, Sae Itoshi had never left the another country to pursue his dream

He was jealous of you, even though he never admitted it. He was jealous if you told him that Rin had helped you repeat english that day, if you told him that a boy from your school had left a note in your locker on Valentine's Day. He didn't admit it, but you knew his habits, and you noticed

In fact, you could say that on the one hand your relationship had changed, but you couldn't say whether in a good way or not: your intimacy with each other. You didn't even know why Sae often called you at night, the black circles under his eyes that you immediately noticed, but he had never dared to tell you the reason for all this tiredness that was reflected on his body

"I'm damn tired of studying. In less than a few months I'll finally finish the session tho"

"You could come to Spain"

"I don't have the money to do it, you know. I would have to pay for the place and airfare"

“I simply asked you if you would like to come. I didn't mention money"

"As if you paid me everything"

"And that's what I'll do. I want to see you here in a month, understood?"

These were not gestures that friends made, especially considering the large sum of money involved, a sum that you would not have been able to pay him back even if you had worked all your life. Yet he wanted you there, to see you after a long time. Maybe your crush on him hadn't definitively passed, now that you were about to sleep in the same bed as him due to the arrangement he had made for you

MICHEAL KAISER - my first in everything

... face it, you want it, you crave it 🎶

It's not normal to be so physically attached to the one who was always the child who shoplifted from your mother's shop, all those years ago: it's not normal that he was your first kiss, your first serious fight, your first time. It is not normal that a person with whom you shared such things is not your boyfriend. And even less normal that he refuses human contact with everyone except you

You had decided together to share these important steps together, saying that you would never trust another to do something so important. And you never regretted it

But Micheal has always been like this, since he was a child: he started to hate physical contact right away, but with you he never had any problems taking your hand, hugging you, lifting your chin when you kept your gaze down. Him, who hates it when even Ness touches his shoulder, having no problem yelling at him

But with you Kaiser cried until dawn in your arms, so many times that you struggle to remember the exact number. With you he never had any problems treating you as if you were his wife, even though you weren't even his girlfriend. With you he never had any problems wrapping his arms around your waist, kissing you, making you decide which arm he should get his tattoo on. With you he has never been any problem in treating you as if you were his precious diamond, his impossible but possible blue rose. With you, it's always yes

"Every time I remember crying in your arms I feel like a piece of shit, absolutely pathetic. Yet I'm in your arms, and so I feel a little less sorry"

"I'm sorry when you can't vent, however. I would like to help you more often"

"You talk like you're not the only one I cry to. Maybe you're as pathetic as me, but I like it, you don't know how much. Continue to be, continue to be beautiful and a good girl for me, yeah?"

His team, Ness, his fans, everyone thought you were already a couple. You were, more or less, or at least the gestures represented this... but you had never talked about it, never

Yet, you wondered if you were really just friends, because friends don't end up in each other's bed at least once a month. Maybe you weren't friends, maybe he wasn't ready, maybe you weren't ready

Maybe he wasn't ready to tell you that you were always the one, from the first moment he laid his eyes on you. Maybe you weren't ready to tell him that you loved him. Maybe you were both simply afraid to tell the truth for fear that the other would take it badly. But you wanted and craved it

RIN ITOSHI - dating, but my heart is yours

... just tell me what you're doing with that other guy 🎶

After having dreamed all your life of becoming the girlfriend of Rin Itoshi, the genius of the school and the prefecture, you didn't know why you found yourself squeezing Nagi Seishiro's hand as you walked through the corridors. Even after confessing to Rin, you were now dating to none other than the lazy genius, your brother's best friend. And you were happy, more or less

You knew Rin from your shared classes, plus he had been playing in the field right below your class for a long time, giving you the chance to observe him a lot more. And so, you soon found yourself falling in love with him, perhaps a little too much for your brother's tastes, who however never said he was against it. You and Rin looked at each other often, both in the hallways and during class. Often his hand lingered a little too long on yours when he showed you how to write that particular word in english, perhaps feeling his hand on your thigh a few times during lessons was like dying and ending up in heaven

Maybe it wasn't normal for him to wait for you at the end of class to walk from your class to the gate together. Maybe it wasn't normal that he gave you his jersey with his name written on it

And at a certain point, you declared yourself. And you had kissed, but from that moment on neither of you had dared to do anything else. This way you understood that he wasn't really interested, otherwise he would have given you confirmation that he was your boyfriend... right?

And so a few months later, you had agreed to go on a date with Nagi, and you started to like him, you couldn't say otherwise: as lazy as he was, he was extremely sweet to you. And so you had decided to make it official, especially knowing that Reo would be happy about it

But making it official means saying it, proving it, even to the boy who nevertheless occupied a part of your heart that you knew Nagi couldn't occupy

But Rin had already noticed it for a while

"Are you happy? With him, I mean"

"I am. I certainly am"

"I'm happy about it. Enjoy this feeling"

"You say it like you don't know that I love you"

"And you act like you don't know how I feel"

Nagi was stable, maybe one day he could even become your husband if he continued to be so sweet; and honestly, you didn't mind the idea. But Rin had been making your heart unstable for years, even in moments when you thought you had everything under control, moments like this

And the feeling of adventure was something the lazy genius you knew couldn't give you, neither now nor when married, if it ever happened

this shit is so ass im gonna cry (i want to delete it)

[ksera-sera]

That’s probably what Team Rocket does.

The principal difficulty of having a Pokémon pick up your groceries for you isn’t getting it to understand the concept of a grocery list, but getting it to understand the concept of capitalism.

One might assume that Meowth is the exception, given that Meowth is literally the capitalism Pokémon; the trouble here is that, while Meowth does understand capitalism, Meowth also understands shoplifting.

[keirareidss]

drawn to you - a.h

♡ summary: the BAU is trailing a deadly woman and Aaron can't help but be drawn to her pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!unsub!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, dark themes, murder, smut, p in v wc: 3.9k a/n: first Hotch fic in a while! hope you guys like it

Two down, three to go. All your life, people had taken advantage of you and you were done accepting it. Three weeks ago, you decided to get revenge. You'd been wronged by so many people in your life and it was time for them to pay.

First, your old manager. He'd done nothing but hit on you, demean you, and a few times he'd groped you. He did it to all the girls at your work but he was done doing that. The old you, the one that had just let him walk all over you, would think you were crazy. The old you would think you were dangerous. But you were much much worse. You were deadly.

Your manager had gone down easily. He'd taken the bait you set for him without a second thought. You left a note for him to meet you by the fancy restaurant not far from his work, signed your name, and he didn't question a thing. Once he'd arrived, you'd dragged him into the alley, slit his throat from behind, and left before his body hit the ground. You got rid of the evidence, cleaned yourself, and got yourself an airtight alibi.

The second one was your uncle. Your mom's brother. You used to see him every holiday. That was before he went missing. Your family asked questions, they made police reports, they cried, they mourned. You went along with all of it. All with the knowledge that he was dead in a ditch off the highway.

Since you were about 11 years old, he'd been inappropriate with you. Touching, looking, commenting. All things an uncle should never do. He went along as easily as your manager had, with just a little bit more hesitance but when you gave him those eyes, those fuck me eyes that made every mans legs go weak, he went right along. You brought him out into your car, gave him a water bottle filled with enough tranquilizer medicine to kill a bull and waited until he finished seizing in your passenger seat to dump him off the empty highway.

Again, you were clean, smart. You cleaned the car, made sure you didn't leave any compromising evidence that you had been there. You got yourself another alibi and planned your next kill.

You weren't a murderer. It didn't count if it was retaliation. Merciful retaliation, at that. At least, that's what you told yourself. You planned out your five perfect kills. They deserved it. And you knew you wouldn't be killing anyone else once you were done. You'd probably wait a month or two after it all blew over, then you'd move to another country, start your life over, and never let yourself be walked on again.

"We've got two men, white, 40's, dead in the last two weeks. One had his throat slit, the other overdosed on tranquilizer and was found in a ditch off of a highway."

"What's the connection?" Spencer asked, his eyebrows furrowed. JJ clicked a button on the remote and a picture popped up on the screen. A mugshot of a woman who looked around mid 20's.

"Her." She introduced you, giving the team your name and background. "This was her two years ago. Picked up for shoplifting."

"So we have her name, her job, and a picture of her... why don't we just arrest her?" Derek asked.

"We've got everything except evidence. There's nothing tying her to the murders except for her relation to the victims. The first one was her manager, the second her uncle."

"If she's got no tie to the murders, how do we know she even did it?" Rossi asks.

"We've got testimony from her sister. Apparently she really truly believes it was her. She reported mood changes, habit changes-"

"That's all we have to go off of?" Emily asked.

"Unfortunately, yeah."

"We'll find as much as we can. Eye witness reports, security camera footage, whatever we can get. We'll catch her." Hotch says, standing from the table and giving the team their tasks. He was going to make sure he took you down. No matter what.

Kill number three. Your neighbor. He was a creep. Not only was he loud, blasting music and movies through your shared wall, he was disgusting, dirty, and an all around horrible old man. You'd have no trouble killing him.

You had a plan. You'd give him some of your leftovers, mixing in a little something in them. It only takes a 2 milligram dose of fentanyl to kill an average sized adult. You'd do 5 milligrams just to be safe. You gave him the leftovers in person, knowing he'd eat them all immediately without thought, and went back to your shitty apartment, waiting about half an hour before going back to check on him. You jimmied the door open and found him laying on the ground, his skin blue and cold, vomit pooling next to him from his mouth.

You kicked his body, once, twice before taking your leftovers back. You didn't want anything tracing back to you. You cleaned quick, making sure you didn't leave any fingerprints or hair behind before leaving. You had plans with a friend in about 10 minutes. You brought your leftovers out back, tossing them in the dumpster and heading out.

Maybe it was the fact that you were in a rush to meet up with your friend and get your alibi set up, but you made a mistake. You'd forgotten something that you wouldn't realize until later. Later when you were sitting in a dark, cold interrogation room, chained to the table, waiting on your lawyer.

Later when you were waiting for the sexy FBI agent to come back and talk to you. Maybe yell or shout or scream in your face. Maybe lean down over the table and get in your face until all you can smell is his aftershave and his cologne. That's when you'd realize what you forgot.

"We've got another body." JJ says, striding into the room and everyone sighed.

"Let's check out the scene." Hotch said. He, Derek, Prentiss, and Rossi headed to the dingy apartment, checking out the crime scene. The body was still there, covered by a sheet. It looked like a normal apartment owned by a shitty man. Moldy grey walls, ratty stained carpet in the bedroom, a musty smell that you just can't figure out the origin of.

"Wow, this place is a dump." Rossi said.

"Said mister 'I live in a huge pristine mansion'." Derek chuckled. They started searching for anything, even the tiniest piece of evidence could give them a huge boost. Just the slightest inkling that you might be caught could be enough to make you confess.

"Hey, guys... guess who lives right next door?" Emily said, coming back into the apartment, making the three men turn towards her.

"Lionel Richie?" Rossi said with jokingly faux hope. Nope. You. Hotch strode past her, down the hall to your door and pounded on it.

"FBI open up!" He bellowed through the door.

"Hotch, maybe ease up-" The door swung open, cutting Derek off.

"FBI, you're under arrest for the murders of-" You faintly heard him listing off the names of the men you killed as he stepped into your apartment, turning your around and shoving you against your entryway wall, cuffing your hands together behind you back (not the way you usually like to be handcuffed) as the other agents behind him weakly protested. He read you your rights and led you out to the SUV outside, shoving you in the back.

On the drive to the police department, only one thing was running through your head. The image of the sexiest man you've ever seen appearing in your doorway, manhandling you and slapping handcuffs onto your wrists.

Once you were at the police station, he dragged you out of the car, his hand clasped on your shoulder as he led you inside and to the interrogation room. He sat you in the chair roughly and you had to squeeze your thighs together as he uncuffed your hands from behind you and cuffed them to the table in front of you.

"Why am I here?" You asked calmly, staring up at him.

"You murdered three men."

"You have no evidence." He didn't respond, striding to the door. "You can't just leave me in here!" You called after him as the door shut behind him. You couldn't help the little niggling deep down that maybe they had something they could convict you with. No, no way. You were careful. You were so careful. They don't have anything.

"Alright we've got 48 hours. Prentiss, Reid, and Morgan, head back to the apartment and look over everything. Find anything you can. Rossi, JJ, I need you to look over the files again, see if you can find anything we can use against her. Something to get her to crack."

"Aaron, do you think that maybe this was a bad idea?" Rossi says gently.

"What, arresting her? No. It'll make us work harder. It gives us a clock. And it's already started ticking." He says before striding out of the room.

He heads back to the interrogation room, slamming the door open, letting it bounce against the wall, the door knob nearly leaving a dent before it swings shut again.

"Finally. Can I get some food or something?"

"No. Tell me why you killed them." He said, choosing to plant his hands on the table and lean over you instead of sitting.

"I didn't kill them. Whoever you're talking about." You said passively.

"You know exactly who I'm talking about." He slams three pictures on the table and you slowly look down at them, keeping your eyes on his for as long as you can before dragging them away.

"That's my uncle, my old boss, and my neighbor." You asked. You had the perfect poker face. It makes sense, I mean, you'd been practicing it for almost 18 years.

"All dead within the last two weeks. All connected to you. Coincidence?"

"Okay, my manager was murdered which makes sense because he was a shitty person, I'm not sure what happened to my uncle, no one ever told me, and I just heard about my neighbor dying this morning."

"Who was next on your list? Your father? Your cousin? One of your friends? Did you even have a plan or was this all spontaneous?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Liar!" He shouts, slamming his hands on the desk and leaning in close.

"I'm not lying. I don't know what you're talking about at all. The only thing I do know, is that you've only got 48 hours, Chief Hotchner." You drawled.

"Do I look like I'm stupid?" You grin up at him.

"You look like you want to kiss me." His eyes flicker down to your lips for a brief second and in that second, your eyes flick down to just below his waist where you can see the beginning of a hard on forming in his black trousers. "You look like you want to do more than kiss me." You teased.

"I want to see you put behind bars for the rest of your life." You grin, running your tongue over your top teeth. You tilted your head up closer to him.

"Come on, agent. Don't you want to have a little fun first? You look so wound up. I could help you ease the tension." You said seductively.

"You could help me by giving me a full confession."

"I could help you by giving you a full blowjo-" You were cut off when the door opened, the older agent standing in the doorway. The blush on Hotch's face went unnoticed by him but you had a full on grin because of it.

"Aaron." Rossi nodded his head towards the hallway and Hotch sighed, following him out. "Maybe you should let someone else try."

"No. I'm close. I've got it."

"Are you sure? I think you could use a break from this case altogether."

"What I need is to finish this case and get her convicted. I'm going back in." He turns, reentering the room, Rossi sighing as the door shuts behind his friend. He left the room behind, heading back to the conference room and leaving you and Hotch behind in the conference room, the hallway empty otherwise.

"Come back to keep yelling at me? Cause I'm gonna be honest, I'm starting to like it-" You were cut off by Hotch striding up to the table, planting his hands on it, leaning over and slanting his lips right over yours. You're so taken aback by the kiss that you don't even register his hand sliding up your torso to grope at your chest for multiple seconds. In the past, men groping your body has been entirely unwelcome but this time, this time you weren't so bothered by it. You reached up to grab at him but your hands were stopped by the chains, holding you to the table.

He pulled away, staring down at you with deep brown eyes that you could get lost in if you stared too long.

"Is this allowed? Couldn't you get fired for something like this?"

"What, locking lips with a criminal?"

"A suspect." You corrected, chuckling at the terminology he decided to use.

"Well you'll be a convicted criminal once I find the evidence to take you down."

"I'd rather you take me to bed but whatever helps you sleep at night." He couldn't help but be drawn to you. The way you spoke, the glint in your eyes as you smirked up at him, your hands chained to the table.

"You agitate me." He gritted his teeth.

"You turn me on." You said seductively, grinning. He nearly growled, surging forward to kiss you again. This time, his hands cupped your jaw, one of his hands sliding back into your hair, his fingers tangling in it, yanking your head back roughly. His tongue slipped into your mouth, dancing with yours. He suddenly pulled back, standing and rounding the table.

"What are you doing?" You asked. He grabbed the chair you were sitting in and you barely had time to stand before he was yanking it away. He dragged it over to the door, shoving it under the handle. He came back, standing behind you, his hands gripping your hips.

"Keep quiet." He said, his hands reaching around you to undo your pants. You felt your breath grow heavier. You couldn't believe this was happening. The sexy agent that, had you met him under different circumstances he would be the subject, the main character of your wettest dreams, was about to fuck you on an interrogation table before sticking you with a crime you definitely did commit.

"Fuck." You breathed as he pulled down your pants enough to slide his hand between your legs.

"You're so wet." He murmured in your ear.

"Let's hurry this up. Don't want your team finding us do you?" You teased.

"God you piss me off." He said, undoing his own trousers and pulling his cock free. He stroked it a few times before reaching between your legs again, using your juices as lube. He spread it over his shaft before pushing you against the table by your hips, bending you over it with a hand on your lower back.

His hands gripped your hips tightly as he inserted himself. You let out a stifled moan as he started thrusting almost immediately. You knew you had a limited amount of time before one of his team members would come to get him. You could only hope you were able to come first.

"Shit. God, you-" Hotch cut himself off with a groan, pushing harder into you. He fucked you like no one had before. He was hard and fast but not in a bad way. It was heavenly. You were literally seeing stars. You were sure his fingers would leave bruises on your waist but you didn't care. In fact, you wanted his to leave bruised everywhere. In this moment, neither of you were thinking about what was going to happen after this. You didn't think about the fact that he might send you to prison for life and he didn't think about how he would need to convict the woman he just fucked for murder.

Maybe he wouldn't. Maybe he would choose to let you go. Maybe he would think you were such a good lay that he would need to see you again and he couldn't very well do that in prison could he?

"I'm close. I'm close!" You warned and he slid a hand up, covering your mouth. He thrusted harder, his hips slapping against your ass and, as he twitched inside you, you knew he was getting close too. You squeezed your walls tight around him and before you knew it, both of you were releasing, twitching and grunting. Hotch quickly redressed both of you, doing up his belt as you stood, zipping your pants up.

You turned, your hands still chained to the table as you looked at him. You bit your lip, staring up into his eyes.

"We don't speak of this. I'm still going to convict you. This meant nothing." He says, returning your chair and striding out of the room. Well, there you go. Dreams crushed.

Hotch could feel himself getting closer. He'd interrogated you two more times since he'd taken you against the table and he knew he was getting closer.

"So you were at brunch or you were at home on the phone?" Hotch clarified, attempting to twist your words and scramble your brain again.

"I was at brunch and after that I went home and she called me."

"And what time was that?"

"12:30, I think?" You said. You were tired. Tired of this, tired of being awake, tired of lying.

"You think?" Hotch asked and you sighed.

"Do you actually have any evidence or are you just spit-balling?"

"I have reasonable suspicion. You had bad relationships with each of the dead men, your friends and family attested to that. Your uncle specifically-"

"Oh please, my uncle deserved everything that happened to him. He's the type of man that deserves to end up dead in a ditch, overdosed on tranquilizers." Hotch's head tilts.

"I thought you said you didn't know what happened to your uncle." He says smoothly and you press your lips shut. Shit. You were getting agitated. Frustrated. You were getting sloppy.

"I-" He leaned in closer, his face centimeters from yours.

"You what?" He murmured.

"You still don't have any evidence."

"No?" He asked tauntingly. You shook your head.

"Mm mm."

"We will soon. And when we do, you're fucked."

"One, I've already been fucked, thanks to you, and two, you only have 3 hours left, Chief." You leaned back in your chair and Aaron stood up, adjusting his blazer.

"I'll be back and when I do, it'll be to end this case."

"We've got her." Prentiss said as she strode into the room. She was holding a thin file that she slapped on the conference room table. "We've got her." She looked directly at her unit Chief who stared at the file. He picked it up, sorting through the contents before flicking it shut and nodding. He walked past the rest of them, file gripped tightly in his hand as he headed to the interrogation room. The door slammed open and you looked up.

"We found prints at the crime scene. Converse. The exact type of shoe you're wearing right now."

"Do you know how many people own converse, Agent Hotchner? One of your agents out there was wearing them as well, are you going to arrest him too?" You asked, annoyed. This whole process was tiring you out. You were having fun at the start but now, after 45 hours, you were exhausted.

"We also found your hair in his apartment, and your finger prints on the door handle."

"That means nothing, we're neighbors, we've visited each other." Hotch gave a labored sigh, hanging his head. You laughed. "Is that all you had? Seriously? You thought a few finger prints, a hair, and a shoe print were going to be enough?" Hotch turned, walking to the door, his hand on the handle when he stopped.

"It wasn't enough." He mumbled.

"What?" You asked, leaning to try and get a look at him. He suddenly turns, striding back towards the table.

"That wasn't going to be enough. I never thought that was going to be enough, do you really think I'm that stupid?" You stared up at him, confused and a little turned on. "We found your leftovers in the dumpster. Your fingerprints were on them and the remains in the container were found to have contained fentanyl. 5 milligrams to be exact. We also found that secret compartment in the bottom of the drawer in your desk at your apartment. Under the false bottom. You had fentanyl in there too, along with the tranquilizer you used to kill your uncle and the knife you used to kill your manager. There was also a gun. Who were you going to kill with that, hmm? Who was next on your hit list?"

You were speechless by the time he was finished. You were done for. He got you, just like he said he would. Why did he have to be such a persistent prick? He had all his evidence, it was clear, all signs pointed to you. There was nothing you could say.

"Admit it." Hotch said lowly. "Admit what you did." You were silent for a few moments, still reeling.

"I did it." You spoke quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I killed them." He leaned back, standing up straight, a smug look on his face.

"Good girl." He slid another paper in front of you, a written confession, and handed you a pen. You signed it, your ears ringing, feeling like you've dissociated. Hotch took the pen and slid the paper in the file, uncuffing you from the table. You stand and he stares down at you. He reaches up, cupping your jaw and pressing a firm kiss to your lips. "What could have been." He murmurs, almost wistfully.

"It still could be." You said quietly, looking up into his eyes. He almost looked like he was contemplating it and you had a split second of hope before his eyes found yours again. They were hard and unforgiving as he stepped behind you, cuffing your hands behind your back again.

"Maybe in another life." He murmured, guiding you out of the interrogation room. You can't believe it had come to this. You were so close. You could have had it all. Maybe if you had fucked him one or two more times he might not have had time to find the evidence. Or maybe if you had fucked one of the other agents, they might have been more forgiving.

No matter how much you thought back on it, there was nothing that could have stopped you from enduring the force that is Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

Taglist: @cinnamoncunt, @dramioneforevertilltheend

[luveline]

my lovely jade would you consider writing more about new to the team reader and fresh out of prison spencer?😇🩷i'd really love anything, they make me kick my feet and blush so bad!🥰 love you <3

love you gorgeous <3

“Here.” Spencer puts a granola bar on top of your notebook. 

It slides down the slopes of the page into the centre and disrupts your train of thought. Your stomach stirs, remembered, and your fingertips shake ever so slightly as they curl around his gift. “Thank you,” you say, the grit of the packaging like a pinprick. “Sorry, I was somewhere else.” 

“If you don't eat, you'll get foggy, and then you'll be unhappy,” he says, sitting in the chair between yours and Emily's. 

“And you need a clear mind to work,” Emily says. 

She's Unit Chief, as formidable as her predecessors, but it's her demeanour that intimidates you. She's confident in how much she cares about people and she won't let you forget what this is all for, nor the strength of it. You find yourself nodding like an obedient puppy whenever she talks —whenever any of them talk. 

Spencer watches your expression. You aren't sure why. “And less coffee.”

“That's a little hypocritical,” Emily says, her voice stretching with humour, “but I'll allow it.” 

“That's why her hands are shaking.” He nods to the granola bar, and when you struggle to open it, he reaches for it with a gentle touch. “Do you think you might have a low tolerance for caffeine?” 

The shaking worsens at the question, though it's innocent enough. You don't want to explain why you're shaking because you know it paints a poor picture of professionalism, but you can't lie to them. It almost feels like the idea of shoplifting, the fear of being caught. You desperately want them to like you, trust you, and respect you, and lying this early on won't help that. 

“I need to do better,” you say. 

“You're doing amazing,” Spencer says, as Emily asks, “Why do you say that?” 

“I'm having trouble, uh, sleeping. And remembering to eat enough. That's why I'm shaking so badly. It'll go away soon, I promise.” 

“Are you drinking any water?” Emily stands. “You have to stay on top of this stuff.” 

She stalks off looking pissed. You wince, and Spencer puts the now opened granola bar in your hand, curling your fingers around it nicely. “Here, take your time.” 

You are shamefully desperate for reassurance. “Is she angry?”

“Yeah, she's mad.” Spencer doesn't smile. His voice doesn't betray much else. “She wasn't always good at taking care of herself, either, but now she doesn't have a choice. She has to be the best, and she has to make you the best you can be. Which is why she's angry.” 

“That I'm not currently at my best,” you surmise. 

“That she didn't notice.” He takes a pen from his pocket and a post it note from the table. “But Emily doesn't need to worry, because I'm here, and I would've looked after you anyways, even if she wasn't Unit Chief.” 

You take a bite of granola bar to pretend he hasn't winded you. I would've looked after you anyways. He writes a quick list as you chew, unaware of his affect on you or choosing to ignore it. 

He hands you the note. 

2 meals

4 glasses of water 

4 cups of coffee

702-555-0103

“I already have your phone number,” you say, hot in the face. 

“And you could stand to use it more often.” He takes your shoulder into his hand and leans in, giving you a nice squeeze, his thumb rubbing a line into your blouse. “Yeah? I know this is all harder than it looks. I promise I get it.” His voice creeps down into a more playful teasing, “Why are you so reluctant to call me? You're breaking my heart.” 

You laugh breathlessly. He pats your shoulder. “Finish that, okay? I'll go find us something more substantial for lunch.” 

Obviously you want him to take care of you, whatever that means, but it's still startling. He's smart, and so, so pretty, and he has this obsession with teasing you… if he even knows he's doing it. 

“Oh, Y/N?” he asks from the door. You look up, eyes wide, a deer in his headlights. “You really are doing amazing.” 

“Thank you.” 

Emily comes in a few seconds after he leaves, the biggest bottle of water you've ever seen in her hand, her eyebrows raised sceptically. “What's he smiling about?” 

You clear your throat. “I’m not sure.” 

[kabbies]

thinking about yjs… mostly extracurricular/school headcanons….

van joined av club in freshman year because the president was a girl and they had a massive crush on her. ended up sticking around because they grew attached to the nerdy guys who were more like her than she expected

tai, senior class (vice) president. can’t decide which but she ABSOLUTELY does debate club and people were scared to debate her.

melissa played softball before she played soccer and she was the fastest on her team. her coach told her to try soccer for that reason…she ended up liking soccer more.

nat was born and lived in italy until she was eight, english is her second language. she bonded with lottie because her family took yearly trips to rome and she had a subtle understanding of italian

mari does pole vaulting (thank you to that one yjs track and field tiktok) and is a whiz at math.

crystal and misty met through theatre

shauna is 1/2 jewish on her mom’s side and 1/4 french plus 1/4 irish on her dad’s. she chose to take spanish in high school to feel less connected to her dad which really upset jackie, but shauna made it up to her by helping her with her french.

akilah is on their school’s green team and volunteers at animal shelters regularly, she became close with laura lee because they ran into each other often during their volunteer activities.

on the laura lee note, she became secretary of the wiskayok high school worship and prayer club (a name that was changed upon the release of WAP by cardi b)

lottie would shoplift clothes that she got for the team

gen did archery and was incredibly good at it, placing fourth in 9-12 girls in new jersey.

after barely surviving freshmen year french together, lottie and jackie were placed in different classes their sophomore (jackie had jeff in hers) and lottie had her dad pay the school to swap jackie into her class. they never talked about it

jackie secretly loved comic books and walked into the comic book club meeting at least five times by ‘accident’

misty tried to join every club at school and got bullied out of all of them. her freshman year, she was crying and waiting for a ride from her dad during a soccer practice and jackie walked up to her, hugged her, and asked her to join. misty couldn’t play for shit but the coaches took pity and made her equipment manager

[lunastars21]

If we fought…I’m sure I’d lose!”

My arcane odyssey/ Adventures sonic AU protags together!

Fang has a long way to go to reach their level

Bonus sketch :]

[yamujiburo]

What would Delia consider a relapse? Like if Jessie did a shoplifting just out of habit, like she legitimately didn't even Think About It, she was just on autopilot, would she still trust her?

Oh definitely more so like stealing Pokémon, joining an evil team again etc.

She'd just give Jessie a stern talking to when it comes to minor, petty crimes but they're not a dealbreaker

[staygolden-and-chaotic]

If the greasers had a group chat pt 2 👀💅🏻

Group Chat Name: “Greaser Shenanigans”

_________________________________________________

Dally: Y’all are lame. Ain’t nobody tougher than me.

Y/N: 🤡 Tougher? Dally, I’ve seen you run from cops faster than Curly after shoplifting.

Curly: HEY. I don’t run. I strategically retreat. Big difference.

Tim: 🤦🏻‍♂️ Curly, you’ve “strategically retreated” straight into the back of a cop car. Twice.

Johnny: Can we all just not fight for like five minutes?

Ponyboy: Good luck with that.

Sodapop: Yeah, Curly and Y/N argue like an old married couple.

Curly: Take that back before I rearrange your face, Soda.

Y/N: He’s not wrong, though. You couldn’t handle me even if you tried.

Dally: 🫢 She’s got you there, Curly.

Curly: Shut up, Dally, before I remind everyone about that time you cried over a kitten.

Dally: 😡 That kitten scratched my face, okay?! I wasn’t crying i was anger.

Two-Bit: Still softer than a teddy bear. Cough.

Steve: Y’all are embarrassing. Real greasers don’t have time for this nonsense.

Y/N: Steve, last week you cried because your car wouldn’t start. Real greaser energy right there.

Ponyboy: Can we go one day without someone roasting someone else?

Tim: Nope. That’s the law of the streets. Survival of the toughest.

Johnny: …I just wanted to say hi.

Sodapop: Hey, Johnny! Ignore the crazies. You’re the only normal one here.

Two-Bit: Speak for yourself, Soda. I’m the life of this group. 🎉

Y/N: Life of the group, my ass. You’re the reason we all nearly got banned from the drive-in last week.

Two-Bit: That was a team effort, thank you very much.

Dally: Speak for yourself. I don’t get banned I get escorted out like a VIP.

Curly: More like “escorted out in cuffs.”

Y/N: Sounds familiar, doesn’t it, Curly?

Ponyboy: Can someone add Darry to this chat? He’ll keep everyone in line.

Sodapop: Darry doesn’t have time for this. He’s too busy keeping you in line.

Y/N: Pony’s grounded by association just for being in this chat. 😂

[sweetheartfaist]

NOW PLAYING ♫⋆｡♪ ₊˚♬ ﾟ. summerboy — lady gaga

summerboy!art, who keeps a disposable camera in his back pocket specifically to take blurry, overexposed photos of you when you're not looking—you squinting into the sun with a slurpee mustache, you mid-laugh with sand stuck to your wet shoulder, you asleep in the passenger seat of patrick's uncle's beat-up civic with your mouth open and your hair a disaster. he gets them developed at the cvs and hides the packet under his mattress like they're contraband. patrick finds them once and art tackles him so hard they both go through the screen door. "she's gonna think you're a creep," patrick wheezes, but art just snatches the photos back and mutters "shut up" while his ears turn red. later that night he slips his favorite one—you in your striped bikini, mid-cannonball, arms spread like wings—into his wallet behind his lifeguard certification card.

summerboy!patrick, who steals your cherry chapstick and then pretends he doesn't know where it went, even though you can literally see the waxy red smudge on his bottom lip when he's talking to you. he'll lean against the boardwalk railing, all cocky and sun-drunk, going "maybe you left it at the beach house?" while actively licking his lips. art calls him out every time—"dude, it's literally on your mouth"—and patrick just shrugs like he's been caught shoplifting candy. "tastes better on her anyway," he says, and then tosses the tube back to you with this shit-eating grin. you want to be mad but he looks so stupidly pleased with himself, hair bleached almost white from the salt water, freckles multiplying across his nose like connect-the-dots.

summerboy!art, who gets genuinely upset when you and patrick team up against him in the pool, even though it happens every single time. he'll surface, sputtering and indignant, pointing between you two like he's filing a formal complaint. "that's not fair! you can't both dunk me!" meanwhile you're clinging to patrick's shoulders, both of you cackling, and patrick's got this arm around your waist that lingers just a beat too long after you've stopped trying to drown art. art notices everything—the way patrick's thumb traces the tie of your bikini bottom, how you press your face into patrick's neck when you're laughing too hard to breathe. later, when you're all sprawled on pool floats, art "accidentally" tips patrick into the water and then offers you his raft with the kind of courteous sweetness that makes patrick roll his eyes so hard you can hear it.

summerboy!patrick, who absolutely loses his mind when you wear his Red Sox cap backward while driving his uncle's boat, even though you have no idea what you're doing and nearly crash into the dock twice. something about you in his hat, squinting against the sun with your hair whipping around your face, makes him forget how to form sentences. art has to grab the wheel because patrick's just standing there staring at you like you've grown a second head. "earth to patrick," art mutters, but patrick's already fishing his phone out of his swim trunks to take a picture. the photo's terrible—blurry and overexposed—but he sets it as his wallpaper anyway and then gets weirdly possessive about his phone for the rest of the summer.

summerboy!art, who memorizes your dunkin order (medium iced coffee, oat milk, two sugars, extra shot) and places it for you every morning without being asked, even though patrick always makes fun of him for being "whipped" and you insist you can order for yourself. he just shrugs it off, sliding the plastic cup across the sticky table of whatever diner you've invaded that day, still in your wrinkled hoodies and yesterday's swimsuits, sunglasses pushed up on your heads, trying to look less high than you obviously are. the waitress always gives you dirty looks—three teenagers in various stages of undress, reeking of chlorine and weed, giggling over shared pancakes at 2pm—but art tips her extra anyway because his mom raised him right.

summerboy!patrick, who gets irrationally jealous when the lifeguard at the public beach (some college guy with a perfect tan and a whistle he actually uses) asks for your number, even though you very obviously shut him down. patrick spends the rest of the day making increasingly ridiculous comments about "whistle boy"—how his tan is definitely fake, how he probably can't even swim that well, how his sunglasses are stupid expensive and probably don't even have uv protection. art tries to change the subject but patrick's on a roll, practicing his own lifeguard poses and asking if you think he'd look good in red shorts. "you already look good," you say without thinking, and patrick goes quiet for exactly three seconds before grinning so wide you think his face might crack.

summerboy!art, who always insists on being the one to put sunscreen on your back, even though his hands shake a little when he touches you and he takes way longer than necessary, fingers tracing the line of your shoulder blades like he's memorizing the geography of your skin. patrick watches from his beach chair, pretending to read some trashy paperback he found in his uncle's basement, but you can feel his eyes on you over the top of the pages. art's touch is gentle, reverent almost, smoothing the lotion in careful circles while you try not to shiver despite the ninety-degree heat. "you burn easy," he murmurs, but his voice sounds rougher than usual. patrick clears his throat loudly and art's hands still for a moment before he caps the bottle and hands it over. "your turn," art says, but patrick just smirks and says he doesn't burn, even though you've all seen him lobster-red after forgetting to reapply.

summerboy!patrick, who has absolutely no filter when he's stoned, which is most of the time, and says things that make art kick him under the table at whatever greasy spoon you've stumbled into after hours of swimming and sun. you'll be sitting in a corner booth, your hoodie strings pulled so tight only your eyes are visible, sharing a plate of cheese fries and trying not to look as obviously baked as you are, when patrick will just blurt out something like "you have really nice collarbones" or "your laugh makes my chest feel weird." art goes red and starts aggressively stirring his milkshake while you blink at patrick from inside your hoodie cave. "what?" patrick says, genuinely confused by the sudden tension. "it's true." the waitress refills your water glasses and pretends not to notice when you all dissolve into hysterical giggles.

summerboy!art, who starts leaving little gifts in your beach bag when you're not looking—a perfect seashell, a smooth piece of sea glass, those stupid temporary tattoos from the boardwalk prize counter that you mentioned liking once. you never see him do it, but you know it's him because patrick would just hand you stuff directly, probably while making some joke about how you owe him. art's gifts are always tucked between your towel and sunscreen like secrets, and when you thank him he just ducks his head and mumbles something about how he "saw it and thought of you." patrick rolls his eyes but there's something soft in his expression when he watches art watch you peel a dolphin tattoo off its backing and press it to your ankle.

summerboy!patrick, who gets weirdly competitive about the dumbest things when you're around—who can hold their breath longest underwater, who can shotgun a beer faster, who can do a better backflip off the pier—and then gets sulky when art inevitably wins because art actually played sports in school while patrick's main hobby is smoking weed behind the tennis courts. you always compliment patrick's attempt anyway, tell him his form was better or his technique was more creative, and he lights up like you've just told him he's won an olympic medal. art notices the way patrick preens under your attention and starts letting him win sometimes, which patrick absolutely does not catch onto but makes him insufferably smug for the rest of the day.

summerboy!art, who gets so worried about you when you're swimming in the ocean that he hovers like an anxious lifeguard, staying close enough to grab you if a wave looks too big or the current seems too strong. patrick makes fun of him for being a "mother hen" but secretly thinks it's sweet, how art's eyes never leave you when you're in the water, how he counts the seconds when you dive under and visibly relaxes when you surface. "she's not gonna drown in three feet of water," patrick says, but he doesn't move any farther from shore either. when you finally trudge back to your towel, hair dripping and skin gritty with sand, they both look at you like you've returned from some dangerous expedition instead of just bodysurfing for twenty minutes.

summerboy!patrick, who steals sips of your drinks constantly—your slurpee, your iced coffee, your water bottle, whatever—and always does it with a ridiculous grin like he's the cleverest guy alive. art groans every time and makes exaggerated gagging noises, but you know patrick's just doing it to get a reaction out of both of you. when you finally catch him mid-sip, you glare and he shrugs, saying "can't help it. tastes better when it's yours." later he tries to be sneaky and swipes a fry off your plate but art catches him and calls him out, so patrick dramatically pretends to drop the fry on the floor and mourns its loss like a tragic hero. you laugh so hard your sides hurt.

summerboy!art, who falls asleep on the beach every single day, sunbaked and exhausted, with the faint scent of coconut sunscreen and sea salt in his hair. patrick teases him for it, saying art looks like a baby seal wrapped in a beach towel, but art doesn't care. sometimes you lie down next to him and both of you just stare up at the sky until the clouds change shapes and the world feels quiet and small. patrick joins in sometimes, but he always complains when he has to stop talking. art just smiles and closes his eyes, the weight of the summer settling into his bones like a secret promise.

summerboy!patrick, who insists on taking you to the boardwalk arcade at least once a week, even though you hate the noise and the sticky floors and the way the lights make your head spin. he drags you from game to game, laughing when you accidentally win tickets on the claw machine or beat him at skee-ball, crowing like a little kid when he finally nails the timing on the basketball toss. art watches from the sidelines, arms crossed but clearly amused, occasionally stepping in to show off his own skills and steal some tickets for you. patrick ends up with a ridiculous pile of plastic prizes that he insists are "for you," even though half of them end up in his backpack and art is secretly amused by the whole ridiculousness.

summerboy!art, who texts you pictures of the sky at sunset—pinks and purples and oranges melting into one another—when you're not with him, sometimes with a simple message: "wish u were here." patrick sees the texts and rolls his eyes but you can tell it means something. when you finally meet up again, art pulls you aside and presses a cool hand to your forehead, smiling softly and saying, "you look like you need the ocean." and you do, more than you realize, because the sun is warm on your skin and the waves sound like home and art's hand is the only steady thing you can hold onto.

summerboy!patrick, who never actually learns how to surf properly but is always first to volunteer when the surf instructor calls for volunteers. he tries his best, falling off the board more times than you can count, face-planting into the water with a splash and a groan. art laughs but never mocks, instead cheering patrick on and helping him get back on the board. patrick gets this ridiculous look of determination on his face whenever he finally manages to stand up for even a second, like he's just conquered the world. you grin and take a million pictures because it's the most earnest, adorable thing you've ever seen.

summerboy!art, who gets shy when you catch him staring but then quickly tries to act cool, pushing his sunglasses up his nose and running a hand through his damp hair. patrick always calls him out, making some snarky comment about "sunscreen smudges on the lenses" or "the way his lip twitches when he sees u," and art just groans, burying his face in his towel. but you see it—the way his eyes light up, the way his whole body relaxes when you're near. it's like the sun breaks through the clouds just for you two.

summerboy!patrick, who sneaks off to the ice cream stand and buys you a double scoop cone of your favorite flavor when he thinks no one is looking. he hands it to you with a goofy grin and says, "don't tell art, or he'll make me share." you pretend to scold him but really you're thrilled, because nobody knows the way to your heart better than patrick does—even if his methods are a little childish. art just shakes his head but you catch a flash of something tender in his gaze when he watches you lick the ice cream, sticky and sun-kissed and perfectly happy.

summerboy!art, who always has a book in his backpack, usually something heavy and dusty that he reads by the water while the sun sets. he reads poetry mostly, or old stories about the sea, and sometimes he recites lines quietly to you, voice low and intimate like he's sharing a secret. patrick sometimes tries to join in, making exaggerated gestures and goofy voices, but art just smiles and rolls his eyes, happy to have you both there even if it's ridiculous. these quiet moments, with the ocean roaring behind you and the sky turning violet, feel like the only place you really belong.

summerboy!patrick, who laughs way too loud at his own jokes, which are usually terrible puns about the ocean or summer or your messy hair after swimming. art groans and buries his face in his hands, but you just shake your head and smile because patrick's laugh is contagious and it makes everything feel lighter, like the sun is always shining even when the sky is gray. when he looks at you with those bright eyes and that goofy grin, it's like the whole world is nothing but endless summer and possibilities.

summerboy!art, who stays up late with you on the roof of patrick's uncle's beach house, watching the stars blink awake over the dark ocean. you lie side by side on a threadbare blanket, shoulders touching, and art points out constellations he's learned from his grandfather. sometimes you talk quietly about the future—college, moving away, whether the summer will end or if you can somehow keep it alive forever. patrick joins you sometimes but mostly just listens, letting you two have your moments while he fiddles with his camera or scrolls through his phone. the night smells like salt and jasmine and promise.

summerboy!patrick, who accidentally calls you by art's name once during a kiss, and then immediately apologizes like he's confessed a sin. art just laughs and tells him to chill, saying "as long as you don't call me patrick, we're good." you roll your eyes but you can tell it means something, this tangled mess of affection and confusion and longing that makes the summer so unforgettable. and somehow, even with all the awkwardness and sunburns and endless teasing, you wouldn't trade a single second of it.

[seeingteacupsindragons]

Please share some of your Stanxeno headcanons 🙏 idk what exactly to ask about but I'll be happy to listen anyway

Random Assortment of Noncanonical thoughts by spending too much time reading up about the Marines lately and just in general being an American emo nerd born the same year these two losers were, and therefore more based in reality than whatever canon has going on, and none of which is therefore inarguable fact:

Stan calls Xeno his wife jokingly (a Canon Fact) because...okay, look, I was looking up stuff about military spouses and like 99.99999% of everything is specific to military wives. There is almost nothing about military husbands. I found something that specified what kind of bras to wear for your service member coming home. And I just think that easily could have become a joke between the two of them

I already mentioned the illegal drag races as teenagers, but I want to bring that up again. Xeno drove because he probably weighs less than all of Stan's muscles and that's money on the line, baby

Xeno is clearly a Gifts kind of guy so he probably sent Stan regular care packages whenever he was deployed, and Stan probably sent letters back with lipstick marks on them, just because it's fucking cute to think about. Also would explain why Stan's squad all agrees to work for Xeno. "That's the guy who sent us cookies every month????"

Both sets of their coworkers are lowkey doubtful that they are involved with someone who probably also has a Wikipedia page

Xeno got locked in his office during NASA tours because he is Not Allowed to Talk to the Public. I'm pretty sure HR and his manager were mainlining antacids

Relatedly, Byakuya landing on Treasure Island after the petrification happened and being like, "Well, at least Xeno's not here."

Stan is not given a specific rank in canon, but if he's the team commander of a Marine Special Ops squad, he has to be a Captain. Which is a commissioned officer rank (so he did Not enlist), which means in literally 98% of cases, he needs a 4-year college degree (and that 2% would require him to be way older than he is, because he's already squeaking by realism at his current age with that rank). So let's shove him into the Naval Academy for an immediate commission on graduating (which is hard to get into, but he really is smart as hell) and let Xeno come to Commissioning Week to give him his new officer cap etc. and pin it all in place with a, "Congratulations, Lieutenant" (what he would be immediately after graduation) solely for the fact that it's fucking adorable

Speaking of, the USNA requires you not to be married to enroll, so they're going to have to wait to get married, but they would have to anyway, because they were practically 22 before it would have been legal countrywide (DADT was repealed when they were seniors, though)

They definitely shoplifted from Hot Topic and Spencer's

Stan desperately wanting to get shitty mall piercings and Xeno having to lecture him about blood borne diseases and how the Marines would hate it until he gives up on the idea

Xeno is actually a better shot than you would think because look, Stan engaged in his hobbies, it was only fair

I don't know why people think Stan was the popular one, because he seems to have imprinted on Xeno like a duckling as a child and then decided he Had A Friend Why Do I Need More? And it's cute to think of the pretty jock boy hanging out silently behind his charismatically weird nerd friend while he tries to talk them out of trouble because they committed yet another crime

I also do not understand the people who think either of them have any experience outside of each other, because neither seems like the type to settle and their perfect person was Right There their entire lives. Even if they did not recognize what that feeling was. No. Sorry. They're significantly more likely to have been "boyfriends" since that meant giving each other dandelions and sharing their favorite crayons

Why do people think Stan is attracted to women/bisexual??? Or could pass as straight??? He cannot. He is a hot, possibly Texan, wall of muscle Marine with a drawl and a terrifying sharpshooter record, and he's still a flaming homosexual. Thank you for your time

*hands you plate* here is a random assortment of thoughts from pre-petrification times.

I have more, but this was a fun start.