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uncuredturkeybacon · 2 days ago

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𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 || 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚡 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

in which tattoos aren't the only thing that leaves a mark

warning : sexual content included - minors dni

Your dorm smells faintly of antiseptic and coconut oil, dimly lit by a salt lamp you found at a garage sale and a few strands of fairy lights taped haphazardly across the ceiling. Your tattoo machine is humming gently on your desk, neatly cleaned and resting beside a lined-up set of sanitized needles, ink caps, and gloves. You’ve got a system — one that’s been perfected over the last year and a half — ever since your roommate dropped out and you turned her bed into your makeshift tattoo studio.

Under the name Inkling, you’ve built a quiet reputation on campus. No one knows your real name unless they’ve been in the chair. Athletes, musicians, a couple grad students — they’ve all come through that dorm door, usually through hushed referrals and cryptic Instagram DMs. You’ve never posted your face. Just close-ups of fresh ink, your gloved hands, or that one photo of your forearm covered in delicate, razor-sharp line work. That one got shared a lot.

You’re careful. Every DM gets deleted after a location drop. Every appointment spaced out. You’ve seen enough busted dreams to know UConn wouldn’t hesitate to bench someone — or worse, expel you — if they found out.

It’s a rainy Thursday when your phone buzzes with a new DM.

Hey. Someone told me you might be the person to talk to about a tattoo?

The username catches your attention: @/paigebueckers.

You lean back in your chair, eyebrows lifting. The Paige Bueckers. You’ve seen her on campus, walking with her hood up and headphones on. People talk about her like she’s royalty — or a ghost. Never really both.

You heard right. What are you looking for?

The typing bubble appears. Then disappears. Then comes back.

Something small. My first one. Maybe ribs.

I got you. Location’s in your inbox. Delete this after reading.

You wait.

And then — just like you asked — the message disappears.

You hear the knock on your door five minutes early.

Cracking it open just a sliver, you scan the hallway. Empty.

Then you see her. Hoodie up, eyes down, clearly trying to go unnoticed. You gesture her inside, and she slips in quickly.

She pauses in the doorway, scanning the room. Your tall frame leans casually against your desk, arms inked and folded across your chest. You’re wearing a fitted black tank and sweats, fresh from a lift earlier. Her eyes drift, lingering a little too long before she catches herself.

"You're Inkling?" she asks, raising an eyebrow, tone skeptical — but not unfriendly.

You smirk. “In the flesh.”

She blinks. You can see the recalibration in her eyes, like she wasn’t expecting you — tall, masculine, and somehow both rough around the edges and easy to talk to.

“I’m Paige,” she offers, finally meeting your eyes.

“Yeah,” you say, stepping aside to let her walk further in. “I know who you are.”

You gesture to the chair in the corner — clean, covered in disposable wrap, next to your station.

“So,” you say, pulling on a pair of black gloves. “What are we doing today?”

She tugs her hoodie down, suddenly self-conscious. “I was thinking something simple. Maybe… a small cross? Just here—” She lifts the hem of her shirt slightly, revealing a sliver of toned side. “Right under the ribs.”

You nod, already moving to draw the stencil. “Any style in mind? Fine line? Bold? Shaded?”

She hesitates. “Fine line. Clean. Simple. Kind of like… a reminder, y’know?”

You nod again. “I got you.”

Within a few minutes, you’re walking back over with the stencil, eyes flicking up to hers. “You’re gonna have to take your shirt off.”

You say it casually, but her cheeks tint pink.

She hesitates, then pulls her hoodie and tank over her head, folding them neatly and setting them on the chair. She’s in a sports bra, but even so, her posture stiffens a little under your gaze.

You kneel next to her, applying the stencil with gentle precision, fingers cool against her warm skin. “This okay?”

She looks down and nods, voice quiet. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”

You pick up the machine, the buzz filling the room.

“First tattoo, huh?”

She nods. “Is it gonna hurt?”

“Little bit. But I’ll talk you through it.”

The needle meets her skin. She tenses at first — a sharp breath — but you keep your voice low, steady, as you work.

“You’re not gonna die. Promise.”

She laughs softly, tension easing just a little.

You fall into a rhythm — machine buzzing, your voice threading in between.

“So how’d you start tattooing?” she asks after a minute.

“Boredom,” you admit. “High school. I used to sketch on my friends with Sharpies. Someone dared me to buy a machine. I practiced on fake skin for months before I ever touched a person.”

“Weren’t you scared?”

“Terrified. But I loved it more than I feared it.”

She goes quiet. You glance up.

“What about you?” you ask. “Why basketball?”

“It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense,” she says softly. “It’s like… the court’s the only place where everything goes quiet.”

You hum in understanding, eyes flicking back to your work. “Same way I feel when I’m doing this.”

There’s a long pause. A comfortable one.

You finish the last line, clean it up, and wrap the fresh ink in clear bandage. You explain the aftercare — gentle washing, no picking, keep it moisturized.

She puts her shirt back on and hands you a wad of cash.

And then, just as she reaches for the door — she pauses.

“Hey,” she says, turning back, biting her lip. “Do you ever give your number out?”

You raise a brow. “That depends. Why do you need it?”

Her eyes flick over your face, a little emboldened now.

“I wanna get to know you,” she says. “Not just the artist. You.”

There’s a moment of quiet — just the hum of your machine behind you, the buzz of electricity in the air.

You step toward her, pulling a pen from your pocket and gently taking her hand.

You write your number on her palm, slow and deliberate.

“Then start with a text,” you murmur, eyes locked with hers. “And we’ll see.”

Two weeks.

That’s how long it’s been since Paige sat in your chair — stiff and unsure, her rib stinging under your needle while your voice calmed her nerves better than she’d ever admit.

She hasn't stopped thinking about you since.

Not just the way you looked — tall, confident, with inked knuckles and a crooked grin — but the way you spoke to her. Like she wasn’t just Paige Bueckers, UConn’s superstar. Like she was just... a girl in your dorm getting her first tattoo.

After she left that night, she stared at your number in her palm for a good half hour before finally texting.

hey. it’s paige. got one on the ribs.

You replied two minutes later.

hey ribs. glad you didn’t pass out lol.

Since then, it’s been constant.

Late-night texts. Memes. Song links. Half-flirty, half-real conversations about childhood dreams, favorite snacks, worst injuries, and best memories. She's gotten used to your name lighting up her screen — even looks forward to it. Maybe too much.

Right now, she’s lying on her stomach in the locker room, phone half-hidden under her forearm as she types out a reply.

P: would you ever tattoo your own face on someone as a joke?

You: only if they deserved it.

She grins, lip caught between her teeth, thumbs already flying over her screen for a comeback— when suddenly—

“Who’s got you smiling like that?” KK’s voice breaks through the quiet.

Paige fumbles, yelping a little and nearly dropping her phone. She quickly flips it over, shoving it under her towel.

“N-nothing,” she blurts.

KK lifts an eyebrow, towel slung over her shoulder, all mischief. “Nothing looks a lot like someone.”

“I was just—” Paige clears her throat, rolling over. “Twitter.”

“Ohhh,” KK says knowingly. “Yeah, same. I always giggle at tweets like they’re cute girls texting me too.”

Before Paige can defend herself, Azzi walks in mid-laugh and immediately picks up the vibe. “Wait. What did I miss?”

“Paige is hiding a crush,” KK sing-songs.

Azzi whips her head around. “You’re texting someone? Wait, is it that tattoo artist?!”

Paige goes red instantly. “What? No— I mean— not like that— we’re just—”

“Oh my God,” Azzi says, grinning like she just won the lottery. “You are! You went once and got hooked. I knew it!”

“She called her ‘ribs,’” KK adds dramatically. “I heard it. They have nicknames already.”

“Ribs!” Azzi cackles. “That’s gonna be her contact name in my phone for you now.”

“Shut up,” Paige mumbles, grabbing her towel and pressing it over her face to hide.

Then Aubrey walks in, adjusting her hair, immediately clocking the chaos. “Why is Paige buried like a corpse?”

“She’s in love,” Azzi says sweetly.

“With her tattoo artist,” KK adds.

Aubrey pauses. “Wait. Inkling?”

Paige lifts her head. “You know?”

Aubrey shrugs like it’s obvious. “Yeah. I got my latest one from her last semester. She’s fire.”

“She’s also hot,” Azzi adds. “Like, if I liked girls? I’d have gotten a sleeve just to keep going back.”

KK snorts. “I’d get her initials on my neck.”

“Okay, enough!” Paige yells, half-laughing, half-horrified. “Y’all are so annoying.”

But she’s smiling — wide, and a little dazed — because maybe, just maybe, she kind of loves that they can see what she’s trying to figure out herself.

Meanwhile, across campus, you’re sprawled across your bed, scrolling through Paige’s latest message with a smile playing on your lips.

She sends you a blurry selfie of her holding an energy drink with a caption:

P: this is either gonna power me through or kill me in the middle of practice

You laugh.

You: if you die i’m tattooing “dumb decisions” on your forehead. with wings.

A pause.

P: can’t wait

Your heart stutters. Not just because she’s flirting. But because she’s still here. Still texting. Still choosing you — even if it’s just messages for now.

And that tiny seed of maybe?

It’s starting to bloom.

It’s just past 9PM when your phone buzzes again. You’re half-asleep on your couch, a late re-run of Ink Master humming in the background, one hand tucked behind your head, the other lazily scrolling through your camera roll.

P: hey! ribs needs a touch-up.

You grin, already sitting up straighter. You type back fast.

You: oh no. your tragic little cross fading already?

P: tragic? wow. ok.

You: come cry about it. you free now?

P: omw.

You glance up, blinking.

She’s coming here. Now.

You toss your hoodie on, adjust your sweats, and quickly wipe down your station — not because it needs it, but because you suddenly feel like everything has to be perfect.

You don’t even know if she needs a touch-up. You think the tattoo healed clean. You remember exactly how it looked when she left — skin flushed, ink crisp and sharp, your gloves ghosting her side as you wrapped her ribs with practiced care.

But if Paige wants an excuse to come back?

You’ll let her use all of them.

Fifteen minutes later, you hear a soft knock.

Three quick taps. Hesitant.

You open the door, and there she is.

Hair tied back in a bun. Hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands. Eyes flicking up to meet yours with that soft, unsure kind of confidence that’s been growing since day one.

“Hey,” she says, almost breathless.

You step back to let her in. “Hey, Ribs.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.

“I brought snacks,” she says, holding up a gas station bag. “Touch-up tax.”

You grin. “Bribery noted.”

She perches on the edge of your couch while you prep the machine again, glancing around like she’s trying to memorize every poster, every flickering light string, every shadow you cast across the room.

“So,” you say, sliding gloves on. “Let’s see the damage.”

She lifts the hem of her hoodie, then the tank under it, revealing her side again. She doesn’t flinch this time. Doesn’t hesitate. Just watches you carefully as you lean in to inspect the ink.

You blink.

“Yeah…” you say slowly. “You definitely didn’t need a touch-up.”

“Damn,” she says, tone innocent. “Guess I’ll go then.”

You catch her wrist before she moves.

“Nah. You’re already here.”

The tension builds like a tightrope between you — stretched thin but thrilling.

You lean in, dragging a gloved fingertip lightly over the healed tattoo, eyes never leaving hers.

“You been using the aftercare stuff I gave you?”

“Every night,” she murmurs. “Like a good girl.”

You pause.

You’re not sure who leans in first, but suddenly your faces are too close. Her knee brushes yours. Your fingers are still on her skin. Your heart’s somewhere between say something and kiss her now.

She breaks the silence first.

“You ever get nervous?” she asks softly.

You tilt your head. “About what?”

“Stuff like this,” she says. “Being in someone’s space. Not knowing what happens next.”

You let your hand drop from her ribs, slowly peeling your gloves off.

“I used to,” you admit. “But then I started noticing the signs.”

“What signs?”

You lean back slightly, just enough to make her lean forward — chase the space you left behind.

“Someone shows up without needing a touch-up,” you say. “Brings snacks. Doesn’t take her eyes off you.”

Paige swallows, pulse fluttering in her neck.

“And what do you do when you notice?” she whispers.

You smile — slow, crooked.

“I wait until she makes the next move.”

There’s silence.

Then Paige sets the snack bag aside and shifts closer — until your knees touch again, until the air between your mouths gets impossibly thin.

She rests her hand lightly on your forearm. Testing. Waiting.

“I came back for more than a touch-up,” she says, barely audible.

“I know.”

And then?

You both move at once — like gravity finally gave in.

She almost kissed you.

You know she almost did.

That moment — the way she leaned in, her breath catching, your eyes locked — it was charged. One inch closer and she would’ve been in your lap, her lips pressed to yours, hoodie half-off.

But she pulled back.

Murmured something about practice tomorrow. Smiled that crooked little smile and slipped out like it didn’t shake you to your core.

And now you’re haunted by it.

By her.

The ghost of her fingers on your arm. The scent of her hoodie. The way her voice dipped when she said, “I came back for more than a touch-up.”

You haven’t stopped texting, of course. If anything, it's gotten worse.

P: i keep thinking about that stencil gel. why is it always freezing

You: so u remember the cold gel and not the way i touched ur body huh

P: i hate you

You: no u don’t

She doesn't deny it.

And neither do you.

Three days later, you're bent over your client, your machine buzzing as you work on a chest piece — intricate line work, shaded stars that bloom over his pec like smoke. You're focused, gloved hands steady, music humming low in the background. Your lamp casts a warm glow over your little setup. Three quick knocks. Just like last time.

You look up, brows furrowing. You're not expecting anyone.

You lower the needle and call out, “Door’s open.”

It swings open a moment later — and there she is.

Paige. In joggers and an oversized tee. Slightly flushed like she ran here, hair pulled into a high ponytail, holding a bottle of blue Gatorade like she needed a reason.

“Hey,” she says, eyes flicking around your room. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Her gaze lands on your chair — on the guy sitting shirtless, one arm behind his head, wincing through the sting of the needle.

“Oh,” she says quickly. “I can come back.”

You shake your head, pulling your gloves tight again. “Nah. Stay.”

Paige hesitates… then closes the door behind her and sinks onto your couch, pulling one knee up, tucking her foot beneath her. She stays quiet at first, just watching.

But you can feel it. Her eyes on you. The weight of them.

Your shirt rides up slightly as you lean over the client. Your chain glints in the light. Your forearms flex. There’s a streak of black ink on your jaw from where you scratched an itch and forgot you’d touched the cap first.

You glance up.

She’s staring.

Her lip is caught between her teeth. Gatorade forgotten in her lap.

You smirk slightly.

“You good over there?” you murmur without looking away from your work.

She snaps out of it. “Yeah. Just… observing.”

You don’t push. You keep tattooing. But your voice drops just enough to tease:

“Didn’t know I was part of the show.”

She doesn’t reply.

But out of the corner of your eye, you catch her shifting — crossing her legs tighter, cheeks a little flushed.

When your client finally hops off the chair and checks out the finished work in your mirror, you clean up and walk him to the door, chatting easily. You say goodbye, click the lock, and turn back around.

Paige is still on your couch. Still holding her Gatorade. Still not looking directly at you.

“You sure you’re not here for another touch-up?” you ask, voice low now that you’re alone again.

She looks up finally.

“I don’t think the tattoo’s the part that needs touching.”

Your heart stutters.

The silence swells again, thick and buzzing.

You take one slow step forward. Then another.

She stands up too, meeting you halfway.

Close. Too close.

You can smell her shampoo. See the freckles scattered on her collarbone. Feel her breath on your chin.

But she doesn’t close the distance.

Instead, her hand brushes your wrist as she walks past you — casual, smooth, intentional — and she murmurs over her shoulder, “Text me later.”

The door shuts behind her.

And you’re left standing in your own dorm, slightly ink-stained, jaw slack, stomach twisted up in tension so sharp it almost hurts.

She pulled back again.

And you're starting to think she's doing it on purpose.

It starts with a text.

P: u up?

You: what are you, a guy on tinder?

P: shut up. i’m serious. come to the gym.

You: it’s midnight.

P: exactly. no one will be there. come shoot with me.

You: ...u tryna seduce me with hardwood floors and fluorescent lighting?

P: depends. is it working?

You don’t even respond.

You just throw on your sneakers and a hoodie, grab your keys, and head out the door.

The UConn practice gym is dim when you walk in — only a few of the overheads are on, leaving the court glowing like a movie scene. Quiet. Still. And there she is.

Paige.

Ball in hand, ponytail high, shooting solo from the top of the key. She doesn’t see you at first — just lets the ball roll back from the rebound machine, catches it in one smooth motion, and fires again.

Swish.

You whistle low.

She turns, a smirk already tugging at her mouth.

“About time,” she says, wiping her forehead with the bottom of her shirt — giving you a full view of her toned stomach before it drops again.

You blink. “Sorry, I had to emotionally prepare for whatever pickup line you were gonna hit me with.”

“Oh please,” she tosses you the ball. “You think I need lines?”

You catch it with a grin. “You’re kinda full of yourself, Bueckers.”

“And you are kinda stalling. Let’s see if you can actually shoot or if you just look cool.”

You raise an eyebrow, then dribble once, twice, pull up at the elbow — clean jumper.

Swish.

Her mouth parts slightly.

You shrug. “Told you I was more than just tattoos and biceps.”

She circles you, grabbing the rebound, bouncing it back your way.

“You are full of surprises,” she murmurs. “I didn’t expect you to have form. Or a jumper.”

You shoot again. Another swish.

“You know,” she adds, jogging over, “if I make this next shot, you have to give me a free tattoo.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And if you miss?”

She spins the ball on her finger, grinning. “Then you still give me one, but I pick where.”

You snort. “That’s not how bets work.”

“Shh.” She backs up behind the three-point line, sets her feet, shoots—

Clank. Off the rim.

You break into laughter, hands on your knees. “Yo—so confident. So dramatic. So short.”

“Okay wow, personal attack,” she says, chasing the ball. “We get it, you’re tall.”

“And humble,” you add with a wink.

She tosses it back. You shoot again. Net.

“You're seriously hot when you do that,” she blurts, then instantly freezes.

You pause mid-dribble, smirking. “When I shoot?”

“When you swish,” she mutters. “And like… do that half-smile thing after. You know what you’re doing.”

You walk closer, bounce passing her the ball again.

“Oh yeah?” you say, voice dropping just a little. “What else do I do that’s hot?”

She squints at you, stepping in too. “You wanna play this game?”

“I thought we were playing,” you murmur.

There’s a pause. Just breath and bouncing orange rubber.

Then Paige grins. “Okay,” she says. “Truth or dare, but gym edition.”

You laugh. “Why do I feel like this is about to go off the rails?”

“Pick one.”

You spin the ball on your palm. “Truth.”

She tilts her head. “Have you thought about kissing me?”

You hesitate — not in fear, but because damn, she really jumped right to it.

You take a slow breath.

“Yeah,” you say honestly. “Too many times.”

She swallows. Looks at your mouth for a second too long.

You step back. “Your turn.”

“I pick dare.”

You toss her the ball again. “Hit a three. If you miss, you owe me a date.”

She narrows her eyes. “That’s not a dare.”

“Sure it is. Do it.”

She backs up, sets her feet, deep breath — and shoots.

It arcs high. Hangs in the air. And—

Rim.

Bounces off.

She stares at it like it betrayed her.

You bite your lip, trying not to grin. “Damn. That’s crazy.”

She groans. “That was so close.”

You step up to her, gently take the ball from her hands, your fingers brushing hers.

“A deal’s a deal, Bueckers.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters. “You better take me somewhere good.”

“Oh, I will,” you say, dribbling lazily between your legs. “Just not to another empty gym at midnight.”

She grabs your wrist before you can turn — eyes locked on yours, soft and slow.

“But you’d come,” she says quietly, “anytime I asked, wouldn’t you?”

You don’t even pretend to lie.

“Yeah,” you breathe. “I would.”

She lingers. Closer again. Inches. Seconds.

And then, like always — she pulls back.

Grabs her Gatorade. Spins the ball once. Looks over her shoulder with that damn smirk.

“Text me later.”

And she’s gone.

It had been four days since you and Paige shot around at the gym.

Four days since that charged truth or dare, since she missed the shot on purpose (you’re sure of it), since she got all up in your space only to walk away like she didn’t just set your heart on fire and leave it smoldering behind her.

You’d been texting still — the usual flirty banter and late-night teasing. But she hadn’t come by. Not since that night.

So when you hear a knock at your door around 7 p.m., your heart stutters.

Her?

You glance over your shoulder — already gloved up, your tattoo machine buzzing as you finish the shading on a delicate black rose. The girl in your chair is leaning back, her cropped tank pulled to the side to expose her ribs. She’s pretty — short brown curls, lip ring, soft eyes. You've tattooed her once before.

You lower the needle for a moment and call out, “Come in.”

The door creaks open.

Paige walks in.

And she freezes.

You swear you hear her swallow.

She takes in the scene — the girl, shirt hiked up, bra strap slipping down, your hand gliding carefully along the edge of her ribs. The soft music. The warm lighting. Your focused expression.

Her jaw clenches — subtle, but you catch it.

“Oh,” she says, stuffing her hands in her hoodie pocket. “Didn’t know you had company.”

You glance up and smile casually. “Just finishing up. Come in. You can chill.”

Paige hesitates, then steps inside and sinks into your couch, eyes lingering on the girl’s exposed skin.

You don’t miss the way she watches you — the way her knee bounces, the way she tugs her hoodie sleeves over her hands like she suddenly doesn’t know what to do with herself.

“Almost done,” you murmur to your client, finishing the last bit of shading. “You’re sitting like a champ.”

“Wouldn’t be my first time,” the girl says with a playful smirk. “You make it easy.”

Paige’s head snaps toward her.

You don’t look up, but you feel it.

She’s seething.

“Glad to hear it,” you say, smirking to yourself as you wrap the tattoo.

The girl sits up, pulling her shirt back down, glancing toward Paige. “Friend of yours?”

“She’s… someone,” Paige mutters, not looking away.

The girl raises an eyebrow, smiles slowly, and heads toward the door.

“Thanks again,” she says to you, hand brushing your arm on the way out. “You’ve got magic hands.”

As the door closes, Paige lets out a sharp, dry laugh.

“Magic hands, huh?” she echoes, voice tight.

You finally look at her — really look.

She’s not just irritated. She’s jealous.

And trying really, really hard to pretend she’s not.

You peel off your gloves, toss them in the trash, and sit on the edge of your desk.

“Something on your mind, Bueckers?”

She shrugs, eyes fixed on the spot where the girl had been. “Didn’t know you did flirty commentary with your clients.”

“She was being nice.”

“She was being obvious.”

You tilt your head. “So?”

Paige looks at you — and the mask slips just a little. Her lips part, then close again. She shifts on the couch, restless.

“So do you flirt back with all your clients?”

“Only the hot ones.”

She raises her eyebrows.

You smirk. “You didn’t seem to mind when you were shirtless on my chair.”

“That was different.”

“Why?”

She’s quiet.

You stand and walk over slowly, stopping just in front of her, hands sliding into your own hoodie pocket.

“Why, Paige?”

She looks up at you, eyes a little too bright, lips just a little too pouty.

“Because I actually care if you’re into someone else,” she finally says, voice low.

The room stills.

You exhale through your nose, taking a beat before you answer.

“You jealous, Bueckers?”

She lifts her chin. “You’re damn right I am.”

You don’t move — you just look at her. Let her feel it.

“You could’ve texted,” you say quietly. “Could’ve said something. Asked me to hang.”

“I didn’t wanna seem…” She trails off.

“What?”

“Attached.”

You take one slow step forward, between her knees. You don’t touch her — not yet — but you’re close enough for her to feel your presence everywhere.

“And what if I like that you’re attached?”

She blinks.

“What if I’ve been thinking about you just as much? What if that gym night messed me up? What if every time you leave, I want you back in the room five minutes later?”

She stares up at you, lips slightly parted, breathing shallow.

And then you lean down, close enough to feel her breath, close enough to kiss her — but you don’t.

You stop right there, noses brushing.

“Still jealous?” you whisper.

Her hand slides up your side, resting lightly on your hoodie — but still, you both hold back.

Barely.

“Only when I’m not the one in your chair,” she murmurs.

You grin. “You saying you want another tattoo?”

She looks at your lips. “No,” she breathes. “I want you.”

But still — no kiss.

Just that unbearable, perfect tension.

It starts with a simple text from Paige.

P: You busy tonight?

You: Not if you’re finally letting me beat you at Uno

P: Tempting. Come by my dorm? Girls are hanging out.

You: You sure? I don’t wanna crash the estrogen party

P: They’ll like you. I promise. Just don’t flirt with anyone but me.

You: Oh? Am I allowed to flirt with you now?

P: Only if you want everyone to know you’re obsessed with me

You laugh at your phone, toss on your hoodie, and head out.

By the time you get to Paige’s floor, you can already hear music and laughter bleeding through the cracked door. You knock once before stepping in.

It’s warm, loud, and full of energy. Sarah’s lounging on the couch with her socks mismatched. Azzi’s sitting cross-legged on the floor sorting cards. KK’s got her phone propped up against a candle jar, already live on TikTok.

“Heyyyy,” Paige grins, hopping up from where she’s been half-sitting on the armrest. She comes toward you, a glimmer in her eye. “You made it.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” you murmur.

The second you step into the room, every pair of eyes snaps to you.

“Ohhh, so this is the mystery guest?” KK calls, adjusting the angle of her phone. “Wait, wait—come closer, let the live see this. Who is this??”

“She’s a friend,” Paige says quickly, shooting KK a look.

Your eyebrow quirks at friend but you play it cool.

KK waves you over like you’re already part of the crew. “Come sit! Don’t be shy. We were literally just talking about Paige’s secret text buddy—”

“KK!” Paige cuts in, her tone a warning.

“What? I didn’t say their name,” KK teases. “Could be anyone.”

You smirk, sliding into the empty space beside Paige on the couch. Your knees brush. She doesn’t move away.

Azzi greets you with a small, knowing smile. “You play cards?”

“Better than Paige, apparently,” you quip, and she chokes on her drink.

KK cackles from the floor. “Oooh, you got jokes! I like them.”

You glance over and notice Paige is still looking at you — not saying anything, just watching you like you’re the only person in the room. The heat in her stare is something else.

“Okay, okay,” KK says, turning her phone slightly. “Live wants to know who you are. You look suspiciously comfortable over there.”

You flash a polite smile. “Just a friend.”

Paige snorts, and you bump her leg gently with your knee. She doesn't take her eyes off you.

Live chat starts popping off on KK’s phone.

“Who is that???👀” “Is Paige finally boo’d up???” “She’s kinda fine ngl” “They’re sitting HELLA close 😭” “They matching?? Are they matching??”

You glance down at the hoodie you’re wearing — black. Paige’s is black, too.

You lift your eyes to her, biting your lip.

“Matching hoodies, huh?” you whisper under your breath.

“Just coincidence,” she says softly. “Unless you wanna make it a thing.”

Your heart skips, but before you can answer, KK calls out, “HEY. Come on live with us real quick.”

You blink. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You’re already famous in the chat. Might as well say hi.”

Paige gives you this amused little shrug, and Azzi’s smiling into her cup like she knows exactly what’s happening here.

You sigh playfully, scoot over to KK’s phone and lean in. Paige scoots right with you — now shoulder to shoulder, thighs pressed, close.

KK angles the camera toward you both.

“Okay live,” she announces dramatically, “say hello to our very mysterious, very smooth, very not nervous at all guest.”

You nod at the camera with a mock serious face. “Pleasure.”

The comments explode again.

“THE WAY THEY’RE SITTING” “PAIGE IS SMILING SO HARD OMG” “Who is this suave mf I’m in love” “Are y’all dating or what???” “They keep looking at each other omg STOP”

You glance at Paige.

She’s got that look again — amused, glowing, and just a little smug.

You lean closer to the mic. “No comment.”

The room erupts in screams.

You stay on the live for a few more minutes, answering random (safe) questions — what’s your favorite cereal, do you hoop, how did you and Paige meet (you lie effortlessly — “through mutual friends”).

Eventually, KK ends the stream, still giggling.

“That was the most fun we’ve had on live in weeks,” she grins. “You gotta come back.”

“I’ll think about it,” you wink.

Paige gives you a long look as you both settle back into your original spot, her voice low when she says, “You handled that like a pro.”

“Not my first rodeo,” you reply, nudging her leg.

The moment settles in again — comfortable, warm, buzzing beneath the surface. Her pinky brushes yours on the couch cushion.

You don’t move.

Neither does she.

And still—no kiss. Just charged silence, quick glances, and the weight of everything almost happening.

Almost.

It’s late.

That kind of quiet hour where most of campus has gone still, windows dark, the night holding its breath.

Your phone buzzes on your desk.

P: that live earlier… you were kinda smooth ngl.

You smirk, staring at the screen for a moment before typing back.

You: kinda? thought i had you blushing.

P: you wish.

You: come over. prove me wrong.

You hesitate only a second before hitting send. You’ve been dancing around this thing long enough—teasing glances, flirty texts, late-night thoughts.

Tonight?

You want to know.

The reply comes quick.

P: omw.

Ten minutes later, there’s a soft knock on your door. You open it to find her standing there in gray sweats and a white crop hoodie that shows a sliver of skin. Her hair’s loose, no makeup, eyes soft.

“Hey,” she says, voice low, like she’s already matching the quiet.

“Hey,” you echo, stepping aside to let her in.

The lights are dim, a candle flickering on your shelf, casting golden shadows across your dorm. The same chair you tattoo in sits empty now. You gesture to the bed.

“Make yourself comfortable.”

She sits, legs crossing at the ankle, eyes tracking you as you close the door and lock it gently behind you.

“Still think I was only kinda smooth?” you ask, grabbing a bottle of water and tossing it her way.

She catches it, smirks. “I think you’re full of yourself.”

You chuckle, settling into your desk chair. “Nah. I just know how to read a room. And your face during that live?”

“I was not blushing.”

“You so were.”

She rolls her eyes but she’s smiling, teeth tugging at her bottom lip in that way that’s dangerous.

“So what,” she says slowly, “this is your move? Invite a girl to your room, make her talk about her feelings under low light and candles?”

“Only the special ones.”

That gets her. She exhales a soft laugh, cheeks warming in the glow. “You flirt like you tattoo. Confident. Smooth hands.”

Your eyebrow raises. “You thinking about my hands?”

A pause.

She doesn’t look away. “A lot more than I should.”

The tension punches the air out of the room. There’s no music, no noise. Just the sound of your shared breath and the rush in your ears.

You get up and move to sit next to her on the bed.

Close. But not touching.

“What are we doing?” you ask quietly.

She looks at you. Really looks.

“You tell me,” she murmurs.

“I think,” you start, fingers brushing hers slowly, “we’ve been circling this for weeks.”

You turn your body toward her, eyes scanning her expression. “And I think you’ve wanted to kiss me since the night I tattooed you.”

“I almost did,” she admits, her voice barely audible. “That night… when you leaned in.”

You nod. “I know. I felt it.”

You inch forward, just a breath between your lips now. She tilts her head slightly, like she’s inviting it—

And then, just as your lips graze hers, she pulls back.

A whisper of space.

Your pulse stutters. “Paige?”

Her smile is teasing, but her eyes are molten. “Not yet.”

You exhale, not sure if you’re frustrated or even more into her now.

“Cruel,” you mutter.

“Maybe,” she grins, “but now you’re thinking about it more.”

You lean back with a soft groan. “You’re evil.”

She shrugs, smug. “You love it.”

She stays for another hour, curled up in your bed, both of you side by side talking about nothing and everything—what music she listens to pregame, your favorite artists to ink, how she once tried to pierce her own cartilage and absolutely passed out.

You almost forget the burn.

Almost.

Because every so often, she shifts, and her shoulder touches yours. Her leg brushes your thigh. She looks at your mouth and then looks away, and it drives you insane.

When she finally stands to leave, it's after 2 a.m.

You walk her to the door. She hesitates there, hand on the knob.

“Thanks for letting me come over,” she says softly.

You lean against the doorframe. “Anytime.”

Her eyes flicker down to your lips again.

You don’t move.

Neither does she.

Then she leans in, lips brushing the corner of your mouth—a whisper of a kiss, not quite what you wanted, but more than you expected.

A promise.

“Goodnight,” she murmurs.

And then she’s gone.

You’re not sure when exactly she got so deep under your skin, but now you feel it in your fingertips, in the buzz behind your teeth every time her name lights up your screen.

It’s been a few days since that near-kiss.

Too many.

You’ve been playing it cool, trying not to push—waiting for her to make the move.

But tonight?

Tonight you don’t want to wait anymore.

P: gym in 15?

You: be there in 10.

The UConn practice gym is dark, except for one row of overhead lights glowing above the court. Paige is already there, ball in hand, hair in a messy ponytail, wearing a black tank and loose shorts. She looks unfairly good under the gym lights.

She looks like trouble.

“You’re early,” she says, tossing you the ball.

“Didn’t wanna keep you waiting.”

She smirks. “You sure about that? You’ve been making me wait for weeks.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Me?”

She starts walking backward toward the top of the key, still grinning. “You’re the one who talks all this game and then freezes every time I get close.”

You follow, dribbling casually. “Please. You’re the queen of pulling back last second.”

“Maybe I just like the anticipation.”

You stop at the arc and shoot. Swish.

She raises a brow. “Okay Steph, I see you.”

You shrug. “I told you I could shoot.”

She gets the rebound and tosses it back. “Let’s make it interesting.”

“What, horse?”

“No,” she says, stepping close, just barely toe to toe. “If I make my shot, you have to answer a question. Truth only.”

You grin. “And if I make it?”

“Same deal.”

“Bet.”

She pulls up from midrange. Net.

You groan. “Alright. Hit me.”

Her eyes glitter. “Have you thought about kissing me since that night?”

You blink. “Is that even a question?”

“Answer it.”

You step a little closer. “Every night.”

She swallows, the moment thick now. Her turn to shoot again.

She misses.

Your ball.

You catch it, holding it between you. “My question.”

She lifts her chin. “Hit me.”

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”

She bites her lip. “Because I wanted to see if you’d break first.”

You chuckle, stepping forward again. “Well, congratulations.”

She tilts her head. “Why’s that?”

You don’t say anything.

You just step into her space, close enough to feel the heat coming off her skin. She opens her mouth like she’s going to say something else—

And you kiss her.

No warning. No teasing. Just your lips on hers, firm and hungry, claiming the moment you’ve both been aching for. She gasps softly into it, hands finding your waist like muscle memory, and you deepen the kiss without hesitation, your fingers tangling in her ponytail.

It’s messy and hot and so full of built-up tension it practically cracks.

She pulls you closer, your body pressing hers gently against the padded wall behind the baseline, breath catching as your teeth graze her lower lip.

“God,” she whispers, head falling back just slightly, “finally.”

You grin against her skin. “I was gonna say the same thing.”

She kisses you again, slower this time but no less intense, like she’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth.

When she finally pulls back, her cheeks are flushed and her voice is rough. “You’re in trouble now.”

“Oh yeah?”

She nods, smirking. “Because I’m not letting you go.”

There’s no more pretending now.

No more slow-burn games.

She’s officially yours—and you?

You’re already all in.

She’s still catching her breath when you pull her by the hand—out of the gym, down the empty hallway, back toward your dorm like there’s no time left to waste. Because there isn’t. Not anymore.

Not after weeks of stolen glances, soft hands brushing thighs during shoot arounds. Not after that kiss that tasted like everything she’d been holding back.

You open your door, and she’s on you the second it clicks shut.

Your back hits the wall, her mouth claiming yours like she’s starving. Her fingers curl in the fabric of your shirt, tugging you closer, your hands already sliding up the back of her hoodie and under the hem.

You break the kiss just long enough to pull it off, revealing that toned stomach you’ve been sneaking looks at during practice. She's wearing just a simple black sports bra, but it might as well be lace with how fast your pulse jumps.

“Bed,” you mutter against her neck, kissing the warm skin just below her jaw. “Now.”

She obeys, backing toward it, climbing up without breaking eye contact. You follow, slipping your hoodie over your head, your shirt next, until you’re standing above her, toned arms flexing slightly as you kneel on the mattress between her legs.

She looks up at you like you’re something dangerous. And she wants to get burned.

“Still cocky?” she asks, breathless.

You smirk. “We’ll see who’s cocky in five minutes.”

Her laugh is soft, shaky, the nerves behind her bravado showing for the first time.

You dip your head and kiss her again—slow this time, tongue tracing her bottom lip, hands smoothing up her sides until your thumbs brush just under her bra. Her breath hitches.

“Off,” you murmur, and she arches up for you, letting you slip it over her head.

She’s so soft beneath you—golden skin, flushed chest, and already looking at you like she’s seconds from falling apart.

Your hand ghosts over her stomach, fingers tracing the top of her shorts. “This too?”

She nods.

You slide them down, along with her underwear, slow enough to make her squirm. Now she’s laid out under you, nothing between you but heat and air and the sound of her breathing.

“Fuck,” you whisper, dragging your eyes down her body like a prayer. “You’re so pretty like this.”

Her fingers curl into the blanket. “Then do something about it.”

You settle between her thighs, kissing slowly down her stomach, leaving a trail of heat in your wake. Her thighs tense as you press a kiss just above where she wants you most, but you pull back.

“You’ve been teasing me for weeks,” you murmur, mouth hovering over her, breath warm against her. “You really thought I wasn’t gonna return the favor?”

She whines, hand flying to your hair.

And then you give in.

Your mouth meets her with slow, devastating pressure, tongue moving with practiced ease, teasing her open until she’s gasping your name, hips rising from the bed. Your hands press firmly on her thighs, keeping her in place.

She’s so sensitive, so responsive, each moan rolling out of her throat like it’s been waiting in her chest for days.

When you add your fingers—slow at first, curling just right—she loses it, head thrown back, mouth parted, trying and failing to keep it together.

“Right there,” she gasps. “Fuck—please, don’t stop.”

You don’t.

You keep going until she’s trembling, legs shaking, eyes squeezed shut as she falls apart around you, fingers tangled in your hair like she’s afraid you’ll vanish if she lets go.

You only stop when she’s tugging at your shoulders, breathless and wrecked.

You crawl back up her body, kissing her slowly now, her taste on your tongue, your hand resting on her stomach as it rises and falls.

“I told you,” you murmur against her lips. “I don’t miss my shots.”

She laughs, dazed and completely gone. “I’m never letting you near a basketball again.”

You grin. “Then I’ll just have to find other ways to wear you out.”

She’s curled against you now, legs tangled with yours under the warm sheets, skin still buzzing and kissed with sweat. Your arm’s draped over her waist, your fingers drawing slow circles along her back while her cheek rests on your chest.

The silence is thick with something warmer than lust.

You feel her chest rise and fall against you, slower now. Calmer. But every so often she lets out a breath like she’s still recovering—like you short-circuited something in her.

You brush your lips over her temple. “You okay?”

She nods, then looks up at you with the kind of smile that knocks the air out of your lungs. Messy hair, kiss-swollen lips, eyes too big and too honest.

“I’m… really okay,” she says softly. “Like… insanely okay.”

You chuckle and squeeze her waist, pressing another kiss to her shoulder. “Just okay? I’m offended.”

She laughs and hides her face in your chest. “Shut up. You know what I mean.”

There’s a long pause after that. A quieter one. One that has her fingers slowly brushing your side, like she needs to touch you to believe this happened.

“So,” she says after a minute, her voice lower now, careful. “Was that… like… a one-time thing?”

You blink down at her.

“What?” you ask, half-laughing. “Paige. I just took you apart on my bed. You think I’d do that and just ghost you?”

She shrugs, eyes still down. “I don’t know. I just don’t want to assume.”

You tilt her chin up with your fingers. “Then let me be clear.”

You kiss her—soft and slow, the kind of kiss that says everything you haven’t dared to say out loud yet.

“I want to keep seeing you,” you murmur against her lips. “Outside of tattoo sessions. Outside of gym rebounds. I want you.”

She exhales like she’s been holding it in for days.

“I want you too,” she says, her voice a whisper. “I have. For weeks.”

You smile. “Same.”

There’s another beat of quiet before she starts trailing her fingers up your chest again. “You’re really dangerous, you know that?”

You raise a brow. “How so?”

“You’re tall. Hot. Mysterious. You make art. And you’re insanely good in bed. It’s not fair.”

You grin and brush her hair back behind her ear. “And you’re a literal basketball god with killer eyes and an attitude. I’m the one in trouble here.”

She grins lazily and leans in again, kissing you like she’s falling into something she doesn’t want to stop.

Eventually, she sighs and buries her face in the crook of your neck.

“Can I sleep here?” she mumbles, her voice half gone.

You answer by pulling the blanket tighter around her and kissing the top of her head.

“Yeah, Paige,” you whisper. “Stay as long as you want.”

#paige bueckers x reader #uconn women’s basketball #paige bueckers #uconn wbb #lesbian #wlw #paige buckets #paige x reader #wuh luh wuh #wnba x reader #‎꙳¤*٭⁎﹡꙳＊ 𝘂𝗻𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗲𝗱 𝗰𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 ＊꙳﹡⁎٭*¤꙳

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zenmiren · 2 days ago

Text

childhood friend!michael kaiser, who thought you were an angel when you two first met. he had spotted a soccer ball on the ground at a park and took it. no one was there to see anyway, and it clearly isn't very important if it was left behind. he throws it around for a bit, only for a girl his age to interrupt him and tell him that he was supposed to kick it instead of throw it. it was you.

childhood friend!michael kaiser, who practices soccer every day at the same park when he manages to escape his home, his father more specifically. he was patiently waiting for you to show up again.

childhood friend!michael kaiser, who gets so so excited when he finally sees you again. he acts nonchalant, waiting for you to approach first and was over the moon when you brightened up, obviously remembering him.

childhood friend!michael kaiser, who asks you to hang out every day after you had school.

childhood friend!michael kaiser, who you do hang out with every day. after class is over, you skip over to the park and spend the rest of the evening with him, it didn't matter how tired you were after school, you wanted to see him.

childhood friend!michael kaiser, who you always shared your snacks and food with. you purposely never finished all your lunch, just to give it to him.

childhood friend!michael kaiser, who you never questioned when he would show up to the park with a new bruise every day.

childhood friend!michael kaiser, who let you take care of him and patch up his wounds just because you were so insistent.

childhood friend!michael kaiser, who you hadn't seen in around a year after he turned 15, he just stopped showing up at the park, and after a month, you stopped showing up too.

childhood friend!michael kaiser, who never forgot about you during his time in the soccer industry.

childhood friend!michael kaiser, whom, at 19 years old, found you again through social media, finding out you were in university, stalking all of your new friends and making sure not to like any posts on your page since he didn't want to draw attention.

childhood friend!michael kaiser, who had struck the jackpot when he found out that ness was acquainted with one of your friends.

childhood friend!michael kaiser, who, you see again after a meet up with a few people in your circle.

fiancé!michael kaiser, who's forever grateful to his old soccer ball when you say yes to his proposal, if it wasn't for that ball, he never would have been blessed with a soon-to-be wife as beautiful as you.

border from @kodaswrld

i'll probably right a fic based off this !!!!!

likes and reblogs are super appreciated!! i hope you guys liked this

this isnt proofread so there might be some mistakes

#michael kaiser #michael kaiser x you #michael kaiser x reader #x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #bllk kaiser #zenmirenwrites

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unofficial-cactus · 1 day ago

Text

Even if you've got no questions, read the FAQ. There are tutorials, tips, and other useful information on some of AO3's useful features.

Per the rules/TOS you can tag however you want, though there are some politeness guidelines that users appreciate people adhering to (I'll get to those in a moment). There are however 4 mandatory tag fields that do have rules around how you MUST tag them.

From the TOS FAQ:

What are the minimum criteria for tags in mandatory fields?

The tags on your work must meet the following criteria: Rating: If the work contains graphic adult content, you must rate the work as either "Mature" or "Explicit", or use the "Not Rated" tag. Archive Warnings: If the work contains depictions of content described by one of the four specific Archive Warnings, you must apply that Archive Warning tag or the "Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings" tag. Fandoms: The work may only use fandom tags that directly relate to content currently present in the work. Language: The language tag must indicate a language used in a major portion of the work text, unless no such language tag is available. If you wish to provide other users with more information about your work, you are welcome to do so using the non-mandatory tag fields (such as Additional tags), your work summary, and/or the notes of your work.

In short to adhere to the TOS, Language, Fandom, Rating, and Warnings can be unspecific, but cannot be deceptive. I.e. Not Rated, Creator Chose Not to Use Archive Warnings, and Unspecified Fandom are always adequate to adhere to the TOS. If the language is not fictional and is not on the list, you should contact support so they can add it.

The above four mandatory tag categories are the only ones policed by the archive. The rest is free game (outside of spam and harassment).

Which leads us to further tagging etiquette. These are not rules, and are unenforcable, but make the site a better place and help the people who want to read your fics find your fics, and the ones who don't want to read it, avoid it:

A good guiding principle of tagging is two consider the two perspectives (within reason)

If someone searched only for this/these tags and read my fic, would they be satisfied?

If someone explicitly excluded this/these tags and read my fic, would they be upset?

Honesty is the best policy - don't be a dick and intentionally mistag to get more 'exposure'.

As a rule of thumb, be more liberal with kink and trope tags, and be more conservative with character and relationship tags. This will help those who want to read your fic find your fic.

For characters and relationships, try and only tag the main characters and relationships with those characters - i.e. the ones that get the most 'screen time' in the fic. You can also always tag it as NAME - Background if a character doesn't show up much but you still want to tag them. This will still show up in works filtered for NAME but the reader doesn't have to start reading the fic to know it's not the main character.

Tags are freeform. You can create new tags and don't have to adhere to pre-existing tag formations. The process of wrangling means that related tags get linked to refer to the one 'canon' tag so show up in the same searches (wrangling is a volunteer job and smaller fandoms are less likely to have active wranglers though, so for smaller fandoms, it may be harder for people to find your work if you don't use any pre-existing tag formats).

Some people put silly notes in their tags. That's okay, but it's considered polite to not go overboard. There's a notes section both before and after the fic/chapter when you can add commentary. Remember that the primary purpose of tags is to help people find/avoid stuff they want to read, so less fluff in the tags section will make it easier for people to skim though the tags to see if it's something they're interested in.

AO3 wranglers also put together a helpful guide on tagging here.

A very important note on Bookmark Tags. Bookmarks can be both public and private. If a bookmark is public, people (including the author) can see what tags you added to that bookmark. This does not affect how the work shows up in searches/filtering. The same for notes. Bookmark notes on public bookmarks are visible to the author and general public but won't affect searches/filtering.

In short, be mindful of what you put on public bookmarks.

AO3 are not the morality police. Don't bother reporting things you consider immoral, downright evil, and unfit for human consumption. You're wasting both your time and the time it takes for the abuse committee to tell you to beat it. You can read their policy on offensive content here.

Reminders for new ao3 users (in no particular order):

- filter your searches like you would on a library website or in an online catalogue

- don’t post placeholders, fic searches, or recommendations as fics. DON’T! It’s against ao3 TOS

- there is no algorithm. ao3 sorts by date posted/updated unless you filter with specific search criteria

- ao3 is a non profit. that means it doesn’t sell ads to make money — it only survives on donations. this is why it can show you so many fics without ever flashing an ad or pop up at you!

- report fics that break TOS when you see them (I.e., placeholder fics, searches) to help other users navigate better

- the tag “dead dove, do not eat” doesn’t equate to gore/awfulness automatically. it is a complementary tag that enhances current tags. E.g., if the fic is tagged “gore” and “dead dove, do not eat” the author really wants you to mind the gore tag

- most fandoms have a variation of “no beta, we die like (x character)” and they all link back to the “No beta” tag

- publishing a new fic sometimes means it won’t show up in the fandom/pairing tag for a few minutes

- subscribers receive update emails at different times, depending on when you update/publish your fic. there’s no good way to predict when an e-mail will be sent — it can be in 30 seconds, or two hours later

- some fics are restricted by authors to those with ao3 accounts only. if you see a blue lock in the upper right corner, that fic is only visible to logged in ao3 users

- you can block commenters now! this didn’t use to be a thing

- updating a fic just to stay at the top of the pairing tag/fandom tag is a dick move. unless you’re legitimately editing or adding chapters, this just annoys readers and fellow authors, and people will skip over your fic

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sturniqlo · 3 days ago

Text

FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL

summary: the new school year has officially begun and matt is meeting his new students; ellie's first day of school has finally arrived

cw: slight cursing, baby daddy drama (yes, already)

note: this series will be in first person pov and will change from matt to reader through the chapters, also 'y/n' won in my poll, but to not use 'y/n' as much, i've come up with 'goldie' as a nickname so ill be using both 'goldie' and 'y/n'! NOT PROOFREAD:/

masterlist | GS&GH masterlist | join my taglist

MATT

my alarms rang just in time, 5:30am. it was finally the day, it was the first day of the new school year. also meaning that it's my second year teaching kindergarten and teaching in general. my first year alone had gone great. before teaching a class all by myself, i was a teacher assistant for a fourth grade class. although it was great, i just thought i'd be better off teaching littler kids.

turning off my alarm, i laid in bed for a couple of minutes to fully wake up. as it sit up, it stretch and hear and feel the familiar cracking. for today, i was planning on getting to school early to set up a few things and decorate the class for the kids.

i had bought a few snacks but not before checking if i had any students with any food allergies. i only had one student who had a peanut allergy, so that meant no peanuts at all. when i had found that out, i was in school over the summer decorating my class, so i printed out a few signs that said 'PEANUT FREE CLASSROOM' and one on the door and a few around the class.

"morning, hun." i say as i feel the soft familiar fur against my leg as i stood up from bed. "gonna meet my new kids today, hun. can't wait to tell you all about em'." i crouch down to scratch her behind the ear as she purrs. "lets go get you some breakfast." the first thing i always do as soon as i get up from bed is serve hunny her breakfast and refill her water bowl.

as i walk out of my bedroom and make my way to the kitchen, i hear hunny meowing once she sees that im opening the cabinet that holds her food and treats. "yeah, yeah. i hear you." i chuckle, grabbing the bag of food. i pour her some dry food and top it off with some wet food. "there you go, hun."

i put her bag of food back in the cabinet before going back to my room to get a change of clothes to shower.

it was 6:17 by the time i had showered, changed, brushed my teeth and did my hair. entering my room, i throw my dirty clothes into the hamper and hang up my towel. hunny startled me by popping out from under the blanket on my bed. "shit— hunny." i shake my head.

"no, hun. you've had your breakfast already." i say as i move around the kitchen as hunny constantly meows for more food even though she still has some in her bowl. i sit at one of the stools at the small island counter and eat my breakfast as i scroll through my phone checking my email.

buried in my phone, i didn't notice just how fast the time was going until i looked at the time in the corner. 6:57. "shit—" i was behind schedule. i put my plate and cup in the sink— i'll wash them when i return home. running a hand through my hair, i make my way to my bedroom to get a pair of socks on.

"hunny, no." i grab sock that i had left on the bed before hunny had a chance to grab it, she has a things for socks. "you've already destroyed so many pairs of my socks, can't have you destroying them all." for most of the summer, hunny was the only person—cat— i talked to. that is one of the cons of living alone and being single. yeah i hung out with family and the couple of friends i have, but it's not the same of being able to have someone.

throughout the summer, i took one week and went on a mini vacation alone and left hunny with my parents. i stayed in a cabin in a small rural town. and for the rest of my summer, i dedicated it to making my teacher plans for the year. i've heard from several teachers that during the summer they only plan out the first quarter and plan the rest as the year goes.

i finished getting ready and gathering my things as i walk towards my front door. "see you later, hunny." i smile at the cat as i unlock the door. i lock the door behind me and head towards the elevator to get to the parking garage. "good morning, matt!" i hear a voice besides me. i turn my head and see marley, my elderly neighbor, standing next to me with her reusable grocery bags. "morning, marley. going shopping so early?" i ask and step in the elevator as the doors open.

"oh, you know me, i hate when the grocery stores are packed with people. i like getting there before opening time." she chuckles. "i'm with you there." i agree. "would you like a ride? i pass the grocery store as i go to work." she shakes her head. "oh no, dear. i'm okay, really. wouldn't want to make you late to work."

"really, marley. you won't make me late. school doesn't start for another hour and thirty minutes." she sighs and thinks about it. "well, if you insist, dear." she smiles. "of course."

────˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗────

"have a good first day back to work, matt. and thanks for the ride!" marley waves as she steps out of the car. "anytime, marley. have a safe walk home. and let me know if the strawberries are any good here. got a bad batch the other day" i wave back. "will do!" marley nods and closes the car door making her way to the front door of the supermarket. i drive away once i see that she's made it in.

marley is such a sweet lady. i first met her as i was moving into the building. i was unpacking my boxes when my door bell rang followed by a soft knock. and when i opened the door, there she was holding a container of cookies. "hello! i'm marley, i live down the hall. wanted to come by and welcome you to the building!" and now, every other week she brings me any dessert or pastry she bakes. and this week is the week.

as i drive to the school, i can't help but feel a bit nervous. what if my new students hate me? or don't think im a good teacher? stop it, matt. i shake my head at myself. on the bright side, i finally get to put a face to every name on my roster. i have a smaller class this year of sixteen students, last year i had twenty five students.

when i arrive to school and park my car, it's 7:25am. only an hour and five minutes until showtime. i get out of the car and grab the bags i brought full of extra supplies. i swing my personal book bag on my shoulder and lock my car making my towards the teacher entrance.

"mr. sturniolo! welcome back! how was your summer?" i'm stoped by the principal of the school. "principal mcdaniels! my summer was great, it's good to be back though. how was yours?" i return the same enthusiasm. we both conversate for a few minutes until he lets me go set up. "i'll visit your class later in the day, have a good first day." i nod at his words. "you too!"

i make my way down the hall and make a left towards my classroom. putting the bag i was carrying in my left hand, my right hand reaches into my pocket to get my keys to unlock the door. i open the door and the automatic lights turn on. "less than an hour." i mumble to myself, going to my desk. i look around the class and see that the janitors must've stopped by in the past few days because some desks and chairs were out of place. quickly, i fix those and regroup all sixteen desks into groups of four.

from the bags i had brought, i take out the name tags for every students and tape them down on the desk. i also open up applesauce pouches and packs of goldfish and place one on every desk. kids like these snack, right?

as i'm putting up final decorations and set up the project on the white board, the intercom comes on. "good morning and welcome back, faculty and staff! from the kindness of principal mcdaniels, there is coffee, tea, hot chocolate and pasties in the teachers lounge! please feel free to stop by and grab what you'd like! good luck and happy first day back!"

happy first day back indeed.

────˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗────

GOLDIE

"ellie bellie, wake up, sleepyhead." i circle my hand across ellie's back. her hands were tucked under her cheek and she had slight drool dripping out of her mouth. "it's the first day of kindergarten! isn't that so exciting?!" i say a bit louder this time. no movement from her. "ellie." i drag out her name, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear that came undone from her braid. she was a mover at night. it was no surprise considering the fact that she never stopped moving in my belly.

i run my finger over her face, caressing it. as i jokingly tickle her pouty lips. she takes out her right hand and rubs her eyes. "mommy?" her voice cracks, but still squeakier than usual. "i'm here, ells." i smile as her eyes flutter open. "is it time for school?" she yawns. "mhm, it's seven o'clock already. we've got to get you ready. we don't want to be late on your first day, now do we?" i giggle, slightly tickling her tummy as she had rolled on to her back.

"mommy!" she giggles squirming around. "what?! is it too early for tickles?" ellie nods, pushing my hand away. "okay, okay. c'mon, let's get you up and brush that crazy hair of yours." i get up from her bed and make my way out the door. "meet me in the bathroom."

i give ellie a moment to fully wake up before she's walking into the bathroom. one of the legs to her princess pajama pants was up to her knee while the other one was still in place. "ready?" i say with her brush in my hand. "mhm!" she hops on to her stool her hold on to the countertop. "brush your teeth while i do your hair, baby."

five minutes later, her teeth are brushed and her hair is in two pigtails. "alright, now that your look even more beautiful, do you want to get into your outfit or eat breakfast first?" i run my fingers through one of her pigtails. "uhm— breakfast first? i'm hungry."

"okay, breakfast it is then."

ellie hops down the stairs as i follow behind her into the kitchen. "what do you want to eat, ellie?" i open up the fridge. "white spaghetti with chicken!" i laugh at her request. "baby, it's to early for chicken alfredo. how about i make that when you get out of school?" i can already see the pout forming on her face. "fine. i'll eat pancakes and bacon." she huffs out.

"i promise i'll make your chicken alfredo for dinner, okay?" i grab the ingredients for breakfast. i grab three eggs, one for the pancake mix and two for me since ellie doesn't like the taste of eggs. "eggs?" she sticks her tongue out at the sight of them. "yes, ells. but, it's for me and the pancake mix." i clarify. "i can't taste it in the pancake, right?" she says, leaning her elbows on the counter. "nope, you can't."

"okay, good."

────˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗────

"is daddy coming to drop me off with you?" ellie says as she takes a bite of her bacon. i almost scoff that the mention of her father. "i'm sure he will." i smile at her trying to give her some reassurance. in reality, i haven't heard from him at all this morning. i pick up my phone and open my messages to shoot him a text.

hey, it's almost time to drop ellie off. are you going to make it?

vincent

nah.

it's to early. so if you will, please let me go back to sleep and stop blowing my phone up.

is he being serious right now? ellie had been waiting for the moment that me and her dad will be in the same vicinity for more than five minutes. usually he would pick her up from my place and the most we'd speak to each other without arguing was a simple hello.

what the hell, vincent? you know she wants you there. can you not do a simple act of showing up for your own daughter?

vincent

y/n, please. it's too early in the morning for this shit.

whatever, i hope your sleep is worth it for you to miss ellie's first day of school

i turn off my phone without bothering to see what his response was. "was that daddy?" i hear ellie say across from me. "oh, yeah. he can't make, i'm sorry ells." i frown, feeling the sadness already radiating off of her. "why can't he come?" she pushes her unfinished plate away. i can't tell her the truth, i just can't. "he had to go to work early." is the first thing that spills out from my mouth. "oh." we finish breakfast in silence. "but, auntie willow will be there, you'll have us." ellie nodded, still looking a bit bummed out and i don't blame her.

"why don't you go put your uniform on, yeah?" i give her a slight smile trying to lift her mood up. "okay." she says, hopping off her chair and making her way to the stairs. i grab our dirty dishes and bring them to the sink, i'll wash them when i return home.

trying to ignore my anger towards vincent and my heartache for ellie, i make a mental to do list for things to do once i return home. it'll be my first day without ellie. yeah, there was a couple of times where her dad took her out for a while, but it was never for more than two hours. a whole eight hours at school is going to be torture.

however, with ellie starting school, that means i'm able to go back to work in the office. ever since ellie was born, i've been working from home editing pictures for one of the biggest photography business in the city. i was lucky enough to have this accommodation for this many years. i officially go back next week.

"mommy, i'm sorry. i ruined my hair." she walks into the kitchen with one ponytail instead of two. i giggle. "it's okay, c'mere ill fix it." i lean against the island counter and take the hairtie as she holds it out and proceeds to turn around in front of me. "tell me, baby. how are you feeling about starting school." i gather the loose hair on the right side. "i'm excited. i want to meet my teacher and— and make friends. do you think my classmates will like me?"

"of course they will. you're so nice, funny, smart and caring. you're very lovable, ellie belly." i tighten the pigtail and smooth it out. as she begins to respond, there's a knock at the front door. i gasp at her. "it's auntie wills!" her face lights up and she points to the door asking for permission to go open it. "go ahead, babe." she smiles and runs to the door.

"oh em gee! look at you ellie belly! you look like a big girl who i starting kindergarten today!" i hear willow say to ellie. "that's because i am, auntie wills!" i see willow with ellie on her hip enter the kitchen. "hey goldie! how you feelin'? she's all grown up, if you blink fast enough she'll be graduating high school, getting a boyf—" i toss a kitchen towel at her face. "hey— stop that! she hasn't even started the school day." i laugh.

"i'm kidding, im kidding!" she puts ellie down and she runs off somewhere in the house. "so, is villain vincent coming today?" she leans against counter next to me as i wash the pan from this morning's breakfast. "don't even get me started." i scoff and she gasps. "is he not coming? that fucking— ugh!" she groans. "tell me about it! he said it was too early to go to it. like he knows how much she wanted him there. it's the least he could do for her since he barley comes around."

"i wish you would let me punch him in the face, goldie. gosh— he pisses me off so much."

────˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗────

"alright, ellie! i love you so so so much! have fun, okay? and remember you're so smart and kind. i'll be here to pick you up." i caress her cheeks as we stand near the stairs to the school entrance. "i love you too, mommy." she smiles. i press a kiss to her cheeks.

willow gets a chance to say her words of encouragement to her. "and remember, ellie. if someone pushes you, you push them harder. if someone punches you, you punch them har—" i cut her off. "alllriight— let's not encourage violence. c'mon ellie, let's get you in."

"i love you ellie! have fun!" willow says to her as i walk with ellie up the stairs. "good morning, you two!" a lady says at the front door. "good morning!" i say back with a smile. "whats her name?" she says with a clipboard in her hard. "it's elora. elora y/l/n." she nods and flips through several pages until she finds her name. "perfect, she's in room 111! i can take her from here. it makes it easier to prevent last minute tears." she whispers the last part. "oh, of course. thank you so much."

"c'mon, elora. let's go see your teacher. say bye to your mom." ellie looks up at me and i see her lips slightly tremble. "hey, hey, no tears, okay? you're going to have so much fun and make friends!" her mood changes instantly. gosh, her moods switch so fast. "okay, no tears." she says.

ellie goes off with the lady whose name i didn't catch. i turn back and walk towards willow. "okay, let's her going before i begin to sob!" i blink fast so my tears won't fall. "fuck— oops, children around, me too i'm about to cry." i still can't believe my baby is starting school. i kept her home from preschool as i wanted to teach her the basics. plus, i also thought she was too young to start school at four.

"so, how does coffee sound?"

────˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗────

MATT

it was officially that time. although it was a bit before 8:30, my new students began to make it down the hall and into my classroom with the help of staff. because they were kindergartners and possibly being away from their parents or guardians for the first time, staff had to bring them in the building without their adult to prevent any tantrums or crying. and it worked, there weren't any tantrums.

"hey, there! i'm mr.sturniolo! what's your name, bud?" i crouch down to level down with the curly headed kid. "h-hi, im peter." he gives me a shy smile. "well its very nice to meet you peter." i smile at him and check his name off of my attendance list. flipping the page up on my clipboard, i see what table he's sitting at. "alright, peter. you are sitting in the red table right over there." i point towards the table closest to the windows. "just look for your name and you can take a seat. there's also some snacks on your desk."

peter nods and walks away with his bookbag, looking around at the other few kids who were seated. over the summer, i sent out a survey to the parents of what their kids knew and didn't know. luckily for me, all of my kids knew how to spell and read their name, they knew their colors, alphabet and numbers.

i was checking through my attendance and realized half of my class was already here before 8:30. "hello, good morning!" i heard a voice. i put my clipboard down by my side and see a little girl standing in front of me with a big smile. "good morning! i'm mr.sturniolo! and who might you be?" i say with a smile. "my name is ellie!" her pigtails swing with her excitement. i look down at my clipboard and don't see an ellie, but an elora.

"elora? is that you, sweetie?" i ask. "oh— yes! my name is elora, but my mommy, my auntie, and everyone else calls me ellie!" i chuckle. "okay, would you like me to call you ellie? is that okay?" i check her name off of the paper, and she nods. "alright ellie, your desk is at the purple table, just look for your name." i give her a smile. "okay, mr.sturn— um." she stumbles her words. "sturniolo." i help her out. "mr.sturniolo!" she giggles. "if it's easier, you can call me mr.s!"

"okay, mr.s!" she smiles and goes off to the purple table.

────˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗────

"okay, kiddos! it seems like everyone is here!" i say as the close shuts behind me. i walk up to my desk and put my clipboard down. "good morning everyone! as i mentioned, my name is mr.sturniolo or if it might be a bit difficult to say, you can call me mr.s!" i look at ellie as i say that and she smiles. "welcome to kindergarten! raise your hand if you're excited to start school." as i say that, hands fly up.

not sure if they'll be saying that in a few weeks.

"breakfast should be here in a couple of minutes, but you guys are more than welcome to eat the snack i left on your desk." i look around and see a few kids have started to open their snacks.

"um, mr.s?" i hear a small voice say. i look to my right and see tommy—im a quick learner with names— holding up his goldfish. "yeah?" i walk over to him. "can you help me open this?" he hands it to me. "of course, bud!"

────˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗────

it was a couple of minutes after the kids had finished their breakfast, the lunch ladies came in with bagged breakfasts earlier, i was now holding up a big trash bag calling up each table one by one to throw their trash away. "thank you mr.s." ellie said to me for simply holding up the bag, i've learned that she has really good manners. her parents must've taught her that. "of course, ellie."

after i had collected all of the trash, i set the tied trash bag outside of the classroom so it'd be picked up by mabel or pete, the janitors from this side of the school.

it's now time for the day to actually begin.

"okay kiddos! because it's the very first day of school, we are going to do something easy today. does that sound good?" i hold up both of my thumbs and look around seeing everyone slightly nod. "sounds great! now, i have a question. who here wants to make friends?" i hear a few me's.

"does someone have any idea how we can get to know everyone in this class? raise you hand if you think you know." i wait a few seconds before i see ellie raise her hand. "yes, ellie?"

"um, maybe by talking with everyone?" she says shyly when she sees a few heads have turned towards her. "good, yes! that's a way we can make friends." i smile and nod at her. "so, i have a game we're going to play. i am going to say a letter from the alphabet, and if your name starts with that letter—" i walk to my desk and grab a deck of flash cards with each letter from the alphabet on them. "you'll stand up, say you name, favorite color and something you want the class to know about you. it can be anything you are comfortable sharing. and if nobody's name starts with a certain letter, we can list things that do start with that letter."

i look around and see everyone in agreement. "okay, are we ready to start?" i ask as i flip through the cards making sure they're in order. "alright. first letter— can everyone repeat after me? A." i hold up the card with the letter A on it.

"A!" their little voices fill up the space. "great job! one more time! A!" i say and they repeat the letter once more. "good, good. now, if your name starts with the letter A, stand up." two girls stand up. alexia and amy. "my name is alexia! i— my favorite color is pink. and um— i like to draw doggies and kitties!"

we get to the letter e, having to list things for the letter B and D. "next is the letter E!" they say the letter after me and ellie stands up right after. "hi, my name is elora, but i like ellie better. my favorite color is baby blue. and my favorite animal are cats and i really want one for a pet."

continuing through the game, we stumble across the letter M and i stand up from my chair that stood in front of the room. "okay, my name is matthew, but i prefer matt, my favorite color is blue and i have a pet cat named hunny." there were a few gasps from the kids as they found out my actual name wasn't mr.sturniolo and i explained to them that it's my last name and that's what they have to call me by.

the game soon wrapped up and everyone was more comfortable with talking to one another.

────˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗────

it was thirty minutes before dismissal and i was about to give them their last activity for the day. after we had finished the name/alphabet game, i sent them to their assigned cubbies so they'd put their bookbags and sweaters away. a few more hours later, it was lunch time and i took them to the lunch room and came back to my class for my break.

now, i'm passing around blank sheets of paper, crayons, markers and coloring pencils. "alright, before we leave. i want all of you guys to draw some flowers. why flowers? well, when flowers grow, they bloom. and each one of you are slowly growing— blooming into strong boys and girls just like flowers." as i pass everything out, i go back to my desk and turn on the desk project to project my drawing of flowers in a vase on the board. "this is an idea of how you guys can do it. and it does not have to be exactly like mine. have fun with it and make it pretty."

with that, everyone got to work.

it was five minutes before i had to line the kids up for dismissal and the class and i had just finished putting the coloring pencils, markers and crayons away. "okay everyone! you can go ahead and put your drawing in your take home folder. and once you've done that, please form a line at the door."

once everyone was situated with their bookbag on and lined up at the door, i began to explain how dismissal will work. "whenever you see your adult, let me know and i will give you a paper that has to go to them, alright?" they all nodded and the bell rang. "alright, let's go!"

the kids followed behind me and i held the stack on papers in my hand. it was a form for their parent or guardian to sign about meeting one on one with me throughout next week.

we neared the school doors that were behind held open by two staff members, there was a crowd of parents outside waiting for their child. "mr. s! i see my dad!" tommy got my attention. "yeah? alright, give this to him. i'll see you tomorrow, tommy!" i handed him a paper and he went off to his dad who stood not to far.

one by one each kid got picked up. "mr. s! my mom is over there!" ellie said to me, pointing towards the gates as a two women walked in. "okay, ells. make sure she get this, okay?" i give her a paper. "okay, i'll give it to her!" she smiled taking the paper in her hold. "alright, ellie! have a good rest of your day, i'll see you tomorrow!"

five minutes later, all of my kids got picked up and i headed back inside to straighten up my class and get my belongings to head on home.

────˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗────

"hey, hunny." i cooed as i walked in my apartment and heard hunny begin to meow. "mhm, good first day today. thank you for asking, hun." i crouched down to scratch the back of her ear, not bothering to put my bags down.

i stood back up and walked into the living room putting my bags on the couch. walking towards my kitchen, i flicked the light on and opened the fridge to get my pitcher of cold water. i chugged down a glass of water and headed to my room to change into some lounging clothes.

i'd say that today was a good first day.

as i finished changing, there was a slight knock at the door. walking out my room, i went towards my front door and opened it to reveal marley. "matt! i heard you come in a little while ago. thought i'd come by to drop these off. they're oatmeal cookies. i made them earlier today." she held a container of a dozen cookies. "thank you so much marley. would you like to come in?" i retrieved the container from her. "oh, i would love to, but my grandbabies are on their way over!"

we conversated for a bit at the door before she went back down the hall.

────˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗────

GOLDIE

"oh, my baby! how was your first day?" i crouched down as ellie came running to me. "it was so much fun, mommy! oh, here this is for you." she gave me a paper

dear parents/guardians,

as the school year has just begun. i would like to meet with you one on one sometime next week to discuss the school year and what your child will be learning. this is a great opportunity to get to me, your child's teacher, and i will get to know you and your child a bit more and see what support is needed from me.

please choose a day and time(s) for a meeting next week after school and have your child return it no later than friday. if you are unavailable to meet with me, please email me at [email protected] to discuss other options. i look forward to meeting you.

- matthew sturniolo

"what's that?" willow asked as we walked out of the school yard back to the car. "oh, just to make an appointment to meet one on one with her teacher next week." i shrugged. we made it to the car and i put the paper in ellie's bookbag so i wouldn't crumble it. "guess what's ready for you back home, ellie?" i smile at her as i buckle her in. "white speggeti and chicken?!" she beamed. "mhm, it was ready right before we left to sure it was hot and ready for when you got back home." "yay!" she cheered.

i'd say she had a good first day.

────˗ˏˋ authors note ˎˊ˗────

omg!! how do we feel about this?! sorry i've gone for so long😔 i lowk lost motivation but i wrote this bit by bit throughout the weeks i've been gone. i will try my best to keep up with this series that i genuinely want to write it :D

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talon-the-hawk · 3 days ago

Text

Yandere! Batfam x Neglected Streamer! Reader

Chapter 2: Entertainment

TW: I mean...kinda yandere behaviour...but it's a yandere fic so like if you're not into that why are you reading this far into the post? 🥲

It started off small.

A hushed giggle from Garfield as he watched something on his phone just out of Dick's line of sight.

An amused snort as Roy scrolled his phone in boredom when chilling at one of Jason's safehouses.

Konner and Jon commenting on "a new stream they saw" while over at the manor, leaving Damian and Tim confused and oblivious.

Your popularity in the content creation community was growing rapidly by the day, with your range of viewers extending out of Gotham and moving world wide. You gained a steady community of fans, with some even sending you gifts and letters. Of course, you made sure to use a P.O box to conceal your address in case someone somehow linked you to your past life as Bruce Wayne's child. Through maintaining a semi-regular streaming schedule mixed with uploading to youtube every month left you with quite a chunk of cash in your pocket. So much infact, that you soon decided to drop the couple of college courses you were taking to pursue your content creation career full time.

With the added fame came opportunities to collab. Soon enough you were streaming with the people you used to idolize. It was almost a power trip, the way you ended up being a figure that was adored so commonly.

Adored. Shown affection, unlike when you were with them.

Surprisingly enough, Damian was the first to find out. Damain: the little brother who had taunted you endlessly, mocked you in front of everyone, and showed little remorse for any of it.

Jon was giggling on his phone, eyes stuck to his screen as he watched a youtube video of some sort during one of their many hangouts.

" Tch, can't you put that device down for one moment?" Damian huffed, looking over at the boy.

"Aw, lighten up. Come watch with me." Jon chirped, motioning for Damian to sit down next to him. He reluctantly agreed, posture still slightly too stiff as he sat down on the couch next to Jon. The youngest Kent propped his phone up in his hands, eager to show his friend the newest content creator he had found. His finger hit the play button, and it only took a couple seconds for Damian's eyes to narrow in recognition.

Surely not.

It sounded like you. There was no mistaking it, the same soft timbre that he would make choke up with tears now rang out confidently in an enrapturing way. Each word seemed to catch the complete attention of everyone who watched, bringing a sort of comfort that settled itself in his ribs.

When did they get so popular? Does Bruce know his child is building a reputation anonymously?

It was clear to Damian when he looked over at Jon that the youngest super had no idea it was you, and he supposed that made sense. Often times when Jon came over Damian made a bigger show of ostracizing you from the rest of the family. Now that he really thought about it, he realized that Jon had never really heard you speak in person. You had always tried to get out of Damian's vicinity whenever you spotted him, especially when he was with Jon.

Jon clearly saw he was lost in thought, snapping his fingers in front of Damian's face.

"Hello? Earth to Damian?"

Damian's gaze just slowly returned to the small device.

"I need to go find someone, I'll be back."

For Dick, he was doom scrolling on instagram one night after patrols when a certain reel made him pause. It was a clip one of your viewers had taken from a stream a while back, one where a fan of yours had made a huge donation. The donation requested you to share some sort of talent you had, and as per your usual antics you focused your camera on your new bedroom (still wearing a mask and sunglasses to keep yourself as unidentifiable as you could) and prepared.

"God, this is embarrassing. I actually learned how to do this a while back in order to try and impress some of my family, but that's a story for another time-" You snorted, before flipping over to walk on your hands. You did a little lap around your space before eventually standing back up, pushing the glasses back up the bridge of your nose to make sure they didn't fall.

There was no mistaking it was you, he'd recognize his baby bird anywhere. But what he wasn't prepared for was your small show of talent. He tried to recall any previous instances of you showing an interest in any sort of acrobatics, but his mind came up blank. Matter of fact, he was struggling to come up with a recollection of any of your hobbies.

Surely you've talked to him about something you were interested in before, no? He was your older brother, he should know about your hobbies.

Dick racked his brain, trying to come up with any memory of even holding a proper conversation with you, and his guilt seemed to increase every time he came up empty. He vaguely recalled a time you had asked to show him "something you thought he would like", but he had brushed it off as it was close to the time he was set to patrol.

He bit down on his bottom lip in guilt, clicking on the caption of the reel and trying to see if the person had tagged your official account. They hadn't (which honestly he found insulting, the clip was your hard work and this pathetic internet leech couldn't even be bothered to give you credit-) but in the hashtags he found what he assumed to be the same you went by on most platforms. He quickly typed it into his search bar, letting out a gasp at just how popular you seemed to be.

His baby bird was really taking after him in the entertainment industry. Although it wasn't really the same thing, Dick couldn't help but feel like he was part of your inspiration to become a famous personality.

He spent the next couple of hours carefully combing through your content, memorizing every reoccurring joke you held with your audience and how you acted as a safe space for your community.

God, he really needed to go find you and tell you how proud he was of your success.

Author's note:

Hey y'all! Dw, dw...Jason and Tim's reactions are coming soon lol :p hope you guys enjoy the chapter and please lemme know what you think! Ooh, also if you have any title recommendations for this fic, that would be baller because I've been really struggling to find one hehe!

Taglist: @vanessa-boo @jjsmeowthie @cxcilla @itsberrydreemurstuff @trashlanternfish360 @starsswaggy @legolas-the-homeschooled-elf @nickithearticorn @hallahella @lettucel0ver @kittzu @cssammyyarts @ryuushou @welpthisisboring @neverdead2 @mallowryblog @lingxio @the-dumber-scaramouche @oxionsworld @raini-sanchez @jellyedkazoo @alishii @bellethesleepypotato

#batfam x neglected reader #batfam x reader #no beta we die like men #yandere batfam x neglected reader #yandere batfam x reader #gender neutral reader

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emptymanuscript · 2 days ago

Text

Whaddya mean there are no benefits to being a good person?

Of course there are benefits. There are lots of benefits. There are, on the whole, MORE benefits to being a good person than a bad one.

If you’re good to a specific person, they may (or may not) be happy about that specific interaction. But, more importantly, each interaction shows how you are going to interact.

A good person isn’t made up of one good deed. It’s a global average of activity and interactions from a particular observer’s point of view toward a particular set of criteria.

I might think someone is good while you think they’re a total a*hole. Talking it out might lead to consensus - we each have different observed experiences of the same person. Or it might come out that we judge on completely different criteria. My friends growing up would give people points for religious attendance while I would have given zero points for that in the same period. They could tell me all the church time I missed and it wouldn’t move my needle. On the other hand, how they spend their time there might. I’m going to give a different evaluation to someone who shows up all the time but that’s all they do and someone who only shows up sometimes but makes it a point to help out every time they do. The second, helping out when they show up, counts while showing up wouldn’t.

So it is observer dependent.

That’s some of the real and basic comfort of God. God is an independent observer who sees everything better than anyone else AND saves all reporting until the end. So everyone else has to guess but God knows your true character. So if I think I am a good person, I can always rest on that fact. God will say so. I know because of x, y, and z that I was taught. And that’s how I act. So any other perceptions can be interpreted through that lens. Assuming I believe.

But that principle works even for those of us who aren’t particularly religious or don’t practice a populous faith. We tend to trust that those we know better have a better understanding of our proper moral categorization.

So, when given the choice, who will people associate with?

Right: people will naturally tend to gravitate toward others where you share a mutually high opinion of each other. At which point, what’s the next goal? Keeping that mutual admiration going. Which is why people in groups tend to act similar to each other. It’s recapitulating the positive feedback.

I like you, do you like me?

I do like you, do you still like me?

Well I think blah blah blah.

I like you and you think blah blah blah is good so blah blah blah is probably good and I think I might like to operate as if it is to try it out.

You like blah blah blah, well I knew it was good and I knew you were good so that makes perfect sense.

I do like it and it does make sense because I like you, I am glad you still like me.

Now, I’ve obviously oversimplified this and made it more than a little inane but that’s essentially a huge part of what goes on in overall communication between people. It’s verbal and gestural grooming. We’re in this together. Isn’t that great.

The thing is… it kinda really is.

Grooming is intensely important to social mammals. We talk about the ties that bind, well this is the actual act of tying that bind, that kind of subtle continual recapitulation of the tie. I like us being together, see I’m grooming you, do you like us together? Yes, see, now I am grooming your fur, too. Back and forth. Fairly constantly while everything else is going on.

On the other side is severe detrimental consequences for people who don’t get groomed enough, don’t know how to groom others in a way that gets asked for in order to initiate cycles, and suffer real harm from the isolation.

There’s all sorts of findings around illnesses and lower quality of life associated with that lack of social reciprocity. Lifespans start dropping fast. Someone who loses their main social grooming partners and doesn’t get a new one to take their place has about a two year average before something serious develops. If they’re already not healthy, those two years can be the lifespan.

But remember how people gravitate together. It’s the people who match with mutual admiration in some way.

So, when people are looking for others to add to their social grooming network, who are they going to gravitate toward when there isn’t already an initial pull?

The observed action that matches the seeking observer’s definition of something that they admire.

You like Star Trek? I love Star Trek. If you like Star Trek that probably means that there’s other stuff to like about you. Do you think there’s other stuff to like about me?

That’s the first tug.

But the rub is, until quite recently, things like fandoms were relatively hard to observe. Before 1996, Internet presence, where most of us can find these connections, was rarer than finding someone else who liked Star Trek.

So, what was easy to observe as a connection?

Seeing someone just out and about doing a good deed.

Even better: finding someone who you knew where to find them AND you got the regular experience of seeing them act in a good way. Mutual admiration generally starts with admiration.

One good deed might be meaningless. Everyone has better and worse moments. But regular, reliable patterns of valued behavior? Think about how good it would hear if the person who displayed that, said they liked you. That would really mean something.

Far from having no benefits, that kind of regular goodness - again, defined by the observer - carries the intense potential benefit of attracting people who also define those behaviors as good into your orbit and, from that entry point, into your regular interactions from being good groomers for each other.

This is also why doing good things for the reward is a mixed bag.

If it’s proactive toward the behavior, I want to be like this more because I value this behavior and want more of it in my life. Yeah, fake it till I make it. This is my best behavior but if I keep doing it, it will become my regular behavior and attract people who are like that into my life.

If it’s just putting on the sign because I think the other person will like it but I don’t particularly want to engage in that behavior regularly, then that orbit is going to destabilize fairly quickly as I don’t keep to the behavior I sold myself with. It’s the same issue as borrowing a nicer car for a date. No matter how good that might look at first, in the end, real life has to reengage, and that better car isn’t there anymore. The person I attracted with said car, now not only has to deal with the missing pull of the car but all the push implicated by the act of leading with the car. It’s saying that I value the sign more than the real thing and even the sign holds a different meaning because I was willing to use that sign against the real value of the thing. It means it wasn’t actually good, just a tool to acquire the person by deception. And deception is very rarely perceived as good.

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deansotherwife · 2 days ago

Text

mutually assured destruction | dean winchester

[ summary ] you always knew the tension between you and dean would reach the breaking point...you just didn't think it would be because of a busted a/c unit

[ content warnings ] 18+ mdni, nsfw, explicit sexual content, one bed trope (kinda), age gap (reader early 20's + dean mid 30's), mutual pining, mutual masturbation, dean has a dirty mouth (i'm not sorry), a pinch of possessiveness + if i missed any pls lmk!

[ word count ] 2.2k

[ author's note ] hi hi! this is the first fic that i've actually sat down and written (also the first time i've written creatively for about 5 years) so kindness and constructive criticism are much appreciated!! enjoy!

📍twin lakes, wisconsin — ⏰ 12:07 am

You'd thought tonight was gonna be easy.

Hot water. A working TV. Two beds. Clean ones. With no mysterious stains. It feels like a luxury resort after the week you've just had.

Until the A/C unit kicks on. And refuses to stop.

You try to tough it out, pulling on a hoodie and tucking the thin motel blankets around you. But the damn thing is relentless—humming and wheezing like it's on its last leg, but refusing to die—blasting cold air directly at your bed.

Across the room, Dean sprawls out with a low sigh, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting lazily over his stomach. His eyes closed, looking so relaxed, like sleep is already pulling him under.

"You gonna make it over there, Frosty?" he teases, not even opening his eyes.

You glare, pulling your knees up to your chest. "I hate you."

"Mhm," he smirks, low and amused.

Ten minutes later, he's apparently let you suffer long enough. "M'kay, c'mon," he mumbles, patting the space next to him like he's not giving you a choice. "'M tired'a hearin' your teeth chatter."

You don't hesitate, no teasing, no smartass remark, not even a sigh.

Sliding under the covers beside him, you instantly feel your shoulders relax as his heat seeps into you. His body heat is unreal—like lying next to a furnace. You squeeze in close, arms tucked between your chest and his, your cheek resting against the soft cotton of his shirt.

He exhales, his body settling against yours like it always does, his arm coming around your waist automatically, fingers tracing softly up and down your spine. Casual. Familiar.

"You warm enough now, or you wanna get closer?" he teases softly.

"Shut it," you mumble drowsily.

⏰ 4:05 am

The sound of a car door slamming somewhere outside rouses you. Faint, muffled, but loud enough to pull you from your blissful slumber.

What isn't faint is the heavy weight of Dean's arm—still around your waist—anchoring you to him, or the fact that your arms have shifted to rest around his neck, or the way his thigh presses firmly between yours, his hips flush against you.

This isn't new. Sharing a bed with him, ending up like this. It's familiar—comfortable, even. A habit created over time, born out of necessity.

But what is new? The hard, unmistakable pressure of him against your belly, insistent and impossible to ignore, making your pulse quicken.

Your breath catches, the last remnants of sleep dissolving as your senses heighten from the realization you've just made. Your eyes dart up to his face and find his eyes still closed. His features look younger, almost boyish, if it weren't for the stubble, with sleep. His breathing changes, just barely.

Clearly having sensed your movements, his voice is low, rough with exhaustion when he speaks. Barely more than a murmur against your hairline. "Relax."

His hand squeezes your waist, urging you to follow his quiet command. To release the tension in your muscles.

"It's not about you. It'll go away. Go back to sleep."

You want to scoff. Like that's gonna happen.

Because now? Now, you're wide awake. Hyper-aware of every inch of your body that touches his. The way his hand holds your waist like he has every right to. Like he's done it his whole life. Like he'll continue to do it for the rest of it. The way his thigh stays perfectly slotted between yours. Like it's begging you to move against it, the subtle pressure sparking a heat that shouldn't be settling between your legs. And his hard-on, still firm against your stomach. Like it's daring you to do something you've only ever let yourself fantasize about.

Because that ache that's building? It's telling you that you want it to be about you.

Your heart rate increases again. Not from nerves—not really. From want. From need.

You shift slightly.

He grunts. Fingers flexing into your hip, urging you to stay still.

"Don't," he mutters, voice still low and gravelly. Authoritative.

But the way he holds your hip betrays him—tight, possessive, like he needs you to do it again.

You swallow hard, daring to look back up at his face. Your eyes meet his in the dim light of the room.

"Not unless you're ready to cross a line," he adds, voice hushed, as though he's confessing something he can never take back.

That makes you pause—but not because you're unsure. It's because you know exactly what you're about to do.

"You mean, like... this line?" you tease, voice laced with a playful challenge, trying to hide the nervous flutter in your chest. You tilt your head, watching him with a daring look.

You let your hips grind down, ever so slightly, on his thigh—testing the waters. Finding the friction your body has been craving since you heard that damn car door.

Dean's eyes never leave yours, and the air between you thickens—charged with heat, like the space around you finally feels too small. His body tenses, his jaw tightening as he looks down at you, but his lips quirk up in that familiar, cocky grin.

"Yeah… that one," he says, voice thick with approval. And what sounds a lot like restraint.

You let your hips grind down again, a little more forcefully this time, your body craving more of that friction. Your heart hammers in your chest as the heat between your legs intensifies.

"Baby," he growls. "If you do that again," he mutters slowly, barely audible, his voice tight with barely contained desire. His hand flexes on your hip again, a warning in the action, like he's holding back. "You'd better be serious."

You don't respond verbally, but your hips move again—slower. More deliberate. His thigh shifts, pressing up between your legs, giving you more to grind against. Your eyes find his again, and you give him the tiniest of nods.

Dean's breath hitches, and he adjusts his grip on your waist, holding you steady as you grind against him. His eyes narrow, but the smirk on his face never fades. "Yeah? That what you want?" he asks, somewhere between a tease and a dare.

A quiet "mhm" slips from your lips, soft but eager.

"Then do it again," he encourages, his hand hooking under your knee, pulling your leg to hitch further over his hip. "Make yourself feel good."

"Dean," you whisper, your voice barely a breath.

"I've got you," he assures you. "Show me how you wanna be touched, sweetheart," he coaxes, his voice dropping lower.

Your eyes meet his, unsure if you heard him correctly, but your body follows his command without question. You slide your hand down his chest, your palm skimming over the warmth seeping from beneath his shirt before it lowers to your own body. Slowly, purposefully, you trace the curve of your waist, your fingers lingering before slipping under the waistband of your panties.

You don't look at him as you do it. Your focus on the rush of heat pooling between your legs. The second your fingers graze your clit, you gasp—a sharp, needy little whimper escaping your lips. You meet his eyes for a split second, and it's like looking into a storm. Dark, ravenous, and electric. Drinking in every detail of every movement you make.

"Fuck," he breathes. "You're doin' so fuckin' perfect, baby. Sound so pretty," he praises. "Lemme see how you like it."

Your fingers move in slow, practiced circles—just like you've done before, to the thought of him. Dean doesn't move or even blink—he just watches you like he's memorizing every flick of your wrist, every shaky breath that spills from your lips.

"You're so fuckin' pretty like this," he murmurs, voice thick with restraint. "Touchin' yourself for me like a good girl."

Your cheeks flush, but the way he says it—for me—knocks the breath right out of you. It hits you somewhere deep, making that heat between your thighs burn even hotter. You bite your lip, your hips rocking slightly to meet your touch, already aching for more.

"Do it with me," you whisper, breathy, needy, pleading. "Please. Wanna see you."

His jaw clenches. For a second, he doesn't move—like he's deciding if he can handle it. But then his hand slides from your waist down his stomach, slipping into his boxers. His breath catches when he wraps his hand around himself, a low groan rumbling from his chest as he starts to stroke—slow, purposeful, matching the rhythm of your fingers.

"Fuck, honey…" he breathes, his voice unraveling. "You have any fuckin' idea what you do to me?"

You whine in response, your eyes flicking down to the way his hand moves steadily between his legs like he's savoring every sensation.

His dick is thick in his hand, flushed, glistening at the tip, twitching every time he squeezes himself. The sight makes your fingers move faster, rubbing quick circles over your swollen, needy clit, occasionally dipping down to spread your wetness over yourself.

He keeps watching the way your fingers move, eyes dark and hungry. "Just like that, baby," he murmurs, low and hot against your ear. "Doin' so good."

You whimper at the praise; the way his voice only adds to the pleasure.

"You're fuckin' perfect," he praises again, seeing the effect it has on you. His eyes are locked on you like you're the only thing in the universe. "God, I wanna taste you so bad…" he admits, jaw tight. "But seein' you like this? All needy, touchin' yourself while I jerk off to the thought of bein' inside you?"

You moan softly as your body reacts to every word from his mouth, clinging to every filthy word like oxygen.

"Yeah," he murmurs, his voice rough next to your ear, his hand sliding over his cock in long, steady strokes, each one timed to match the rhythm of your fingers. "You'd like that, huh, baby? My mouth on you, makin' you come on my tongue? Or my dick stretchin' you open, fillin' you up 'til you're cryin' for it?"

Your breath hitches, heat pooling between your legs at the thought. The vivid imagery of him doing exactly that has you trembling, your fingers faltering for a moment, your body aching, needing him in a way you can't explain. Your lips part with a quiet gasp as your chest rises and falls.

His lips brush your temple, his voice low and gravelly, as if he can't quite control the words spilling from his mouth. "Thought about it so much," he admits. "Bet you'd be so fuckin' sweet on my tongue," he growls, his voice thick with desire, his breath catching at the thought of it. "Bet I could get you screamin' for me, couldn't I, baby? Fuckin' squirmin' under my mouth while I eat that pretty little pussy like it's the last thing I'll ever taste. Bet I'd have to hold you down. Put an arm across your hips to keep you still, huh?"

You can't help the way your hips jerk forward, desperate for the attention he's teasing you with. "Dean," you whimper.

"Bet you'd make the prettiest fuckin' sounds," he continues, watching the way your body trembles for him. "Soakin' my sheets while I fuck you slow... Bet you'd beg for me to fuck you harder, deeper—until you can't walk, and the only thing you feel is me. Inside and out."

Your back arches, an involuntary gasp spilling from your lips at the thought. You can feel your wetness spreading between your legs, your fingers working faster now, chasing more pleasure, wanting to feel every little thing he's describing.

You feel yourself slipping, but you're too captivated by the way his hand works over himself, so slow and deliberate—each stroke pulls a soft groan from his lips, the muscles in his forearm flexing with every movement.

"You're gonna come for me, baby," he tells you. "Right fuckin' now. Wanna see what that pretty face looks like when you do."

Your heart pounds in your chest, your body shaking from the pressure, and you nod, unable to form words, your mouth hanging open in desperate anticipation. Each circle your fingers make brings you closer and closer to the edge, your body pleading with you to reach it.

Your thighs clench as the first wave of pleasure washes over you, hot and dizzying, and you let out a faint little moan. Your body tenses, arching into his, your breath coming in shallow gasps as your fingers work you through the intense orgasm. Your legs tremble from the sheer force of the release as your fingers push you closer to the line between pleasure and overstimulation.

"Fuck—baby—that's it, that's fuckin' it—" His voice breaks as he follows, head tipping back with a deep, raw groan that rips from his chest, echoing off the walls—his body shuddering, muscles tensing as his release takes over. His body locks up, muscles straining, veins standing out in his arms as his fist tightens around his cock. You watch, captivated, as his hips jerk, stuttering into his hand, thick ropes of cum spilling hot across his knuckles and stomach, each spasm pulling another helpless sound from his throat.

The way his cock throbs in his grip—uncontrolled, demanding—sends another pulse of heat straight through you. Your body, still humming from your own release, trembles all over again at the sight of him falling apart like that, just for you.

His eyes flutter open, heavy-lidded and hazy, and he catches you watching him with wide, breathless awe. You're still panting, trying to collect yourself, your skin flushed and tingling.

"Yeah," he breathes, chest still heaving, his body still trembling from the force of his release. "Next time? Just watchin'? Ain't gonna fuckin' cut it."

if you enjoyed, a reblog would be much appreciated!

feedback is always welcome, as are asks/requests!

#deansotherwife fics #dean winchester smut #dean x you #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester x reader #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural imagine

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sakachichi · 3 days ago

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Drabble!Choso

Thinking about you and Choso having a faceless onlyfans account that unexpectedly blew up lol. Originally it started as a joke, or like a test, to see if the money you make on there is worth it — times are desperate right now, moneys tight, any income is better than no income. It was a random Wednesday night, the two of you were sitting on the couch, talking about how expensive everything was these days — and as a joke you said, “we might have to make a OF, cuz from the looks of the world…” and the way he snapped his head towards you was shocking, you flinched, “I heard you actually make good money there.” He added, nodding and raising his eyebrows. “Yeah, but I don’t think we’re that desperate.”

Right?

Wrong!

A whole month later you guys are making thousands of dollars! It started off as just the OF account, then a twitter account, and then people started reposting your stuff, and then an instagram page was created. It went very fast, and you guys were financially stable for the rest of your lives. And it all started with one video — out of the several ones you’ve posted. You two had just came back from dinner, Choso was clinging to you more than usual, following you all over the house as you got ready for bed. You were washing your hands in the sink and he trapped you in between his arms, his breath fanning your neck as he breathed you in, taking in all your sweet perfume. “You smell so good, are you wearing the new one I just got you?” You nod smiling at him through the mirror, his hands creep down your thighs and under your lacy nightgown — fingers dancing around the fabric of your panties.

You smirk as you roll your eyes, knowing what he wants. Later he has you riding his dick, digging his face in between your tits — not getting enough of your perfume, leaving behind small kisses. Your fingers thread through his long black hair, head thrown back as he keeps digging sooooo deep inside you. Out of nowhere he hands you his phone on a tripod, already recording, “here — put this behind you, doll.” He says, watching you as you turn to angle the camera perfectly. His arms wrap around you as he pulls you down to lay flush onto him, lips connecting with yours as starts to thrust up into you. That nasty creamy squelch of your pussy colliding with his swollen balls fills the room in a beautiful symphony with your moans, giving the camera a lewd angle of your bodies. And when he cums he doesn’t stop thrusting, pushing his sweet seed deeper and deeper each time.

“Baby I-I don’t think I-“ you whisper into his ear, “give the people a show, c’mon, I know you can last longer~” Choso coos, caressing your hair back, looking into your dilated eyes. Moments later he peeks just enough over your shoulder to get a view of the camera, watching as he places a hand on your ass to spread you a little wider — the sight making him whimper. “I feel you, you’re close, cum for me doll.” And you do, it’s like he put you on a spell, making cum soooo hard. But he still doesn’t stop! It amazes you how much stamina this man has, both hands now spreading your cheeks apart, he has you jumping on his cock while he’s still thrusting his hips. “Ch-Baby! Fuckkk~” you gasp, feeling your essence gush from your cunt, you giggle as you watch Choso’s eyes widen.

The next morning Choso edits and posts the video, hours later you guys are trending on OF. Desperate times call for desperate measures ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

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arixella · 1 day ago

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Overprotective Captain

╰┈➤ pairing: Luffy x reader

a/n: guyyysss I have been cooking up so many stories get readddyy!!

summary: Luffy’s unusual protectiveness before reaching a mysterious island reveals just how deeply he cares for you, showing a rare vulnerable side of him.

wc: 920

contains: fluff, secret feelings, overprotective captain, unspoken confessions, and lingering touches.

The warm sea breeze brushed through your hair as the Thousand Sunny glided smoothly toward a new island. The air was filled with excitement, as everyone could feel the thrill of a new adventure ahead of them. You leaned on the railings, staring out at the horizon, excitement bubbling inside you. The island that loomed ahead was unlike any they had visited before—lush, mysterious, and surrounded by a dense mist that made it look like something out of a legend.

It was everything you loved about being on the crew: the unknown, the excitement, and the possibility of discovery. You turned around to face the rest of the crew, your eyes searching for Luffy, who had been acting oddly since you all set sail for the island. Normally, he was the first one to jump at a new adventure, but today, something was off.

Luffy had been unusually quiet, his usual carefree demeanor replaced with a level of tension you rarely saw from him. His eyes would linger on you longer than usual, and whenever you went anywhere near the edge of the ship, he would quickly appear beside you. At first, you thought it was just a phase, something to do with the storm they had sailed through earlier. But as the days passed, it became more apparent: your usually carefree, reckless captain was suddenly acting… overprotective.

You spotted him now, standing at the edge of the ship with his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed as he stared ahead at the island. You made your way toward him, noticing how his posture stiffened when you got closer.

“Hey, Luffy,” you said, leaning against the railing next to him. “Excited for a new island?”

Luffy didn’t immediately respond. He only glanced at you out of the corner of his eye before turning his gaze back to the island. His jaw was set in a way that made you frown.

“Yeah,” he finally said, his tone a little more serious than usual. “But… you should stay close, okay?”

You blinked in surprise. “What? Why?”

Luffy's gaze flickered toward you again, and this time, you saw a slight frown tugging at his lips. “I don’t know. Just… don’t go off by yourself. Promise?”

You raised an eyebrow, genuinely puzzled. “Luffy, I’ve been on plenty of islands by myself before. You know I’m fine.”

Luffy’s expression hardened just a bit, his usual carefree smile replaced by a look of worry you’d never seen before. “This one feels different. I don’t want anything happening to you.”

You were taken aback by his words. It wasn’t like Luffy to be so concerned. In fact, you could count on one hand the number of times you’d seen him act like this, and each time, it was about someone else, never you.

“You’ve never been this serious about anything before, Luffy,” you said, trying to lighten the mood, though there was a knot of worry beginning to form in your stomach. “You know you can’t always protect me, right? I’m not a kid.”

Luffy’s eyes widened for a second, and he quickly reached out to grab your wrist. “It’s not about that! I—” He stopped himself and looked away, his voice growing quieter. “I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

You could tell he was struggling with something. The way his hands clenched and unclenched around the railing made it clear that whatever this was, it was affecting him more than he let on.

“Luffy, what’s going on?” you asked softly, turning to face him fully. “You’ve never acted like this before.”

Luffy hesitated, his expression unreadable. Then, with a sigh, he turned toward you, his eyes meeting yours for the first time in what felt like forever. His voice was low, but there was an unmistakable intensity to it.

“I’m just… worried, okay?” he said, his words more vulnerable than you’d ever heard him sound. “We’ve been through a lot together, and I just… I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Not like this.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you were silent for a moment, taking in his words. Luffy’s voice was laced with an emotion you didn’t expect from him: fear. For the first time, you realized just how much he truly cared, and it made your chest tighten with a mixture of affection and confusion.

“You’re worried about me?” you asked quietly, stepping closer to him. “But you’re always so confident, so carefree. What’s different this time?”

Luffy opened his mouth, but no words came out. He took a deep breath, his usual optimism flickering back to life as he gave you a hesitant smile, though it was tinged with unease.

“I guess… I just want to make sure you’re always safe. Even when we’re going to a crazy place like this,” he said. “You’re important to me, and I can’t help it.”

You felt a warmth spread through you at his words. Of course, you always knew Luffy cared about the crew, but hearing him say it directly… it was different. He had always been the one to throw himself into danger without a second thought, and yet here he was, standing before you, practically asking for your trust.

You took a deep breath and smiled gently at him. “Luffy, I’m not going anywhere. I promise. We’ll get through this just like we always do—together.”

Luffy’s expression softened at your words, and for a moment, the tension left his shoulders. He smiled back at you, the worry in his eyes finally starting to fade.

“Okay. I’ll hold you to that,” he said, his voice lightening once more. “But still—just don’t wander off too far. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

You chuckled at his persistence but nodded. “Got it, Captain.”

As the Thousand Sunny neared the island’s shore, you felt Luffy’s hand brush against yours, his fingers lingering for just a moment. He didn’t say anything, but the gesture was enough. You both stood together, staring at the island as it loomed closer.

Despite his overprotectiveness, you couldn’t help but feel a warmth in your heart. You weren’t sure what had sparked this side of Luffy, but the fact that he cared so much made you feel incredibly lucky to have him by your side.

The island awaited, but for now, you were content, knowing that whatever happened next, you wouldn’t be facing it alone.

♡♡♡

#anime #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #monkey d. luffy #one piece luffy #monkey d luffy x reader #luffy x reader #luffy x y/n #luffy x you #luffy fluff

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c4tluver02 · 2 days ago

Text

hair cut !

wc: 1.5k

summary: Steves hair is growing far too long for his liking, so who else could he trust more than you to cut his hair?

warnings: none!

Steves had to move his hair out of his eyes 5 times within the last 2 minutes. Each time pieces of hair fall back down to his eyes. His hair has grown long and unruly and, frankly, he's tired of it. Summer is coming and Steve thinks it’s time for a haircut– the idea of being in the sweltering heat with hair sticking to his neck already makes him over the season. The only reason he’s even let it grow out this long was because the guy who usually cuts his hair is out of town all summer, which means he needs to find someone new. But Steve is very particular about the way his hair looks, and if it came out looking bad you would probably have a meltdown. His hair being just as important to you as it is to him.

Steve has asked a few of his friends about where they get their hair cuts. The kids go to some kid salon, Eddie cuts his own hair, shocker, Jonathan has his mom cut his hair, and unfortunately that's the only friends he has that are guys. Maybe more importantly than a haircut Steve needs new friends…..

You're sitting right in front of him at the dining table when you notice the struggle he's having with his long locks.

“Y’need a headband baby?” You giggle.

“I need a haircut but my guy won't be back till next month.” Steve groans, letting his head fall into his hands.

You can't help but smile at his dramatics. You give his shoulder a kiss and grab the bowl he was eating cereal out of, ready to wash it. “You might just have to find a new person, babe. Have you asked any of the guys where they go?” Now you're washing his dishes. How’d he get so lucky?

“Yeah and what it's told me is that they are all losers who don’t care about their hair.” Steves now resting his head on his hand watching you.

You roll your eyes at his comment, despite sounding harsh it came out with zero malice. “I could see if the girl who cuts my hair can cut yours? I trust her with all my heart. She always teaches me things about my hair and why she cuts it the way she does.” You hum, happy to have someone who you trust to make you look your best.

“So what you're saying is that she’s basically taught you how to cut your hair?” Steve asks with curiosity.

“I mean I’ve seen her do it so many times I probably could-” It comes out before you realize the trap he's our you in.

“No.” You state firmly.

“Please you just said it yourself, you can do it.” Steve says getting up from the table to walk towards you.

“I said I could possibly, maybe, cut my own hair. Meaning my long hair that just needs to be cut on the very ends. Your hair needs more because it's short!” You say trying to reason with him. You don’t know how well you trust yourself with this.

“Angel there's no way you can mess it up, it just needs a little bit off the back, and the sides, and the tiniest bit off the top.” He says smoothing his hand up and down your arms till his hands grab onto your wrists.

“That's your whole head Steve.” Now he's giving your knuckles tiny kisses. “I don't want to mess it up, what if you hate it? You’ll be so upset with me.”

“I would never be upset with you over some hair. It will grow back! Plus there's no one I trust more than you.”

You look at him, he can tell you're trying to think about the pros and cons of agreeing.

“Plus who do I need to look good for I already have a hot beautiful amazing girlfriend.” He says with a large smile.

“I’d hope you would try to look good for your hot beautiful amazing girlfriend.” You say with a huff.

“Please baby? It’s too long, and if you cut it you can stop whenever. If I went to get it cut they'd cut it all off and it is what it is.”

He brings up a good point, and truly how hard could cutting short hair be? You have seen Steve at every hair phase and you know what he likes.

“Okay fine I’ll cut your hair.” You give in, mentally preparing yourself for how careful you’ll need to be.

“Thank you sweet girl. I’ll go get some scissors and the spray bottle if you wanna get a towel?” He’s asking as he's already moving towards the stairs.

“Okay i'll get it set up down here.” You say and you hear a ‘thank you!’ from upstairs. You pull a chair out into the middle of the room, not wanting to get hair everywhere, and grab a towel.

Steve comes down at lightning speed with a spray bottle and scissors in hand. “Sit down and I'll go put water in this.” You say grabbing the bottle from his hand.

Steve does as you ask and places the towel around his shoulders, as if he had a cape from the hairdressers.

“Okay, how much shorter do you want it? Like just a baby trim till your guy comes back or what?” You ask coming back with the bottle.

“Hmm, I guess just cut whatever you think needs to be cut.” He says with his eyes closed ready for you to spray him down.

You lay your forehead against his head in defeat. If only he was as specific as girls are during their haircuts. You lift your head and give him a little kiss as if to say ��sorry if I mess up’ and start wetting his hair. It doesn't take long till it's dripping wet and you brush it out, trying to see the shape of it when it's not dry and bouncy.

“Okay i'm gonna cut this is your last chance to back out.” He can feel your hands on his shoulders giving him two squeezes. He lets out a laugh, clearly not as stressed as you are.

“Go for it baby, you got this.” He says reaching his arm out behind him to give your thigh a squeeze in return.

Steve can hear the scissors cut his hair before he feels it fall on his neck. You're starting with the back hoping it would be easier. If you cut out a big chunk in the back he wouldn't know, plus who looks at the back! There's a part of your brain holding knowledge for how hair should be cut, seeing as you've had your haircut a million times and all you can do is hope it comes out at this moment.

Once the back looks like it's at a good spot you move up towards the top. His hair normally falls on his forehead creating a bit of a bang moment so you try to recreate how it normally looks. The sides curl out a bit and you cut just enough that it still flares out but with some cream it could be pushed back neatly.

Working silently in peace the only sounds are the comb going through his hair and the scissors cutting off the unwanted hair. You ruffle his hair around trying to see what it looks like when it's not combed straight. Looking to see if there's any pieces you need to cut or missed. Surprisingly it looks pretty good– It’s clean and shaped nicely.

“Okay Stevie I think I'm done.” You say wiping the hair from his neck with the towel.

“Yeah? Let's go look.” Steve gets up and brings the towel to sit around his neck and on his shoulders. He grabs your hand and brings you to the bathroom for a mirror.

You're hiding by the door frame, scared to see his reaction in case he doesn't like it.

“Holy shit babe. It looks perfect.” He’s messing around with it, trying to get it in his normal position.

“Really? Is there anything you wanna change or cut?” You're unsure if he's just being nice, wanting to give him a chance to ask for a fix.

“Nope. I think it looks amazing.” He turns off the bathroom light and gently grabs your face. He litters a bunch of kisses around your eyes and your nose till he finally reaches your lips.

“Thank you for cutting it for me.” He says it in the most sincere way you can't help but blush.

You grab onto his face and in return give him a big kiss. “That'll be $30 please!” Holding out your hand.

“Yikes, I think I forgot my wallet!” He says playing along. “Anyway I could repay you with something else?” A smirk appears on his face due to his own idea. He places his hand on your hip low enough almost touching your butt.

You laugh at his antics and lean in close to his ear giving his neck a kiss. Steve angles his head to the side so that his neck is more open for you and you rise to your tippy toes.

“I’ll be waiting for that $3o when you have it.” You whisper into his ear giving his cheek a little peck before standing back down and walking away.

You don't even need to turn around to know Steve's face is heated and pink.

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things au #writing #stranger things #steve harrington fluff #blurb #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction

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silenceofserenity · 2 days ago

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Haikyuu Boys as your Boyfriend.

PART 1 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

↳ Includes: Kuroo, Kenma, Akaashi, Bokuto, Tsukishima & Terushima

Part 2, Part 3

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Kuroo Tetsurou

Dating Kuroo means pillows don't exist anymore - he loves resting his head on your thighs instead.

He loves challenging you with trivia competitions but he picks out questions only he knows, so he can brag to you about how smart he is.

I doubt this man knows how to cook and is probably the type to say, "but baby, the way you make it is just so much better!"

On that note, he's a food stealer. If you go and make yourself something to eat, just know he's taking portions when you're not looking.

He'll randomly text you science facts as a way to start the conversation, "hey, did you know that there are more trees on Earth than stars in the galaxy? anyways, I miss you."

His lockscreen is the ugliest photo of you just to annoy you, but he has a hidden photo album with all of your pretty photos named 'my girl/my boy/my partner'.

Wears your hair ties on his wrist 100%.

He's incredibly proud of his body and will take any chance to flex his biceps in front of you.

He'll text you, "please don't be mad" and then follow it up with a photo of his cat next to a broken plate because he swears you can't get mad at a cat.

Grabs your chin when you're distracted just to kiss you and whisper, "focus" in the most smug tone.

Tries so hard to be nonchalant but there is not a single nonchalant bone in his body.

Kozume Kenma

When he's gaming, he will let you lie on his lap and will instinctively play with your hair.

He lets you paint his nails when you're bored, acting like he doesn't care but he actually think its adorable.

Most of your dates consist being at his house or in a quieter setting like a little cafe.

After training, he'll come to you and rant about his teammates, "Yamamoto spiked it so hard he hit Kuroo in the face and no one laughed. I was the only one that laughed. Also, I tripped on a ball and Kuroo said it was karma, can you believe that?"

Loves cuddling with you - whenever you're over he becomes extremely clingy.

If he's gaming and you fall asleep beside him, he'll lower the volume, slide a blanket over you and keep glancing at you in admiration.

He's not the jealous type, but if he sees someone flirting with you he will make fun of them after they leave, "did he really just offer you (food you hate)? Idiot. I know you hate that."

Mario Kart competitions - that's all.

He has really specific spotify playlists for every scenario and has an extremely long one that's like 52 hours of songs you like for when you come over.

He hates PDA but when he gets overstimulated in public, he likes to hold pinkies or something small like that just to get your attention.

Expect random texts from him at any given time - like one at 2am in the morning asking to hop on minecraft.

Akaashi Keiji

I already know this man know how to cook a good meal so you better be ready for the best dish ever.

He's extremely observant and loves watching you speak, so he notices everything - a new habit, a subtle frown or even a slight change in tone of voice.

He loves reading in his spare time, and once he read one of your favourite books, annotated it, and gave it back to you with neat sticky notes saying, 'this part reminds me of you.'

On his phone, all of his notifications are off, except for you (and bokuto) but your name is starred and pinned at the top, always.

When he's annoyed or frustrated, he'll text you saying, 'can I call you? I need to hear your voice.'

After a rough day, he will show up at your house with your favourite snacks, a blanket, and your favourite movies to watch together.

He's the most grounding person, and always knows exactly what to say without sugarcoating it, 'you're capable. You're smart. And you don't need to prove it to anyone to be valid.'

Big believer in forehead kisses!

He lets you read over his shoulder, even if he's deep into schoolwork. If your head rests against his, he doesn't flinch. Just smiles a little.

He's memorised your schedule so he knows when to text you 'good luck' when you have that one evil teacher.

When you're crying, he doesn't panic. He just pulls you into him, rubs your back and mutters, "it's okay, my love. I've got you."

He loves listening to you rant while his fingers just softly trace all over your skin, humming at certain things you say to let you know he's still listening.

Bokuto Kotaro

Bro is literally your biggest fan. You could sneeze and this man would be looking at you in awe.

He absolutely adores it when you wear his jerseys to his games, he'd shout, "LOOK THAT'S MY BABY!!" in public. Especially in public.

Clings to you post-practice - arms wrapped around your waist, forehead resting on your shoulder as he whines about being sore and hungry.

Has NO poker face. If he's happy, you'll know. If he's sad, you'll know. He's also so dramatic when he's upset, "so this is how I die. Heart shattered, and all alone."

He will talk about you to anyone that will listen. Poor Akaashi is actually a victim of this.

This one time when he was in one of his sad moods, you were sitting with him in silence, and letting him rant when he suddenly looked up at you and said, "thank you for being patient with me."

He sends voice messages instead of texts because he claims texts don't show enough emotion but he always gets distracted when sending them and talks through 5 topics before getting to the point.

Random bear hugs. All the time. He loves hugging you, he says you're his safe space.

Probably sleep talks - like you'll wake up to him murmuring, "that's my baby, don't touch them or i'll fight you." He also wouldn't remember it in the morning.

He needs reassurance, but sometimes it's for the most random things. This one time he asked you if you still thought he was cool...

He's definitely got the most chaotic and weird food combinations that he tries to make you eat, "It might look gross but it's made with love, so just try it!"

Tsukishima Kei

Acts like he's not paying attention when you're ranting, but actually remembers every single detail.

If anyone ever says anything to you, he'll defend you but then deny it right after with that stupid smirk on his face, "no, that wasn't defending. I just hate stupid people."

When you're overwhelmed, he won't pressure you to talk - he'll just sit beside you and let you tell him when you're ready.

He definitely follows those dinosaur pages so he can get all the new updates on 'how dinosaurs really looked back in the day.'

Gossiping sessions with him go so hard because he has no filter and will literally say it as it is, "did she actually say that? Jesus, I'm surprised her boyfriend hasn't broken up with her yet."

He let you wear his glasses once, and he made it your contact picture. He claims it's because 'you look stupid' but we all know he loves it.

Pretends he hates PDA but he secretly likes it. You held his arm while walking together once and he called you clingy, yet didn't do anything to stop it.

He's weirdly competitive about game nights and if you beat him in Uno or Mario Kart, he'll go quiet for a bit before saying, "one more. That didn't count."

The only person he will help study is you. Hinata asked him once, and he said no straight up, but as soon as you asked he told you to meet him after school (Hinata has never lived this down).

He always makes height jokes and if you say something he thinks is stupid, he'll look down and say, "what was that? I can't hear you from down there."

He sends you random memes and just adds a comment like, "this is you."

Terushima Yuji

He's the type to compliment you in the middle of an argument to throw you off, "you're so hot when you're mad, you know that?"

Loves post-practice cuddles where he'll literally wrestle you into a hug and then just collapse with his head on top of your stomach.

He always talks through movies like he actually cannot stop talking. "wait, babe was that guy the killer? I though-" "shut up." "Okay, my bad."

His love language is physical touch and always needs to be in some form of contact with you - arm around your waist while walking, head in your lap when watching a movie, legs thrown over you when cuddling.

He's an incredibly unhinged texter and sends the most random messages: "opinions on matching tattoos?" "If you were a zombie, I'd let you eat me." "Look at this dog I saw today, we should get one. Or maybe a baby?"

Carries snacks for you and pretends it's not on purpose. He'll whip out one and be like, "oh you're hungry? Lucky I packed an extra bar. Total coincidence, I know."

If you attend his training, he will get totally distracted by you. You'll be in the stand watching as he turns to look at you, winking just in time for the ball to smack him right in the face.

Honestly, he's quite a messy person, and probably has clothes all over the floor in his room but he uses it as an excuse for you to wear them. "I left them out on purpose for you obviously!"

Gets pouty if you don't kiss him before he leaves, "oh okay... guess i'll just die then."

#fluff #haikyuu #haikyu x reader #haikyuu headcannons #haikyuu characters as your bf #fanfics #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo x reader #kozume kenma #kenma xr reader #akaashi keiji #akaashi x reader #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #tsukishima kei #tsukishima x reader #terushima x reader #terushima yuuji

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namelessgakusei · 2 days ago

Text

Extra EP. 1.3 Conflagration

Devil May Cry x Reader Insert

Warnings: It's DMC. Based on the New Netflix Series. Spoiler warnings for the actual show. Not proofread.

EP. 1.2 COMBUSTION (prev.)

EP. 2.1 Lead us not into temptation (cont.)

Synopsis: Unbeknownst to you and Dante, there are people plotting to bring the two of you down.

Deep within the Whitehouse gathered various people of authority, united for the same agenda of addressing the strange Vatican City Bombing. Dr. Fisher explains that a network of terrorist demons might be behind the attack, a claim immediately questioned by the general of the military, saying that America shouldn't entertain such ridiculous notions. Suddenly, a voice cuts in, defending the doctor's claim.

Vice President Baines turned to the general to his left, the glare accumulated from years of tactical management visible in his face. "I assure you, he is serious."

Dr. Fisher continued his presentation, saying that demons are related but separate from humans when it came to the evolutionary branch, having tested the DNA left on the scene. He explains that they exist and are natives from another universe, a parallel plane to Earth. While the talk about their place of origins continued to escalate, Vice President Baines furrowed his brows, deep in thought.

Mythology exists to explain Reality, said the doctor.

Apparently, there exists an interdimensional rift that acts as a bridge between the two universes, although it has been blocked for millennia by a field of quantum interference. There had been natural disruptions that makes way for demons to pass through, but are unstable enough to only let lesser ones in, enabling them to blend in the crowd. The president sputters and struggles to keep up, asking what this all means.

"Which means the big demons are stuck on the other side." Dr. Fisher nods. When asked about his employer, the presentation changed to reveal the organization. "Dark Realm Command." The bright red color contrasted the black screen as the insignia reveals the rest of the name. "DARKCOM, as our PR department insists we call it."

"DARKCOM is an independent dimensional security firm, funded by private investments, such as my own." Baines' voice made everyone shift to his direction, understanding well on who has the real power within the room. The lull in the room was broken by a hurried employee who insists on making everyone see the contents of the tape he delivered.

The screen plays the last moments of the group of criminals who raided the Vatican City Museum, revealing the culprit behind the attack, the White Rabbit. He spoke of a name, Sparda, as he marvels at the sword. This ignites the curiosity of the doctor, having heard the name before. But what soon followed in the feed was the brutal deaths of the men and the Rabbit's taunting words. "The gates of Hell will open soon enough."

"To any sapiens wishing to join the celebration," It's clear that the Rabbit planned for this video to be found, as it's like he's speaking directly to the leaders of America. "If you want to catch a rabbit, find the hunter."

"Hope to see you all there♡"

The thief screamed in agony as the Rabbit continuously stabbed him, laughing manically as the man dies.

The president staggered to get up on his feet, still shaken from what he saw, saying that this is all too much to deal with. Baines assured him that this is all real. Hell is real. And this is the start of the Holy War that Humanity should win.

"I believe the demon is toying with us." Dr. Fisher's expression hardened, nodding to the executives in front of him. "Giving us a clue to its next move. We need to figure out who this hunter is, which can only mean..."

"A Demon Hunter."

Baines' posture straightened up as he barks a command, voice low like a storm about to hit. "Find every demon hunter you can. And bring them to me."

Paranormal offices were raided, hunters were captured, beaten up if they resist, as they were all brought together in interrogation rooms. Frauds were weeded out from actual hunters, but it didn't saved them from getting hurt here and there. No matter how much they fight, they were always asked the same thing.

Do you know the White Rabbit?

Finally someone spoke up. A man, tanned with dyed blond hair, asked for a cigarette in exchange for his information. He said he knows a guy, a broker for demon hunters and mercenaries, a hustler who feeds off the bottom of the bottom feeders. "Last time I saw him, he told me how he'd set up this job for a talking bunny."

"I didn't give him much thought, coming from a serial liar and a drunk." The chained up demon hunter smirked at the other side of the one way glass.

"But maybe he wasn't lying." And perhaps he wasn't, and if it adds up, it means the White Rabbit was operating in New York. "Give me a name." Baines glared back, although he knew that the man can't see him from the other side of the glass.

The club was crashed in by a SWAT unit, their black uniforms completely out of place under the colorful lighting, demanding the whereabouts of Enzo Ferino. People screamed in surprise but didn't budged, either too high or drunk to care, but their target wasn't. Enzo jumped over a table and bolted upon seeing the cops, passing through the dancing crowd, who weren't too pleased by his hurried movements.

He thought he was safe when the fire exit was on his sight, cackling at his escape from imprisonment once again, only to get a door slammed to his face. The staff member gaped as Enzo was apprehended.

Enzo woke up with a start, handcuffs on his wrists and an electric shock clip about to get connected to his skin. "Before we start, you should know that I'll tell you anything you ask me about any subject!" He sputtered, narrowly avoiding getting electrocuted. That seemed to work, as the clip was withdrawn, but it didn't stopped the information broker to try and get the situation "under his control". "Now, let's talk compensation—"

The clip was nearly shoved to his face.

"Alright, I'll do it for free! You guys should really learn how to negotiate properly."

"Tell us about the White Rabbit." Baines' voice boomed from the speaker. Enzo chuckled and started recalling the events of their meeting. "He showed up at my office with a job that needed expediting."

"And that didn't seem strange to you?" Baines looked like he was about to murder someone as he leans closer to the mic. "A six-foot talking rabbit." But it only made Enzo scoff, saying that in his line of work, it's only a slow Tuesday. "Some demons making noise over on the west side that he wanted clipped. Calling too much attention to themselves and whatnot."

"Why? What did it mattered to him?"

"Y'know, I saw the price he was offering and I must've forgot to ask." Enzo shrugged and grinned. "One thing about it that struck me as funny is that, he has a particular demon hunter he wanted me to hire." He grimaced, shivering at the memory. "Wouldn't take anyone else."

"Who?"

"Kid named Dante."

Enzo frowned after that, saying that he's a sweet kid. "Bit of a troubled past, though. You know how it is, Dad not around. Mom and twin brother brutally murdered by demons. Y'know, that sort of thing." Before grinning again with a, somehow, proud expression. "Got attached to my kid though! They're practically hip to hip! Can't separate them for too long, else they get antsy."

The last part was promptly ignored in favor of digging up information on Dante. Dr. Fisher successfully pulled out his file and began snooping for details they could use. "Dante. Last name unknown." His mugshot was unserious, picking his nose and not standing straight. "Looks like he also works as a standard hired gun. Oh! And if half of what I'm reading here is true, his capabilities are extraordinary."

"What else do we have on him?" Baines frowned while the doctor marveled at what he saw. "Anything that explains the Rabbit's interest?"

"Hmm. It is said here that he always works with another demon hunter regardless of any mission. And he's recorded going AWOL from five separate jobs."

"Why?"

"It just says... Ugh." Dr. Fisher looks disappointed. "Got bored?"

Baines frowned, and asked about the other demon hunter, making the doctor pull out another file. Dr. Fisher's eyes widened at your document, there you stood properly for a mugshot photo, only glaring too much at the camera.

[Demon Hunter PII]

Name: (Y/N)

DoB: Unknown

Age: Unknown

Address: 862 Divine Street, Brooklyn, NY, 11206

Sex: [redacted]

Nationality: Unknown

H: [redacted]

W: [redacted]

EC: [redacted]

HC: [redacted]

Skin: [redacted]

Prof: Hunting High Ranking Demons

[Document Title]

Demon Hunting Evaluation Report

[Subject]

Name: (Y/N)

Occupation: Mercenary, Demon Hunter, Information Broker

Affiliated Group: None

[Overview]

This report serves to outline the evaluation of (Y/N), a demon-hunting mercenary and information broker, in both their job performance and comprehensive performance.

[Contents]

- Successfully completed every mission using a variety of self-made guns inside their briefcase.

- Capable of dealing with multiple enemies alone with their physical ability and agility.

- Always accompanied with the Demon Hunter, Dante and vice versa.

- Often acts as a mediator between Dante and their team mates, keeping him in line and solving conflicts before it arises.

- Their great combat skills and quick thinking are well-acknowledged, but their mutual reliance to Dante showcases their codependency.

[Combat Experience & Skills]

- 10+ years of being an information broker

- 5+ years of demon-hunting experience

- Has an excellent reputation in the black market and the demon hunter community.

- Experienced in battles with various types of demons; specializes in tracking and documenting demons.

- Highly skilled in marksmanship and weaponsmithing.

- Outstanding crisis management ability in dangerous situations and great tactical knowledge

- Skillful with military weapons and firearms, creates makeshift weapons within record time.

- Specializes in close-combat.

[Personality]

- Level-headed and cautious

- Confident in their ability and power

- Constantly seen bickering with Dante, even in dangerous situations, but compliments each other in combat.

- Can be flexible and work together as a team to complete missions, but usually works with Dante.

- Sharp and observant.

[Remarks]

Unauthorized access to classified missions.

Reason: DANTE GOT BORED AND I WAS CURIOUS. Y'KNOW, OLD HABITS DIE HARD.

*Assumed to be referring to their occupation as a broker, further investigation is due to find out if there will be a leak.

[Evaluation Report]

Mercenary (Y/N) demonstrates distinguished demon-hunting abilities. However, they need to be able to operate independently.

Further caution needs to be exercised when interacting with them due to their tendency to dig into your background.

"This is quite the combination." The doctor beamed. "This must be the kid that Mr. Ferino talked about. If they are really attached to each other..."

"We could use them to lure Dante out." Baines narrowed his eyes towards your picture.

"I heard a rumor once about demons who were too powerful to cross over, so they learned how to project their consciousness into our world and possess stuff, poltergeist-style." Enzo's warden was the unfortunate victim of his ranting. "You ask me, that's what this White Rabbit is. A possessed kid's toy." The broker grins towards the speaker, which replies to him with—

"I didn't asked."

"Look, look, look, that's all I know. If you're after his location, I can't help you. I only saw him once." Enzo shrugged and groaned, but Baines assured him that they already know where to look, as a man with a rabbit head can only avoid surveillance for so long. This made the broker scoff, saying that there won't be any survivors even if they send a team. But Baines replied with a cold voice.

"There was only one."

Before he sighed over the mic, asking of what he knows about the Sword of Sparda. Enzo tried retelling the tale that everyone knows, about the demon that rebelled against his own kind and sided with humanity, but the vice president cut him off, demanding him to give new information. This made the broker raise a brow but nonetheless complied, having no choice, as he reveals the existence of an amulet. The doctor immediately went to work and realized that it was the missing piece of the puzzle, that it was the transmitter that enabled the separation of the two worlds and while the demon technology is medieval, their understanding of the quantum principles is far more advanced than Humanity in its current era.

But Enzo said that the amulet was split into two, so there will be no way for the realms to be open to each other without limit; so long as the amulet remains broken, so will Armageddon remain as just a myth. It didn't stopped the doctor from listing out the worse possible scenarios, however, before being silenced by Baines, saying that they won't let it happen as it is the DARKCOM's purpose.

Their divine charge.

To be the last line of defense against the Inferno.

The Vice President mulled over the fact that the Rabbit already have the first half of the amulet, only for the door to swing open, with a jittery soldier coming out of it. It's the survivor, the doctor says, Anders from the J-Squad. The soldier insists on having sensitive information that he just had to say it directly to Baines, concerning the Rabbit and the end of the world.

"I heard the Rabbit say something after he'd done this. He was pissed off, furious, sir. He knows where the other half of the amulet is, and he tried to get it back already. But his plan failed."

"He's gonna try again. Soon."

Baines narrowed his eyes at Anders, inquiring more of the plan that the Rabbit said. But the soldier shook his head, saying that he doesn't know that much, only something about hiring someone for a set-up job. "Whoever it was, that's who has the other piece, sir."

Realization dawned to both Baines and Dr. Fisher as they both turned to the yawning Enzo.

"Dante."

taglist!: @mischiefmanaged71 @tamashithe2nd @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @96jnie

#devil may cry #devil may cry x reader #dmc #dmc x reader #dante x reader #dante sparda x reader #gaku's works!

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contentloadingandstuff · 3 days ago

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Itsy Bitsy Spider... - Arlecchino x Male!Reader

A/N: A spider-inspired, spicy fic for our one-and-only Father. Enjoy! A/N: One more fic and I promise that I'll make the third masterlist. That should be enough fics for it not to be an empty, depressing page. CW: Some smut, predator-prey themes, Arlecchino is scary - but that's fine because Y/N is up for it.

Before you, there was only Bambi. It was quite an… uninteractive creature that never returned any affection - simply lacking the brain power to comprehend its situation - but, at the same time, required little maintenance. Arlecchino always thought that this would be her ideal relationship model - a partnership where she wouldn't have to devote too much attention to her lover, who could live without her perfectly alright.

Well, Arlecchino didn't anticipate all the new emotions you would stir up in her frigid heart. But that is exactly the thing with love, is it not? One can never plan for it, as experiencing that feeling in its true form changes them. It wasn't different with her and Arlecchino would soon come to understand that a husband is, surprisingly, not the same as a pet spider.

Because you offer more. So, so much more. More opportunities, more emotions, desires she did not realise until she had you just where she wanted.

It is an experience like no other, having a pet man. Bambi was a pet, yes, but it was like her - a predator, only a lesser one. She treated her not as a lifegiver that she was, but as a matter of circumstance that was temporarily tolerated, but would be bitten if it got too close. But you? You sweet, little boy. No matter what her hands did to you, how much blood her teeth drew, you will always lean into her touch like the good husband you are. Grateful, patient, positively adorable in how timid you are.

Father is used to intimidating people with nothing more than her tone, a stray glance or just her general disposition. She intentionally takes on this kind of appearance for work matters, but she doesn’t enjoy scaring anybody that does not deserve it.

You, of course, are quite the opposite. You, the silly boy you are, decided to capture the heart of the most dangerous woman, the most cold and ruthless of predators in all of Inazuma. With your oblivious smile and honest courtship you stepped willingly into her life, and now - you will pay the price.

Arlecchino never understood what true, romantic love, true desire is. Of course, she was convinced her scarred heart was above these feelings. But when the first months of dating passed by, when she first received a simple gift from you, when she woke up to freshly brewed coffee, when she sat there, flustered as you fussed over her injuries and lectured her about safety… When she held you in her arms, her source of unprompted kindness and non-judgmental comfort, she realised something. Turns out she was not, in fact, immune to feeling. And when these emotions, stirred deep inside her and swirling around your lovely person tug at her heartstrings, why wouldn’t she give in and show them? After all, you don’t seem to mind…

Home is the only place where she can unwind, let her hair down and express herself. There are a lot of things constantly weighing on her mind, so it’s no wonder Arlecchino tends to be restless and in serious need of some rest and relaxation. Good thing she has this handsome, caring man to come back to. A warm bowl of soup, a massage of her sore feet, sometimes a bath with you gently rubbing the shampoo in her beautiful hair. She is eternally grateful for this attention, but you, on the other hand, know that your attempts at calming her down are hopeless. Because when Peruere is tired, stressed, frustrated? That’s when the hunger rises.

A tired Arlecchino hungers for you. You and only you. Your voice, your hands, your chest, scent… Everything. Her hands are all over you whenever she gets the chance, searching, exploring, sizing you up for what’s to come. Soon enough her lips follow suit and, before you know it, your wrists are crushed in her iron grip. Helpless.

She never understood why spideresses don’t just mate and eat their males. Why all this nonsensical fluff? Why let him put in effort and tolerate him when you’re just going to devour him whole anyway? But seeing you beneath her, eyes wide with desire and nerves, feeling your skin crawl, your heartbeat and breath quicken… It made her understand. It’s just fun.

It’s fun to scare you. Fun to glare at you with a sadistic smile, watch all these scenarios of what’s to come rush before your eyes. Endlessly entertaining to drag her clawed finger across your defenceless thigh and feel your eyes tracing it like a snake, ready to pounce. Short or tall, muscular or lean, confident or shy - it doesn’t matter as every man erodes before her, just as every trapped insect fears the spider, crawling across the web towards them. She’s the greater predator - inhumanely strong, devilishly smart and deathly beautiful. When her hands trace your Adam’s apple, you know she is strong enough to hurt you, really hurt you. But amazingly, you stay still. You may tremble, your skin may crawl, you might even beg for mercy - and yet, you never pull away. More; you come to her. You offer yourself before her, at her feet, just like a fly willfully ignorant of the web ahead of it. You are prey - prey not of nature, but of choice. The perfect lover.

You might not escape her clutches or resist her, but Arlecchino likes you completely helpless all the same. Ropes will bind your wrists, neck, ankles, even hips if you wiggle and cry, begging her not to break you. She has no intention of hurting you, of course, but Father’s man must be durable. He must be able to welcome pain and stay still when she has her fun. Besides, it makes you look all the more adorable when your body reacts to her. She loves it, especially how expressive it is. Your hands are her favorite. Tied, they clench around the ropes when her fingers slip beneath your waistband and tremble oh so adorably as your voice cracks under the intensity of her touch. And these thighs, shaking as she mounts you… They encourage her not to be gentle.

While she might not eat you up like Bambi ate her many suitors, you will feel her teeth as she goes down on you, sinking her sharp canines into the delicious, sensitive skin of your neck. You always squeal and whine like the helpless boy your are when she catches your nipples with her teeth, shortly going down to caress your stomach with her slick tongue, soon sinking further and wrapping around your thighs. They clamp down and pull your skin, leaving purple-red hickeys on her way to your most tasty of spots. Try to close your legs, protect your delicate manhood - it’s of no use. She licks her lips, gazing you straight in the eyes as she opens them, feeling no resistance. Soon after her lips wrap around your warm masculinity, her tongue and teeth will soon conduct a delightful melody of tortured sounds from your throat.

And then, the main course. By the time your poor, overstimulated body cries for mercy, she’s already putting your legs up and sliding herself down on your abused cock. Don’t expect her to be satisfied with one, measly orgasm - Arlecchino has a Harbinger’s stamina, so better hold on to your binds tightly. She will quickly plunge her desire-consumed mind into blissful, mindless coupling where the only things are your helpless whines and your dick perfectly striking her cervix with every powerful squat. When she needs to catch a break, she’ll simply lean forwards and plunge her teeth into your neck, grinding herself on you as you plead and struggle. Each time your mind is sure you will either be ridden to death or consumed by your thirsty mistress, but don’t worry - she’ll stop when you pass out. It’s not fun when you’re not begging.

Binding you is a favorite of hers, but gagging you is a definite no for Father. Playing with you is not fun when she can’t hear the noises you make. The pleas for mercy and incoherent whines form arias and elegies she plays on your body, an instrument she’s become intimately familiar with. She plays you to her liking and knows how to elicit every tone, every lyric. Her tongue circling your ear will give her a trembling, high chain of whines, two fingers gliding up and down your head sounds out deep, regular moans and her teeth teasingly poking your nuts makes you sing pleas.

There is a reason dog toys make noises. A predator has no fun without the squealing of her prey…

While you lay lifeless on the messy, wet bed, Arlecchino stretches and feels the moonlight on her naked body. It’s a refreshing experience, a catharsis for her instincts. But don’t worry, she tends to her partner. If you can stand, she’ll take you for a nice, hot bath, playing with your hair and stroking your body as your wrung out body drifts away to sleep. “You did well,” she’ll say, “good boy.” If you’re in no condition for anything but sleeping, you’ll wake up with her tightly curled around you, arms hiding your handsome face in her bosom - where nobody will dare to look, where nobody will hurt you, take you away from her.

You’re her toy. Her boy. Her man. Her love, pleasure and home.

But when you awake, remember to prepare the bed - for you know not the hour nor the day when the spideress hungers…

Thanks for reading!

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