#either way probably get those tissues on hand

[ace-disaster-weeb]

Here's that Angeal playlist I was foreshadowing! Heads up, in case you couldn't already tell by the title, this one is depressing AF, like I actually cried listening to it. And once again, huge thank you to @rottenpumpkin13 for song recs!

BEST ENJOYED WITHOUT SHUFFLE

[dadsbongos]

virgins can have kinks too!

4.1 k words / summary - multi-chap posts of me experimenting with smut writing

warnings - piv, unprotected sex + creampies, virgin shiggy, college au, porn with minimal plot, partially clothed sex, BRIEF suicide joke, fem reader, 18+ mndi

~~~

If Tomura could go back and change any one thing in his life, it'd probably be how you two met.

Touya is messy enough to live with, now Tomura was forced to account for all the dirt-clodded shoes and unwashed hands of strangers coming into contact with his possessions. Those first hinting throbs of a headache were beginning to tease at Tomura’s pterion, and unfortunately his only access to water was blocked off by a thick weld of moist, musty athletes. Not that they intimidated Tomura, of course, they were just… an optional pain that he’d rather avoid. All their clunky terminology went over his head, and in his experience the people that Touya invites to his parties are not the inclusive type. What Tomura did understand was that they were perfectly posted up against their kitchen sink so as to be as inconvenient as possible; intending to verbally batter whatever unfortunate girl tried snagging from the fridge.

To be fair to them, though, tap water was Tomura’s backup plan. His initial objective was to sneakily steal a plastic bottle before returning to his room. All those were gone, which is sooo funny to Tomura because he’s certain that he just bought a forty pack yesterday.

Yet if Tomura were to point that out, Touya would just shift blame back onto his recluse roommate for knowingly leaving out water when he was inviting people over. So he doesn’t bother finding the stupid punk.

Similarly, he doesn’t so much as attempt either bathroom sink for water. One being annoyingly split off between the kitchen and Tomura’s room, and the other in Touya’s room. Touya’s room was a self imposed no-no for Tomura during their day-to-day, so he can’t fathom a reason to enter during the degenerate’s party. Judging by occasional thumps and ever shifting shadows beneath the gap, Tomura assumes the shared bath is in no better shape.

Right as he sets to retreat, his eyes zoom across their open floor plan -- all the way into the living room, honing in on two girls. One familiar from their shared mythology class, and the other entirely foreign. Himiko Toga is curled around the shoulders of the second girl, twirling strands of mystery girl’s hair with her long fingers.

Himiko greedily consumes all things cute, she chews them up and keeps them between her teeth to amalgamate with the next adorable target her sights set on. By the end of her life, she’ll probably puke up a cat-eared ball of pink glitter tied up with bows and proudly proclaim it to be her life’s work.

Currently, he’s watching Himiko chow down on someone that he, surprisingly, also finds cute. It's distracting.

Himiko lowers her hands until both arms are wrapped around your waist, nails burrowing into the material of your shirt. Her cheek presses against your shoulder, loose strands of blonde hair tickling up your neck.

Your neck strangely captured Tomura, then. Thick with your pulse and tissue, he wants to feel it pillow under his teeth. His lips are rough and chapped and suddenly all he can think about is how they’d feel scarring up the soft flesh of your jugular.

Himiko must be thinking that too because he watches as she turns cheek and digs her nose into the juncture of your neck.

Oh.

Tomura blinks himself free of the stupor and shakes out his hands, then wiping them dry against his pants. He didn’t think Himiko could actually hold down a relationship.

“Whatcha starin’ at, boss?”

Voice so raggedy and low, almost a staticky purr at Tomura’s back, he can instantaneously pick out who it is.

“Did you know Himiko had a girlfriend?”

“Huh?” Touya steps forward, eyes narrowed out into the crowd, “Where? I can’t see shit.”

“I told you to just get contacts, moron,” Tomura grumbles, then pointing as inconspicuous as he can (not very at all) towards their mutual friend still slithered around the unknown girl.

“Kid, that’s not her girlfriend.”

Tomura looks up at Touya, glaring through tangled, powder blue bangs, “You’re joking, right? I’m not stupid.”

“Seriously, it’s not,” Touya snickers, “Why? You interested?” when Tomura can only silently seethe up at the man, Touya grins: a sight more disturbing than reassuring, his teeth are too big and prominent, the bags under his eyes crinkle up weirdly, and it reeks of selfish glee. Touya jams out his index and middle fingers, waggling the index first, “Which one? Blondie?” then his middle, “Or new girl?”

“I don’t want to talk about this with you,” Tomura knocks down the man’s hand with a disgruntled scoff, “You’re mental.”

“We’ve been friends awhile now, no?” Touya stubbornly returns to pointing, “I’ve never seen you get worked up over a girl, it’s funny. So, which one?”

“It’s funny?”

“I’ll set you up.”

Admitting to the fact he’s got a beating heart and libido is so embarrassing, which leads to Tomura halfheartedly muttering, “If I had a thing for Himiko, I wouldn’t have told you first.”

“You’re cute,” Touya quips, reaching up to pinch Tomura’s cheek between black-painted nails -- pointedly ignoring the annoyed huff and swat resulting. He steps around Tomura to venture through the jungle of his guests, “I’m on it.”

Touya is one of the best, and worst, people that Tomura has ever met. Touya is bothersome and rude and sometimes downright narcissistic, but also headstrong. Touya decided the day his dad bought him this house that he wanted to room with the dork from his freshman year geography lecture. Touya decided that Tomura and him were best friends when Tomura helped him pass their aforementioned geography class. Touya decided last year that the pair should bleach their hair together for a laugh. Touya decided just now to be Tomura’s wingman.

His singlemindedness pairs almost lethally well with his sense of loyalty. It almost made Touya seem… admirable.

Tomura internally gags over the thought, quickly refocusing on real life where Touya is leading Himiko (who is leading her mystery friend via deathgrip on your hand) back towards the kitchen.

Himiko giggles upon seeing Tomura, “You thought we were dating?”

Nevermind. Touya is just as insufferable as he was three years ago badgering Tomura for his lecture notes.

“Be nice. You’re so touchy, I’m sure everyone thought we’re together,” mystery girl squeezes Himiko’s hand, then smiling over at Tomura, “But I’m totally single.”

Oh.

Touya’s the most direct, masterminded person Tomura’s ever met.

All that masterminding goes to utter waste if Tomura can’t wake up and relearn social cues, though. Touya jabs an elbow into Tomura’s gaunt side, ribs aching from the blow.

“Okay,” Tomura nods dumbly, swallowing the unease trapped in his throat and once again drying his hands against his sweatpants.

“If you couldn’t tell,” Touya yanks Himiko into his side and out of your hold, “So is he.”

Himiko whines and reaches out as Touya drags her off, the pair slinking somewhere deep into the crowd of thrashing, bumbling bodies.

“You don’t look much like the party type,” you hum, maybe a little unhelpfully. Tried and true method of flirting, however, is being just a tad mean. A less fluffy version of the tragic come here often? line is sure to crack this man’s icy exterior.

“My roommate,” Tomura flings a thumb over in the direction Himiko was hauled off, “He’s the delinquent, I just share the space,” suddenly the insides of his sweatpants are too hot, and so is the flimsy white shirt on his chest, “I just wanted water.”

Sweltering air beats from the center of his chest down to his ankles, even tickling up his neck. The longer you stare at him, the hotter his body feels. Scorching up his face too, burning away layers of dried, ungroomed skin to reveal every muscle twinge. Tomura wants to both comb his hair back and hide behind the strands (most of all, though, he wishes he’d bothered brushing it whatsoever before making his venture). Being so trapped between either option makes his brain short circuit until he’s, rather bashfully, tucking hair behind his ear like some blushing ingenue.

Thankfully you don’t appear troubled by the sight, instead grinning wider and even laughing at his admission (Tomura likes your smile: lips giving prominence to flattering teeth, balls of your cheeks plumping, and lashes fluttering. Definitely more lovely than Touya’s). You fold your arms, “Poor thing. You probably don’t wanna be stuck out here, huh?”

Insecurity visibly crawls along the downward twitch of your lips, your brows furrowing. Tomura stares at you, committing each divot and angle of your body to memory. By the time he’s finished, he realizes you’re waiting for him to respond.

“Yeah…” he mutters lamely, scratching at the crackled film of skin over his chelidon, then smoothing a thumb into the depression as his heart hammers up his throat -- pressing a disarray of words against his palate. They linger by his uvula, gagging him into stunned silence, until he can finally choke out an uneven, “Do you wanna go back to my room?”

As soon as the question was in the air, buzzing unattended between your faces, Tomura wanted to claw out his eyeballs. Maybe rip out his tongue, too. Such gore would surely erase any memories of his implying he thought he had a chance with you. That was far preferable to the disgust about to cross your face.

Except, that disgust never comes.

Alternatively, you nod, “Sounds fun!”

Tomura kept his area tidy enough. A stack of bowls, two cups, three empty Dr. Pepper cans, and a single Maruchan ramen cup on his desk. A lump of clothes he’s procrastinated washing carefully lines the edge of his bed. But that was all, really.

He wanted his room to be livable, and if he felt so childish as to be proud of it then he liked the sight of his uncluttered carpet. How easily he could make the trek from bed to computer to door (and, of course, the desultory detours to his bookcase or closet) without tripping on trash or abundantly strewn clothes. If he felt further inclined to childishness, Tomura even congratulated himself on maintaining a room cleaner than Touya’s.

Even despite the stacked bowls and cups on his desk and emptied soda bottles cluttering his desk legs.

None of that is sufficient anymore. He’s inspecting your face like it’ll burst open with an alien race for any sign of judgment. Cautiously, Tomura kicks a tangle of loose shirts under his bed while you’re distracted ogling his decorated shelves.

“You like Omori?” your question startles him from kicking a pair of boxers under his bed.

“Huh?”

You’re pointing at a lineup of four acrylic stands -- not the complete set, Tomura only burdened his wallet with purchasing the main party over including Basil and Mari -- on the top shelf of his bookcase, “Omori, right? I didn’t think you’d like that type of game.”

“Do I not look like I would?” he doesn’t know why that inference hurts his feelings. Shamefully, he cards his fingers through his knotted hair, slotting more locks behind his ear, “I played it a long time ago. Now I’m too busy for anything else story-driven, so I’m mostly on League. Or Overwatch if I feel like killing myself.”

“You don’t look like you like suffering, I guess is what I meant,” you draw your bottom lip up between your teeth (he hopes it doesn’t sting, he wants to kiss it better if it does), “But knowing you play Overwatch…”

“I try to avoid it,” Tomura prays his self-grooming is subtle, or at least lowkey enough for you to not notice as you continue browsing his various knick knacks and figures, “You game?”

“Eh, RPGs usually. I don’t like working with others when I play, it makes me nervous to screw up.”

“That’s cute,” he doesn’t mean to say it aloud, honestly. Two measly words small enough to slip through his pursed lips. Two words big enough to ruin his night.

“Think so?” but you’re… smiling again.

“I guess,” Tomura’s eyes shift quickly over to his pillows. Are they soft enough? Should he flip them over? What the hell is fluffing, and does it actually do anything?

“Are you usually this shy? Or am I special?”

Not often does Tomura feel truly helpless, but your incessant teasing pairs lethally with your fluttering lashes and painted lips. He wishes he were more accustomed to conversing with strangers, especially pretty strangers that were interested in him. Part of him wants to believe that if you’re attracted to him now, you’ll be stubborn enough to stick out whatever cluelessness he bumbles out -- but he doesn’t. He simply cannot bring himself to buy that.

“You’re making me nervous, like I’m about to puke.”

“Flattering,” you join Tomura on his bed, soft knee nudging his, “I hope you don’t. It’d kinda ruin the mood.”

He’s terribly unable to keep the casanova impersonation up, though, “What mood?”

You throw your head back and laugh. Hearty and full and so mortifying for him, worse are your next words, “You know why people go into private rooms at parties, right?”

“Uhh…”

“You do. I do, too. That’s why I came back here, you know? If you only wanna talk, that’s fine -- you’re fun to just talk to! But I came back here ‘cuz I want to have sex with you, if you want to, too.”

Tomura can feel that dreaded heartbeat climbing up his chest and into his gullet again.

“You’re forward…”

You shrug, “I know what I want.”

Tomura claws at his sweatpants, chest aching and fingers numb from how your eyes are zeroed on him. He nods slowly, racketing another giggle from your chest -- you lean closer, your hand brushes his.

“Yeah?” you coax a hand around Tomura’s far shoulder, swiveling him to face you.

A rattle and hum from his ceiling fan gurgles the sound of his reply, you hate it.

From the shape of his lips, you can make out his agreement. With no specific intent and only a general sense of lust to guide him, Tomura leans into your touch. Snatching his hands, you shuffle his palms under your shirt, sifting the flesh up your warm belly until they’re cupping your tits. He squeezes blindly, teetering closer along his mattress. Finally, you strip off your top -- then greedily going for Tomura’s as well. He contently allows it, even lifting his arms to grant the removal.

“You’re so pretty,” Tomura noses at your neck, hot puffs of air warming your skin, “Can’t believe you’re actually here.”

His hands are soft from a lax life, if slightly clammy with nerves, and they feel nice squeezing around your hips. Tomura dips his pelvis downward, keeping your thighs scooped snug around him -- bonus for the momentary relief of pressure against his aching groin. His fingers bow beneath the waistband of your skirt until your own are tethering his in place.

“Can I leave the skirt on?” your thighs tighten around Tomura’s slim waist, you tilt your head so your soft lips press against his cheek, “Its kinda hot. To me.”

Tomura rolls his shoulders, whole body shuddering at the request. He nods with clenched eyes, digging his nails into your skin -- he likes your idea more than he can put into words (granted, his tongue may as well be superglued to his teeth right now).

“I can do that,” he manages to scrape out, drawing his fingers down the bunched material of your skirt and up your thighs, “Can I take these off?”

“Please,” you cant your hips up for Tomura to yank off your panties, he bundles them in one hand and stows the other where the material once laid. You swear you hear him whimper at the contact.

His fingers dance up your slit, gentle massaging that intensifies upon introduction of his thumb on your clit. Tomura drops your underwear off the side of his bed and uses the freed palm to work off his sweatpants, but just before he can snap the drawstring -- he stops completely.

“Wait,” he pants, “Hang on. Don’t move.”

Tomura runs out like he’s caught fire, slamming his bedroom door shut behind him and leaving you splayed on his mattress.

He returns with a fist curled around something, and determination written in the lines of his face. Replacing himself between your thighs, Tomura hides the contents in his hand under the pillow beneath you. Before you can shoot any questions, he’s lifting your skirt and lowering his chest to the bed.

As if he can sense the curiosity burning away your mood, Tomura hurriedly buries his face in your cunt.

One gasp is stuttered short by another, Tomura flicks his tongue inside you with a groan. Pulling back only to spit on your clit, the liquid bubbling down your slit until it catches on his prodding fingertips -- your thighs jolt around his shoulders at the act. Middle finger worming into you with ease, Tomura’s burdened by the vestige of Touya’s hand on his shoulder and husks into his ear.

Yeah, condoms are in the top drawer. You need advice?

He’d been uneasy initially, nodding uncertainly, but Tomura’s grateful now.

Just as he’d been instructed, Tomura curls his middle finger and screws the pad up until- your knee knocks into his skull and he keens at the rough treatment.

“S-sorry,” you stammer out, chest arching up.

Bypassing your apology, Tomura flattens his tongue on your clit and slithers a second finger inside you. Surely by tomorrow, his arm will be sore with the work he’s pushing through, but he’s equally sure it’s worth it as you clamp around him and seize.

Strumming your gspot in time with your clit, Tomura loses himself in the thought of how your snatch would feel around his cock -- grinding against the marshmallow mattress below to relieve the pressure. Your only relief is how he greedily sucks your clit; he lets you grab his hair with both hands and roughly tug him to and fro. He lets you fuck his face, eats it up in earnest.

Prying your thighs back from his ears, Tomura shoves his sweatpants down and reaches under your head. Pulling back a foil square that crinkles with each nervous shake of his hand. Tomura’s plain black boxers soon crash to the floor as well.

“Hey,” your voice pipes up meekly, a little slurred after your orgasm. Drowsy eyes half-lidded and even sweeter on him, “Can you, uh…”

Tomura’s burning hot, flushed and vaguely sticky; bangs slickened against his face with sweat and cum. His breathlessness axiomatic of how little composure he could maintain, “What?”

“Don’t…” a shyness that now seems bizarre overtakes you, your fingers curl into his palm and unfurl the condom from his grasp, “You shouldn’t… I wanna feel you.”

He blinks down at you vapidly. So stupidly blank he's immediately ashamed of himself for blanching at your plea.

“You want it too, right?” you reach up and paw at Tomura's shoulders, “You wanna fuck me raw?”

“Uh-huh,” again dumb.

Tomura spares that response no reconsideration, instead preoccupied by holding your thighs open to nudge his cock into you. His tip bobs at your clit in the first few jerks, but his thinly construed patience is rewarded on the third attempt. You tug on his hair as Tomura humps into your sex.

He whines upon feeling that first squeeze and suck of entering your cunt, his pelvis itching up against your clit with every thrust. Blunt nails carve into the fat of your thighs, pulling you impossibly closer -- Tomura’s cock carves deep into your gut, hot and heavy. Chapped lips sear up the length of your neck, his chest squashing against yours, he teeths at the lump of your pulse and lathes the thumping point with his tongue. Budding his knees right beneath your ass, Tomura burdens the tops of his thighs against yours. Then wrapping your waist with both arms, continuing to suck your soft skin between his teeth.

Tomura gasps as the warmth of your hands finds his back, rolling lower and lower until you’re actively pushing him closer. He likes this -- loves it, even. He’s horrified to know he could’ve been having sex his entire college career and simply didn’t.

He’s further horrified that perhaps he’ll never have sex again when you leave (but mostly, he’s finding that he just doesn’t want you to leave).

“Be my girlfriend,” delirious, he’s babbling into your ear, whining and shuttering and smothering your body with his, “Be my girlfriend…! Wanna fuck you every day-- need you every day. So fucking warm and soft, all perfect for my cock,” Tomura pulls up from your neck to kiss the thin stretch of skin over your collarbones and treading to your breasts, “Like you’re made for taking it.”

What you want is to have the mental cognition to respond to him kindly, but what you have is a mushy brain and a flourishing climax scorching through your body. Grey matter melting into the bowl of your skull as Tomura kisses and pants into your tits.

“Tomu’-!” is all you can manage to squeal, nails digging jagged red lines down the man’s back.

“You cumming?” he reaches between your bodies to incise the pads of his fingers across your sodden clit.

A final push into your sensitive body, the attention spiking your head back into his pillow. Faintly, through the rush of dopamine pumping through your extremities to where your hanging mouth is expelling wanton wails of Tomu’! and yes, God! and cumming!, you can hear Tomura. You can hear him chuckling low and deep with ecstasy, “So pretty when you cum. Squeezing me so tight, too. You like me that much?”

He whines unexpectedly, wrenching both hands to your hips and branding the imprint of his calloused palms there.

“You’re gonna make me cum,” he grits his teeth, scratchy throat puking up pulpy, disjointed moans of your name and fuck, fuck fucks, “I’m gonna cum,” he latches onto your tit, muffling his pathetic mewls as your legs lock him in your cunt (trembly and weak as they may be), “Cumming, cumming- ! Fuck!”

Stilling above you, Tomura chokes out soft breaths and murmurs of appreciation as he cums. Sincerely thanking you as his spend paints your insides. Collapsing on you once his balls are empty. Tomura barely has the wherewithal to roll onto his side in order to avoid overheating you under him.

A rattle and hum from his ceiling fan regains your attention, but this time it doesn’t seem too bad. You can’t find yourself to be very annoyed, even when the music pumping from outside vibrates Tomura’s bedroom door. Above those sounds, the one you appreciate most is the soft pelting of Tomura’s breath against your neck; damp with a mixture of sweat and his saliva, and sore from his incessant teething.

“Did you mean it?” you’re probably being mean, asking such a layered question so immediately after his release.

“About?” his voice is raggedy, sharp to a bladepoint -- if you couldn’t see the dazed, awestruck film over his lidded eyes, you’d mistake him as trying to be rude.

“Me being your girlfriend. Did you actually mean that? Or did your dick have the braincell?”

“Oh,” Tomura pushes onto his elbows, arms shaking, his hair drops over his face and this time you’re the one to brush it behind his ear. Despite cumming in you minutes ago, he blushes at the gesture and looks at your bruising neck rather than your eyes, “I guess. I don’t have a car, so I can’t drive you around for dates.”

“I can take the bus, you know,” you laugh at how Tomura’s face suddenly sours at your words.

“As if I’d let my girlfriend take the bus by herself. Do you know how many freaks go on that thing?”

“‘Cuz you’d know.”

“Yeah, I’m one of them,” the giddiness rising in his chest over your giggling at his jab quickly overtakes his face, cheeks burning with a proud smile. Tomura hides his face in your neck, “I guess it’s up to you.”

“It's up to me if you were serious or not?”

Quietly, he hums, then rasps out something you could construe as a joke if you didn’t care so much about how he felt, “I only open to begging in the sheets. Being desperate to date the first girl I fuck is so pathetic.”

Which is so insane to you because you met this man only a few hours ago.

A broiling affection that builds between the slats of your ribs, bricking off your lungs and heart just to cook them up hot and gooey and primed for the man on your chest. At least Tomura’s burgeoning crush could be reasoned away with the fact he’s a recent ex-virgin (not like you, with visitors running rarer than Tanzanite).

Still fluttery and alight with the wash of your orgasm, you give your heart the braincell and nod sluggishly, “Yeah. I want you to be serious.”

Decidedly, you spare no mind how you two barely know each other.

[luveline]

Hey jade!! i love your writing so much<3

Also what do you think of prison!spencer × Stripper!reader?👀

im not sure if this is what you meant but I hope you like it ♡ fem, 1.2k

"Too much," you murmur to yourself, tilting your head one way and then the other. The bags under your eyes have been dark lately from a severe lack of sleep, but all this makeup won't help make tips. "Way too much." 

You lean back to ask one of the girls for a wet wipe but the dressing room is empty. Swearing to yourself, you duck down for your bag. You have tissues, and they'll have to do it. 

Things have been hard since Spencer's… event. You don't sleep well without him, worse wondering what it is he's going through right now. His friends don't really know that you're seeing one another, and so being kept in the loop has felt akin to begging for scraps. You miss Agent Hotchner in times like this. He always had a soft spot for you. 

You hum a song under your breath as you rub the cakey makeup under your eyes. Washing your face would be nice. Going home would be better. You've been trying to make some extra money in case Spencer never comes home; you won't have his security to fall back on if things fall apart here. 

You don't want his security. You just want him to come home. Sighing, you pick up your phone and open the gallery app. It's a second hand thing you got at a pawn shop but it has enough storage to keep as many blurry photos of your boyfriend as you'd like. Pictures of him everywhere and doing everything, his big smile like a beacon. 

You stop scrolling when you find the one you want. It's favourited with a red heart at the bottom of the screen. Spencer took it, you remember —you were too busy kissing his cheek to navigate the settings. He looks happy. You could never understand how happy he is to be with you, how through everything, a long time of knowing one another and a hundred thousand acts of a kindness you didn't deserve, he's stayed by your side. He doesn't care that you're a dancer. He's proud of your choices. He loves you for you, even if he does get a little jealous every now and then. 

You lay your phone down on the dressing table, cheek flat beside it. "Time to come home, Dr. Reid," you whisper. 

Your phone pings and you ignore it. It pings again and you turn off your notifications. It's probably Spencer's nice friend Penelope, or one of the girls wanting to borrow something. 

You shed your robe to look yourself over in the mirror. The lingerie you're in tonight's not to your taste but a fan favourite, the bra and underwear both plum in colour with lace and black garters to be clipped. You turn to one side and narrow your gaze at a ladder running up your leg. 

You save a bottle of clear nail polish in your bag for this occasion. 

You're sitting on the floor with your leg out in front of you when someone knocks on the door. The girls don't knock. 

If it's a patron you have a taser, and besides, they don't usually knock either. A bouncer, then. 

"Come in, please!" you call lightly. 

You don't bother looking up, a creature of habit. It'll be the same thing as usual, insert man wants to buy insert dance from you for insert amount of time. Are you interested? 

You hum as you paint the rip in your garter. The nail polish will stop it from ripping any further, but you're going to need new ones. 

"You're prettier than when I left. How did you do that?" 

You tip the bottle over as you flinch, you don't care, you look up at the compliment and the familiar voice, and find Spencer standing in the doorway. 

You've pictured this moment multiple times a day since the day he was arrested, hundreds of reactions. In pretty much all of them you throw yourself into his arms and beg him not to leave again, but all those hours of missing him coalesce on top of you. You want desperately to touch him and you end up crying into your hands instead. Tears quicker than you knew they could arrive, hot and thick as your sob. 

"Hey," Spencer says, kneeling down in front of you. He takes your wrists into his hands. "Hey… don't cry." 

You can't help it. 

He wraps his arms around you and lets you sob. "I thought you'd be happy to see me," he murmurs. 

"I missed you," you say, the words dragged from you like agony on a hook. 

"I missed you too." He rubs your back. If he cares that you're in your underwear he doesn't have much to say about it. He eventually started making jokes about all of this stuff when he realised you wouldn't be offended, but he's never cruel about anything. He's far from it now, pulling your shoulder into his chest as he pats your arms. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm really sorry. It got out of control. But, on the bright side…" 

You sniffle and pull your gaze up to his face. When you see the hollows of his cheeks you almost start crying again. "What?" you ask. 

"Well, now I'm cool enough to be your boyfriend." 

You push him backwards and crawl into his lap, knees on either side of him, weight against his abdomen. Your arms weave behind his head and you push your cheek into his likely too hard to be painless. He just sighs in relief. 

"Do you have something in your pocket?" you whisper, your voice stuffy. "Or was prison very hard?" 

He laughs and digs in between you to pull the little box that had been digging into you out of his pocket. "It's for you." 

"Don't want it." 

"I don't care if you want it. I missed our anniversary." 

"I missed you," you say, clinging to him for dear life.

You can't stop hugging him long enough to look. 

Eventually, he peels you off of the floor and you get dressed to go home with him. It takes a long time —you keep stopping to hug him between items of clothing, checking that he's real, that's he's him, even if he looks different now. He has to take the reins or you'll never make it home, pulling your coat over your shoulders and zipping it closed. 

When he's done, he takes your face into both hands. "You've been safe while I was gone? No trouble?" he asks. 

"Nobody messes with me. My boyfriend's in the FBI." 

"Well, we're taking a vacation." He blows out a big breath. "Jesus, I'm sorry, but I really need to kiss you right now." 

"Even though I look junky?" 

"You look perfect." He kisses you before he's finished, his praise smothered by your lips. He kisses you so hard you can't breathe by the end of it. "I'm sorry," he says, pressing a softer one under your eye. "Prison was actually pretty hard." You lean in, lingering nose to nose with him. "I couldn't sleep without you near me." 

"You're only saying that 'cos you saw me in my underwear." 

"Yeah, that's exactly why." He practically giggles. "No, I just love you."

You couldn't sleep without him either. You get home and sleep for days, tangled with each other in bedraggled sheets. 

[mikkomacko]

could we get a blurb where one of the boys are sick and reader takes care of them? then maybe mob boss nico comes home to reader babying the sick boy and is so endeared by the interaction that he envisions what it would be like to raise a family with reader.

“Jack is sick today,” is all Luke said when he texted Nico this morning. The younger Hughes brother showed up for his shift of restocking the bar supply room for the day and then left for his turn patrolling the streets.

Nico assumed it meant Jack was at home, probably just sleeping and ordering soup and crackers to the loft. Maybe he’d see him in the morning.

But when he decided to call the day early and strolled into his house, he was stopped by the sight of an extra body lying on his couch.

“Easy day?” Timo asks him, emerging from the kitchen with a banana in hand. Nico looks at him, then back at the living room.

“Tired, wanted to come home.” He explains, nodding in confusion to the only thing visible: the pair of feet hanging over the arm rest. “Who’s that?”

He snorts. “Who do ya think?”

Moving closer into the living room, your figure comes into view. Perched on the edge of the couch, you’re looking down at whoever is lying before you with warm and comforting eyes, eyebrows pulled in concern.

Nico isn’t surprised when he gets to the edge of the couch and finds Jack wrapped in a thick blanket, hair sprawled out on the memory foam pillow from one of the guest rooms.

“Hey Schoa,” You’re stroking through Jack’s hair, fingers tender and slow as you greet him. “You’re home early.”

He hums, looking around at the tissue box and vapo-rub on the the coffee table, the red Gatorade on the floor where Jack can reach it, a humidifier bubbling in the corner, and Happy Gilmore on the tv.

“Playing doctor?” He teases, only half joking. You look up at him, fingers pausing and that concerned look you wore earlier softens.

“Pretty good at it, don’t ya think?”

Nico laughs quietly, but agrees. Smiling proudly, you peer back down at Jack, smoothing your thumb over the dark bags under his sleeping eyes and then placing the back of your hand to his forehead.

“How’s he doing?” Nico asks when you frown in disappointment.

You shrug. “Ok, he’s got a fever still but at least he’s not throwing up and crying anymore.”

Nico makes a face. “How’d that work out for you?”

You glance at him, an unamused look on your face as you do so. “Had to get over my fear of vomit eventually right?”

Accepting the answer, Nico watches you for a moment. The gentle way you touch Jack’s face and move his hair, how sweet your gaze is as you examine the sleeping boy as if looking for anything physically wrong with him.

Motherly, he realizes. You look so motherly and protective watching over him like that, and it makes something in Nico’s heart throb.

You had told him you don’t know if you’ll ever want kids, that it’s something you haven’t put a lot of thought into. And he’s fine with that because he hasn’t either.

But if you ever decide it’s something you want, Nico will give it to you a hundred times over. And those kids will be the luckiest little ones in the world to have a mother like you.

“Hey,” he says softly, and you look over at him. “C’mere.” You take the hand he holds out to you, moving around the edge of the couch and into his arms.

Nico lowers his head, capturing your lips in a sweet and soft kiss. Your hands find the back of his neck, holding him gently.

“What was that for?” You whisper when he pecks kisses to your cheeks and nose.

“I don’t need a reason to kiss you.” Nico replies, not knowing how to explain to you that he thinks you look so good in the role of a mother. The last thing he wants is to freak you out.

“No you don’t,” you giggle, playing with his hair.

Pleased, he nips playfully at your lips again.

“Come take a shower with me?”

You purse your lips like you’re thinking about it, outweighing the pros and cons, and he rolls his eyes in annoyance. Tugging on his hair, you grin.

“Let me wake Jack up for another dose of medicine and I’ll meet you up there, ok?”

Nico wants to complain, wants to whine that Timo can do it and just come up with him now please but he doesn’t. You seem to enjoy fawning over Jack, to be taking care of him and he knows the kid can use some of that.

He’s a far way from his own mother and from what Luke has told everyone, Jack is one hell of a mama’s boy.

So he agrees instead, letting you go so you can crouch back down by the couch and he heads for the stairs.

“Jack,” he hears you coo, and he pauses on the bottom step to listen to you. “Need you to get up for a sec, darling.”

That part in his heart throbs again, sending butterflies throughout his stomach and warmth to his cheeks. Continuing up the stairs, Nico tries to imagine what sweet pet names you’d use for your own babies on day.

[theloveinc]

any hobie and/or miguel icks? 😟

whoever sent this: thank you + i ADORE you. i hope you don't mind i'm switching up the formatting/style a it in comparison to my older icks... shorter list, more detailed <3

(warning: some fem terms used at the end, such as “mama!”)

-

Miguel O'Hara

- This guy... has some long ass toenails. Type of toenails that poke you at night in bed, and tear holes in his socks.

It's maybe somewhat related to the claw thing he's got going on? Has a lot stronger and faster-growing nails than the average person... but the real problem here is that he's TERRIBLE about clipping them. Claims it doesn't bother him even remotely and that you're the one overreacting when you ask him to... but hardly anything gets through to him about it. You probably even offer to do it for him one day, thinking the offer of a foot massage would sway his thinking and that it'd actually work... but he fought you on that just as easy...!!!

...which is how you came to the conclusion that you have a man who'll even argue w/ you over toenails. Petty boy.

- Miguel is also tired 24/7. AND yeah, it's pretty hard to be un-sympathetic towards that, but he's tired in the... I'm-gonna-prioritize-this-one-last-email-over-saying-goodnight-to-you way. Which gets real irritating when you're asking him to help you out w/ anything, like cleaning up or answering a question or JUST HAVING A DAMN CONVERSATION W/ YOU and he's using "I'm tired" as an excuse when his response is shitty or distracted.

Like one of those stupid guys whose always squinting at their damn iPad when you ask what he wants for dinner... which is ironic given that he'll get snippy at you for not giving him your full, entire attention whenever he wants it. Type of man to start picking imaginary lint off your head when you're simply trying to finish up a text before engaging him so that you aren't distracted.

- Odd about Lyla. Not that he loves her or anything, but she'll like pop up to give him updates about whatever even if you're MID-MAKEOUT session and he won't change that setting. Pulling away from your lips all pouty and squinty only to glare at his watch for thirty seconds before trying to go right back into kissing you.

No. No sir.

(Lyla will also always say something to or-but-usually-and about you, which... Okay, she's an AI and doesn't Get It... but it's still weird because it feels like someone you don't know just walked into the room.)

- Picks his nose when he's too busy to find a tissue, and forgets to sanitize his hands after. Denies this when you tell him.. but you've witnessed this multiple times (he's weirdly kind of whiney for a dude and lazy for a workaholic LOL).

Hobie Brown

- Lovely boyfriend because he doesn't give a crap about your appearance or the idea of needing to "look nice" for a man... but also stupid, nuisance boyfriend because this means he doesn't give one hoot if you try to get all gussied up for him. Nags you about wasting time getting ready because he doesn't need you to do all that instead of just saying "THANK YOU, YOU LOOK NICE." Even probably complains about you feeding into gender stereotypes or w/e when you do something like shave your legs or pluck your eyebrows😭

You try to talk to him about this, ask if he even cares that you tried to look nice, and he skirts around admitting it because he has an argument for everything. "'oughta know I think you're pretty either way"-ass when you just spent an hour trying to look all good for him.

- Tries to share the most obscure music with you... which is like, sweet in concept, but weird when it actually happens since it's never like a generic love song but an eleven minute underground jam session.

Which isn't to say he has bad taste in music, usually it's fine if not fantastic... but you try to tell him you don't want to listen to some dude's first draft of himself banging on a drum set for a full album and he's like: "tsk."

HOBIE. TSK??? FUCKING TSK????????? WHAT ABOUT WHAT OTHER PEOPLE LIKE????????

(He'll also use his to get out of listening to your music. Claiming his "inconsistency" is why he liked your playlist yesterday but not today. Stop!!!)

- And you know I gotta say it, he's a punk, after all: absolutely refuses to clean his favorite leather jacket, and it smells RANK. He's genuinely sentimental about it, though... and if you even try to bring up cleaning it somehow (even if very gently), he's acting like you betrayed him. Goes through the five stages of grief over you asking him not to wear it on one of your dates, and teases you by TALKING to it:

"Mumma didn't mean that, jackie. She just doesn't understand our lifestyle, does she?" while giving you a (lighthearted) stink eye.

[toxicanonymity]

Jailbird.

1.5k / Cellmate’s nephew!Joel x inmate f!reader

thank you @iamasaddie for the mood board!!!

PART 2 HERE: Collect calls

Summary: Your cellmate introduces you to her hot nephew and he comes to visitation hours. A/N: Part 1 of 3. This one is due to @beskarandblasters and @wannab-urs and their hilarious list of new joel tropes and @raccoonhandedhottie's nerve to put the idea of doing one in my head. My masterlist WARNINGS: References to sex work, ACAB. Horny phone/visitation talk, mild/non-explicit over-pants masturbation. Mickey Avalon Easter egg.

Without Mabel, you're not sure how you would've survived your first six months in lock-up. You were cuffed for solicitation when a dirty cop wouldn't pay what he owed.  He says he took it easy on you -- you also clawed him and spit in his face.  As soon as you told your new cellmate what really happened, she took a liking to you. She said you should've bitten him in the pecker.   Mabel had been there, done that. She even knew of the cop who put you away.  It wasn't Mabel's first time behind bars. She had the ink and reputation to prove it. Her knuckles said "TAKE NONE" and that was accurate.  By now, nobody gave her any shit. Soon enough, no one gave you any either. 

Mabel had a few photographs on her wall, mostly of her and a younger man. Not a particularly young man, but certainly younger than Mabel. He was probably in his early forties in the pictures, which were five years prior, before she violated her parole. She was giving you a poke and stick tat of a four leaf clover on your hand one day when you asked about the pictures. 

"I was wonderin' when ya were gonna ask about my lil Jojo. I've seen ya lookin' at him, ya little horndog..." 

She let you stammer around in response. "No, I, I'm just, making conversation, wanna get to know you better." 

"It's okay, baby. He's my nephew. All I got left. He's a neat kid."

"He looks happy to be with you–ouch!"

"Don't be a pussy. Oh, he's a real sweet boy. Bet he'd like you, too."

"What makes you say that?"

She looked up from your hand "cause ya got a cunt and you're not bad lookin'," she laughed. "Hey,” she raised her eyebrows. “You ever wanna borrow one of those pics, you let me know, I'll give ya some privacy."

"No thanks."

"Oh, come on. You can fold it so ya don't have to see my pretty face." 

You laughed. 

"Bet he'd dick ya down real good, too."

"What?" You asked, quietly disturbed. 

"He lives with me. Walls are thin." 

"Ah. That must be awkward."

"Not really! We're all human. I could even tell ya the kinda shit he says if ya want. He can get real filthy.  Or shit, I could just give ya his number."

"That's ok."

"Baby, he'd love to hear from ya. Trust me. I've told him all about ya." She put down the needle and picked up a tissue to dab your skin. 

"You have??"

"Oh yeah. Here, I'm gonna write it down." 

She took one of the photos off the wall and wrote his number on the back. Then she folded it in half and winked at you as she handed it to you. 

—----------------

It only took a week of her nagging for you to call “Jojo.” 

Your breath hitched when you heard his smooth, deep voice. The first thing he said was, “Ah, call me Joel,” and you could hear the smile on his face. 

“Oh god, I’m sorry,” you laughed. “Well your aunt’s told me a lot about you, Joel.” 

“Yeah, I can only imagine what,” he faux grumbled. “Real character, ain’t she?”

“I love Mabel,” you blurted out. 

You found yourself opening up about how in some ways, she was more of a mother figure than you ever had.  Joel was easy to talk to. It just came pouring out. You told him about Mabel’s antics and the mischief the two of you got up to. Things you’d steal from the cafeteria. The way Mabel kept the ladies in line who tried to dom you. Next thing you knew, your time was up.  You apologized profusely for talking Joel’s ear off about yourself. 

“Nahhhh, it was nice,” Joel said. “Hell of a lot more interesting than my life.”

“Well it was good talking to you,” you told him. 

He said, “Hey, call me back any time.”

There was nothing sexy at all about that first conversation, but his voice did something to you.  You squeezed your thighs together when you got back to your cell and looked at the photo. Mabel kept giving you a knowing look. 

—------

You started calling Joel regularly.  Mabel told you he liked you a lot, but you weren’t sure if you should believe her. She seemed overly eager to set him up. The conversations were brief and casual. When you didn’t call him one week, the next time you spoke, he told you he missed the sound of your voice. 

Something came over you and you broke the tension. “My voice?” you asked. “Joel, your voice. . . you dunno what it does to me,” you blurted out. Zero to sixty, just like that. 

“Well damn,” Joel said. “Shoulda said somethin’. Coulda given ya better than stories about Mabel.” 

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Like whatever ya want, jailbird.” Your heart fluttered “Whatever gets ya hot and bothered.” 

“Honey, you could read me the phone book,” you told him. 

He chuckled. “Haven’t seen one of those in a few years.”  His voice was sexy to begin with but the sharp edge of the phone connection made it even hotter. 

After a moment of tense silence, he said, “Hey, uh, you notice any of your pictures missin’?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, Mabel mailed me one. Didn’t tell me you were a fuckin’ smokeshow.”

You laughed bashfully. 

“Well she did. But I had to see it for myself, and shit”

“Well, thanks. You’re not bad looking yourself.” 

Your time was almost up. 

“Hey I’m comin’ to see Mabel later this week. Y’all got the same visitor’s night or what? Cause I’d love to see you, too, if it’s allowed.” 

“Nah, mine’s the next night.” 

“S’alright, i’ll come back for ya, sugar.” Your heart skipped a beat. 

“I’ve gotta go.”

“I know. Be good, jailbird.” 

—--------

It was visitation day and you were getting nervous. Mabel thought it was adorable. She helped you get ready. Did your hair nice. “He’s already smitten with ya, baby,” she said. 

You were escorted into the visitation room and sat at one of the booths, separated by glass, with a phone on each side. 

When Joel came in, you didn’t recognize him at first.  In just those five years, his beard had turned half-silver.  He was striking in person.  He was wearing a tight t-shirt and jeans. Tight jeans. You couldn’t help but size up the bulge in them. 

When you looked up at his face, he was raising his eyebrows at you like he caught you looking.  He sat down and put his elbows on the table. You picked up the phone, a little nervous, but more excited than anything.  He checked you out and smiled at you coyly before picking up the phone. 

“Like what ya see?” he said softly into the phone. 

You replied with a low whistle, then asked, “You always dress like a piece of meat?” He had a few hand tattoos of his own. Faded, blurred together. A spade between his thumb and forefinger. A spiderweb curving around one of his biceps. He’d probably done his own time. 

“When the hell are ya gettin’ outta here?”

“Up for parole next month,” you said. 

“No shit!” He looked genuinely excited. 

“Mabel didn’t tell you?”

“Thought she was yankin’ my chain.” He stretched his free hand behind his head and you watched his bicep.  “You been good? Think you’ll get out?” 

“Haven’t been bad.” 

“Good.” He lowered his voice. “‘Cause sugar, I’m gonna need to see what’s under that garb.”

You smiled with faux shyness, and he continued, “God damn,” looking at you like a juicy leg of lamb. 

You stared at each other, checking each other out for a moment. You watched his pupils dilate as your chest rose and fell with desire. 

You made small talk for a minute or two, all the while fucking each other with your eyes. But, things took a turn again.

“What do you miss the most?” he asked in a low, sultry voice. “Bet ya don’t miss the clients.” 

You shook your head. 

He lowered his voice further. “When’s the last time ya had a nice hard cock ya really wanted?”

Your eyes widened. “Shit, I dunno.” 

“Ohhh you’re in for it.” You looked around, paranoid, in disbelief that you could get away with a conversation like this. “Ain’t nothin’ harder than mine, baby.” He reached his hand into his lap. “Fuck. ‘specially for you.” You could see his arm moving very slowly but there was no mistaking what he was doing.  His eyes devoured you.

“Joel,” you sighed. “Fuck, I believe it.” 

And just like that, a guard approached him from behind. “Time’s up,” the guard said and glared at you.  You rolled your eyes as a guard approached you, too.

Joel said “Later, jailbird” and hung up the phone.  When he stood up, his massive erection was visible and made your heart skip a beat.  You glanced up to his face and he was wetting his lips. He winked at you with pink cheeks and your eyes immediately fell back to his crotch as he adjusted himself and the guard hurried him away. 

FUCK. You were gushing. Mabel’s Jojo. Joel. What a man.

---------

Part 2

Ty for reading. strip club manager!Joel will be an alternate timeline of this Joel set in the past while Mabel was on parole. DIFFERENT READER. preview

this trope actually gave me so many more elaborate ideas lmao.

------

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret

[thefiery-phoenix]

YANDERE TONY STARK HEADCANONS

Tony as a yandere would be calculating, EXTREMELY possessive, a manipulative and obsessive one too and it's all for the best in his eyes

He'd first meet you at a party or something like that. You weren't like those other types of people, shallow and self centered. The way you just... blended with the flow and you were super chill about it was intriguing to him. So he came up to you and when you suddenly tripped on your shoe lace/ heel, he caught you by our waist as you spilled your drink on him . You apologized profusely and grabbed a few tissues from somewhere and offered to help him but he just brushed it off telling you it was no problem

May or may not send JARVIS to spy on you just to know 'if your safe of not' and heck, he'll even find a way to hack into ALL your accounts you never told a single soul about and YES that even includes that Wattpad and Tumblr account too. He'll keep track of all your social media and if he sees anyone trying to flirt with you or something, he'll either end up blocking them or send JARVIS or his Iron Legion or deal with those clowns. He needs his daily dosage of hourly updates on you so he knows you're safe or he'll freak

He knows you like the back of his hand and probably much more than you know about yourself. He can read you like an open book, always calculating and interpreting your next move

He tries being subtle with you first, trying to gain and get your attention with gifts and all that romantic shit, but he grows puzzled and confused when you keep on rejecting him. He gets upset and startled when you call him a 'Playboy' and he'll do something completely IRRATIONAL like kidnapping you. Ah yes, the most easiest way to deal with problems when it comes to yanderes

But he'll never yell or raise his hands on you and make you do things you aren't comfortable with. He has a lot of respect for you and literally DROWNS in his respect women juice. He will spoil you rotten till no ends. Want that new book series that got released? Don't worry, he's already called ahead and made sure those guys have a separate stock ready for you. Want your favorite snack? It's already there sitting beside your bed table

When you act up or try running away from him, he'll be heartbroken and disappointed like a dad. He'll restrict you from using your favorite items for a while and then he'll just cuddle you and kiss you saying he really loves you and not to scare him or do something like that again

If someone tries harming you that fool who decided to do something as stupid and dangerous as that would literally pay with their lives no joke. He'll be bashing them up till they bleed and after he's done torturing them, he'll kill them. No one messes with the love of his life and TF away with it

Man has ABSOLUTE power that can even ruin people's lives if necessary

Just listen to him before he does something really irrational like killing your friends because they're ''taking'' you away from him

[jamneuromain]

A Whiff of Blood

Lloyd Hansen x You

Warning: Mob AU, Mob!Lloyd, Secretary!Reader, Graphic Depiction of Violence (I guess Lloyd is a warning of his own?), Reader has light hemophobia (fear of blood), and ofc, the direction mention and description of blood, sexual harassment

Summary: It is a dumb idea to be working for Lloyd when you have hemophobia.

A/N: Based on the prompt from the bingo challenge. The inspiration came from @rogerswifesblog / @rogerswifesblog-updates when we were talking about business dinners and such.

The whiff of blood drifts out of Lloyd's office. You scrunch your nose and pull out a piece of tissue with a floral scent to cover half your face.

It is a dumb idea to be working for Lloyd when you have hemophobia.

The smell grows stronger, so you uncap your perfume and spritz it all over you.

As long as you turn your head the other way, or mask the scent with something stronger, your phobia will not act up. And considering Lloyd is paying you a hefty salary and bonus, you don't complain.

After all, when choosing jobs, at best, you can only pick two features out of "well-paid", "light work", or "close to home".

You are lucky that you can drive for an hour on weekends to visit your mom who lives in the suburb.

The door to his office swings open with a loud "bang", as if - no, probably, Lloyd kicks it open, and out comes two bodyguards dragging a heavy black garbage bag.

Quite heavy. Like 70 kilograms heavy.

You wouldn't want to speculate what is inside.

You turn your head the other way, facing a rather pleased Lloyd Hansen, the mob boss who pays you to be his secretary.

"Mr. Hansen, I've secured the dinner tonight at 7 pm with Mr. Suza Brewer. He owns the biker gang Hellbend ever since you helped him take out the previous leader Fitzroy. You will be having dinner at the restaurant named Bird. It's adjacent to the Ritz-Carlton, so you can take your pick whether to stay in your suite or go back home. Either way, I'll go tell your driver Denny to get ready." You don't even bother getting up, spinning your chair in his direction, you hand him the files, with a polite smile on your face, "These, I need you to sign so your clubs will be running as usual. Your head accountant Marilyn has an appointment with you in fifteen minutes, and I've called the cleaning crew. They are ready to clean up your office right now."

Lloyd snatches a tissue paper from your desk, wiping his silver blood-stained ring on his middle finger clean, before tossing the reddened, soaked, and irritating odor tissue onto the ground and out of your sight. A small smirk on his lips, Lloyd purses his lips to stroke his mustache with his finger, "Send them in."

You nod, picking up your phone from your desk, when he holds up his hand to stop you for a moment.

"Good job, Y/N." He says curtly.

Lloyd's icy blue eyes zero on you. After a few seconds, he speaks up again, "You're coming to the dinner with me."

You nearly jump from your chair. Shocked, but most importantly, confused, because he has never asked you to present during business dinners.

After all, those who were qualified for "business" are either ruthless or sociopathic. While your boss Lloyd is both, you are neither.

"Mr. Hansen, I-"

"You're off for the rest of the day. Call Denny, he knows where to buy a decent dress." He pulls out his wallet from his inside pocket, and hands his black card to you, "Consider this a bonus." His tone unrelenting, pushing the card on the desk further towards you, he issues his final command, "And tell Denny to find you a stylist."

You swallow your refusal and take his black card.

You know he doesn't take "no" for an answer.

"Thank you, Mr. Hansen."

He hums impatiently, waving his hand to gesture that the conversation is over for him.

For the first hour of the said "business dinner", you try your best to focus on the food in front of you, instead of the Brewer man. He is a few inches shorter than Lloyd, but the look he delivers when he stares at you is simply...

Fearful. Even more than Lloyd.

Having worked for Lloyd for nearly three years, you witnessed he yelled, shouted, pulled out his gun to shoot someone's brain out (you vomited on to his shoes, very unfortunately, for which he yelled at you for approximately half an hour), and of course, being mad at some business partners and the determination in his eyes to eliminate his rivals. But none of his looks scared you like the creepy feeling Suza Brewer brings you.

Lloyd gives off the vibe that he will shoot you alive, while Suza Brewer could skin someone alive. And Suza has not stopped stealing glances in your direction ever since you and Lloyd presented in this dinner.

You look at your plate, cutting a small chunk of carrot in half. Trying your best to ignore the four bodyguards, two from Lloyd and two from Brewer, standing in the back.

Convincing yourself. Maybe this Brewer guy likes to look, similar to many men who passed by your desk to reach Lloyd's office.

You raise your eyes carefully, taking a long exhale as you continue to persuade yourself that Suza Brewer brought a lady to the dinner, probably also why Lloyd has asked you to come along.

After a few glasses of wine, the girl Suza brought sat on his lap boldly, feeding him bites of cherry tomatoes.

"I'll say yes to your proposal. You and me, 50-50." Suza suddenly lets out a laugh, "I just want one tiny thing to sweeten the deal." He squints his eyes, and points his finger towards you, "I want - her."

The small chunk of carrot lingers on your lips as you are about to eat.

The young girl's jealousy could tear you in half, Suza's greasy lips smack together, as if tasting your flesh, and Lloyd simply looks at you, with minimum expression you have ever seen on his face.

"Excuse me?" Lloyd clenches his teeth.

"C'mon, buddy." Brewer smacks Lloyd a bit too hard on his shoulder, barking laughter with his yellow crooked teeth exposed into the air, "You can't keep such a sexy thing all to yourself, eh?" He wiggles his eyes suggestively, "Don't tell me you haven't fucked her yet?"

Now you HAVE to say something.

"Mr. Brewer, I assure you that my work with Mr. Hansen is strictly professional." You smile politely, raising your glass for a toast, "In fact, I think that's what we all want, Mr. Brewer, to have a long-term stable business relationship with Mr. Hansen. Here's to our thriving partnership-"

Brewer gets up from his chair and sways towards you. He could barely walk straight but he still manages to stand behind your chair, lowering his head right where your ear is.

As he speaks, he reeks of wine and meat.

"I'm talking to your boss, bitch. " Brewer snarls, slapping your hand so hard that your wine glass falls to the table. Startling you when you are trying to stay calm. "You are but a plaything to Lloyd Fucking Hansen and I'll have you whether you like it or not."

Now here's the difference between Brewer and the rest of the men who pass you to get to Lloyd's office. For those men, they work for Lloyd, and hence, they wouldn't dare to touch "Lloyd's belonging", which is you. Brewer, on the other hand, is a total wild card, which you understand perfectly as Lloyd worked with him to kill Brewer's adoptive father Fitzroy.

He is as unpredictable and unstable as Lloyd, maybe even more so, because Lloyd certainly hasn't laid a finger on you ever since you worked for him, neither sexually nor violently.

You even your breath as Brewer leans closer He grabs your boobs with his hand, having you freeze on your seat.

"In fact, I'll invite him to watch how I fuck his pretty little whore."

The chill seeps deep into your bones. You urge your body to fight back, but sanity tells you that you would probably end up in a dumpster with a bullet hole on your forehead if you ruin this big deal for Lloyd. For a brief second, you think about begging Lloyd. But in reality, your mind is point blank as the mindset in between "fight or flight" kicks in, and it instructs your body to play dead.

It might be a few seconds. Or a few minutes, before your savior swoops in, saying something that sounds like mumbling to your brain.

"We're done here." Lloyd growls, snatching your wrist with a grip hard enough to bruise, tugging you harshly to leave. Your knee and thigh bump into the wooden arm of the chair, to which you bite your lip in pain, and still too shocked to get your language system back online.

"But our contract-" Brewer shouts to Lloyd.

"I'll get back to you." Lloyd snaps back, pushing and shoving your back to move before him.

Your mind is a blur and cannot recall how Lloyd stuffs you into his limo when he steps outside to smoke. He did, however, throw his coat onto you and shut the car door with a loud "thud", having front-row driver Denny lowering the panel between you, whispering with much concern, "What's wrong?"

You curl your fingers into the black woolen coat. Folding it neatly as you have done hundreds of times when he throws his coat over you or over your desk. Placing it on your legs.

"Here. I'll tune the AC up." Denny showers you with his sympathetic look, as he has never seen you so out of yourself, so soulless, and shivering.

Your mind has been replaying how Brewer grabbed your boobs, and the filth he talked about. You also know that you have nowhere to hide, if Lloyd is determined to get something done, if he wants to deliver you to Brewer.

Though the tinted car window muffled some of Lloyd's angry shouting, you are still able to comprehend that Lloyd just got mad again.

"... CALL ME WHEN IT'S DONE!" Lloyd yells at his phone, opening the car door, and sliding in, taking a big inhale of the warm air inside. Glancing at you, he seems not having returned from his angry state, "AND THIS COAT IS NOT -" He lets out a grumpy huff, "never mind."

After a moment of silence, you feel like you should make your statement, no matter if Lloyd being unreasonable. You simply have to.

It's your life at stake here.

"Mr. Hansen, I just wanted to tell you that it has been a pleasure working with you these past three years. i have gained much experience and knowledge working as your personal secretary and assistant. I want to express my thanks for you cultivating me into a qualifying secretary and no matter what happens, I would want you to know that I cherish our business relationship and accept the consequence."

Lloyd listens through your statement surprisingly patiently, and pinpoints the most crucial idea (he thought that it was) throughout your entire speech, "You want a raise?"

You stutter, "No-No! Mr. Hansen! I wouldn't - What you have given me is well beyond market average and I appreciate your confidence in me."

"Ah. So you want to quit?"

His cold blue eyes stare into you. You gulp in fear.

"Yes, I mean - No, I don't want to quit. But circumstances have ... arisen, which makes me wonder ... uh, if I was able to -"

"I've had enough of it." He grumbles, twisting the ring on his finger, "Your next sentence starts with 'I want' and stop using these big words, sunshine. One sentence. Not another word."

"I - I want you to not deliver me to Suza Brewer." You quickly say, "Mr. Hansen." You did your best to be respectful.

His grumpy expression lingers on his face for a second, before turning into disbelief, "That's all you're asking for?"

"Yes...? I really liked working with you, Mr. Hansen, and I don't want to be put into a position that you are choosing between me and your ... business." Seeing that his mustache is twitching, inching close to a sneer, you add, "If you could just let me go, and claimed that I slipped through your custody or got away as soon as I could, I think that Mr. Suza would not mind that much -"

His index finger points up to shush you.

Lloyd snorts, fishing out a box of tictac and popping two colored-candy into his mouth.

Crushing the sugary treat with his jaw, he closes his eyes and roots his upper body firmly onto the back seat, "Denny, take us to the warehouse by the Westside Pier."

The Westside Pier.

The one place Lloyd would go to if he captures a traitor or fulfills a hitman contract.

The one place he could make a body completely go away.

He's about to end ... you?

The cold October wind does nothing to help you fight against the icy feeling in your bones.

The stylist Denny founded accompanied you during shopping and chose a most-fitting black dress for you, which goes a little over the knees. Along with the warm AC everywhere, the length didn't bother you -

-until now.

You hold Lloyd's folded coat in your hand, following Lloyd out of the car with teeth clattering, more out of cold than of the horrible thoughts of what he would do to you.

Lloyd turns around, grunting in a sarcastic way, "Can't believe your clever brain didn't work out why the coat-" before he stops whatever that's about to go through his lips, roughly taking the coat from your hands and putting it around your shoulders, "Try not to freeze to death."

Your hesitant expression must have been obvious, because he looks at you and purses his lips in slight irritation, "Don't do anything stupid. And follow me."

What does this even mean? That he doesn't want to kill you after all? Or that he has changed his mind and thought you know too many secrets to be alive?

Your mind buzzing with thoughts as you follow Lloyd through the gate of the notorious warehouse.

The swinging lightbulb over your head and the faint smell of blood make you nauseous. You have not stepped foot into this warehouse because you have heard of the cruel things Lloyd has done to his opponents, all of which happened here.

"I don't care how much your boss pays you, I-I'll pay you double!" A man screeches pathetically, taking hit after hit on his stomach from Lloyd's muscle man as two other hold him upright.

Looking at Lloyd's direction, the man's swollen and bruised face lights up in an instant.

"Lloyd! Buddy!" He gobbles in a mouthful of blood, "So glad, ehhehe, you came!"

Lloyd grabs his hair, and punches him in the stomach.

"Fuck you, buddy," Lloyd swings another punch at Brewer's stomach, a cold smile on his lips, "fuck you, alright?"

A sharp scream of pain. "Lloyd, I don't understand-"

Lloyd drags his head in front of you, bending his neck to face you, to which you cover your nose because of the strong smell of blood bombarding your nerves. "There. She's my people. You disrespect her, you disrespect me. Got it, you dumb fuck?"

"Sorry!" The man shrieks his apology, "I'm sorry!"

Oh. So that's what he meant.

You bury your nose under his soft woolen coat. Burying the lower half of your face. Your cheeks getting warm, and a small grin creeps up.

Feels kind of nice. To have someone watching over you.

"Our business," Brewer pants, coughing out blood, losing a few of his teeth, "you need me to do our business, Lloyd."

Lloyd smirks, waving to gesture the removal of Brewer.

The man is still screaming he's sorry, but the two muscles hold him by his arms, forcing him to stand on the edge of the pier and tying a large rock around his waist.

"But Mr. Hansen," You stop him in his tracks, "your business, your deal with-"

You point towards Suza Brewer, now with a gag so all he could manage is some muffled voices.

"Don't worry your head around it, sunshine." Lloyd places his hand on the coat collar and tugging it tighter. The look on his face blank, but somehow more sincere than his cold grins, "I'm working with his stepbrother now. Pal is so grateful that I help him take care of Suza; he decided to offer me 70% of the cut."

You let out a whispered "Oh". Glad that Lloyd's "business" is thriving but also ... not that glad.

He's doing this for his business after all ... while he'd get to ... make it up for you?

A strange feeling tugging your heart. Some sort of relief, but not entirely. You are disappointed, somehow, as if you believed there should have been more to this gesture.

The muffled screaming stops after a loud splash comes from the edge of the pier.

The three muscle men return. One of them announces: "He's been taken care of, boss."

Smelling the whiff of blood on them, you can't help but crouch onto the ground and hurl your guts out.

Lloyd gestures those men to "beat it". And as the air clears from the smell of rusted iron and salt, a white handkerchief dangles in front of your eyes.

"Don't puke over my shoes again." Lloyd stands still, pinching his handkerchief between his index and middle finger, handing it to you.

You gag a few times, covering your mouth with the smooth white handkerchief, turning into another direction other than his shoes.

"Mr. Hansen, I don't know you -" You fight the instinct to be sick in front of him, standing up from your crouching position with wobbly legs, "carry a handkerchief." You take a deep breath to calm your nerves, wiping the corner of your mouth using the white fabric, now stained with the red smudge of your lipstick, "I'll dry clean it along with your coat, and send it-"

He seizes the handkerchief and stuffs it in his front pocket, "Don't bother."

He pats on your shoulder. The same way he would pat his men. A silent encouragement and praise of "Good work".

"Mr. Hansen, I-"

You want to say something. The precise moment when your heart skipped a beat and you've captured something vague in your mind, some terrifying yet imminent. Your bones rattle in the possibility of the blurry idea. But when his blue eyes turn to you, the idea takes its chance and slips from your mind.

"-thank you." Is all you could say.

"Wait for me in the car." He searches his pocket for his box of matches and cigarette, waving his hand, shushing you away, with the cig between his lips. He sounds stern as ever, but deep down, you feel like something has changed.

Lloyd watches you as you head back to the car. You, his tiny, fragile, delicate, poor little secretary who gets sick at the sight or the smell of blood.

He watches you still wrapped in his coat. When the cold October wind sweeps by your feet, you shiver under the warm expensive wool.

He stares for a long time when the match used to light his cigarette burns the tip of his fingers.

"Shit." He grumbles.

[holly-opal]

Hello...I wanted to make a request that I don't know if it's something personal and I understand that you don't want to do it...but you could do a mr puzzle x helping a reader who suffers from hypersexuality... I will understand that if it may seem uncomfortable to you I won't force you to do it, I just want to feel comfortable with my favorite character

Of course, I am sorry if I do this wrong. I have never written hypersexuality before, so forgive me if I do this wrong.

Tw: Mildly sexual content. Implied SA.

You were walking to your dressing room when Mr. Puzzles went up to you, he put a hand on your shoulder and gave you a warm smile, he asked if you could see him in his office later today, he wanted to talk about something. You blushed and nodded, you have always liked Mr. Puzzles, you found him charming and quite the lovely person to be around, and he was very attractive for a man with a TV for a head, then your mind began to wander and you thought about the two of you together, in your bed hugging and kissing each other, and you two taking your clothes off.... You were doing that again. Thinking sexually about someone or wanting to do sexual things with someone. You felt disgusted with yourself, and thought that Mr. Puzzles wouldn't like that either. He'd probably tell you to piss off, like everyone else you had sexual encounters with. You followed him into his office and sat down in front of him, he offered you a cigarette, you declined. You were never one for smoking, your ex did though, and he was the one who hurt you. Made you do awful things with him. Harmed you in bed. You felt so gross for doing, and even more disgusted with yourself when you actually sorta liked it. He shrugged and blew some smoke, he seemed tense. "I'm going to get real with you, Y/N. I am not very happy with ratings. I am working so hard and yet I'm not getting good results. And production is going up in flames. Ugh..." Mr. Puzzles smoked some more, he was stressed, you had an idea on how to release it though. You got up from your chair and sat on his lap, he started blush and stare at you in surprise, you began to praise him for his good work and rubbed your hands on his chest.

Mr. Puzzles was touched by this, his face was beet red and he was starting to like it. But he see that you weren't doing this out of your own volition, he could tell that you weren't happy about this. He grabbed your wrists and put them away, you were afraid now, you didn't know what came over you, you expected him to get mad at you or throw you off of him or hit you. He didn't though, he picked up you and set you down on your feet. He sighed and kneeled down to your level, you began to tear up and look away from his gaze. He had seen this kind of behavior before, in television and in his actors. He gave you a very big hug, you started to cry and hugged him back. Those thoughts in your head were killing you. 'Your disgusting', 'nobody will love you if you keep doing that', 'your just like your ex, only worse'. You've heard these words before, but still, it kept repeating in your head multiple times. You were sobbing into Puzzle's shoulder, leaving a wet spot of where your tears went. Mr. Puzzles pulled away from the hug, ye was smiling at you, and he was patting you in the back.

"Mi amor, I know that you are hurting, but this isn't the right way to go. You don't have to give yourself to me so that I could feel better. I am not mad, but we need to work on your issues." You nodded, wiping away some tears with your sleeves. Mr. Puzzles grabbed a box of tissues and handed some to you, you blew your nose and threw it away. He stood up and held out his hand. "How about this? We'll both talk about safe outlets for your behavior, that way you won't get hurt by anyone. And then afterwards, we can go to dinner. How does that sound?" Mr. Puzzles asked. You smiled and nodded, you clearly needed to work through your issues, a nice talk and maybe even a therapist will help. You took his hand and you both walked out of his office, you felt relieved in a way. He did not judge you, and he even offered to help you, many would've just left you immediately. Your love for him deepened, and his love for you has not changed, you were still his little star.

(Again, I am sorry if I did this wrong. I hope this brings comfort to you, my friend.)

[shinestarhwaa]

SEONGHWA NSFW ALPHABET

A - Aftercare (how is he after sex)

Seonghwa is super caring and will make sure everything's okay and he'll probably ask a thousand times bc that's the sweetheart he is.

B- Bodypart (his favourite bodypart on you)

This man is obsessed with your chest. Male/female doesn't matter, he loves your chest.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum)

Oh he loves to cum inside you and fill you up cuz it makes the breeding kink go BRRRR.

D - Dirty secret (his dirty secret)

He gets aroused when he sees the crowd simping for him, especially you in the crowd. He knows he looks hot, he knows you think he looks hot and he knows what's gonna happen when he gets off stage.

E - Experience (how experienced is he?)

I think he doesn't have a high bodycount, but he's got a lot of experience with those people, I see him as a person with a higher libido and he might feel adventurous and try stuff out.

F - Favourite position

This man loves missionary because it's romantic and he can see your facial expressions (and your chest).

G - Goofy (how he acts in the moment?)

I don't think he's very goofy during the act but he might be a little giggly sometimes, especially after drinking.

H - Hair (how groomed is he?)

He's either completely shaved or super neatly trimmed bc this man takes his pubic hygene SUPER SERIOUS.

I - Intimacy (how passionate is he?)

He is so passionate, he loves intimacy. For Seonghwa intimacy is already the feeling of holding someone close, holding someone's hand, cuddling naked etc.

J - Jack off (how often does he masturbate?)

Okay but have we all seen the tissues beside his bed in his Live's? LOL. No I think he masturbates quite often, he might get a little needy sometimes.

K - Kink

BREEDING KINK GO BRRR. He loves the idea of breeding someone, cumming inside someone. Doesn't matter if he doms or subs, he's going crazy for it either way.

L - Location (what's his favourite place to have sex?)

Seonghwa will probably prefer the bedroom the most but might also enjoy the bathroom every now and then. But he likes clean places so he'll just prefer the bedroom mostly.

M - Motivation (what keeps him going?)

PRAISESSS. I think if you praise him while he eats you out for example he will go nuts and only try to perform better for you.

N - NO (what is a no-go for him/turn-offs?)

Besides a little occasional spanking he will NOT hit you, especially in the face. He will be playful and he might joke about it but actually slapping you while he fucks you? No. No no no.

O - Oral (giving or receiving, skill etc.)

Seonghwa is more of a giver, especially when it comes to oral. We know about his tongue right?👀

P - Pace (fast and rough? slow and sensual?)

It depends I think? I think he could do both, it just depends on if the mood is more romantic or a I-have-to-have-you-now kind of thing

Q - Quickie (their opinion on quickies)

For actual sex he's not into quickies bc he really likes to take his time, but for some foreplay he's always down.

R - Risk (experiments, taking risks etc.)

I think he's not super risky but he might give in anyway if you wanna be risky. He is likely to be experimental though.

S - Stamina (how long does he last?)

Seonghwa can last quite long, at least for 2-3 rounds. He likes to take his time and after round 1 he might start with oral again so that gives him time to gain some strength and energy again.

T - Toys (do they own toys? does he use them with his partner or himself?)

I think he definitely uses toys on himself, with a partner maybe sometimes but he prefers to do it without any tools.

U - Unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

I think if he's feeling confident and sexy he's definitely a tease. He'll wear sexy clothing, give glances and bite his lip.

V - Volume (how loud are they? what sounds do they make?)

Okay but I think Seonghwa is pretty vocal actually. He will whimper, whine, moan and scream for you if he feels really good (I'm literally weak at the thought of it omg).

W - Wild Card (random headcanon)

Your legs are spread as you're seated on the edge of the bed. Seonghwa's between your legs, absolutely ravishing you, licking and sucking and going feral while you keep praising him, hands tangled in his hair.

X - X-Ray (what's going on in them pants?)

I think Seonghwa is a bit above average. More length than girth tho I think? Seonghwa's the type to have a seriously pretty cock.

Y - Yearning (how high is their sexdrive?)

His sexdrive can be quite intense, sometimes he can go for hours. He's just like monday tuesday wednesday thursday friday saturday sunday seven days a week.

Z - ZZZ (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards?)

Will stay up to take care of you and will only fall asleep when you do<3.

Taglist: @anyamaris @a-soft-hornytiny @whatudowhennooneseesyou @wooyoungmybelovedhusband @pyeonghongrie-main @woosanbby @dreamlesswonder86 @changbinslovelylegs @jonghostie @lovjensoo @1-800-shedevil @mjyungi @bratty-tingz @sugarnspice630

[sourbinnie]

Can I request a fic Where Hyunjin comes back home to you from the Versace event thingy and he’s just really emotional because he thinks he didn’t do well w his English and outfit n stuff but then you comfort him and promise him that he did great and that you’re proud of him and it’s all cute and fluffy🥹

title -> pieces genre -> hurt/comfort pair -> hyunjin x gn!reader a/n: hope this is what you wanted! thank you sm for the request<3

i knew his flight was delayed and that he wasn't getting here as early as we expected to. i got home from work and decided to make it as comfortable as it was just for him, just so he wouldn't have to worry about anything at all. i was so proud of my boyfriend for making it this big and having a chance to fly out and enjoy a fashion show. i knew his passion for clothes and creating them, it was really exciting that he got this opportunity. it was good publicity not only for the band, but for the fact that the person wearing these clothes was an incredible human being that deserved all the love & praise he was getting. they deserved to know that hwang hyunjin was a magnificent person, just as charming as when i first met him.

even if it was late and i had work in the morning, i decided to stay up and wait for him. i just didn't wanna welcome him home with my sleeping figure and the fact that we were probably not gonna see each other tomorrow morning, just made me want to stay up more. 

the hours passed and it felt like an eternity but i remained strong as yawn after yawn escaped from me. that's when i heard the door to our apartment unlock and i turned off the tv. i got up and smiled as i saw him, he was wearing another outfit (clearly versace again) and he looked as breathtaking as one could be. it took me by surprise when i suddenly felt his arms wrap around me and give me the sweetest of hugs but i responded back fast as i hugged him. my hand going to his hair to rub him and the other one on his cheek to make him look at me.

i knew that expression way too well. he was feeling insecure, about what? i would have to ask. for now we stayed there hugging and looking at each other, mumbling "i love you" and not stopping. that's when i felt a tear drop fall from him and i decided to take him to the couch to sit us down and actually conversate about what was going.

"jinnie, talk to me when you're ready, okay?" i said and he nodded quickly as more tears were escaping his eyes. he grabbed my hands to trace patterns and distract himself but the sadness was clearly overwhelming. i've seen him distraught before, it was nothing new but it concerned me either way. what if he felt this way when he was at the event? in a foreign country? and i could not be there for him. 

it made a feeling in my chest that stung but i held on as i wiped away his tears. i knew he could get emotional and he didn't mind showing his feelings at all but sometimes he wouldn't say what was happening and i was worried it would be one of those days until he finally spoke up.

"too much." he said as he choked back on his sobs and i looked at him again. "it was too much. i don't know how i got through it without making a scene." 

"what do you mean baby?" i asked as i handed him a tissue to wipe the new tears that wouldn't stop. "you didn't feel comfortable in the event?".

"not at all." he said with a broken laugh as his eyes met mine again, reddish and with a deep kind of sadness buried in them. i was starting to realize what was going on, i knew my babe was an introvert, i knew how hard for him was to interact, to be out there, especially in those kinds of shows where you were so exposed. "i felt ridiculous, like i can't even speak english properly and even if they insisted for me to talk in korean, i wanted to prove myself and i failed."

hyunjin wasn't fluent in english, i knew that but he tried his damn hardest and this broke my heart. there was no one that put as much effort and love for the language than him and i wish he would see that but i would let him talk before i ramble too much.

"also the outfit, everyone had the fanciest stuff and i was just standing there. feeling so left out and stupid. god, why did they invite me if i was gonna be humiliated like this?" he exclaimed as i tried to put the pieces together. i didn't notice anyone being extra luxurious on the pictures that i've seen. just lots of people wearing the versace outfits they were offered, maybe he felt like it was too little but i think it was perfect. "i just feel like i'm never enough, i can never be myself and be enough for a place. it was so hard to interact with people (y/n), i don't know what i do wrong."

"nothing." i said clear as water and he looked at me confused. "you might feel like you're failing with your english, with the outfit or the scenery but you really aren't doing anything wrong jinnie".

"i just wished you were there with me." as much as i would love to agree with him, we couldn't be seen due to his contract. but yeah to be by his side and take care of him would be truly a blessing and if it helps him that's what matters.

"babe i know but for now you're probably gonna have to attend more of these. i think you looked beautiful, you always do and it's hard to not look at you when you walk in the room." i said as he blushed and i just smiled 'cause his shyness was just so adorable of him. "i truly mean that, the outfit wasn't extravagant but it fit you and you're not that. you create such a comfortable atmosphere and you have so much love to give that's hard not to fall for you".

"you're just saying that because you have to." he said as he looked down and intertwined his fingers with mine, comfortable touches from his hand to mine as i made him look at me again.

"i'm saying it because it's true." i said firmly and with an honest look in my eyes. "also your english might not be perfect but you can communicate well and people understand what you say baby. you have a really sweet way with words and everyone was mesmerized by it." 

"do i?" he said and i could see in his eyes he was starting to believe me.

"you do! it's really beautiful how you talk." i said smiling as i thought about the many times he studied english and asked felix or chan for advice. "overall and for real, i am proud of you. proud of how far you've come and how much you're gonna show to the world. proud of the effort you put it in for a language that's not your own. proud of the representation you're giving. i am so happy that you get to do these things so people can see you and see the man i fell in love with."

he was again teary eyed but i was hoping it was happy ones instead of cruel & sad ones. i could feel another hug coming in as i held him. he whispered "thank you" so many times that his voice got hoarse from all the crying and the repeating. i just held him in my arms and kissed his forehead. 

"you're the best significant other i could ask for." he said and i just smiled.

"that's you jinnie." i responded as i gave him a little peck. "let's go to bed yeah? it's been a long day for you."

[thecommunityoftrustworthysinks]

You are Morgan Yu. No, you’re not Morgan Yu. You were Morgan Yu. No, you were something else.

The face in your memory—a man. The face in our mirror—a woman? No, you were a woman. You were many shadowy faces distorted in the polished gold of the railings.

You are Morgan Yu.

I am Morgan Yu.

“…and after that, it was over. No one could stop the Typhon. It spread all over earth. So I took my escape pod…”

Alex’s voice drumming in your head. Morgan’s head. It drummed endless hours through a transcribe.

Typhon.

Alex had made you. Alex had resurrected you. Alex created you.

Alex had killed us from the beginning.

No. You shake your head. You are not Morgan Yu. You don’t know what memories are real.

“Morgan?” You look up. You haven’t quite gotten your tongue to form real words yet. Morgan would’ve spoken more. I wanted to speak more. Alex sighed. “I guess it’s a lot to take in. You should get some rest, Morgan.”

He gestures at you, his voice directed towards the operators—your friends. Voices you thought you knew. Drumming again, directed away and bouncing back. “Take it back to its cell for tonight. I don’t want to risk anything reverting overnight.”

You could kill them. You know that. You did it a lot, before.

But you are Morgan Yu. Alex Yu is your brother. Alex Yu watched over you and worked with you.

Your bedroom. Where are you? Your bedroom.

Your voice is speaking to you. You don’t know the words. You don’t know the speaker.

Your bedroom?

You’ve been Morgan Yu. You’ve been a thousand Morgan Yu’s.

Are you Morgan Yu?

We are reading again. The logs of the destruction of Talos. I don’t remember it this way.

“Remember that, Morgan? You gave us the greatest idea that year. Boosted Neuromod reviews in days. Mom and Dad would be proud.”

The escape pods. They didn’t work. They were built that way.

Mikhalia.

Mikhalia.

I said it aloud. It rasped from my lips, scraping my throat on the way out.

“Mikhalia?” Alex. “She’s the operator now, Morgan.” His voice, smooth and condescending.

She was, though, wasn’t she?

You squeeze your arm. We can feel pain. I feel a trembling energy underneath.

“Do you remember her from Morgan’s memories?”

You were Morgan Yu?

Morgan would nod.

Morgan nodded.

“Interesting. You saved her, and then let everyone die instead of letting anyone escape.”

The echo of straps across your wrists and ankles tugs at you.

“You’ve always loved her too much, I thought. Either I was wrong, or you still have too much Typhon left in you.”

Phantoms inhabited bodies of human dead. Human dead did not inhabit phantoms.

Your inky hands scrape into the metal holding you. Where are we? Where is Morgan? I am Morgan!

Mimics. Alex kept several in secure locations, continuing his research. He tells you about them. He tells Morgan about them. The deep purple tissue of the Mimics feels familiar. Familiar from a thousand lifetimes—and familiar from you.

There is a room tonight. Alex locks it from the outside. You’re still at risk of being a monster. Right?

You are Morgan Yu.

Who is Morgan Yu?

A man tells you to destroy it—destroy it all. You won’t like it, it erases your family’s legacy and you will probably have to die too. But it’s the only thing that’s safe.

She says it too. The woman.

The woman?

Something courses through you. Every vein, every neuron, every spin of every atom is alive. It stings it roars it slows the world to a stop.

And everything is at your hand.

Another day, Morgan Yu. Today, tests. “They’re an essential part of an experiment. Just like you did, Morgan. I know you don’t remember—you didn’t remember in the memories either—but you were so committed to those neuromod tests. No one could stop you.”

Alex’s voice rings into our head.

Morgan did the tests. We will do them again now.

The face in the mirror. Broken and dappled in blood, a sliver of silver shone through. The eyes fester with Typhon sinews. You are Morgan Yu.

The failure of a screen. Alex once shut a screen against Morgan, didn’t he? And outside, everything was golden.

Blood streaks the floor. Your leg is split open, your alien flesh bursting out. Alex’s voice throbs at the back of your head as you stumble. A memory, too many memories.

I am Morgan Yu.

[hehkshew]

I have this prompt idea:

Vox, having been around Valentino and Velvette, insists he’s fine and is not going to catch whatever cold ridden illness that they have. But by the end of the week, he’s now showing symptoms just as much as they were. Valentino smirks as Vox finally admits defeat. The three of them, Vel and Val now recovering slowly, resign themselves to a week together, each one blaming the other for starting it.

[Out Of Service] (H/azbin H/otel) V/ox, V/elvette, and V/alentino [1300 Words]

This week, it felt as if everything had been going wrong. The entire past few days had been fully manic. Even more so than the way it typically was. There were employees around every corner, worrying as they tried to keep up with the increased work load and requests.

Why they were all suddenly so panicked? Because it just so happened that two of three were bored. And when they were bored, shit got tense fast.

There was a lot to do and a lot to manage and to keep up with it, there was no time to get distracted. 

Which was why if Vox had half a mind he would’ve turned around, at the first sounds of a hacking cough. But he didn’t. 

Valentino laid sprawled across out on the couch, sunglasses hazardously laying dropped on the floor in the path of any unfortunate unfocused sinner who’d undoubtedly step on them. He looked pathetic, no trace of cocky appearance he usually displayed.

Other side of the couch Velvette looking pissed and utterly wrecked as she tiredly scrolled through her phone. Eyes half lidded, groaning quietly. 

He should’ve probably assumed that after hearing the sound of coughing ongoing randomly the past two hours.

They looked exhausted.

Val’s eyes drifted tiredly, widening a little as he pushed himself up with a smirk. Sniffling as he purred, voice a little too rough than normal.

“Amorcito!” He called low, grin widening as he blinked slow. The eye bags were practically visible from here, “I didn’t think you’d come, Baby.” He mused, Velvette glancing up from her phone before glancing away, sinking deeper into the blankets. “I feel awful.”

Vox narrowed his eyes slightly, eyebrows creasing as he breathed out, “Oh please, Val. You can handle a little cold.”

Valentino dramatically groaning as if he’d been betrayed, back of his hand to his forehead, which was noticeably sweating. “Ugh, heartless, Voxxy. Absolutely heartless.”

Velvett made a noise of annoyance, sniffling as she sunk deeper into her blankets, snapping her head down as she stifled a harsh sneeze into the blankets.

“Oh for Hell’s sake,” Vox groaned, making the gesture of pinching his screen, “Don’t tell me you’re sick too.”

Velvette only sniffled, shooting daggers as she spoke. Voice sounding more broken then Valentinos, grabbing a tissue box. One in one of those stupidly fancy cases as she chucked it at Valentino’s head, the moth making a pained “Oww..” whine.

“It’s his fault, I feel like shit.”

Val barking out a laugh, one that dissolved into a coughing fit, the sound rattling in his chest. “Doll, you did not get this from me. You were coughing before I was”

“This is totally all his fault, fucking infected everyone and now hes gonna make you miserable too.” She snapped, only half serious. rolling her eyes as she slumped deeper into the couch.

Vox scoffed somewhat amusedly at the two.

“I at least have a decent antivirus system.” That’s something he pointed out a lot, his excuse to work through things, something the two couch ridden overlords tried not to groan at, Vox shooting a glare back. “Unlike you two, I don’t get sick.”

Valentino coughed, sitting up as he hit at his chest, clearing his voice as he sniffed sharply, humming with almost a look of challenge. “We didn’t expect to get sick either Mi amado.”

“I’m not gross.” Vox challenged, ducking as Velvette threw the nearest object near her towards Vox’s head. “And I’m more efficient, I’m built to handle this.” He snapped.

The two weren’t convinced, Vox groaning as he stormed out and left. A look towards each other as if they knew.

“I don’t get sick.” He muttered. Something he continued to tell himself.

It was nearing the end of the week, and it was safe to say that something had changed.

Vox wasn’t uncaring, he’d been there. For them! Bringing them stuff every hour or so, a routine most likely used in a prison more than a caring nurse sort of way, but he was there every hour for a check in. To make sure they hadn’t died, or whatever.

They were still sick of course, but it wasn’t as bad now. That was… An improvement, and it was good!

And everything was fine…! And maybe he might’ve felt a little sluggish, and even when it was dead silent he could hear the sound of buzzing in his ears. But those were just quirks! Definite normal stuff he always had.

Computer shit!  

He tensed, screen flickering as he faltered. Lowering the clipboard he’d been holding, head snapping down harshly as he sneezed. Spark of electricity shooting as it zapped, wincing as the lights in the penthouse went out for just a moment. 

That was the downside about all of this, everytime that happened. It tended to affect anything electronic, and Much to Valentino and Velvette’s misery, their devices were no exception.

Inhaling sharply again as a second one overcame him. 

 “Hhh-HHK̴̬͉̬̮̗̝̓̑̕ͅS̴̜̥̞̰̟̈́̿̊̎̋͒̃̄̽ͅͅͅZ̶̮͓̬̗̣̝͗̃̀Z̴̧̠̫͙͔̬̲̦͕̣̋͘͜T̴̩̠̀͆̀̚!̷̧̡͈̖̗͇͓͇̳̏͆͠!!”

A surge of static zapping as another blue spark zapped, this time hitting Valentino in the chest. Moth Demon giving a sharp yelp as he involuntarily wrapped his wings around himself, an undignified tumble off of the couch.

“Voxxy, the fuck!” Valentino yelled, gray smoke rising from the zap in his jacket. Velvett pulling herself back as she brought her knees to her chest, intent on avoiding by being zapped by any of that.

“Not sick, huh?” Unamused, twinge of a grimace on her face as she watched his screen short circuit. 

“I’m not– hHHK̶̊̋͐̒̿͊͂́͜S̶̨̪̭͖̙̩̠̜̹̓̌ͅH̴̟̯̗̄ͅŹ̸̢͕̰̙̱̖̦͔Z̴̢͓͍̲͉̈͐̀̒Ţ̸̥͕̮̎̔!!” This time, the lights in the entire penthouse immediately blacking out into darkness.

“Yeah, real convincing.”

Vox groaned, looking as flustered as his expression was able to manage, arms crossed over himself as he pointedly ignored the inspecting looks he was receiving. Even he couldn’t argue against this one. Huffing as his screen glowed duller.

He did feel fucking wrecked.

With a heavy sigh, he slumped against the kitchen counter. “Fine. Fine. I have a cold.”

“Told you,” Velvette hummed, sniffling pleased to be right. She was always right.

“Welcome to the club Baby.” Val grinned widely, lifting his wing and blanket as invitation for Vox to join them under it. “Surprise, Tesoro. You’re not invincible.”

Vox shot him a withering glare, muttering as it lacked its sharpness. “Shut up.”

And with the admittance of all of them feeling horrible, they could feel horrible together. Remaining time being spent huddled together. And that’s how it was the next few days.

Arguments over who was worse, arguments over each other hogging blankets and arguments starting after every sneeze from Vox short circuited another one of their electronics.

“I can’t believe Velvette got us all sick.” Valentino muttered, biting back his grin as she sat up pissed off, Vox groaning as he pulled a pillow over his screen, knowing the argument to ensue.

“Me?! It was you, you were the one coughing over fucking everything. And I wash my hands constantly. Unlike you with both your fucking gross men piss fingers.” Grimacing with a shooted glare, burying further into them despite it.

Vox groaned, “Does it even matter? We’re all suffering now because one of you idiots couldn’t not be walking disease.”

Velvette sniffled weakly, head laid against Vox’s lap. “Let’s all just agree to blame Vox for electrocuting us every time he has a fit.”

Vox glared embarrassed, preparing to move up from the couch and leave. “I’m going to bed.” Valentino stopping him as he pulled him back down.

“Ah, ah, ah. You’re stuck with us.”

And he didn’t have room to argue, blinking tiredly as the movie on the screen began to play. The three watching with various levels of exhaustion. 

And it was nice.

“Hhh.. Hih.. hḰ̴̼Z̵̮̎Z̴̠͙̾H̷͇͊ͅT̵̪̔̽!̷̹̐̀” 

Velvette’s phone buzzing and flashing before going dead.

“Dammit Vox!” Velvette groaned, dropping the broken device onto the carpet.

“Whoops,” For the first time all day, barking out a laugh.

With the movie playing, they couldn't help the exhaustion overtaking them. Slowly breathing as they began to fall asleep, and for the first in a long time, together they could rest.

[gintrinsic-writing]

Hi there. I always read fics where Warriors doesnt know that Time is Mask. But i was thinking why not the reverse? Children don't have that strong of a memory. So although Time remembers the Captain from the war and how much he meant to him, he didn't quite make the connection that he and Wars are one and the same. Meanwhile Wars over here is very proud of his little brother and also constantly trying to offer him hugs and giving him like a bedtime or something and Time is like ???

Do with prompt what you like, maybe when time finally makes the connection.

Also it's totally alright if you don't feel like writing it, no pressure. <3

Sorry this is uhhhhh two years late, Anon. I made it a little silly. :)

--

It was probably the scarring, Warriors mused, idly thumbing the thickened tissue that pulled at his nose and lips. No matter how prettily he attempted to smile, his expression bore a perpetual grimace. It didn't seem fair, but that was life, after all. The end of the war hadn't quelled any of the resentment from those who believed that the Hero should've been quicker, or smarter, or stronger; if anything, the peace that had followed merely gave them time to redirect their ire, and their blades. Warriors hadn't been able to feel his right cheek for nearly a year.

He imagined the length of his hair didn't help the situation either. It was longer, now, and it curled around his jaw if he didn't apply any product. Warriors rather liked it like that, maybe especially because of the way it looked nothing like the practical cut he'd sported during the war.

But still, surely Time recognized him. Yes, he'd gained a few healthy pounds, and he cared about things like moisturizers and conditioners when he'd never before had the chance to, but goddesses above, the scarf was pretty recognizable, and so was his "annoying, posh-ass accent," or so he'd believed.

He certainly remembered Mask, regardless of the decades that must've passed for the other hero.

But they'd been traveling together for days at this point, all nine of them, and Time's countenance revealed not even a semblance of familiarity whenever he looked Warriors's way. And that was...

Well, not great.

So Warriors waited for the right time, and when the younger heroes went off on some questionable exploration of a something called a "fire fruit orchard," he sidled up to the Hero of Time with the closest thing he could manage to a grin. "Portals," he began with a conspiring wink, "am I right?"

Time didn't seem to share his amusement. Not even for camaraderie's sake. "Are you not going to follow the others?"

"No, they'll be fine." Probably. Mostly. "I figured you and I should take the time to talk."

"Hm." Time busied himself with cleaning the back of one of his gauntlets. The metal practically gleamed already. "About what?"

Not one to be deterred, Warriors stepped closer. "It's only right that we get to know each other. Call it bonding, or... unmasking." He paused, waiting to see if the joke connected, and he couldn't help but lean forward to bump their shoulders together just like he'd done to Mask dozens of times during the war.

Somehow, he ended up on his ass. Literally.

"Not interested," Time answered flatly, drawing his leg back as if he hadn't just stepped aside and tripped Warriors with it.

A blushed warmed one side of Warriors's face, and he cleared his throat. Belatedly, he remembered to stand up. "I only meant--"

"I know what you meant." Time held up his left hand. A plain silver ring decorated his fourth finger. "But I'm taken, jackass."

"That's--I didn't--Mask--"

"Try that euphemism one more time, and I promise you won't experience a single peaceful night on this goddess forsaken journey."

Warriors stared, and for once, Time stared back. The look in his eye was fucking terrifying. Warriors couldn't help but admire the man, even if his skin crawled from the intensity of that stare. After what felt like one of the most dangerous moments of his life, he finally sighed and threw up his hands. "Do you truly not remember me, you brat?"

Time blinked, then narrowed his eye. "Should I?" As if it was a threat!

"Captain Link?" Warriors tried, drawling a little out of frustration. "Time travel? The War Across the Ages? Any of that ring a bell?"

For a moment, it seemed like Time had truly forgotten, then his jaw dropped; the stupidity of the look suited him. "Captain?"

"Nayru's sake, yes!" Warriors scoffed, feeling his scarred lip catch briefly. "I can't believe it took you so--Oof!"

He ended up on his ass again. This time, Time was on the ground with him. All things considered, it wasn't the worst hug he'd ever received. Not by far.

[erikahenningsen]

Janis and Regina as camp counsellors?

I.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven—

Janis is missing a camper.

"Lizzie!" she calls, but she gets no response. She scans the field where they've just finished a game of kickball, but sees the child nowhere.

She does see Regina standing off to the side, looking at her fingernails.

Regina, her "co-counselor," the bane of her existence.

"Regina, where's Lizzie?" Janis asks.

Regina looks up and shrugs. "I dunno."

Janis stares at her incredulously. "You were supposed to be watching them while I put away the equipment."

"Okay, well you were gone for, like, two minutes, so she couldn't have gone far," Regina says, looking completely and totally unconcerned.

It definitely took her longer than that, and the first stirrings of panic ignite in Janis's stomach.

"Lizzie!" she shouts again. "I can't believe you," she hisses at Regina. "You're gonna get us fired."

Regina rolls her eyes. "You are being so dramatic right now."

"Oooh," a couple of the kids say, giggling, picking up on the tension and apparently finding it amusing.

"LIZZIE! LIZ—"

"What?"

The child in question emerges from the wooded path that leads away from the field.

"Oh my god," Janis says in relief. "Where were you?"

"I had to go to the bathroom," Lizzie says.

"You know you're not supposed to go alone," Janis scolds, sending a harsh look Regina's way.

"Sorry," Lizzie says, and she seems sufficiently apologetic, so Janis lets it go.

"She could have gotten hurt," Janis tells Regina as the group leaves the field.

"Okay, well, she didn't, so..." Regina widens her eyes, like Janis is the one in the wrong here.

It takes all of her willpower, but Janis does not smack Regina over the head with her clipboard.

II.

Janis is walking a couple of campers back from the bathroom when she hears a shriek coming from the direction of the basketball court, where her group is playing four-square and drawing with chalk.

The shriek turns into loud crying, and when Janis reaches the blacktop, she sees one of her campers sitting on the ground, holding her leg. Regina is standing over her, expression pinched.

"It hurts," wails the camper. There's a scrape on her knee that's bleeding a little—nothing a band-aid can't fix, but kids that age see one drop of blood and think they're dying.

"Well, then you shouldn't run with your shoe untied," Regina says unsympathetically.

Janis frowns. "What's going on?"

"She tripped," Regina says with a roll of her eyes.

"So give her a band-aid," Janis says as she kneels next to the camper. "Hey, you're gonna be fine," she says. "It's not that bad."

"It's not?" the camper says, sniffling, and Janis shakes her head.

"I don't have a band-aid," Regina says.

Janis looks to Regina's waist, where the red first-aid fanny pack should be. Each group is supposed to have one. "Where's the first aid kit?"

Regina wrinkles her nose. "In the cabin. That thing is so ugly."

Janis stares at her in disbelief. "Well go get it!" she nearly shouts. One of the kids has an Epi-Pen in there that should be with them at all times.

"Jeez, relax," Regina says, holding up a hand. "You could have carried it, too."

"I already carry half this group's bags," Janis says indignantly. Their tiny arms and shoulders get tired so easily.

"Those things weigh, like, two pounds, but fine, I'll go get it," Regina says with a sigh, like she's doing Janis some huge favor. She turns on her heel and heads off in the direction of the cabins.

Janis fishes a tissue out of her pocket and presses it against the camper's knee in the meantime.

At least Regina will be out of her hair for fifteen minutes.

III.

Janis blinks awake to the distinct smell of weed.

She sits up as her eyes adjust to the dark. They're out in the middle of nowhere—it's either an older camper or someone who works here. She slips on her shoes and creeps out the door.

If it's a staff member—and it probably is—she is more than fine to mind her own business, but for her own conscience, Janis wants to make sure it isn't a camper.

Several feet away, Janis spots an orange glow off to the side of the cabin. When she approaches, she sees that it's—

Regina.

"You've got to be kidding me," Janis whispers as loud as she dares.

"Oh, hey," Regina says, unbothered.

"You're supposed to be inside," Janis snaps, abandoning minding her own business.

"They're asleep. What's the worst that could happen?" Regina says. She holds the joint out to Janis. "You really need to relax."

Janis glares at her. "Why are you even here? You obviously don't give a shit about the kids."

She stares at the joint for a moment before begrudgingly taking it. Free weed is free weed.

Regina exhales, smoke wafting around her. "My dad owns this camp, and he said I had to work here for a summer if he was going to pay for me to study abroad next semester."

Janis starts coughing, but not from the smoke. "Wait," she gasps out. "Your dad owns this camp?"

"Yeah," Regina says, like it should have been obvious. "What, did you think I was working here because I wanted to?"

Well, Regina certainly doesn't act like she wants to be here, so Janis guesses that makes sense. Then it dawns on her that this could actually be to her advantage.

"So, the next time you don't watch the kids, or a kid gets hurt, I can just go to your dad and say you're not doing your job?" Janis asks, casual tone veiling her threat.

To her surprise, Regina just laughs as she takes the joint back.

"Of course not," she says, then takes a final drag before dropping it in the dirt and crushing it with her shoe. "Nothing is ever my fault. If a parent complains, he'll fire you, not me."

Regina pats Janis on the cheek with a serene smile and walks back to the cabin. Janis stands there for a moment in disbelief, then reaches down and picks up the butt and throws it into the woods so no kids find it. Her cheek tingles where Regina had touched her.

Maybe she should just quit.

[mytheoristavenue]

What the Straw Hats get you for Valentine's Day!

Summary: How your nakama surprise you for the most romantic holiday!

Warnings: All fluff, platonic!Chopper, fem!reader

Straw Hat Luffy:

Luffy frowned as he tilted the hat in his hands, inspecting it's quality. He'd commissioned it recently from a hatter on the last island, whom he'd compensated handsomely to keep quiet about their deal. The hatter had promised the pirate a replica of his own, down to the last detail, and Luffy assumed that the ins and outs of the task must have gotten lost in translation. This new hat lacked all the nicks, stitches, and frays that his had.

As usual, the captain decided to take matters into his own hands, taking a dagger, needle and thread and began molding the straw hat into an exact copy of his own. Finally he was satisfied with level of destruction he'd inflicted on the thing, he stepped back from it and smiled. In the dead of night, he crept into your room to set the gift on your nightstand with a note that read:

'A king needs a queen, and a queen needs a crown. Happy Valentine's.'

Pirate Hunter Zoro:

Zoro hummed in almost an irritated manner as he drug the cold steel of your weapon of choice through his microfiber cloth covered hand. He was so vexed over practically being forced to shine all your weapons for this stupid holiday- even though nobody asked him. He had no choice! He didn't want to go through the trouble of picking you out a gift you probably wouldn't even like, so he had to.

Then again, he wouldn't have been breaking a law if he hadn't given you a Valentine's Day surprise...but then you'd nag him about it! (Or so he'd convinced himself.)

Cat Burglar Nami:

Nami mulled over her decisions, literally weighing her options. In one hand, she held a beautiful diamond necklace, adorned with a pattern of pearl cut sapphires for color- and in the other, a 14 karat gold tennis bracelet with round cut emeralds all throughout. She sucked her lip into her bite, brows furrowed and unsure of which you'd like more. Or perhaps would wouldn't like either. She knew the ship was too far from any landmass to chance any chance at getting something else. Maybe she could just tell you she forgot to get you something, and then take you on a shopping spree at the next one?

With a hopeless sigh, she sat on her bed, groaning dramatically. She knew she was being silly and that you'd love any type of gift. You weren't as materialistic as you were, and she tended to give present that she would like to receive, but you always adored them. Maybe both..." she muttered, dragging herself off the mattress and out of her pity party to walk over to her dresser. On top of it sat a sparkling red gift box with a satin pillow inside.

Delicately, she laid the necklace out on it, before retrieving a piece of tissue paper and wrapping the bracelet in it, setting it on top. Finally, she crumbled the remaining paper and stuffed it into the box, so as to obscure the shine of the jewels, before setting the lid on and tying a silver bow around it, relieved to have made a decision.

God Usopp:

The gift that Usopp had in mind to give you was months in the making. He'd gifted you things for many other holidays since he begun this little project, having started it all the way back in April of last year. All his hard work had paid off though- all the late nights and early mornings and trips to certain islands to make sure he had the perfect supplies. On his desk sat the most perfect Ghost Orchid in an ornate pot. He'd gotten the seed from a shop that sold rare plants several islands back.

Apart of him was nervous that the flower might die in your care, after all the work he invested in it. The orchid was also endangered, which lead him to anxiously envision it being stolen if any enemy pirates ever looted the Sunny. With a deep breath he shook those thoughts away, sighing with a smile as he sat down at his desk to admire the gift. Tying a ribbon around the pot, with a small name card attached, his mind drifted off to more pleasant things, like how you might react to the gesture. Usopp was sure you'd cry, you always did when you received unexpected gifts. He was certain you'd agree to be his Valentine, most likely giving him an over joyed hug- maybe even a kiss. Blushing and snapping out of his daydreams, he paused, a bit embarrassed of himself.

Black Leg Sanji:

Sanji stayed up all night on the thirteenth, unbeknownst to the rest of the crew. He slaved tirelessly in the kitchen, crafting you the most decadent chocolates ever made. Chocolatiering was always something that he excelled at but it was his current occupation rarely had room for such a skill, that's why he loved Valentine's Day. Each truffle took him hours to create, but simply thinking of the way your eyes would light up- the way you'd at first refuse to try them, lest you risk ruining their beauty, only to cave and melt at the taste kept him going with a smile.

Once he had finally curated a dozen pieces, each not at all similar to the last, in flavor or presentation, he arranged them carefully in a heart shaped box that he'd bought from the last island, and fed the contents of which to Luffy. He wanted you to think he'd simply purchased a cheap treat for you, only to find his hand crafted assortment instead.

Cotton Candy Lover Chopper:

Chopper held a bubble of air in his cheeks as he snuck about the ship in the dead of night, well beyond his bedtime. Quietly, he his way to the deck and ascended the stairs to the gardens of his crewmates, basket and ribbons in hand. He snicker devilishly as he went through the rows, ignoring the signs labeling 'Nami/Usopp/Robin's garden, Keep out!' assigned to each respective section.

As he passed by Nami's orchard, he plucked a few of her sacred tangerines from their branches and stowed them away in his basket, before moving on to the sniper's plot, picking the least deadly looking greens he could find. Finally he made his way to Robin's flower bed and selected the prettiest curation of blossoms he could put together, before tying them together at the stems with a pink bow.

Devil Child Robin:

Robin combed through the shelves of the lounge, many extra sets of hands sprouting around the room to pick a select few books from their places. Each limb passed it's claim to one another until they reached her view for inspection. With he approval, she collected them all in stacks of three on the table, all to be tied with ribbon. The theme she'd chosen was 'tragic romance', opting for 'Romeo and Juliet' and 'Jane Eyre', just to name a few.

She had thought it a wonderful way to spend the holiday of love snuggled up with you, reading you the saddest love stories ever written to remind both of you how deep and healthy of a relationship you shared.

Cyborg Franky:

Franky wiped the sweat of his brow with a large hand, before his dainty one returned to work, tinkering and putting the final touches on his latest and most important project. Satisfied with it's out come, he grinned before falling back against the back of his chair. He was sure you'd go feral over his.

Running one last test to make sure it functioned perfectly, he wound the tiny key on the side of the mechanical box, watching it open to reveal a beautiful porcelain dancer spinning, and occasionally stopping for a pirouette on her platform.

When the display drew to a closer, the doll folded back into her hiding place and the hatch closed again as the song ended flawlessly. He chuckled a bit at his success, and delicately cradled the device, carrying it to a decorative box before wrapping it as a gift.

Soul King Brook:

All Brook could do to calm his nerves was tune carefully tune his violin, ivory phalanges trembling, a shake which traveled up his arm with a rattle- his bones clambering together. Once he could no longer deny that the instrument was in tune as it would ever get, he forced himself to gently set it down on it's stand before adjusting his sheet music.

Without a doubt, he was terrified for the most important concert of his life, the one that might ensure your place by his side for eternity- the one that he hoped would charm you into accepting his proposal.

Knight of the Sea Jinbe:

Jinbe grinned warmly, gently pinching an old photograph of you and himself, reminiscing on the moment it was taken, many years ago. Finally after a moment of looking back on the past, he carefully encased it in a golden frame, fastening the buttons that held it in place with the utmost care. After done, he wrapped the object with love, eager to bestow it upon you the next morning.