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cmncisspnandmore · 11 months ago

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One Night Stand; Part 6

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley X Pregnant!Reader

Warnings: Smut, Shower smut, Slight breeding kink if you squint, Simon Riley being a literal angel, basically all smut with a little bit of plot.

A/N: Hi loves, imma be real, i wrote this entire part in a day. I spent pretty much my entire afternoon writing this after i scrapped about 4 different versions. This is the best i got at the moment. Im still working on this series and requests. Just life is kinda busy. So please bear with me and enjoy the brain rot. This is also not proofread at all so RIP to any grammar police.

Word Count: 3012... This seemed longer.. sowwie, its smol.

New to the Series? Catch up here: Part 5

You sleepily make your way towards the bathroom door, hand closing over the knob as the incessant need to pee urges you forward. It was a little after 2am, you had fallen asleep rather early having spent most of the day lounging around the apartment.

Simon was on base for the day, running training exercises with Soap, Gaz and Captain Price. During the 3 months you have been living with Simon, you have come to learn his patterns. Training days meant that 9 times out of 10 he would spend the night on base. The days before a deployment he would make sure to stock the fridge and pantry with your favorites. On Sundays he did laundry, every 3rd wednesday he would get his haircut. Saturdays after returning for deployment were reserved for going out to Soap’s bar and having a well deserved drink. You also learnt his day to day routine, every morning he was home Simon rose at exactly 5:00am, went on a 12 mile run, when he returned if you weren't already awake he would prepare you a healthy breakfast and leave it out for you before heading to work.

On days when you were awake when he got back from his run he would shower, and you both would spend some time preparing breakfast together. Although those mornings instead of the nutritionally packed meals he usually prepared you often convinced him to make some sort of carb and sugar filled breakfast. Those mornings he would often leave the flat grumbling about how he should’ve run extra. Those mornings were your favorite.

Since you moved in your relationship with Simon had not progressed further than friends, sure there was still the burning desire that he ignited within you from just looking at you. And you would often linger just a little bit too long in his arms when he would give you a hug. But there hadn't been any kissing, and you haven't managed to end up naked in between his sheets. But that wasn't for lack of wanting.

As you shove open the bathroom door, you fail to realize that not only was the light on but the sound of running water was coming from the shower. As you quickly beeline for the enclosed toilet space, you don't feel a set of brown eyes watching your every move from behind the foggy glass. It isn't until you wash your hands in the sink and glance up into the large mirror on the wall that you realize you aren't alone. Through the fogged glass of the mirror you can make out Simon’s large silhouette, his tanned skin reduced to nothing more than a tan blob.

“Oh my god!” You squeak, whirling around, your chest heaving as you finally face Simon. He's mostly obscured by the fogged glass door of the walk-in shower, but his bemused smile is clear. “I didn't think you would be coming home!” You mutter out, your cheeks turning pink as he runs his hand across the glass cleaning away some of the fog. Now you can clearly see his face, although distorted by the water droplets on the glass.

“I should’ve texted you, I'm sorry.. I just didn't want to be late for the appointment in the morning..” Simon says as he reaches up, running his hand through his wet blonde hair.

“No, no! I'm sorry, I should've paid more attention. I'm such an airhead sometimes I didn't realize that there was someone in here..” you rush out as you try to desperately keep your eyes from straying from Simon's face. You aren’t sure if it's the heat from the shower or the pregnancy hormones but it takes all your willpower to keep your eyes from trailing down his toned body.

Simon pauses for a moment, his dark brown eyes trailing over you, from the adorable flush of your cheeks to the swell of your stomach under the sleep shirt you have on. “It’s alright. Love," Simon smiles. One of his panty dropping smiles that you swear he reserves for only you. It's the smile that sends shivers straight to your core. That leaves you a hot panting mess behind closed doors. Living with Simon and not jumping his bones at every opportunity was damn near torture during your second trimester. You were able to take care of things yourself, but now that your bump had grown substantially, you hadn’t been able to find relief.

Without thinking, you walk towards the shower and yank open the door, the hot steam pouring out. Little splashes of water hit your skin as you step into the small space. Your sleep shirt and shorts quickly drenched, as Simon stares at you wide eyed.

“Sweetheart…” Simon warns as your hands come to rest on his wet cheeks, your thumb catching on his bottom lip as he looks down at you, his pupils blown wide. You quickly close the space between you two, your bump pressing against the firm plains of his abs, your arms snaking around his neck as you sharply tug him down to your height. Your lips capture his in a sloppy, wet kiss. Simon groans low in his throat, his chest vibrating against your overly sensitive breasts. A new wave of need pluses through you as you try to get closer, Simon's cock jumping to life as it presses against your lower stomach. Simon's large hands land on your hips squeezing slightly as he turns you, pressing your back against the cold tile wall of the shower.

A startled gasp rushes past your lips as your back makes contact with the cold tile. A shiver running through you as your wet shirt makes it feel colder. Simon smiles against your lips, one hand coming up to graze over your pebbled nipples through the sopping wet fabric of your shirt. A breathy moan slips from you as Simon peppers kisses down the side of your jaw to your neck. The spray from the showerhead now sprays off his shoulders as he leans lower.

��Fuck.. Please,” you whine, nails scratching along the tops of his shoulders Simon wraps his lips around one of your nipples, over the fabric of your shirt. The friction from the wet fabric sends waves of pleasure through you straight to your core, your legs starting to shake with need and Simon has barely touched you.

“Such a needy girl…” Simon murmurs against your skin, as he flicks his tongue across your nipple. Your cheeks flush pink at his words but you’re hanging on to each one like they’re your life line. “Why didn't you just come to me if you needed some help baby?” Simon whispers softly, as his fingers trace the bottom of your bump, slipping beneath the fabric of your shirt as he pushes it up.

“I…I don't know,” You mumble your head tipping back against the cold shower wall.

Simon hums, his lips once again brushing across one of your nipples, pulling another moan from you. “God, your tits are amazing. It’s been hell walking around trying not to stare at them. Knowing that my child is the reason, knowing that they are growing to provide milk for our baby,” Simon whispers against your skin, and you swear you could cum just from the sounds of his voice.

“Simon… Please…” you whine, it's small and breathy, in any other circumstance you would be ashamed for sounding so weak, but right now you couldn't give two shits if the damn queen of England was standing here witnessing your plea.

“Tell me what you need baby, I don't want to hurt you..” Simon stands back to his full height, his hand coming to cup the side of your face. You force your eyes open, Simon's beautiful brown eyes staring at you. Simon is a large man, in all aspects of his life and the last thing he would ever want to do is hurt you unintentionally. Especially now, as you carry his child within you, he would rather be buried alive again than accidentally do something to hurt you or the baby.

“I need you to bend me over and fuck me senseless. I feel like I'm going to explode,” you whine, your needy hands coming to rake down his bare chest, sending a shiver through Simon's entire body.

“Whatever you need, Love,” Simon grunts before he bends down and picks you up, nudging open the shower door with his shoulder as he cradles you against his wet chest. He doesn’t stop to turn off the shower or even dry himself off as he brings you into his room. He sets you down on your feet and quickly drops to his knees in front of you. His still warm hands catching the waistband of your wet sleep shorts. He pulls them down your legs, goosebumps erupting across your skin from the sudden change in temperature.

Simon presses a series of soft kisses to the stretched skin of your stomach, his hands briefly cupping your belly/ “Hi Lovie,” he whispers softly to your bump and if you weren’t so ravishingly horny you could cry. The sight of probably one of the scariest men you know on his knees in front of you talking to his unborn child makes you want to scream in the best way. But your mind quickly goes blank as Simon's fingers trace the smooth skin of your inner thigh.

“Turn around, elbows on the bed, pet,” Simon stands again, his hands on your shoulders as he gently turns you. As if on autopilot you lean forwards, resting your elbows on the bed, giving Simon a perfect view of your ass. A deep groan hits your ears as Simon's hand comes to massage the puffy flesh of your ass. Your skin prickles with anticipation as his fingers dip lower, gathering the slick wetness from between your thighs. The breath wooshed from your lungs as he thrusts one finger into your slick cunt.

“You’re so wet for me, such a good girl aren't you?” Simon hums, lazily thrusting his finger before he adds a second. You tip your hips back, trying to make him go faster, this slow languid pace he was setting was driving you mad. You needed to be fucked, and god damn if you didn't get it right now you were going to cry.

“Si…” you whine, pushing your hips back into his hand as he curls his fingers within you.

“Hmm?”

“I’m pregnant, not made of fucking glass. I swear if you don't fu-” Your voice cuts off as Simon slams into you in one quick thrust. Your world spins for a moment and if you hadn't been holding onto the bed for support you would’ve fallen over. A startled gasp passes your lips and Simon all but freezes. “No please don't stop, it just feels different but not in a bad way…” You quickly mumble reaching back haphazardly with one hand to try and grab Simon's hip to force him to move.

“You sure?” Simon mumbles, his hands coming to rest on your hips, as he slowly pulls out before sinking back in.

“Oh god, yes, please,” you moan, your face now pressed into the mattress. That was all it took for Simon to continue, his hips thrust into you at a rapid pace, obscene moans leaving your lips as he slams home each time. Sex felt different this time, there was no slight burn from how big Simon was but you felt full, so deliciously full. You had been worried about having sex at any point during your pregnancy, having read that some women have no sex drive during pregnancy, especially the 3rd trimester. But thank the lord above it was not the case for you. Your thoughts turn to nothing as Simon lets out a harsh moan, your walls fluttering around him.

“Fuck baby, you’re squeezing me so tight,” Simon grunts as he adjusts his grip on your hip bones,his fingertips digging into your skin.

“Feels so good Simon.. I'm gonna cum..” You whimper as the familiar coil in your stomach tightens, teetering on the edge of release as he pounds into you. Your skin slapping against each other so loud you're sure the neighbors know what's going on.

“Cum for me baby,” Simon leans forward, one hand wrapping around your shoulder as he pulls you up slightly, your elbows no longer resting on the bed as he pulls you up against his chest. His hips still pistoning into you as he uses the new position to fuck into your harder. You reach up and grab the back of his neck with your hand, anchoring yourself to him, your other hand coming to find the hand still on your waistline. You guide his hand up to your throat where he gives it a gentle squeeze.

That small squeeze was all you needed to go tumbling over the edge into oblivion. Stars dance in front of your vision as the world goes quiet for a moment. Simon finds his own release moments after yours, his entire body tensing behind you. As you turn to putty in his arms, “Woah, I’ve got you,” Simon whispers into your sweaty hairline as his arms carefully wrap around you and he manages to slip out of you and hold you up.

“Sorry,” you mumble, fully sated as you lean against his chest. You can feel his heart hammering against your back, one arm firmly around you, right under your breasts the other resting lightly on your bump. His fingers softly rubbing along your soft skin.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Simon grunts, maneuvering you to the edge of the bed where he helps lower you into it.

“I just basically jumped you in the shower… “ you mutter, your eyes heavy as exhaustion hits you like a freight train hitting a brick wall.

Simon pauses as he gathers your wet pj’s from the floor and shoves them into his laundry basket. “You think I would be upset by you jumping me in the shower?” He asks, a small smile on his face.

You lift your head, watching as he shoves the clothes into the basket and grabs a black long sleeve shirt from the closet. He walks over, standing in front of you still in all his naked glory, the shirt in his hands. “Well.. I mean.. we haven’t exactly expressed wanting more than friendship..”

“Love, I’ve been taking it slow because I thought you only wanted to be friends… not because I wanted to. God, watching you walk around the apartment, your stomach growing with my child drives me insane, I’ve wanted to bend you over the kitchen counter and fuck you sensless every morning since the first day you got here.” Simon pulls the shirt over your head, and you put your arms through, the shirt still fits loosely even over your baby bump.

“Oh…” you freeze for a moment, you and Simon had gotten closer over the time you’ve lived with him. You had learnt about his past, about his mother and brother. About his nephew. You held him when he cried one night, his words a broken mess of how he was afraid he would turn out to be his dad. How he wished he could talk to his brother one last time, so he could ask him how he got past the fear of turning into his dad. How he handled the fear of being a dad when he had Joseph.

But the entire time you had lived together Simon had always treated you with respect, he never touched your stomach without asking. He always made sure to keep a respectable distance from you when you were on the couch. He never entered your room without permission and never asked about your life before coming to London.

But it wasn’t to say you didn’t share things with Simon, he knew your favorite color, your worst fear (unrelated to your family’s passing) , your greatest wish, he knew what you used to dream about being as a little kid. He knew that your favorite food could make you smile on your worst days, and that you liked to watch old sitcoms when it rained. If someone was to look into your conversations they would probably think you were already together. That you probably didn’t flaunt the physical aspects of your relationship. Simon had quickly broken down the walls you had put up around yourself, and had comfortably made his own spot in your heart.

Simon sits next to you, now dressed in a pair of black sweatpants, his large hand covering yours. You slowly look up at him, his brow furrowed as he studies your face. The small scar in his eyebrow evident this close, you reach out running a finger across it. The skin is slightly raised and water drips from his hair onto your finger.

“Then you should stop fighting the urge…” you finally whisper, your hand cupping the rough skin of Simon’s face.

“Would you be okay with that? With me touching you whenever I wanted… holding you.. kissing you?” Simon whispers, his eyes closing for a moment as he leans into your hand.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, your forehead coming to rest against his, your eyes closed. For a moment you just sit there. Your foreheads pressed together, your breath mingling.

Could you be okay with that?

Could you let someone in that way?

Let someone get close enough that they could see all the broken and jagged edges of you?

Could you open yourself up to losing someone again?

The thought of Simon being gone suddenly, ripped away from you by some unknown, the same person who ripped your siblings and mother away from you makes you want to vomit.

But a small part of you chimes in, the part that knows Simon isn’t defenseless like your family was. Simon was a trained military man, a man who single handedly killed an entire crew for crossing him. He could handle himself. He had proved that time and time again in the field. He also had the rest of 141, the team who would go to the ends of the earth to find him.

You open your eyes, and look at Simon, the answer on the tip of your tongue as you stare at his beautiful face. His light blonde stubble, the small scars, the crook in his nose, the slightly uneven line of his lower lip. “Yes… I-I want that.. I want all of it.”

Next Part: 7

Taglist: @coffeeandtealol, @natashamea18

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lowlights · 10 months ago

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Hi. I'm back, and I wrote this in about an hour so be nice. This is 100% inspired by @ezrasbirdie's Twinkle and the very lovely dream it gave me. So this is Birdee's fault.

Perfect Fit

Frankie Morales x plus size f!reader // 1.3k

Warnings: Reader is a curvy lady with big titties and a belly, f receiving oral, mutual masturbation, cum eating, lots of praise, language, a smidge of insecurity but it doesn't last long, reader borrows Frankie's shirt, a very feral Frankie who has got it BAD for reader. Use of good girl and bebita. I also maintain that Frankie is a babbler during sex. Oh also Frankie is in sweatpants, which is a gift to us all.

The flickering lights of the TV lit up your face, an old rom-com from the '90s that you had seen a million times playing on the screen. You laughed at every joke, even though you could recite every line if asked. Frankie heard you mutter them under your breath sometimes, which he would have found annoying if it had been anyone else. Never with you though.

He wasn’t paying a damn bit of attention to the movie, though.

Not for the past twenty minutes at least. Not when you were wearing those leggings and his threadbare grey t-shirt which you had borrowed for the night. Frankie could barely drag his eyes away from how his shirt pulled tight on your gorgeous tits or how the hem had rolled up just enough to show your soft tummy.

He felt like a pervert ogling you like a fucking teenager who could barely control himself, even though you had been dating for more than six months. He was allowed to ogle, but you had just had a week from hell at work and had been looking forward to a relaxing night at Frankie’s place. He could keep his hands off of you for a couple of hours so you could watch your favorite movie in peace.

You shifted slightly on his brown leather sectional and leaned into him, tucking your legs up and under you. Frankie stiffened, and you noticed. Normally he would put his hand on your knee or his arm around your shoulder. Instead, his hands flexed as he straightened out invisible wrinkles on his sweatpants.

“You alright, babe?” You pushed a stray curl behind Frankie’s ear. You made a mental note to give him a haircut this weekend. You’d been putting it off; you liked his hair on the longer side.

“Fine, fine. Just, uh- gonna go get a glass of water.” He stood up so quickly that you practically fell over.

“I…okay?” you mumbled as he made a beeline for the kitchen. He was gone long enough for the movie to culminate with the big romantic kiss and the happily ever after, making his way back to the couch as you clicked off the credits. He settled back next to you but a little further away than before and stared straight ahead.

Doubt gnawed at you. “Are you upset with me, Frankie? Is it because I made you watch this dumb movie again?” you asked softly, fiddling with one of your rings. The relationship was still new enough that you didn’t know how to read all of his emotions just yet.

His head whipped around. “What? No! Not at all, baby. I’m just- tired. You’re tired too, yeah? Should we go to bed?” His eyes darted down to your shirt, which made you realize how far it had ridden up.

You pulled down on it out of habit, and Frankie frowned. “Are you sure?” you asked.

Frankie shook his head. “C’mere,” he instructed as he helped you over to straddle his hips. You draped your arms around his broad shoulders, gasping slightly as he rolled his erection against you. “You’ve been driving me fucking crazy, baby. Do you know that? Feel what you do to me?”

“But I haven’t been doing anything?” You were genuinely confused.

Frankie nuzzled his nose against your chest, breathing heavily. “You look so good in my shirt. Damn, it fits you just fucking right.”

You cupped his face and pulled him up for a kiss, his tongue immediately begging for entrance. Frankie kissed you like it was his last chance, like you were the last gasp of air he would ever take. “This shirt barely fits,” you admitted when you both broke to catch your breath.

“It’s perfect,” he said adamantly. “Don’t ever wear anything else.”

You giggled and kissed him again before he lifted you off and leaned you back so you could stretch out on the chaise portion of the couch. He had fucked you more than once here in the months since he had bought it. A christening, he had called it, the night it had been delivered.

Without a word, Frankie helped you shimmy out of your leggings and underwear, stopping to stare at you as he tossed them over his shoulder. You smiled, and felt powerful. No man ever looked at you the way Frankie had looked at you since the first night you met. He was enraptured, enthralled. And he looked like he wanted to feast on you. You bent one knee up and let it fall against the couch. His cock noticeably jumped, pressing against his sweats.

“Oh fuck. Look at my girl, she looks so pretty.” Frankie settled on his belly and pulled your leg up over his shoulder. He left a trail of kisses up your inner thigh before softly kissing your cunt. He buried his nose against your curls and inhaled deeply. “Smell so fucking good for me.”

Frankie wasted no time and licked a slow and tortuous stripe up your slit before flicking his tongue against your clit. He built a steady pace, pushing you to the edge and easing back over and over again.

“Christ, Frankie, oh my- Frankie, Frankie, Frankie,” you babbled as you threaded your fingers through his hair, pulling him against your cunt as it clenched around nothing. He licked up everything you gave him before standing up and ripping off his clothes, his cock bobbing as he stepped out of his pants. His chin was wet with your orgasm, and his pupils looked blown out.

“Bebita, I need you to touch yourself. Rub that gorgeous clit, please? Please, baby,” he begged, stroking and squeezing himself as you gently rubbed circles on your sensitive clit. “Such a good girl, doing just what I ask.”

His praise made something low in your stomach clench and you arched your hips up, eyes fluttering closed.

“No, bebita, look at me, please. Lemme see those eyes. Yes, yes. Can you put a finger inside?” he practically begged, hand quickening over his leaking cock.

“Yes, Frankie,” you shuddered as you exhaled, slipping one finger easily into your relaxed cunt.

“Another, baby, please?” He moaned, never taking his eyes off you, as you complied and added in a second finger. He watched you move them in and out, snaking your other hand down to rub on your clit. “I’m so close, where- where can I? Quick, tell me.”

You pulled your fingers out and spread your legs wide. “Here, Frankie, here.” The words had barely left your mouth before he was standing over you, one knee resting on the couch as he decorated your pussy with ropes of cum. You gripped his thigh and watched as he worked himself through his orgasm. He was always so pretty when he came, mouth open and dark brown eyelashes grazing against his cheeks.

Frankie bent over to where you leaned against the cushion so he could kiss you, whispering praise between each breath and lick of his tongue. “Gonna get you cleaned up,” he said finally.

You expected him to go get a washcloth from the bathroom - he always made sure it was nice and warm - but instead, he settled back between your thighs. “Frankie?” you squeaked as he started licking your inner thigh.

“I said I need to clean you up, baby. Now take off that shirt and let me see those pretty tits?” He looked up at you with pleading eyes. You would do anything he asked, and in this moment he knew it. You tossed your shirt over your head and Frankie rolled your nipple between his thumb and finger as he dove back down between your thighs.

“Good girl, always so good for me,” he hummed as he licked himself off of you. “Gonna make you come again on my tongue, then I’m gonna make you come on my cock. Gonna have you all night, bebita.”

You threw your head back as he sucked gently on your clit. “All this because I wore your shirt?” you chuckled.

Frankie was too busy to respond. But he made good on his promises that night.

And always left the shirt out for you to wear whenever you wanted.

#frankie morales #frankie morales x f!reader #f!reader #plus size!reader #triple frontier #I missed frankie

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samuelsdean · 1 year ago

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Who's Your Barber?

request: based on this.

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: “you move fast, kid.” he turned to spencer who looked like he was on the verge of passing out. “letting Y/N cut your hair without going on a first date.”

genre: fluff

word count: 0.8k

author's notes: hello! i'm back with another spencer reid tooth-rotting fluff without plot. this was based on a request sent to me. i hope you'll love this!

“DO YOU THINK MY HAIR’S TOO LONG?”

You looked up from where you were working on a pile of paperwork from a recent case only to stare at a pouting Spencer.

Cute, you thought.

“Why?” You asked, now facing the man in front of you who was busy fretting over his hair. “Is it bothering you?”

“No, not really.” He mumbled. “I just—I don’t know. I want to keep it this way because it’s always been kind of on the longer side but I also want to try cutting it short.”

A bit shy from his admission, Spencer started fiddling with the hair tie on his wrist, obviously not that comfortable implying that he did care about his looks even for a small bit.

You almost cooed at how adorable he’s being for a grown man.

“Okay,” You prodded him again, wanting to make sure you understood what he was trying to say. “So, you wanna try a new haircut but you’re not sure about it. Well, I can help you with that.”

Spencer looked up from where he was playing with his hair tie and scrunched up his brow in question.

“How?”

You instantly blushed at what you were about to suggest when you noticed Spencer being all for it. The thing about Spencer is that he’s a great listener as much as he likes to talk. Coming from a household where he never got to have a good companion unless his mom was doing okay, Spencer knew what it felt like when no one wanted to listen to whatever it was one has to say. With all your doubts starting to vanish at Spencer’s obvious interest, you shared your thoughts.

“Well,” You decided to share. It’s not like you would recount to him an embarrassing childhood story. That’s a story meant for another day. “I may or may not have worked at my aunt’s salon over the summer back when I was in high school. I wasn’t a hairstylist but learned a thing or two.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in wonder. You no longer regretted sharing your experience and were sure he was about to share a tangent on hairstyling in typical Dr. Spencer Reid fashion.

“Archaeologists discovered that cutting our hair and styling it have both been practiced by human beings as early as the Ice Age.” Spencer babbled. “Also, they said that people’s social class, age, ethnicity, race, and genetics determined the style of their hair throughout history even up to the late 20th century.”

You grinned at Spencer’s info dump and ruffled his hair, to which he scrunched his nose.

“So, Reid,” You replied. “When are we gonna cut your hair?”

“What, did you join a boy band?”

Everyone around the table started giggling and smiling as soon as Hotch directed the question at Spencer, as your cheeks reddened. Unfortunately for Spencer, you being a former employee at your aunt’s salon certainly did not do you wonders. Because what was supposed to be a trim here and there became a short haircut for him, quite shorter than what he has envisioned, he shared with you.

You almost dug yourself a hole right then and there.

But apparently, Spencer liked it enough—loved it even—to not hate you for cutting his hair too short. It’s fortunate—for him and especially for you who gets to see him in his new hair every day—that Spencer was pretty. He looked good both in long and short hair.

However, with Hotch asking him that question, you were sure Spencer would hate you for cutting it wrongly.

“No?” Spencer replied as his brows crinkled. You breathed a sigh of relief with his answer, which Rossi didn’t fail to notice.

You were about to head out when Hotch just announced, “Wheels up in 30.” When you heard Rossi speak to Spencer

“I like your hair, kid.” You almost smiled until Rossi questioned him. “Who’s your barber? Maybe I’ll get myself the same haircut.”

As if it couldn’t get any worse, you heard Morgan join in on the conversation, like both he and Rossi knew something you don’t. Spencer probably didn’t know what that something was too.

“Yeah, pretty boy. Who’s your barber?”

Spencer looked like he had swallowed a frog and he had seen a ghost with how comical he looked right now.

It seemed Spencer knew what Rossi and Morgan were trying to imply in their prodding.

“It seems to me,” Rossi continued. “It was our lovely Y/N who cut his hair.”

At this, your eyes widened as Derek smirked.

“You move fast, kid.” He turned to Spencer who looked like he was on the verge of passing out. “Letting Y/N cut your hair without going on a first date.”

Spencer likes you back?

As in more than friends?

Non-platonic?

Spencer likes you back!

“Shut up!” Spencer screeched.

“Let’s leave the kids alone.” Rossi appeased Spencer while looking at you. “They have a date to plan.”

Spencer sputtered out as both men chuckled while moving out.

“So, Reid.” You simpered. “Where are we going for our first date?”

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creepswrites · 3 months ago

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MASK OF HATE (CH 2) | Michael x Reader

so when i was writing this, my editor Insisted i use a grilled cheese gif for this chapter. you'll see why... i hope you enjoy though LMAO

MICHAEL MYERS x FTM!READER (he/him)

SUMMARY: When the door slammed back open with more force this time, you jumped and let out a surprised yelp. Your dad came barreling in, Michael having already disappeared back upstairs as quiet as he'd come. You tried to intercept him from storming upstairs but his horrified expression stilled you. "That was our neighbor Gladys down the street. She said she saw Myers come up to our house about an hour and a half ago."

WARNING: graphic depiction of deaths, animal violence

PREV || NEXT

"Has anyone ever shown you kindness?" Your voice had Michael opening his eyes, blinking as he looked up at you slowly, your hands tangled in his wet, sudsy hair. He was sprawled out on the porcelain bathtub while you washed his hair, the room dim and sleepy and smelling of lavender soap. He had no qualms letting his legs and arms rest upon the rim to have extra room. You’d since become accustomed to him, no longer flushing at his nakedness, so washing the blood off his skin didn’t bother you.

You’d since bought black washcloths and a black towel for Michael so your father wouldn’t get suspicious about any bloodstains. Lounge clothes - some sweatpants and a t-shirt finally in his actual size - sat folded on the counter beside the sink, his navy blue jumpsuit in a pile on the cool, linoleum floor.

For the past few weeks, you two established a routine of sorts. Michael would get hurt or hungry and come visit you. Sometimes he'd watch you sleep but he'd usually be gone by morning. With your dad's presence in the house very touch and go, it was hard for Michael to stay for any extended period of time. Sometimes he watched you from a distance whenever you'd go in the garden but that was the extent of it.

You knew it wasn't normal for him to care about another person so you did your best to make it easy for him. No more lunging at armed police officers for you, you'd lamented to him in a joking manner. You hadn't been able to see his face but you got the impression he'd glared at you.

You'd also taken to touching him more, getting him to reassociate touch with compassion. It wasn't easy to undo years of trauma but you did little things here and there. Brushing his hands with your own, touching his arm when you wanted attention, small things. He was building a tolerance to it, you could tell. Washing his hair now was the most you'd touched him beyond patching him up after run-ins with the police.

But progress was progress.

Today, he hadn't come home bloody but he had come to you for something. He'd shown up at the backdoor, made a beeline for the bathroom, and you'd gotten the message. Bathing him had also become pretty regular, though you still recalled the first few times where it'd ended with him shaking from how overwhelmed he was by your touch.

Now, though, his gaze bore into you, staring up at you like a big lazy cat. Like a lion too content to strike. Your hands had stilled, still poised to scrub at his scalp. He needed a haircut, you noted to yourself.

"Besides me," you clarified as you resumed scrubbing in slow circles. "You don't… You're-" You huffed, trying to find the words. "I feel like people didn't care for you like you needed them to. If that makes sense."

Were you anyone else, you don't doubt he'd kill you for saying that. Instead, he just glared at you, pretty hazel eyes narrowed to slits. In anger or confusion, you couldn't tell.

That was yet another development. He'd been taking his mask off of his own accord now, even when he didn't have a reason to. The first time he'd done it had been because his hair was too long and sat uncomfortable in the mask, tickling against his ears and neck. You offered to cut it and, while it took some reassurance and thought on his part, you'd come home one day to him sitting on your bed. Scissors in one hand and mask in the other, clutching it like a child would to a security blanket. He hadn't been shaking or looking up at you with fearful eyes but his jaw had been clenched hard as he white knuckled the accursed mask. A wordless question you'd answered with nimble fingers and gentle tugging on his curls.

Having something so sharp close to his vulnerable neck hadn't been his idea of a good time regardless if it was his idea or not. He'd gotten up half a dozen times during the haircut to stand in the corner to come down from what was probably overstimulation. You were patient with him though.

You'd gotten better at reading him. He'd gotten better at leaving you clues.

In the present, he sat up and slid his legs back into the water. Wet hair slipped from between your fingers as he turned to properly stare at you. Michael was interesting to you still. You could tell he was curious about you too. He stared at you often, like when you watered your plants, washed his clothes, or made food in the kitchen. You felt his eyes on you constantly no matter what.

"What?" You asked with a small sigh, staring back at him with the same intensity.

Michael gave you a slow blink, similar to the ones Mayhem gave you as a show of trust. "Don't gimme that," you teased, smirking at him and motioning for him to sit back down. "I just- I always feel bad thinking about it, in retrospect. I mean, you grew up in an asylum alone. Didn't it-"

He interrupted you by sliding a wet hand around your throat, holding you still as though to physically stop your ramblings. Not squeezing, just holding. You got the message there: let it go. He lay back down and you resumed washing his hair, unbothered by that exchange.

Things like that were normal with him. It had freaked you out at first when he'd wrapped his hand harshly around your throat and pinned you in a doorway. But you'd slowly begun to understand him. He didn't have a way to communicate that wasn't through violence or knives.

Or hospital rooms under scrutiny, you reminded yourself with a grimace. You masked it behind a soft tune you hummed, resuming washing his hair.

Once he was cleaned and dressed, jumpsuit in the wash, you ventured back downstairs to make dinner and feed Mayhem. Michael trailed after you, hair dripping dark spots along his shoulders where it was still damp. He didn't like the hair dryer very much and only tolerated you using it to get his hair comfortably damp. No more.

“You’re probably due for another haircut by the way,” you said as you opened the fridge. Mayhem was immediately rubbing up on Michael’s leg, meowing insistently.

He looked down at her, standing comfortably in the doorway to the kitchen. You glanced over your shoulder to look at him and felt struck with the knowledge that, if it weren't for his injured eye breaking the illusion, it almost felt like you just had a boyfriend over. Your face warmed up at the thought and you snapped your head back around to stare into the white, chilled expanse of the fridge. "Umm… anything specific you want tonight?"

When you looked back over at him, you jumped in surprise when he was barely a few inches from you. Jesus, you thought to yourself. You didn't think you'd ever get used to how quiet he moved sometimes.

Michael tilted his head as he stared at the fridge with you. "I need to go shopping soon, huh?"

He didn't say anything but you could almost hear his nod.

You liked how expressive he'd gotten as the two of you began to trust each other. Little things like that made the whole thing feel domestic somehow.

"Well, hope you like grilled cheese." You snagged the almost-empty package of sliced cheese and dangled it tantalizingly. "I'll go shopping tomorrow, promise. If you want anything in particular, let me know." You said as you grabbed the bread from the cabinet. Before he could say - or, technically, not say - you spun on your heel. "Besides pumpkin pie."

He nodded once and you smirked.

Domestic, your brain said again in an almost mocking tone. You swallowed and tried to focus on the sandwiches and not the way Michael stared at you. You began buttering the bread as the pan warmed up and tried to not envision life being like this forever: painfully domestic and sweet with Haddonfield's best known serial killer in soft lounge clothes you'd bought him, curled up on the couch eating an early lunch together after you'd washed his hair.

The sound of the front door rattling open was out of place and terrifying. Never in your life had you felt as though the ground would swallow you as your heart threatened to pound out of your chest. You spun to face Michael and quickly assessed your options.

There were two doorways that led out of the kitchen - one that faced the living room and another that led into the hallway to the stairs. There was a dividing wall between the two doorways. Meaning if you could get Michael into the hallway, he'd be out of sight for at least the briefest few seconds it took your dad to walk towards you.

"Upstairs, now!" You whisper-yelled, grabbing him by the arm and hauling him towards the hallway. "Stay quiet, he'll go away soon."

Hopefully, you thought to yourself. Hopefully he will.

"You're home early." You called to him as you took your spot at the stove again, spreading butter on bread and placing them in the pan.

Your dad sounded exhausted, shrugging off his outer coat and tossing it atop the back of the couch before slumping in his chair. "I decided to come home early. It's been an exhausting week. But Myers seems to be taking a break from killing these past few days."

You couldn't help but frown. Not killing? Sure you'd noticed less blood on his clothes but surely he'd stopped altogether. So close to Halloween too…

"Cool, I was, uh, making lunch." You called out over the pan sizzling. "You want some?"

The telltale creaks of the wooden floor had your hair standing up on end. It wasn't like normal sneaking around when you had a boyfriend, this was Michael Myers you were hiding. Right under his nose. Even if your dad didn't immediately go for his gun when he saw him, you were still a liar. And an accomplice to his crimes.

"Grilled cheese, huh?" He smiled for the first time since he'd taken on the case. "Want some help? I can-" The sound of his phone ringing cut him off, making him grimace. "I'll take this outside," he sighed as he went back out the door. You sighed with relief and looked towards the doorway to the stairs.

Michael stood there, mask on, gripping a knife tight in his hand. You had no idea where he'd gotten it, since your knives were accounted for.

You tried to seem reassuring. "He's probably going to get called back into work, it's okay." Even though you'd gotten used to it, you still swallowed when you saw the glint of the knife in the dim lighting of the doorway. "He, um, he said you haven't been killing lately?"

Michael was eerily still. Just staring at you.

"Is everything…okay?" It felt a bit weird asking when he was going to kill someone again. Like it was just a casual hobby of his. "Just let me know, alright?"

He just stared at you. His walls were back up, you could tell, so you tried to not take it personally.

When the door slammed back open with more force this time, you jumped and let out a surprised yelp. Your dad came barreling in, Michael having already disappeared back upstairs as quiet as he'd come. You tried to intercept him from storming upstairs but his horrified expression stilled you. "That was our neighbor Gladys down the street. She said she saw Myers come up to our house about an hour and a half ago." His gun was out, alarming you. "Have you… have you seen anything?"

"No." You swallowed around your lie, quickly turning the stove off, lunch forgotten. "No, it's been quiet. I was out in my garden, mostly."

He didn't seem convinced though. "She said he was circling around the house before coming inside."

At that, he froze. He held a finger to his lips, signaling you to be quiet. You wanted to roll your eyes at how comical this was but you also couldn't afford to break character. Scared young child of the police detective, home alone with a killer in this house.

"Where's your cat?" He whispered, glancing up at the ceiling as though expecting to hear footsteps.

Glancing around, you tried to play up your alarm. "I don't know!" You whisper-yelled. "Do you think he's-?"

"Dead, then." Your dad's bluntness made you flinch. "Myers usually kills the pets first. Keeps 'em from sounding an alarm." He didn't even try to look sympathetic as he crept towards the stairs. You followed after him as he crept silently from room to room, pushing the door open slightly before scanning the room with his gun out. It made you anxious and you kept periodically glancing towards your bedroom, dreading the impending inspection. First the hall closet, then his bedroom, then the bathrooms, and finally: your bedroom.

You felt sweat drip down your temple as he pushed open the door. Everything felt tense, suffocating you as you chewed anxiously on the nail of your thumb.

He swung open the closet door and fired at the first sign of movement.

Mayhem yowled, a sharp, piercing sound, then darted past your legs as he took off down the hall. "MAYHEM!" You shrieked in horror, watching blood trail behind him faster than you could catch him. You ignored your dad's stammered apologies and took off after your cat.

The blood trail went down the stairs and out through the back door, which had been left cracked open to let Mayhem come and go as he pleased. Now he was gone. Your heart sank as you ran outside, crying for Mayhem to come back. In the tall, mud-riddled forest it was hard to see any kind of blood trail or spot your all black cat. Minutes ticked by with no response and you fell to your knees, wrapping your arms around yourself as you bawled.

He was your little kitty. And now he was gone.

"Sweetheart, I- I'm so sorry. I didn't know he was there." Your dad tried to explain as he watched you from the doorway. "It- It'll come back, I'm sure."

"You SHOT him!" You rounded on him almost instantly, storming up to meet him and relishing in the way he backed up in fear of your anger. "You SHOT him and now he might DIE out there!" While you didn't consider yourself an angry nor violent person, it felt vindicating to shove him and watch him stumble back. "You don't even CARE!"

"No, I don't!" He shouted, trying to scare you back. "It's just a cat! What if Myers had been there, huh?"

You felt hysteric. "I don't care about that! Fuck, dad, I care about my CAT!"

Suddenly, he'd grabbed you by the shoulders and slammed you into the nearby wall, his voice hissing like a viper when he spoke. "I don't give a shit about your fucking cat. I am stressed enough as it is and I am focused on finding Michael fucking Myers, not your shitty little cat. Let. It. Go."

The sign of movement in the shadows behind him made you smile.

Michael grabbed your dad by the back of his shirt and yanked him back harshly, letting him fall to the kitchen floor. He stood there, knife tight in his fist as he stood over the whimpering man who scrambled for his gun.

You watched with an empty expression as Michael kicked the gun aside, skittering on the tiled floor and out of reach. "Grab it!" He hissed at you. Michael tilted his head down at him but he tried to not be intimidated. "Grab my gun, just-"

Reality began to settle in as shock wore off. Your ears were still ringing from the gunshots and you could smell the charred butter coming off the stove. "Michael." Your mouth moved but you didn't feel like your words were yours. "I'm okay."

A heavy boot thudded against your dad's chest and you watched him scramble to try and understand. The dark pits of the mask's eye holes bore into you, almost searching for permission.

"You've been hiding him." Your dad gasped in horror. "You've been hiding the man I've been hunting. Right. Under. My fucking nose!" He roared, struggling to get out from under Michael, only ending up grabbed like a scruffed kitten in his attempts to lunge at you. "How long!? How long has he been hiding here?!"

You didn't feel like answering. So you didn't.

He didn't like that though. "What have you two been doing? What, do you nurse him back to health under my fucking roof every night? Is that why you've been buying first aid shit?"

None of this felt real to you in any substantial way. It felt like a movie almost, a sick indie film about a serial killer you'd grown attached to finally snapping and slaughtering your family because you'd finally given him the chance to get close. You watched Michael press the tip of his knife to your dad's sternum and could almost see the anger and hatred rolling off the masked man in waves.

After all, you'd given him a hard line of not hurting Mayhem. And your dad just broke that rule.

You backed up against the fridge and slid to the floor, watching with a distant expression as Michael wrestled the man to the floor. "Yeah." You said quietly, more to yourself than to him. "I clean him. Bandage him. He protects me." A wet laugh left your throat at the absurdity of it all. "We're partners."

No point in hiding it anymore.

"M-maybe I should call Loomis, s-see if I can get you two joint rooms in the fucking asylum-!" The man below Michael yelled out, his words muffling as Michael jabbed the knife into him. Wet squelching sounds that became almost monotonous as hot red sprays erupted from the holes in his neck. Puddles of red seeped beneath the man's body and Michael seemed to relish in the thrill.

"You killed my cat," you mumbled bitterly to the corpse of the man you once called dad.

And you watched as the body ran cold with Michael's anger. He stood up, towering over you as he tracked bloody footprints as he approached you. "Hi." You said absently, giving him a small smile. "You'll have to kill our neighbor. No witnesses."

He tilted his head curiously and you just let your head fall between your knees. You didn't want to talk about this anymore than you had to. "Just- Just get rid of the body, okay? I'll clean up."

Had you looked up, you would have seen his nod.

The stench of bleach burned your nose and made your eyes water as you scrubbed at the now blood-free kitchen floor. You'd opened the windows to air out the smell but it still felt like it was suffocating. But there was no evidence anymore, thank god.

You didn't ask Michael what he'd done with the bodies. You'd kept your head down when he'd lifted it up and carried it with him out the back door and you were content not knowing. It would only serve to upset you.

Clutching the rim of the sink, you let out a long, pained sigh. Things were going to change now. Your father and Mayhem's blood was all gone, the knives would be disinfected, and Michael's jumpsuit would go through the wash again. No evidence any of this had even happened.

Logically, you knew this should upset you. It did, only in the sense that the wet plunging sounds of the knife echoed in your mind. But you couldn't feel anything beyond anger that he'd shot Mayhem. That he didn't care about you, only his work. It infuriated you to think about how little your life would change with him gone. The house was bought and paid for, you knew everything he owned would be left to you, and life would continue on.

He didn't matter, in the grand scheme of things. You repeated this mantra over and over to yourself as you heard the back door open.

Michael stood there, his hands and suit stained with blood. Flecks of dark red stained the white mask in harsh streaks that made you want to hurl. "How, um, how did it go?" You tried giving him a smile but fell short. He approached you and you did your best to hide your flinch when he took your wrist. Red stained your skin and you heard the sickening stabbing again. "Sorry," you mumbled, "I should have done something to- to try to make him leave, or-"

Michael cut you off with a harsh tug on your arm. Your head snapped up to meet his eyes behind the mask, your own wide in confusion. He just stared you down, only gripping you tighter when you tried to pull away.

His silent question felt loud in the little kitchen, even if he said nothing. "I'm… I'll be okay." But you weren't sure if you were telling that to him or yourself. "It was inevitable. I- I just didn't think it would be so soon. But, um, I knew I was… I knew I was going to be sticking with you. Partners, right?"

You didn't wait for any type of response, gesturing to his jumpsuit. "Lets, um, get you into clean clothes, yeah?"

Michael didn't budge.

Slowly, achingly slowly, he lifted his hand towards your face, dragging a bloody finger down your cheek and marveled at the way it stained your skin. A red to match his own,

And as quickly as he came, he left. His footfalls were heavy as he went up to the bathroom and left you floundering in the kitchen. You broke from your trance only when you heard the shower running. Swallowing, you followed his trail upstairs to collect his bloody clothes. You could only hope the blood was fresh enough to come out easy.

When you passed by Mayhem's food dish, you winced at the memory of your cat's blood streaked across the house. You filled his bowls and set them outside, hoping the prospect of dinner would entice him home.

It was the best you could do, really…

The cops came two days later. When no one on the force had seen or heard from him in a few days, they'd come by to check. It wasn't hard to play up your distress. The five stages of grief had hit you harder than expected. On the first day, you'd just yelled at Michael, slamming your fists into his chest as he watched you curiously. You'd wondered to yourself after sobbing over breakfast how he'd felt after his sister died. You'd only ever heard stories but you wanted to ask him.

"We found him off a backroad down the way with an older woman in the car," the officer interviewing you asked. "Do you have any idea what that was about?"

You swallowed and shook your head. "He, um, he mentioned he got a call from Gladys. That, uh, Myers was outside her house so- so he told me he was going to take her to a hotel and then go back to work." Your voice trembled as you spoke. "H-he'd been working so much, I-"

The officer gave you a sympathetic look. "I'm so sorry, kid."

Michael was easily named the killer so you weren't even considered a suspect. What they didn't know was that he was taking this opportunity while the police were busy to kill again, letting out his frustrations that had been building up.

He hadn't left you alone since your dad had died. Always hovering in doorways or your wrist if you were close enough. You knew Michael well enough at this point to know he didn't necessarily feel bad for what he did. But he was certainly capable of fearing your reaction. You could easily turn him in now, all wound up emotions like a ticking time bomb.

But you didn't. You were partners. A pact now sealed in your father's blood

Once the police left, you wanted to get out of the house. It all felt too suffocating. You just needed a moment without Michael's eyes on you, if such a thing existed. So you'd gotten dressed into proper clothes and went into town. You knew the whole town would be looking at you so you tried to keep yourself presentable while still looking a wreck.

Which wasn't hard, after everything that happened.

News reports of your dad's false crime scene would be all over the news in a day. All over the televisions, newspapers, and your dad's police buddies would be sharing stories in bars over drinks. You felt sick at the knowledge that he'd had a life outside you and your little bubble of fake domesticity with a serial killer.

It all felt like a huge reality check that left you stumbling like a drunk on the curbside.

You snapped back to your body as you stared emptily at some crummy greeting cards in the little general store. You'd been walking the aisles with no clear goal in mind and many of the other patrons simply let you pass with pitiful smiles that made your skin crawl. "I should've looked at the fridge…" You mumbled to no one.

"Hey." A soft voice interrupted your train of thought and you gave a glance over your shoulder. Laurie Strode, dressed in all black like she was attending a funeral. Maybe she was - a funeral for the town. You knew the paranoia of Michael stalking her never really went away and you felt a little bad for her. A part of you wished you could reassure her.

“Oh, um, hi.” You stuttered inelegantly. “What- um-“

“I’m sorry,” she gave you a sorrowful look. You were getting pretty sick of those. “I heard about your dad… Michael is ruthless.”

You swallowed around a lump building in your throat. “Y-yeah. I hope, um, you’re doing okay too.” You tried to give her a reassuring smile but you weren’t sure if it came out like a grimace.

Laurie just laughed, no joy behind her tight smile. “I’ll survive. Always do.”

You said your polite goodbyes and you left her, now even more uneasy. It was jarring to be reminded that life existed outside your little house in the forest, that Michael's actions had consequences that spread far beyond just you.

It made you wonder if Michael’s intentions were what you thought they were. He’d never leave Haddonfield. Not willingly. He’d continue killing with or without you in his life.

And that knowledge made you feel sick.

Your dad's funeral was mostly uneventful. A few of his work friends came to console you but you denied their company when you went to the cemetery. Your dad had told you many times when you were young that, when he died, he wanted to be poured into water used to help grow flowers on your late mothers grave. It had struck you as odd then but now you understood.

Guilt still ate at you. He'd probably haunt you if he didn't get to be reunited with your mom in some way, so you'd bought some daisies - her favorite, according to him - and brought them with his ashes and a bottle of water. Haddonfield's graveyard was nothing spectacular, just rows and rows of headstones. Some newer with fresh flowers and photos, some older and covered in moss and dirt. The forgotten ones always made your heart clench.

You pointedly kept your head down when you passed Judith Myers' grave. Her parents had a joint headstone beside her, a spot they'd reserved for themselves a year after she'd died. According to stories, they'd believed Michael deserved nothing but cremation. No tombstone, no funeral, just death in silence.

The fate of the Myers family had been a horrible story. Even after their son was shipped off to Smith's Grove, the family still received harsh criticisms for what they'd done. While Michael's actions were certainly the focus, some people still believed the parents had some sway in it or had influenced his behavior. He'd only been a little boy, after all. A possibly mentally ill, neglected child whose parents had, allegedly, favored Judith to the point Michael acted out.

A car crash killed them, according to the news. You weren't sure. The timings had been too close and their funerals had been closed caskets. But you'd been too young to really care about that sort of thing. Now, though, you were curious. It felt like you'd get answers somehow if you knew. Regardless, Michael was left without guardianship and became a ward of the state, locked away in a hospital for fifteen years. At first, the town didn't know what to think of him. The poor, unstable boy who now had no one waiting for him if he ever got out. Many villainized him, of course, but some wanted to see him make a full recovery. They saw a traumatized child who needed help.

It was only after Michael broke out of Smith’s Grove and killed again that public opinion on him changed.

You pushed those thoughts away and focused on kneeling before your mothers grave. Your fingers were still damp from the wet earth you'd pulled out as you'd dug a little hole for the flowers all on autopilot. The little flowers looked nice, spots of white and yellow against mucky browns and greens. This wasn't that different from gardening, you thought to yourself as you added the water into the jar of your father's ashes. Not that different at all.

It felt a bit weird. But it was his wish. After everything you'd done, the least you could do was honor that. Besides, you didn’t really think you could cope with having the jar of his ashes in the house you’d let him die in. So you poured the water over the flowers, dirt under your nails as you showered them graciously.

You'd never made a habit of talking to your mom's grave. Your dad did it a few times and you'd seen people doing it before but there was just no appeal to you. Talking to air felt weird and you weren't exactly going to start now. You'd never known your mom, she didn't need to hear your stories.

She’d died when you were young so it wasn't like you knew her. The concept of a mother meant more to you than who she specifically did. When you were growing up, sometimes you'd feel a longing absence that she wasn't there but the woman buried beneath your feet still meant nothing to you. A stranger whose photos lined the walls of your dad's bedroom - photos you would probably store in the attic. Like you'd never really known them. A part of your dad died with your mom anyways so the symbolism felt right.

He’d always go on and on about how much you looked like her, how similar you two were, that sort of crap. Now, staring at her headstone, you wondered what she’d think of you.

The feeling of eyes on you has become commonplace for you now. An is-ness rather than a concern. So you didn't even bother lifting your head. Just slumped forward, cross-legged, and picking at the dirt under your nails, flicking it at the daisies. "Do you ever miss them?" You asked aloud. You knew Michael was close enough to hear, especially since you were alone. "Your parents, I mean. I doubt you miss your sister too much. I mean, I heard what you did with her headstone when you killed those high schoolers." The bitterness in your tone was not missed but it didn't feel right to put words in his mouth.

"I'm still trying to decide how I feel." You sighed, poking at soft petals. "I never knew my mother so I can't miss her. She wasn't part of my life, only her ghost was. But I don't know how I feel about my dad dying. It always felt like I was competing with her for his affection. He loved her so much and could barely spare me a passing glance…" You swallowed and your throat clicked. "Sometimes I wonder if he'd have been happier if I had died and she'd lived.

If Michael Myers had to be the one to hear your confessions, at least you knew he wouldn't tell anyone.

You wiped your eyes and sniffled. "It's weird. I haven't decided if I hate him for that yet. If I hate him at all, even." When you looked up, Michael was staring down at you, face hidden behind the mask. You almost envied his ability to simply hide his feelings away. You'd never been able to avoid wearing your heart on your sleeve. "Do you ever think about if your parents wished it had been you instead of Judith?"

The silence felt suffocating and you broke into a helpless sob. The kind of crying that you did when no one was around and it felt like nothing was ever going to be okay again. Michael sat down beside you in the dirt, silent companionship through your tears.

He didn't say anything. But he didn't have to.

#🔪 creeps writes #slasher x reader #slasher x s/o #slasher fanfiction #halloween 1978 #michael myers #michael myers x you #michael myers x reader #mask of hate

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sorrowsofsilence · 1 year ago

Text

I Was Always Yours

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Reader

Words: 4.1k

Part Two

Warnings: smut 18+, fluff, swearing, unprotected s*x (pls wrap it b4 u tap it), female recieving, PnV penetration.

Summary: You grew up with Nick Ruffilo and Noah, but its been years since you’ve seen your best friends due to them being away touring. When Ruffilo came back to your hometown, opening his home tattoo studio, you get the opportunity to reconnect with him, and Noah. Deep down you’ve always had something for Noah, and it turns out he’s always felt something for you too. Perhaps seeing eachother years later, after you’ve both changed, sparked something.

Author note: This is short haired Noah era! <3 I just couldn’t resist using the beautiful photo of Noah above :3 Also, I haven’t written on tumblr in years, but I thought I’d come back with this fluff/smut! Enjoy if this finds you! <3

PS. THIS IS A FANFIC ABOUT REAL PEOPLE IN FICTIONAL SCENARIOS. I AM NOT IMPLYING THIS IS HOW THESE PEOPLE ARE IRL OR THAT THIS SITUATION WOULD HAPPEN. IT IS FOR FANFIC PURPOSES ONLY!

I finally gathered the courage to turn off my car, letting the crisp autumn air bite at my cheeks as I stepped outside. Taking in a shaky breath I allowed my legs to carry me towards the door, my hands clammy and fingers fidgety.

The boys were always simple- and even their nice townhouse was in an everyday neighbourhood, with nothing elaborate on the outside. Just as it had always been, as if time never flew by.

I didn’t know why I was so nervous. I’ve known Nick and Noah for years. We were neighbours growing up, went to high school together, and even shared memories from our adulthood. These boys knew me and I knew them, but I knew that things were different now.

The boys had just finished tour, and have grown exponentially in their music careers. They walked around with security now, and had fans dedicated to finding out everything about their lives- they’ve become a spectacle; no longer just Nick, or just Noah.

The nerves also came because I didn’t even know if I’d be seeing Noah. Admittedly, he was my first crush; and really, I don’t think it ever left. When I first met him in seventh grade he sported a shaggy haircut and a dorky grin, and he’s held my heart with iron bars ever since. Over the years I had just accepted that my feelings would never be reciprocated, and we both dated other people on and off.

It’s been almost three years since I last got to see him due to the pandemic, and we only ever texted each other on big life events, like birthdays, or during the release of their album. I knew the boys were back when Nick sent out a message that he was looking to tattoo again. I sported a few of Nick’s pieces, but I was looking to get a cover-up of a bad decision I made during a past relationship. I texted Nick asking if he was available, and here I am; right outside Nick’s house.

I sighed deeply, trying to persuade the anxiety out of my lungs, before knocking, following the pattern I had always used when I was younger. Within seconds I was greeted by a pair of grey-green eyes and a wide smile, my nervousness beginning to cease.

“Y/N!” I was pulled into a bone-crushing hug, and I let out a sigh of relief I didn’t know I was holding in. My grin matched his own as I wrapped my arms around him, squeezing back, laughing.

“It’s nice to see you Ruffilo.”

We pulled away from each other and shared another smile. I took off my leather Doc Martens, straightening my fuzzy red polka-dot socks before giving him another hug, smiling into his neck.

“It’s been way too long,” Nick said, giving me an empathetic glance as we separated. “Life has just been crazy.”

“Yeah, I almost wonder if I should be bowing to you right now considering how famous you’ve gotten,” I couldn’t help but laugh, and Nick rolled his eyes, leading me down the hall. The place was neat; white paint, and light flooring. Various Bad Omen’s posters and records hung neatly on the wall, along with other abstract art pieces. It was delicate and simple, just as they way they always kept it. It’s nice to see that they haven’t changed in that regard.

“Trust me, no bowing is required.” Nick turned back to face me, his smile radiating, before motioning at a door ahead, and I walked into a small office filled with tattoo supplies. It was Nick’s mini-home tattoo studio.

“Wow, this is awesome Nick. You’ve always wanted your own little studio.” I said, looking at his work plastered on the wall, soaking it in with awe.

He sighed happily, “Yeah, when we were looking for a house that was one of my requirements. I needed my own space; just because we make music doesn’t mean I’ll give up tattooing.”

I nodded, taking a seat on the chair. “Thank you for seeing me by the way, I appreciate you squeezing me in.”

“Hey, for you, I’d do anything.” He smiled warmly, sitting across from me.

Nick and I chatted for almost an hour before even starting the tattoo. We caught up and talked about tours, and I loved getting to listen to his stories about performing and getting to travel the world. It seemed like the dream, especially considering that before the pandemic, they joked about only pleasing ten fans.

However, the entire time I felt distracted. The only thing my mind kept wandering to was if Noah was home, or if he was going to show up. I felt ashamed being so disconnected from the conversation with Nick; because he was someone I cared about deeply. Yet, my thoughts took me elsewhere.

“You alright?” Nick asked gently, as he started preparing his supplies, glancing at me teasingly.

“Oh yeah! I’m good!” I smiled reassuringly and Nick echoed me, chuckling to himself.

“What?” I asked him, the cheesy grin plastered on his face making me nervous.

“Noah will be home soon, he’s just out with Davis.”

I stared at him, my cheeks beginning to flush, “Okay, cool?” I shrugged nonchalantly, but my stomach immediately began doing spirals, nerves bubbling throughout my veins.

Nick wiped my thigh, preparing the location for the stencil quietly before asking, “You never told him how you felt?”

I watched him cautiously, eyes flickering between his hands and his eyes, “I- I don’t feel anything,” I shook my head, ears getting even hotter. “That was so long ago.”

Nick looked up through his lashes, looking very unconvinced, “Sure, and I don’t play in a band.”

Rolling my eyes, I gave him an annoyed smile, “It would be nice to see him. It’s been a long time- and he doesn’t post anything online anymore, or text.”

Nick nodded as he wiped and re-drew the outline on my leg, “Noah’s been pretty recluse. He’s gotten a lot of anxiety from the fame; mostly just sticks to himself when we finish shows. Plus, he doesn’t enjoy dealing with some of the fans.”

I frowned, feeling myself get sad. Noah has always been pretty introverted, but it looked like he was getting out of his shell on stage. He was playing into the pretty boy facade he had going, and he knew he was hot. I’ve seen plenty of videos from the tour.

“Well, I hope he is doing alright,” I said softly, looking around the room again for any form of distraction.

As if on cue I heard the front door open, and a yell cascaded down the hall, “You better not have a girl in your room,” he had teased.

Immediately I felt the hair on my neck stand in anticipation, realizing that the voice belonged to Noah. My fingers began to tingle as all the blood rushed towards my face, my chest losing any ounce of breath I was just able to exhale.

His voice bounded across the walls again, “but, these are some pretty sick boots.”

“Got someone even better,” Nick yelled back, laughing, “In the tattoo room.”

A head of brunette hair popped in the doorway, his eyes immediately widening as if his whole world suddenly began to spin within milliseconds. A small flush of colour ran down his ears onto the tops of his cheekbones, before a wide, childlike smile appeared on his face. He stepped into the room, immediately crossing his arms, and leaning on the side of the table as if he thought he was doing something charming.

“No fucking way, look what the cat dragged in,” his Virginian accent dancing off his tongue.

I looked back at him, my heart racing even faster. I know it’s been a long time since I’ve seen him, but he did take my breath away. Noah looked older, but healthy, becoming a lot more muscular and defined, despite his height and lank still being there. His hair was short, a layer of bangs hanging across his forehead in a messy sweep. It was the first time I’d seen him in person without his long hair, all 13 inches gone; but it suited him. I soaked in his appearance, noticing a few new tattoos layered around his fingers as well, my heart yearning.

“Is that really my Y/N/N?” he stared at me, the grin not leaving his face, especially after using my childhood nickname. Noah walked towards me shyly with open arms, squinting his eyes in contentment as he invited me in for a hug.

“the one and only.” I breathed a nervous laugh, standing up. Shaky limbs carried me over to him and he wrapped his arms around me, engulfing me within his body.

I composed myself, inhaling slowly, before hugging back, squeezing his torso. I felt so small compared to him, yet I still fit right between his arms, as if I was meant to always be there, a spot reserved just for me. We rocked back and forth in a tight embrace, his chest vibrating as he let out a happy chuckle.

“Oh my god, it’s been so long.” I could hear the happiness radiating off of him.

I sighed with relief at his reaction; he must’ve missed me too. He held onto me for a moment more, and I breathed in his scent, recognizing his favourite Dior cologne. Smiling into his chest, It felt comfortable- it felt familiar. Years of memories flooded back, my heart recalling, reminding myself that he was who I had been missing in my life all along.

“Wow, you’ve changed Y/N,” Noah said as he pulled away, stepping back slightly, taking me in with a look of awe. He absorbed all of me, drinking in my image, before grabbing the sides of my face, and staring into me with an immense amount of appreciation.

I looked up at him in admiration, studying his deep October eyes as they sang unspoken words, retelling a story that only our bodies knew.

“Your hair,” I said as my hand unconsciously found its way to his locks.

My fingers flowed down his no longer existing threads, reminiscing of his past image. That chapter of his life was gone. He’s been reborn into a much more confident man, a newer version of the Noah that once was. I almost longed for his old appearance, because I didn’t know this Noah- but by the way his eyes gleamed, he was still mine.

Noah chuckled, “Yeah, I was tired of getting it in my mouth when singing.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, leaning into his hand, before pulling away to look at Nick.

Nick gave us a sly smile, shaking his head gently.

“I didn’t expect to see you,” Noah sighed, still smiling. I swear it hasn’t left his face since he saw me. He looked over at Nick, “And you didn’t even tell me?”

“I thought it would be a fun surprise,” Nick looked at Noah playfully, before patting the tattoo chair. I took a seat again, positioning my thigh within Nick's reach.

“You’re getting some ink?” Noah asked, folding his arms in approval as he leaned over me, looking at the stencil outlined on my skin.

“Yeah, Nick said he wanted to tattoo again, and I needed an excuse to visit,” I said cheekily.

Noah nodded repeatedly, still analyzing my thigh. “You never needed an excuse. You should’ve texted us. Texted me.”

I shrugged, “I didn’t want to get in the way. You guys are busy- especially now. the last thing you need is unnecessary messages or phone calls.”

“I haven’t seen you in like three years Y/N,” Noah said, sighing a sad smile. He sat down on a stool, folding his ankle over his knee.

Nick began to outline the tattoo, and I winced briefly, “I know.”

“You never came to see us on this tour.” Noah looked at the floor, analyzing the outline of his white vans. I glanced at him quickly, before concentrating on Nick’s hands. “You know we’d have gotten you in right?”

I gave him a mournful look, “I’d pay just like everyone else, Noah. I don’t expect anything…but I honestly just got super busy.”

“I was really hoping you’d be there.”

I felt my heart clench and my chest tighten at his words. “I’m sorry.” I peered over at him, barely being able to maintain eye contact as I chewed the inside of my cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t invite you either; it does go both ways,” Noah said, and we shared a wry smile.

“You should come see us this weekend,” Nick said while concentrating. I furrowed my eyebrows as he scratched along my skin, the area beginning to redden. Despite having multiple tattoos, I never enjoyed the experience of getting them.

“What time? And where?” I asked, biting the inside of my cheek, and closing my eyes at the burning sensation.

Noah scrolled on his phone before I felt my own buzz. Looking at it, I saw a message from Noah. It was a ticket with VIP access.

“I don’t need VIP,” I looked at him in appreciation.

Noah smiled down at his phone, “Well last time I checked, VIP stands for ‘very important persons’, and arguably our childhood bestie is in that category.”

“Well, thank you.” I smiled gratefully, butterflies still knocking on every organ in my body.

“So,” Noah began, shifting positions so he was leaning his elbows on his knees, peering over to stare at my leg, “You and Sean broke it off?”

I followed his gaze, staring at the faded puzzle piece beneath the purple markings of Nick's outline.

Sean was my first serious boyfriend. We were friends in high school, and admittedly always had some sort of connection. We started dating, and were together for four years; before I found somebody else sleeping with him in our bedroom.

I looked longingly at the puzzle piece, my eyes snapping away once Nick began lining on top of it, covering away the layers of regret, “He cheated on me.”

Turning to face Noah, his face immediately shifted from sympathetic to anger, “What a complete fucking tool.” He spat, folding his arms in the chair. Noah’s reaction surprised me, but I nodded in agreement.

“Yep.” I sighed, shrugging my shoulders, “Note to self, don’t get a matching tattoo. You probably won't be with that person forever.” I said, pessimistically.

Noah was quiet for a moment, his teeth chewing on his bottom lip as he contemplated his question, “Did you catch him?”

I nodded, furrowing my eyebrows in annoyance, “In our bedroom too.”

Noah scoffed, audibly groaning while he tilted his head back in hostility, “Pathetic piece of shit. I never liked him being with you.”

My heart raced as Noah glared at the puzzle piece that began to disappear on my thigh, “At least now you’ll get to have a better piece of art on your body.”

“Exactly,” I smiled proudly, watching Nick’s hands run along the skin, “and it’s the one and only Nicholas Ruffilo’s handy work too.”

Nick glanced up smiling. It was quiet for a moment, and I chewed on my lip, anxious to ask.

“What about you? Any ladies?” I said to Noah playfully, winking. Deep down though, I was hoping the answer was no one.

Noah gave me a small smile, “No one at the moment, last relationship ended poorly.”

“That makes two of us.” I chuckled sorrowfully

+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+

Noah pushed me against the bedroom door, lips attached to my own hastily. His kiss was desperate and hungry as he cupped my face in his hands, and I felt weak in the knees as our hips were pushed together, the heat radiating off of him.

“You have no idea how long I have waited to do this.” He breathed between kisses.

My hands found their way to Noah’s hair, rubbing my fingers along his scalp affectionately. I smiled through his lips, eagerly holding myself against him.

“It was so worth the wait.” He whispered, pulling away and putting his forehead against my own. He stared into me, right through me with so much intent. I had always wanted to kiss him, and my heart skipped a beat as I realized where he was, succumbing to me.

I closed my eyes, smiling, “you have no idea how badly I wanted that too.”

He smiled widely, glancing down at my lips again, this time pulling me into his arms while kissing me with force and passion.

“Tell me how badly,” he whispered, running his fingers delicately across my waist and I melted into his touch.

“Honestly? Probably ever since we met.” I admitted, my face turning red with embarrassment at the confession, “and it’s never gone away.”

“Then why didn’t you?” Noah pulled away from the kiss, running his hand up my arm to cup the side of my face again, thumb tracing a gentle circle along my cheekbone. He looked desperate for an answer as if this was all he’s ever wanted to hear. I felt Noah’s heartbeat racing rapidly through his chest, which heaved heavily against my own.

“I never thought you felt that way, and I didn’t want to push anything because I didn’t want to lose you,” I confessed, looking away nervously.

Noah hummed quietly, pulling my chin towards him in another delicate kiss. His lips were warm and gentle. “You’ll never lose me. No matter how long it’s been.”

Noah began running his hands up and down my sides before sliding them between my skin and the hem of my jeans. Immediately I felt flush, and I let my own hands ride up his black t-shirt. His skin was soft and warm, and my fingertips began to tingle with nerves.

Noah hooked his fingers in the loop of my jeans, tugging me towards him and trailing us toward his desk. My thighs hit the back of it, and Noah lifted me gently, placing me on top, and positioning himself between my legs. His warm hands caressed my lower back, creating goosebumps as his nails trailed up and down the skin lightly. I shivered from the sensation.

Noah’s tongue swiped my bottom lip, and I allowed him to kiss me deeper, our tongues melding together. I began tugging at his shirt, and Noah let out a low chuckle.

“You sure you want to do this?” Noah pulled away from my lips to stare into my eyes, looking at me sternly, and analyzing every movement I made.

“yes,” I whined, almost embarrassingly needy, “Do you?”

Noah hung his head, shaking it slowly, “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to fuck someone so badly in my entire life,” He looked up with hooded eyes.

“Then take me however you want.” I sighed, pulling at his shirt again, and Noah looked at me darkly with lust, his October eyes fading into an onyx abyss.

Noah pulled his shirt over his head, exposing his tattooed chest; I stared at the ink longingly, remembering when he first got his desolate tattoo. I traced my fingers over the letters delicately, smiling to myself. This moment between us felt like I was reminiscing over all my lost time with Noah.

“Do you still feel this way?” I asked softly, as Noah pulled off my own shirt, leaving me exposed in my pink laced bra. Noah placed his hand on top of mine as I traced the last letter.

He shook his head, “No, but it will always be a reminder of when I felt empty.”

“I'm glad you don’t feel that way anymore,” I whispered, and Noah’s hands explored my body once again, before pulling on the hem of my jeans.

Bringing me into a kiss again, he fiddled with the zipper before tugging my pants down my legs, leaving me exposed in my underwear.

“I’ve probably envisioned you naked weekly.” Noah admitted as he kissed down my neck, hands roaming over every inch of skin in desperation, “I need to taste you, princess.”

I blushed at his words, and Noah’s kisses trailed further from my neck, teeth grazing across my collarbone to between my breasts. His breath quickened as he kissed lower and lower, licking down my stomach until he stopped right at the edge of my underwear.

“This okay?” He breathed heavily, his own face flushing. I nodded, and Noah pulled at the lace, revealing me.

“Fuck,” He groaned, looking up through his eyelashes briefly before placing his mouth against me, letting his slim fingers trace patterns across the sensitive skin.

Noah’s tongue circled me before he inserted two fingers, and I let out a moan. He pumped slowly, moaning quietly against me, “Oh, you wouldn’t want Nick to hear.”

I squeezed my thighs together around his head in pleasure, and Noah’s free hand gripped my thigh, pulling me even closer.

I began to pant faster, trying to be quiet, “Oh my god Noah,” I let my head fall back, resting against the wall as Noah ate me out feverishly, like this was his last meal. His fingers curled upwards, the repetitive motion sending my abdomen into a knot of fulfillment, my legs shaking against his body.

“Fuck, I need to stop or I'm going to come in my pants- and I don’t want to yet.” Noah’s eyebrows furrowed with pleasure. Taking his fingers that were inside me into his mouth, he licked them clean before pulling himself up. I watched in disbelief- that was probably the hottest thing I’ve ever seen him do; even compared to Noah’s stage performances of The Death of Peace of Mind. He grabbed my ass, hoisting me up and I wrapped my legs around his waist. Noah was extremely hard, his clothed member digging into me as he carried me towards his bed; he kissed me again and I tasted myself off of his tongue.

Noah laid me on the bed, kissing along my neck again as my hands roamed his hair before he unclasped my bra and pulled my panties down, exposing me fully to him.

“You are gorgeous, shit,” Noah mumbled, absorbing me with his eyes as he pulled his shorts down hastily, and I couldn’t help but let my own eyes wander across Noah’s fully exposed body, swallowing hard.

A new warmth washed over me as I got even wetter between my legs, the familiar feeling of excitement preparing my body for Noah’s; but this was different. This time it was Noah, here in front of me. Noah ran his fingers along my folds, moaning and internally begging to replace his hands with his own heat longing to be touched.

Noah spit into his hand and I watched attentively, following his every move as my body shivered. Noah rubbed along himself, before positioning his body above mine.

We shared eye-contact again and I nodded in approval before Noah pushed inside, his body immediately shuddering as I moved my hips against his, and he sighed deeply, squeezing his eyes closed briefly.

“God fucking dammit, you feel so good, princess.”

My legs parted as Noah’s body sunk into mine, his thrusts getting deeper and heavier. I let out another moan, “Oh- my-god-Noah.”

Words were coiled at my throat as Noah pounded into me, hands on either side of my head, his necklace dangling in my face.

“Look at me.” Noah’s voice was rough, and I stared into his eyes. He watched me with every thrust, and I mumbled a string of messy swears, my body clenching around his.

Noah’s arms wrapped around my body, pulling me up so I was positioned on top of him, but so that there was enough leverage for him to continue to thrust into me from below. This new position allowed him to penetrate me deeper and groaned with every entrance of his body into mine.

Noah grabbed the back of my neck and the middle of my back, holding me still as he fully gave himself into me before pulling me into another kiss. His mouth attached to mine hastily, bucking his hips aimlessly. Noah’s moans were almost louder than mine as he shamelessly allowed himself a pleasure.

“Mark me, Noah, show me I was always yours.” I whimpered, and Noah immediately attached to my neck, biting and sucking against the delicate skin that was pinned along my neck.

I heaved into his ear, resting my forehead on his shoulder as he held my hips, allowing myself to completely undo myself, moaning as my body reached my climax.

“Fuck me, Noah,” I panted, gripping his arms as I clenched around him, letting him thrust into me as I rode out my high.

Noah pulled my neck back to look at him again, sweat dripping across his forehead and his eyebrows furrowed in rapture, “please let me cum inside you Y/N.”

I nodded, kissing him eagerly, our saliva melding together as Noah moaned into the kiss. His body quivered as he released himself, exhaling in short breaths of satisfaction.

“Holy shit,” Noah mumbled into my neck, and I held onto him, a smile plastering itself onto my face. We sat there for a moment, panting against each other as our chests heaved, sweat attaching us together. I ran my fingers along Noah’s hair again, absorbing his handsome features, and taking him in.

He looked up at me, his eyes back to their October glow, but now replaced with a gleam of devotion. He tucked the loose strands of my H/C hair behind my ear.

I placed my lips lightly on his, “I missed you so fucking much Noah.”

“I missed you so much princess,” Noah’s hand grabbed the back of my head gently, caressing me into his chest and holding on protectively. He pulled a blanket over us as we lay together out of breath, both relishing the high of our orgasms and the story we just created together.

“I guess I thought you got too busy to be my friend,” I whispered vulnerably as we lay underneath his covers, the story we created longing against my skin.

Noah’s head rested on top of my own, and I felt his body stiffen slightly, “life has been crazy, everything is so different now. We are no longer just screaming in my garage.” He rubbed my arm, nails trailing across my skin once again.

I nodded against him in understanding, “I know. I hope you know I watched every single concert online that I could. I followed so many fan pages just to keep updated on how you were doing.”

Noah pulled me away from him softly, he looked at me with awe, “Did you really?”

“Of course.” I looked up, smiling at him in adoration.

“I was always hoping you’d show up again at my doorstep sometime. You have no idea how happy I am right now.” He laughed, pulling me into him again. I smiled against his chest, absorbing this moment, worried it might be my last.

“I love you, Noah Sebastian Davis.”

“I love you most Y/N Y/L/N.”

Part Two if you want more smut ;)

#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens band #bad omens smut #noah sebastian smut #smut #metal #metalcore #noah sebastian fluff #noah sebastian davis #bad omens x reader #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian and reader #x reader #reader insert

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solargeist · 5 months ago

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i keep mistaking some of ur kidxelqua art for ur grian art so i have to stop and read the captions/tags every time 😭😭 is there a fundamental difference im missing that would make it any easier

hi !!!!!!! no i understand it can be pretty confusing !! its pretty messy on my blog ahahah i'll try to explain them and their place in the AU

All the kid drawings are Xelqua ! Originally it was Grian, but as the character Xelqua developed, I changed it to him. When people send requests for kid Grian, i'm drawing Xelqua, as that is the AU.

This isn't 100% accurate as I forget to do it, but Grian and Xelqua part their hair differently, kid Xelqua does too. Xelqua's hair is always a bit longer. (Grian got a haircut when he joined the Watchers, thats why his hair parts different now in evoAU and HC, he just kept it shorter ! Xelqua used to wear his hair in a ponytail during his time with the Watchers.)

The reason why i say they're "technically the same" is bc Xelqua is just another Grian from a different timeline, he just has a different name. Xelqua only exists because this one Grian joined the Watchers, new possibilités opened new timelines, ones where he died, ones where he's a Listener instead, or ran away to different servers, or stayed. Xelqua is the only one to have reached Sainthood.

Because of this, Xelqua can hop around timelines, he usually just bugs other versions of himself, helping them, giving them tnt. He finds This Grian during s8 of HC, bugging him through the boatem void, briefly possessing him later, but hey ! water under the bridge !

Xelqua's timeline doesn't exist anymore after becoming That, but by becoming That he has essentially rewritten history in other timelines, solidifying himself as a saint of destruction, a destroyer, this is what the Watchers know him as, this is what evo Grian knew him as, even if Grian caused it--It already happened--Xelqua has always been here. (It makes Grian's head hurts when Xelqua explains this to him.)

Basically: Grian set off a chain reaction when he joined the Watchers, and that opened new universes, and in doing that, Xelqua is made.

Xelqua is powerful, but also very lonely and has a lot wrong with him, which is expected he spent many years with the Watchers. Xelqua can mimic any version of Grian he wants, but if he stays in that form for too long, he'll start to forget himself and instead think "Xelqua" is a patron, rather than himself. This is why kid Xelqua will usually praise the Saint Xelqua and be proud of his own name, he just doesn't know ! It takes a little while to remember himself and change back. This also happens in high stress, (bc of course it does, i love when a character loses control of their powers hahaha,) the memory is much worse if it happens from stress. You can't talk kid Xelqua out of this, it'll stress him out further and you'll just have a little god child throwing a temper tantrum then, never a good idea.

After s8 in HC EvoAU, Xelqua hangs around, popping up sometimes in s9, mostly in his adult watcher self. They don't get along too well at first, Xelqua has a little bit of bitterness over Grian having such a fun life, all these friends, needed, wanted..... But whatever ! Xisuma doesn't know how he keeps getting in, but Xelqua has been on good behaviour, so...... Shrug... Just let him visit sometimes....

Xelqua's version of the Watchers are gone, the unfortunate conséquences of becoming a destroyer, you kinda rip your own timeline apart. This, added with the fact that he is a cautionary tale in every other reality to Watchers, means if he tries to visit other versions of his Watcher family, they won't really know who he is, and just see something destructive and chaotic. If he wants to see Aether, he'll just... hop in a timeline and change himself into a kid and quickly forget what he's done. He's lonely, ok !!

Xelqua starts doing this kid bit on HC (late s9/early s10) too, he doesn't exactly mean to, but he does feel safe there. He eats Grian's food and takes over his couch and no one can get mad at him bc he is just a little kid--grian puts him in the corner. timeout. a few dead birds hit the roof as a result.

#KID XELQUA IS VERY MUCH YOTSUBA TO ME </33 ADGHJKAD #ask #kidxelqua #evoau #DOES THIS MAKE SENSE !!!!!!!!! i try to explain the timeline as best as i can but if its still confusing i can probably. clarify more #eovAU is 90% just my own ideas so you wont find a lot of this within Evo itself

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hoonieyun · 4 days ago

Text

collecting tears - jaeyun

jar of tears that were shed for jaeyun

sim jaeyun x reader "y/n"

genre: angst, one sided pining/love, childhood friends

warnings: alcohol, suggestive, overall 18+

summary: you and jaeyun had been friends since the moment you could crawl. your best friend surely knew how to brighten up your day, knew how to make you smile and laugh, and knew when you were down; but one things for sure, he didn't know that you have loved him since you were young.

I'm in the corner Watchin' you kiss her I'm right over here Why can't you see me? I'm giving it my all But I'm not the girl you're takin' home I keep dancing on my own I keep dancing on my own robyn - dancing on my own word count: 1354

The club was the last place you wanted to be right now. Bodies grinding against each other, generating an obnoxious amount of body heat, distasteful and loud music, and countless men who tried to get your attention… but none of them were him… jake.

Jake was your best friend of over 15 years. You had first met at a kid’s soccer tryouts where Jake had mistaken you for a boy and tried to befriend you. It didn’t help that your parents were adamant of giving you a haircut so short that is was practically a bowlcut because to them it “would help you play better when your hair isn’t in your face.” their words not yours.

When Jake had found out you weren’t a boy and indeed a girl, nothing changed. He still wanted to be your friend and maybe even more because he hadn’t known any girls his age that were as interested in soccer like he was. That was the beginning of a long friendship with Jake and led to where you were now.

The two of you were like two peas in a pod, everyone knew that you came as a pair and people would often assume you were even a couple. Sometimes Jake would agree with the strangers because he knew it irked you to be called “his girlfriend” but one day… it stopped bothering you and became something you could see yourself as. The both of you often would play the role of fake boyfriend and girlfriend once university started. Whenever a random man with too much ego or a girl who wasn’t Jake’s type would throw themselves onto one of you, the other would swoop in to save the day. Introducing yourself as Jake’s girlfriend to make the girl leave or Jake introducing himself as your boyfriend so the boy would get the message.

Jake was also your first kiss and you were his. An awkward exchange when you both turned 18 and Jake just happened to confess that he hadn’t kissed a girl before and that he couldn’t believe he would be starting college having not had his first kiss. In a moment to comfort him, you also confided with Jake that you also haven’t had your first kiss. It started off awkward because it seemed the tension in the air was pulling you two closer and before you could even react, Jake softly placed his lips onto yours. A quick but tender moment that forever changed your perception of your best friend.

It was from that moment that you realized you didn’t want to be Jake’s best friend or his fake girlfriend anymore… You wanted the real thing and you wanted it with Jake.

But you were too afraid of ruining your life long friendship with the possibility that you may have been better off just as friends. What if your breakup as a couple was so nasty that Jake would no longer be in your life anymore? That couldn’t happen… you couldn’t possibly see a life without Jake, whether he was your best friend or your boyfriend.

So you chose to surpress all of those feelings for Jake and in your first year of university, you got your first boyfriend. A sweet boy named Park Sunghoon. He was tall, understanding, and gentle, but throughout your whole relationship you were constantly battling the feeling that he wasn’t as understanding and gentle like Jake and Sunghoon could tell. The two of you would fight about your feelings for Jake, Sunghoon accussing you of not actually liking him and that you needed to come to terms with the fact that you have feelings for Jake.

It wasn’t fair for Sunghoon to be used as some sort of distraction from facing your true feelings. Your true feelings that revolved around Jake. Sunghoon was understanding even until the day you broke up, telling you that he was glad he was at least able to help you realize your true feelings even if you had known for a while.

After your breakup with Sunghoon, Jake was instantly by your side. He knew how to cheer you up and although he was the reason for your breakup but didn’t know that, he did everything in his power to make his best friend smile again, because that’s what friends are for.

Jake spent days with you watching your favorite movies, eating your favorite snacks, and laughing at random TikToks while you both laid in your bed. You had realized that you would be happy with a life just like this. Simply being with Jake would make you happy.

“Hey, you good?” Jake says and it pulls you out of your thoughts. You watched as Jake stood in front of you, a new drink in his hand as he scoped out the dance floor, looking for a girl to take home. Wishing you were the one he’d choose. “You’ve been quiet, it’s a club, come on; take a shot!” Jake says, signalling to the bartender to pour the two of you a shot and so he does.

The tequila slightly burns as it goes down and Jake slams the shot glass onto the counter and chases it with another alcoholic drink. “What do you think of her?” Jake asks, motioning to a girl on the dance floor. You glance to where he’s looking and you see a girl that you’d never compete with. Long black hair that danced with her, a tight minidress that hugged her body perfectly in Jake’s favorite color, and a sense of confidence that you lacked. She was beautiful and she was definitely Jake’s type.

Before you could even answer, Jake was downing the rest of his drink and brushing his hand through his hair as he prepared to make a move onto the girl on the dancefloor. You watched him smoothly glide to a spot behind her, his body instantly matching her vibe and their energy together just seems to take over the dance floor. Like they were made for each other.

Jake knew a lot of things. He was very smart. He knew a lot about physics and math, he knew the best ways to train a dog; that’s why his dog Layla was so well mannered, he knew how to cheer you up, he knew when you were sad, he knew how to treat a girl properly, and he knew that one day he would want to settle down with a girl just like his best friend.

But what Jake didn’t know was that his best friend has liked him for the last four years.

Completely oblivious to your longing stares and romantic gestures that Jake would often cast aside as your love language and best friend affection. You had even confessed to him once when the two of you were both very drunk and although you remembered the next day, he had no recollection of that night and you made sure to keep it that way.

You would say that you knew you loved Jake from that day when you were 18 and he had kissed you, but if you were being honest; you knew you loved Jake since the day you met him. When he stood by your side at soccer practice and was adamant that the two of you would become good friends.

So now, here you were, standing at the bar of a club, wallowing in your sadness and asking the bartender to give you another shot as you watched Jake dance with some girl, an eventual kiss between the two sends a bitter taste in your mouth, more bitter than the alcohol.

You watched as he spent his days trying to find the love of his life through other girls while you stood to the side, watching him from afar, wishing that he would see you the way you saw him, as you danced on your own.

Thinking about your inability to break out of your love for Jake when he didn’t reciprocate your feelings was hard because you didn’t want this to be a lesson to be had. You wanted love.

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

the credit for the lyrics used in this piece of writing go to their rightful owners

#enhypen #en-diaries #kpop #kpop au #kpop fic #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #fanfiction #enha #enhypen au #enhypen jaeyun #enha jaeyun #enhypen jake #enha jake #sim jaeyun #jake sim #enhypen angst #enha x reader #enha imagines

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balkanradfem · 6 months ago

Text

Okay so, a long while ago I had written about noticing a woman who moved into the building, who had short hair and got my attention immediately (she was insanely hot). I creepily looked at her trough the window at one point and felt bad about it, but I didn't know how to approach her without being super obvious (I lose my wits when I talk to women).

Since then I had met her in the hallways multiple times, and she's always seemed super happy to talk to me! Even grinned when she saw me, and at moments seemed as flustered as me while we were talking. I found out she lives on the floor above me, has a very young son she takes care of on her own, and works the night shift, meaning she's super busy and barely sleeps. I once saw her in the evening waiting for a ride and wished her good luck at work and she went 'you too!' and then realized I'm coming home and added 'tomorrow!' which I thought was adorable (it was Saturday).

Anyway I still have not sussed out if she is interested in women at all, I can't figure it out because I have no sense for these things and had only assumed maybe, because of the haircut, but she has a son, so she could be bisexual. Those are things I'm thinking in my brain, but a heterosexual woman can have a buzzcut too? Right? I could be completely off and just dazzled by her appearance and by how nice she is.

However this morning I had a longer conversation with her, I was getting home from slug patrol, and she was coming home from work. I held the door opened for her and she paused to chat with me in the hallway. We were talking about work and the building and at one point, unprompted, she touched my hand, then commented on how cold it was, and then touched it more, and I'm like, I don't know what's going on, that doesn't usually happen to me. A minute later she decided I needed a hug and hugged me, and I was mortified because I just came home from the garden in my filthy clothing so I panicked and apologized for my awful getup, but she was like 'so what?'.

So now I'm even more in my lesbian brain trying to figure it out, would a heterosexual do this, do women do this randomly, could it be because she has a child and I also look like a little wet child to her (she's 9 years older than me) so I just looked pathetic enough??? I also told her, with my brain non-functional, about 10 times that I find her really nice and that I love her haircut and that she's so kind and how wonderful it was of her to stop and chat with me even though she's so busy and I don't know if I should have said any of that??? I had the urge to invite her over and make her breakfast but felt it would be too forward to ask her to come to my apartment and it would make me creepy, and also I don't know what to do, I would like to befriend her but whenever I do talk to her I am useless.

#lesbian #bisexual #a situation #story

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moonyswritinq · 8 months ago

Note

howdy! i recently stumbled upon your account and saw that your requests were open. i have a small request for a newt x m!reader one-shot. feel free to ignore this if you don't feel like you're up for it 👍

maybe one where the reader has longer hair, and is a runner, as the weather's gotten warmer it's starting to become more of a chore when it comes to maintaining it so he asks newt to help him cut it? it can be as silly or goofy as you want, platonic or romantic is up to you.

i hope you're having a great day and enjoying the fall weather

-🦇

if the haircut fits — newt x male reader

❝ IF THE HAIRCUT FITS ❞

Thank you so much for the request, Bat. So sorry it took so long to finish, and I kind of ran away with this one, but I hope you enjoy!

SYNOPSIS ➢ As summer started to creep into the Glade, the sun’s rays had been hitting you much harder than usual; your hair, especially, have been more of a nuisance. Your solution? Get one of your closest friends to cut it for you. But losing the weight of your hair made you want to get rid of some weight off your chest, as well.

PAIRING ➢ newt x male reader

CONTENT WARNING ➢ friends to lovers, kissing, touching, banter, light insults sexual innuendoes, fluff, slight hurt/comfort, mentions of eating, mentions of drinking, slight violence (a slap), mentions of body, no use of y/n

WORD COUNT ➢ 7.3 k

AUTHORS NOTE ➢ I like to keep any image of the reader’s body out of my writing, but in this he’s implied to be well built, but not explicitly mentioned. The hair may also be more of a non-black standard, since I’m not sure exactly how black hair behaves in this situation, but I tried to keep it as vague as possible. I’m sure there are also a lot of inaccuracies in this concerning the Glade, such as the weather and the sun and the lake, but for the sake of this fic it works like I say it does — I am the author and therefore, God.

The air had gotten warmer recently. You’d noticed it only a few days ago, when your breath hadn’t exhaled in a cloud of white smoke and your neck had started to sweat after a full day of running in the Maze. The weather didn’t exactly respond to how the seasons—that on some level your subconscious knew existed—worked, but it changed all the same. It had only gotten warmer, and quickly, too. With the sun bearing down on from overhead, the air was chokingly warm, your skin practically dripping with sweat and the ends of your hair clinging to your neck. It had grown long during the past few months and while it was a comfort in the colder weather, strands of it now hung uncomfortably in your eyes despite your best attempts to pull it back into a knot.

Minho walked just in front of you through the gates of the Maze and entered the green forestry of the Glade. The walls closed right behind you and in spite of the late hour of the day the sun still shone bright in the sky. He was just as eager to take cover from it under the cool shade of the Glade’s woods as to throw himself into the equally cool lake. You ran up beside him, patting him on the shoulder.

“This weather,” he grunted, wiping the palms of his hands on his trousers. They left tracks of sweat. “I swear it’s got something against us.”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a sigh. You peeled your drenched shirt from your skin, pulling it over your head in an attempt to ease some of the warmth. It didn’t made much of a difference.

Minho threw you a sideway glance as you walked across the green fields. “Eager to show your body off?”

You threw your head back in a bark, sidestepping so you would walk backwards to face him. Your hands spread as your head tilted with conviction.

“You’d want to show off your body too if it looked like this,” you said. Minho couldn’t help but smile at your comment, shaking his head in exasperation. You turned around to walk beside him normally again.

As the two of you made your way to the lake, you passed the gardens and its track-hoes, Newt being one among them. Despite the fact that he was second in command, he liked the calming repetitiveness of caring for vegetables and flowers. He’d told you one late night when you’d found him sitting by himself, staring up at the night sky, and your curiosity had gotten the better of you. Now, his eyes met yours in an instant, as if he’d known exactly where you were. As if he’d been watching you for some while, and waiting for you to notice. Your stomach flipped at his unashamed staring, nervous under the gaze, as your mind drew a blank. Quickly, you rearranged your mouth into a smirk, to which he shook his head out of his stunned stupor and continued with his task, but you could tell his mind wasn’t present as his eyes kept jumping back and forth.

Minho saw your smug smile and hit you across the chest, hard enough to cause you to stumble. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Newt cover his mouth from something that looked like a chuckle and you glared back at Minho’s now-smug smile. He just tilted his head and kept walking to the cover of the trees.

“You can flirt with Newt later,” he said. “Let’s go wash off.”

“I wasn’t flirting with anyone! Let alone Newt.”

“Whatever, man.”

You grumbled something unintelligible, which he ignored, as you walked together to the lake on the other side of the Glade. It was a rather long walk, but the time in the trees’ shade cooled you down nicely. Reaching the lake, the water was darkening with the passing of the sun, seeming almost more ominous now than inviting. You found a few other Gladers there already, some of them laying by the bank with their shirts discarded and the rest of them submerged in the water. Minho wasted no time removing his shirt and running into the dark water. You discarded your earlier thoughts and quickly followed suit, pulling your hair from its knot and jumping into the lake with a splash that earned you an ugly glare from a Glader nearby. Minho shared the glare and slapped the water hard, sending it flying in your direction.

“Shankhead,” he muttered.

You only laughed and leant backwards, fully submerging your body under the dark water. Your muscles relaxed and let the water carry you out further in the lake, effectively cooling you down. This was exactly what you needed after a warm and exhausting day; your head under the water, your hair spread around you like the halo of some angel—if an angel could be trapped in a maze. The cold water felt like a blanket across your mind, quieting your thoughts down to a tenth of their usual volume. There were few things that could calm you like this.

The peace didn’t last long, though, as Minho’s hand suddenly closed over your arm and dragged you above surface.

“What?” you spit at him.

He cocked his head to the end of the lake and when you turned your head you saw Newt’s figure walking closer, his hands in the pockets of his trousers. You immediately tried to stand up, but forgot you were too far out, and instead of touching the sand you sunk deeper in the water with a splutter. Again, you broke the surface with a gasp and a flail of your arms, struggling to wipe your hair out of your eyes. Minho was unsurprisingly unhelpful, barking out his laugh at your unfortunate. You glared at him and swam to the bank where Newt stood waiting. It was only then that you noticed a lot of the other boys were gone or also on their way from the lake.

“Smooth,” Newt commented when you reached him.

“Shut up.”

He nodded his head to the woods behind him. “Dinnertime’s soon. Reckoned I’d go get you.”

“I am honoured your lordship would bother thinking of little ol’ me,” you smiled. He only rolled his eyes.

Your steps brought you up further, the water splashing around your knees. Newt’s arms were crossed over his chest as he leant on one foot, waiting for you to reach him. You noticed that he adamantly kept his eyes fixated on a spot just above your head, refusing to glance at any part of your body that was currently on display. A part of you sparked with amusement. Minho stepped out just behind you and went over to retrieve your clothes, throwing your shirt and boots at you.

“Thanks,” you bit at him, just barely avoiding one hitting your head.

He flashed you with a smug smirk as he pulled his shirt over his head, immediately causing wet spots to bloom wherever it touched his skin directly. “My pleasure,” he said and started walking back to the huts, through the now-dark forest.

The sun had settled quickly and long shadows now stretched before you as you turned to walk into the forest. Newt followed suit, staring at you with a raised eyebrow.

“Not going to put on your shirt?” he asked.

You turned your head to catch Newt’s gaze sweeping across your figure. It filled you with a strange satisfaction to see him checking you out. When he noticed that you’d caught him, he immediately looked away, his posture suddenly stiff. His cheeks were definitely redder than they had been before, although it was difficult to tell in the darkening light. Your lips tugged into something resembling a smile.

“Why? Does it bother you?”

Newt scoffed and met your gaze defiantly underneath his golden fringe. “No. I just don’t want your stupid arse to get sick.”

Your smile widened. “Oh, really? Do you happen to care for me, Newt?”

“I am not admitting that,” he said and rolled his eyes. His tone was suspiciously even, as if it took everything in him not to check you out again. “I’m only saying it’d be be more trouble than you’re worth to get you healthy again.”

His brown eyes met yours, obstructed with a few strands. You had the urge to reach out and pull them away, to see his eyes more clearly, but instead you sent him a simple smile and nudged him lightly with your elbow. “Okay, you have your priorities clear,” you said.

“Just go get ready, won’t you?” His glare was enough to send shivers down your spine and his hands started to turn your body in the direction of the huts, now already having reached the end of the woods. “See what I told you? You’re already getting cold!”

“Fine,” you drawled with your hands up in defence, looking at him over your shoulder. “I’ll see you at the bonfire.”

He lifted his hand in half a wave and swiftly turned away from you, walking to where the others had begun to gather by the fire. Sometimes you forgot he had hurt his leg—it had happened before you arrived in the Glade—but looking at him now his limp was evident in his step. You lingered a moment longer to watch his hair glow in the contrast from the fire, vaguely resembling the sun in an eclipse. You found the view almost poetic, entrancing you in its picturesque aestheticism. It reminded you of Icarus flying too close to the sun, you standing by, helpless to aid him in his downfall, inevitably and irrevocably fated to meet his doom. You weren’t sure where the thought or the name had come from, but ancient knowledge seemed to lord over you in a cloud of mystery.

“Go!” called Newt suddenly over his shoulder. He met your eye with a quirk of his brow and for a second his eyes seemed to draw you into the depths of his soul, but then you blinked and the feeling was gone.

“Going!” you jumped out of your daze to call back and quickly turned to make your way to the huts. How he had known you’d stayed put you didn’t know, but didn’t question further. You rushed to your cot to grab a change of clean clothes and a towel to dry off with, even though most of the water had already dried and cooled your skin with the night’s chill. Still, your hair hung heavy with water, wetting the new shirt you put on. You groaned as you tried to wipe it with the towel, but to no avail. The only downsides to having long hair was it took forever to dry. It would have to warm by the fire.

You changed into the warm pair of trousers and put on your boots. Still, your damp hair felt cold against your skin, which would have been nice if the temperature didn’t drop so suddenly as soon as the sun was gone. You hurried to the fire, the air enveloping you into its warm grasp, eyes already searching for the familiar blonde boy. A lot of the Gladers were milling about, eating the good food Frypan had cooked up or drinking some of the incredibly strong spirit you knew Newt fancied. Someone was laughing loudly nearby but you ignored it in favour of searching for the quiet spot you knew you would find him by. When your eyes settled on him, sitting on a log with a drink in his hand and a plate on his knee, your hand reflexively made its way to pull back your bangs from your eyes. Warmth settled in your stomach that was equally familiar.

“Don’t worry, you look good,” came Minho’s voice beside you. You shot him a glare and removed your fingers from your hair, still itching to pull it away. “Not that your ego needs the boost.”

“Not what I was concerned with,” you said. You swallowed. “But thanks.”

Minho grinned. Your lips lifted into an answering grin and Minho nudged you towards the fire. “Go get ‘em.”

You frowned at him, pretending not to understand what he meant, before shaking your head and walking towards where Newt was sitting. His gaze lifted as you approached and you felt your stomach flipping, not uncomfortably.

“So, he can wear a shirt? Was starting to believe you weren’t capable of it,” said Newt, lowering his drink from his lips.

“Yeah,” you answered with a sheepish grin.

You sat down next to him on the log and reached over to nick a few pieces of his fruit. Newt immediately leant away, lifting the plate away from your reach.

“Woah--oi, hey! Don’t take my food! Get your bloody own from Frypan,” he grumbled, settling you with a glare. You recognised the glint in his eye though, the one that told you he wasn’t entirely serious. His eyes shone in the firelight, softening the longer you stayed quiet, and his lips even started to turn up. At the sight of it, yours did as well. He always knew how to bring out your mischievous side.

“Your food tastes much better.”

“It’s exactly the same.”

You shook your head. “No, by its mere proximity to you, the food is better.”

Newt rolled his eyes and placed his plate back on his knee, where your hand quickly snatched away the remainder of his fruit. He only sighed and took a long sip from his drink, pretending to ignore your staring at him. Finally, he lowered his glass and met your gaze with a sigh.

“What?” asked Newt, tone as flat as he could manage to make it in your presence.

Your lips tugged into a smile. “Nothing,” you said and glanced away.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Newt swiftly turn to you before you felt a nudge against your side, almost pushing you off balance. You cried out and reached towards him to stabilise yourself, sending him the harshest glare you could muster in spite of the laughter that was waiting in your throat. He met it with a glare of his own while ignoring your hands on his arm and shoulder, which suddenly felt too hot to the touch. Blood rushed to your cheeks.

“Nothing,” you repeated, avoiding his gaze. You were forced to let go of him with a clearing of your throat, conscious of your cold hands. You became too aware of your hair brushing your cheek, annoyingly tickling your skin. Before you could move, Newt’s hand had reached out to brush it away. Your breath hitched in your throat and you were unable to rip your eyes away from his.

“Sorry,” he said bashfully and withdrew it, curling it into an uncertain fist.

You smiled. “No, no, it’s okay. It’s getting too long,” you mumbled, your hands moving as if with a mind of their own to fiddle with the longer strands of your hair.

“I could help you, you know?” spoke Newt, drawing your gaze to him. He seemed not to have noticed your flustered state or he chose to ignore it. You hoped it was the former.

You frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

His voice broke as he opened his mouth to speak, but he cleared his throat and nodded to your head.“I could help cut your hair.”

“Really?” you asked, surprise evident in your voice. You supposed cutting weeds while gardening got him familiar around shears.

“I mean, yeah, sure,” said Newt. “Reckon I’d do a better job than anything you’d manage, anyway.”

Your head whipped to the side, mouth open in indignation. “That’s foul!”

His lips tugged into a grin and he lifted an eyebrow with the argument. “Am I wrong?” Your eyes swept over his own hair, which you assumed he’d cut himself, and pursed your lips in contemplation. It looked good. He looked good. Especially in that light, when the fire casted a golden aura that settled around his head like a halo. It effortlessly managed to draw your attention to every shift in his movement.

“No,” you finally grumbled, again tugging at a strand.

His hand reached out to tuck the stray strand of your hair away, and in doing so pushed away your own. The short moment of contact made your breath stutter and come out in a short burst. Newt met your gaze with a smile. It felt different than before, none of his usual amusement visible in his gaze. Instead, there now hung a heavy silence over the both of you, despite the loud chatter and laughter of those who had gathered by the fire. You were so close to him that you could count the lashes on his eyes. His gaze, which usually swirled with the pain and frustration that served as a reminder that Newt was capable of more than he let on, was now void of that. There was only curiosity and something softer that you couldn’t describe to be found. Newt must have felt your breath on his hand by now were it not for you holding it in anticipation. As if suddenly realising it, he blinked and leant away from you, his hand falling down at your side. Your breathing returned to normal as you tried to keep the warmth rushing to your cheeks at bay, trying in vain to ignore how close you two had just been. It was too dark for you to see if he was feeling the same way, or he was just too good at hiding it, but it didn’t keep you from scrutinising his face for any clues.

“Take a sick day tomorrow, meet me by the gardens,” he said after a few minutes of silently staring into the fire. His voice was level, as if he hadn’t been caressing your cheek only moments before.

You tried to match his nonchalance and arched an eyebrow. “Minho will murder me.”

Newt cocked his head. “Let that be on my head.”

“Fine,” you said and stood up with a groan, feeling the stretch of your muscles from the day’s run. Newt followed your movement, meeting your eye as you pointed an accusing finger at him. “On your head, be it.”

Newt nodded, sending a smirk your way. You stepped away from him and made your way to Frypan. As you grabbed a few sandwiches, Gally sneaked up by your side, swiping one of the sandwiches in your hand.

“Got tired of flirting, huh?” he chuckled.

You glared at him and bit into your sandwich. “Shut up.”

He smirked smugly. “It’s plain as day, Greeny.”

“You’re worse than Minho,” you grumbled. Your finger lifted to point in his direction. “And stop calling me that, I haven’t been Greeny for a year.”

His mocking laughter followed you as you walked away from the fire towards the huts, shaking your head. A few Gladers had followed your trail of thought, also deigning to go to bed early. You fell into your sleeping cot with your feet kicked up and a deep sigh escaping your lips. Your mind couldn’t keep from trailing back to the sight of Newt by the fire, his brown eyes shining along with his smug smirk. A groan fought through your throat as you rubbed your eyes in frustration.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like Newt. On the contrary, you liked him a lot. He was kind and funny and witty and smart and always knew how to both make you laugh and trample on your nerves to get you furious with him. But you didn’t fancy him, no matter how much Minho and Gally liked to imply it. He just had a special way to worm his way into your thoughts and then burrow there. For days after an interaction, you would think of how he looked at you a certain way or how he would accidentally touch you while brushing past.

It drove you insane, how easily Newt could get inside your mind.

And how easily he could stir up the warmth inside your stomach and make it rush to your cheeks with only a simple gesture. You had found yourself trying to hide your cheeks when around him too often lately and you were sure he had noticed, but only given you the curtesy of not commenting on it.

“Fuck,” you groaned again and turned over in your cot, your hair prickling your skin with reminder of what tomorrow would bring.

It was difficult to distract your mind from Newt long enough to settle down. Eventually, you managed to fall into a restless sleep, filled with the muddled dreams of red sunlight bouncing off of bluish marble, almost creating the illusion of moving water. You saw the reflection of your form against the stone below you but before you had the chance to take it all in, a hand had clasped your own and another drawn you in by your waist. When you looked up, it was the face of none other than the person you had previously been trying to forget, although you could not fathom why at that moment. Newt. His warm smile calmed you down and you allowed him to lead you into the first steps of a waltz. How you had learnt it you didn’t question, but just followed his captivating eyes and trusted him to catch you if you fell. Those same eyes were gazing into yours, big and brown and with the same curiosity that had gazed on you earlier that day. Only now, you allowed yourself to get lost in the sight of them, to be entranced by their deep swirling darkness. Right when Newt had stretched his arm out and sent you into a light spin, and his hand was ready to welcome you back into his embrace, had his expression changed from one of bliss to one of chock and disgust. You halted, frowning at his actions, before following his line of sight and reaching a hand up to the top of your head. To your horror, all your hair had suddenly vanished. Panic rose through you, clawing blindly at your empty head, wanting to escape from this, from everything, from Newt’s hateful glance. You took a step and tried another but caught the only small imperfection in the marble that caused you to stumble, falling down, down, and down… waiting for the ground to hit you.

What came instead was a slap on your chin, harsh enough to force you awake.

“Ngh— fuck,” you croaked, blinking drowsily. Your vision cleared up as you squinted at your assailant, recognising the judging stare immediately. “Come on, man.”

The sun had barely come up again over the tall walls guarding the Glade when Minho had deigned to make you a visit. That time was usually when you would get ready for your run in the Maze. Apparently, Newt had not said anything to Minho which made you let out a deep groan. Minho was staring down at your messy form, his arms crossed over his chest with a harsh stare pinning you to your place. He cocked his head, raising an eyebrow.

“Anyone tell you you’re an ugly sleeper?” he asked, a sickly sweet smile on his lips.

“No, I’m adorable,” you stated, trying to sit up as best as you could. “I’m taking a day off. I’m sick.” You punctuated your words with the best fake cough you could muster.

Minho looked unconvinced. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am,” you countered. When he raised an eyebrow you sighed in defeat. “Okay, I’m not sick. But I’m still taking a day off. If you want to argue, take it up with Newt. He’s got senior on you. And we both know you won’t miss me today.”

Minho’s breath released in a sharp burst as he contemplated your words. Finally, he let his arms fall to his side. “Fine,” he said, but raised a finger to point at you. “But you better have a damn good reason as to why you’re staying here today.”

You shot him a smile. “A damn good reason.”

He rolled his eyes and turned to walk away. “I will miss you, by the way,” he called over his shoulder. Then, he added, with a smug smirk, “Sweetheart.”

It was then your turn to roll your eyes as a bark of laughter forced itself out your throat. You rubbed your face from sleep, trying to get rid of your sluggishness. As you were already awake, you figured you could just as well get up to meet Newt a little earlier. It wouldn’t be long until the rest of the Gladers woke up, anyway.

Minho and the rest of the Runners were already by the Maze’s walls. You could see their figures in the distance as the gates started to open with a loud rumble, one that you could feel shaking the earth beneath your feet. You shook your head and stretched your limbs, feeling them pop and crack individually. Minho liked to be up and early with his runs, but you were glad to get a day off to rest. You turned to your things, changing into a clean pair of clothes and put your hair up, mostly out of autonomy. Last time you would do that for a while, you figured.

Newt’s cot was among one of the empty ones, so you assumed he would have already gone to Frypan’s station to get breakfast. You made your way over there, spotting his slumped figure immediately. He jumped when you dropped down beside him, nicking an apple from his plate.

“Could you maybe get your own food for once?” he asked with a cocked eyebrow. You smiled through your amusement, slowly chewing on the fruit. You swallowed with an exaggerated motion, sending him a sickly sweet smile.

“No,” you said. He rolled his eyes while taking a mouthful of his scrambled eggs, ignoring your presence in the process.

“Remind me again why I needed to take the whole day?” you asked. “Hopefully, Minho won’t feel as murder-y when he gets back later as how he felt this morning.”

You saw the corner of his lip lift into what you imagined to be a smile. Smug bastard.

“My art takes time,” he eventually answered, turning to you. “I want it to look good.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I already look good.”

“And I want you to stay that way.” Newt shot a meaningful glance at the other Gladers, which had you wincing. Some of them could benefit from a more skilful haircut, you must admit.

“Fine.”

“Besides,” he said, “it’s easier when the sun is at its highest. Less chance for me to fuck it up then.”

Newt smiled at you, but his words indicated an underlying threat, one that had you smiling back in amusement. He really loved pushing your buttons. It didn’t help that you actually were concerned about your hair being fucked up—not that you would consider yourself a vain person, but you knew how much someone’s looks could be diminished because of a bad haircut. And your thoughts ran to the dream you’d had; was it a nightmare or a premonition?

You scratched your neck, conscious of the hair touching your skin. “You know what? I’m actually not so certain about this.”

Newt sighed and pinned his gaze on you. “I see you swatting your hair away all the time,” he said, exasperation shining through annoyance. “It’s clearly annoying you.”

His words made something in you flip. “Are you saying that you notice me all the time, then?” you asked with a smug smile, unable to keep your amusement at bay for long.

He ignored your question. “I’m not going to fuck it up, mate.” When you sent him a sceptical glare he sighed again, and asked, “What are you so afraid of? Don’t you trust my skills?”

Your lips tugged in earnest for a moment, before again settling into their smug familiarity. “I guess I’m just scared you’ll find me less attractive if I cut my hair.” You blinked through your eyelashes, meeting Newt’s incredulous gaze. “I mean, what if the whole reason you like me is because of my handsome hair?”

“That’s ridiculous,” he scoffed, turning to look down at his plate.

“So you admit you do find me attractive?” you chuckled.

“Never said that.”

Your lips pressed into a line, wondering if you had crossed the line that time. It took a moment to decide before opening your mouth again. “Will you still help me?”

“Of course,” he smiled at you, winking playfully. The gesture made butterflies immediately appear in your stomach and you had to look away lest he see the smile gracing your lips. He stood up from his seat, leaving the rest of his breakfast untouched, and nudged your side. “C’mon, let’s get going.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. Or would you rather we wait until I get tired and the light is bad for me to slip with my shears?”

He had a point, damn him. “Fine,” you admitted, following suit and going outside with him. The sun blinded the both of you, already high in the sky. It felt strange for it to be this bright out and not being in the maze running.

Newt started walking toward the garden so you followed point, close at his heel. He picked up a pair of dirty looking shears, turning to flash you a grin. You looked at them skeptically, which he must have noticed.

“Look, they’ll get the job done, alright?”

Your eyebrow cocked. “You sure? Looks like they haven’t worked since ten years ago.”

Newt laughed dryly and nudged past you, walking the way to the woods.

“Hey, where are you going?” you asked.

“The lake. Need to get your hair wet,” he called over his shoulder.

Hmm. Sounded reasonable. You ran to keep up with him and joined him by the lake you had been swimming in the day before. The water looked even more inviting now, with the sun glittering across its surface instead of the afternoon’s deep shadows. Newt, none too gently, shoved you in the direction of it, sitting himself down by the bank.

You flashed a smile to him. “That eager to see me shirtless again?”

He rolled his eyes and reached for the water to splash it up at you. You yelped and jumped out of reach, giving him a stare full of contempt. “Just dump your ‘ead in the water, you knob.”

“Since you asked so kindly.”

You lowered your body closer to the bank, only letting your head submerge under the water. It felt cold, but not uncomfortably so. You felt a tap against your shoulder, Newt, and sprang up into sitting position. Water dripped from your hair, drenching your shirt and face. When you turned to Newt, your smile was crooked.

“Great,” he said, moving to sit behind you, shears in his hands. “Now all you have to do is keep still. Think you can do that?”

“Anything for you, Newt.”

You sighed happily and leant back, letting the sun cast its warm rays over you. You didn’t notice the moment Newt hesitated after your words, before he started drawing his fingers through your hair. All you knew was that suddenly his touch was there and it felt heavenly. You knew he only did it to measure your hair to cut it, but every time his fingers brushed against your scalp shivers erupted across your spine. You almost had the mind to close your eyes and fall asleep right then and there, with Newt almost caressing you. You imagined those same fingers running down from your head, touching the skin over your neck, brushing past your abdomen and squeezing your thighs. Even the thought of it made your breath hitch and you kept still to keep him from noticing anything amiss. Slowly and carefully, he worked, cutting methodically. You cracked an eye open, trying to glance at him from the corner of it.

“How’s it going, Newt?” you asked.

He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled lightly, and said, “Don’t rush me.”

It was enough to make warmth travel to your cheeks and your abdomen, so you kept quiet after that and let him do his work in peace. His fingers danced closer to your skin then, trying to get to the nape of your neck and it took all your willpower not to shy away from him. Slowly, you relaxed into his hold again, numbed by the featherlight touches and breaths of air fanning over your skin when he sat too close.

And suddenly, it was all over. With one final brush of his hand, his fingers running through your hair thoroughly, he cleared his throat and moved away.

“All done,” said Newt, though it was almost a whisper.

You opened your eyes to the sight of him sitting on his folded knees and his fingers fidgeting with the shears, looking almost as if it took all his power to concentrate on his breathing. You smiled, raising an eyebrow, and ran your own hand through your hair. It felt lighter, and smooth, and you hadn’t realised how much of a relief it was to be gone with the length.

“How do I look?” you asked, meeting his eye.

“Good.”

“Better than before?”

Newt shrugged and stood up. “Good, like always.”

Your lips quirked into a mischievous smile. “You think I’m good looking?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he scoffed, but you could definitely see a redness spreading across his cheeks. He tried to turn away but you were quicker, bounding closer to him and shaking away the cutaway strands in the same movement. It was fun teasing him.

“You’re the one who said it!” you exclaimed.

“Oi, stop being difficult,” he settled his glare on you.

“I’m not.”

He shot you a look, one that told you he was trying to stay annoyed but secretly enjoying your antics. “You are,” he said while turning in the way to the rest of the Glade, shears hanging loosely from his grip.

You ripped your gaze from his long fingers, the image of them making your mind return to how you had wanted him to touch you earlier, and instead ran to keep up with his steps. You could sense the smile hiding in the corner of his lip, almost like a sixth sense, determined to bring it out. So, eyebrows lifted in a suggestive expression, you saddled closer to his side and said, “But you like a challenge, right—so why are you complaining?”

The gaze Newt responded with could only be described as filled with disbelief, and something else—something mischievous. “So now you’re a challenge, hm?” he asked, his eyebrows disappearing behind the ruffles of his hair.

You frowned and tilted your head at him. “Hey! Are you calling me easy?”

“Well, if the haircut fits…” he trailed off, leaving the rest of the sentence up to your active imagination.

“Now that’s just plain rude,” you muttered, lowering your gaze to the ground to avoid any missteps in the uncertain terrain of the Glade’s woods.

“I’m so very sorry, mate,” said Newt, without much conviction. You rolled your eyes at his sarcastic tone and noticed the flashing smile that was then all too visible on his face. “How can I make it up to you?”

“You can start by not calling me ‘mate’,” you retorted, not thinking through your words except to win this ‘argument’.

Newt glanced at you. “And what would you rather me call you?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, avoiding his gaze, while all too aware of what he was trying to get you to admit. But you were comfortable with the dance you and him were engaged in. It had been going on for so long that you had forgotten how to not do it with him. It was easier to keep dancing with him, to keep the illusion of a ballroom couple perfect rather than to quiet the orchestra and run from your Prince Charming. Newt seemed to sense where your thoughts had run to, as he tried to meet your gaze.

“You sure about that?” he asked sceptically.

“Er, yeah?”

Newt was way too good at reading you and would not believe any excuses you tried to make, however convincing they may be. You both despised and admired him for it. He stopped you in your tracks with a hand across your midriff; the feel of his fingers pressing against your skin, even through the shirt, made shivers travel down your spine. The hand quickly retreated as he tried searching your eyes.

“I—,” he started, voice unsteady. He cleared his throat to regain his composure as you waited for him, arms crossed, trying to keep up the charade any way you could. “I think you’d rather me call you ‘good looking’. Or ‘handsome’. Or ‘pretty’. Or what about ‘love’, hm?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes, trying to ignore the warmth traveling up your neck to rush to your cheeks. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” he said, an eyebrow raised from the very obvious tremor in your voice.

“Are you teasing me, Newt?” you asked incredulously.

Newt flashed you a smug smile and shrugged, looking away bashfully. “Got to be my turn to do it sometime,” he said.

You were used to you teasing him and poking fun, but he always took it in stride and seldom flirted back—which was what this had somehow turned into. If you’d known you two would end up flirting because of him cutting your hair you never would have agreed to his help—or maybe you still would have. Either way, there was no escaping it now. Fuck it, you thought. A frustrated groan seethed through your pressed lips as you threw your hands up in exasperation.

“You know what? Fine,” you said, meeting Newt’s gaze defiantly. “Yes, I’d like to be called all of those things. And I would like to call you all of those things.” You paused to then search Newt’s gaze, but he just stared at you in stunned silence and made no attempt to answer, so you kept going, albeit slightly more hesitant. “I—I want to hold you, to touch you, embrace you in the way that simple friends shouldn’t do. I’d like to whisper into your ear at night how much you brighten my days and make this shucking life worth living. Most of all, I would like to call you mine.”

You paused again to inhale deeply, your breathing shallow after your rant. It had driven your emotions to the surface so well you might as well have been wearing your feelings on your sleeve, ready to hand out romantic professions for anyone bothering to glance your way.

You hadn’t noticed how warm your cheeks had suddenly gotten, and made to move away while muttering, “There—I’ve said it. Let’s just go.”

“Wait—no—” Newt shouted, throwing out his arm to grab your wrist.

He pulled you back into him, making you lose balance, and a moment later his lips had closed over yours. The surprised gasp that had escaped your lips was quieted by his kiss and you quickly melted into his embrace. Immediately, his fingers closed over your nape, taking hold of your now-short hair and drawing you even closer. You could feel him pressing himself closer in whatever way he could manage, one hand tugging at your hair and the other clawing at your waist. Each individual touch sent sparks of warmth and cold over your skin as your hands closed over his jaw and throat. Even your imagination couldn’t have predicted how he would feel, how his body would fit against yours and make you want to never breathe again if it meant you could stay with him, like this, forever.

Finally, you had to pull away to suck in a deep breath of air, Newt trailing after and barely letting you go. You couldn’t fight the chuckle that forced its way out nor the grin that spread over your lips. Neither could he, as you saw his blushing face break out in a beam and his eyes jumping all over your face. It made you painfully aware of yourself and you bowed your head to settle against the crook of his neck, bashful in spite of your close contact. His hands were still holding onto your waist and kept your body pressed against him.

“Don’t get shy now,” he chided, though his tone was light and his fingers were rubbing slow circles across your back.

Despite the warm sun that glared over the pair of you, his gesture made a shiver crawl up your spine and you pulled away to look at him with an arched eyebrow. “Really, you’re calling me shy?” He nodded to your question. “I’m shy when you’re here— Have you completely forgotten who’s always bold and teases and openly flirts with you?”

Newt scoffed, drawing his hands over the small of your back. “Well, maybe I stole your boldness when I kissed you.”

You almost couldn’t believe him. His cheeks were already flushed, but burned even brighter when your hand pressed against his neck to pull him in again, forcefully pressing your lips against his and claiming his tongue as yours. In doing so, you swallowed his surprised gasp with your kiss, but he didn’t manage to suppress the moan when you took his bottom lip between your teeth and bit lightly. It made you smile smugly, pulling away immediately to look upon his bright red face and dazed expression.

“Who’s shy now, hm?” you asked, crossing your arms over your chest and stepping out of his hold.

Newt shot you an angry glance, but it was difficult to take him seriously when he was also blushing furiously. He decided to leave it at that and with not much dignity, pick up the shears he had dropped and started walking back towards the huts. Again, you had to run after him with laughter playing on your lips. You could tell he wasn’t really annoyed, but it was easy to slip back in the comfortable dance of your relationship.

You wouldn’t let him pretend like all of this had not happened, though. He looked at you in surprise when your hand sought out his own, fingers intertwining and closing over his. You smiled back, feeling a slight burning at the tip of your ears, but he leant in and placed a light kiss that made you wish for more again, which eased your nervousness.

“Guess we’re both a little shy, huh,” he remarked. You just shrugged, looking ahead to the opening of the forest, but the smile still apparent on your lips.

“And where the fuck have you two been?” cried Alby’s voice as soon as you stepped out of the trees.

Immediately, you felt as if you jumped out of your skin and let go of Newt’s hand, his cheeks burning as much as yours did. You scratched the back of your neck and glanced sheepishly at Newt, catching the mischievous glint in his eyes; neither of you could fight the smiles that broke out on both your faces.

“On your head be it, you said,” you smirked, slipping away from his indignant eyebrow raise.

You left Newt to deal with Alby alone with a playful wink, to which he only shook his head and hid his smile as he faced the approaching commander. You had half a mind to skip away with the happiness that were bubbling through you, but managed to contain yourself to walking away with a steady pace, though you couldn’t keep your thoughts from running back to the memory of Newt against you nor the smile that followed.

END NOTE ➢ I do have an idea for a part two should anyone be interested in it. Hope you enjoyed this!

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gonedreaminggg · 3 months ago

Text

Laurance Zvahl's Hair

this wasn't supposed to happen. i promise. it just appeared in my drafts.

but, as promised, here is almost 2000 words about Laurance Zvahl's hair. (with some garrance sprinkled in there for the crazies 😏)

Laurance and his hair go way back. When he was a kid, it was always messy. He'd get dirt and grime in it and Hayden would always just shake his head and tell him to bathe when he got home from playing all day. His light brown locks would get so long in between haircuts, and the longer it was the more likely it was to get matted. So Hayden would cut it very very short, stopping right behind his ears.

But, he'd be able to escape Hayden's scissors every once in a while. If something was amiss in the village, it would take up all of Hayden's time. So, he managed to grow it out long again.

Until one day, when Laurance was 8. Him and Cadenza were playing in the backyard, and she pushed him a bit harder than she thought. He ended up crashing into the chicken wire fence. His hair got all tangled up in it, and he was stuck. Cadenza was all panicked, apologizing profusely as she yelled for their father. Hayden grabbed his scissors and cut Laurance free from the fence. It was super super short, shorter than it had ever been. And super choppy, too.

After that, Laurance was terrified of haircuts. He never let anyone cut his hair ever again. And at this time in his life, he was getting more curious about his parents. And his heritage. There were people still in Meteli that knew his parents. They were Tu'layan immigrants, much like most of the population in Meteli. He wanted to know more about Tu'la and its culture. One of the things he learned was the superstitions they had about hair. There's an intense spiritual connection to it. It's a part of their spirit. It holds their strength and confidence. It connects them to the land around them.

After that, Laurance definitely did not want to cut his hair. In respect for his parents and his heritage. He also truly believed that it held his strength. If he wanted to be a guard, or a lord, he needed his strength. He grew it out for years. When he meets Aphmau, the last time he had cut his hair was the whole chicken wire fiasco. It was so insanely long, and damaged from the dye Cadenza had put in it. He usually held it in a messy braid, just to keep it cleaner. And yes, he finally learned how to take care of his hair in the years he'd been growing it.

When he was at the guard academy, he had no clue what to do with his hair. He had the longest hair out of the boys. The girls training there called him “wasted potential.” Which had nothing to do with his fighting skills, by the way. He was already climbing the ranks in his first two years there. Eventually, one of the girls took pity on him, and gave him a bottle of conditioner. She taught him how to do the towel wrap thingy, which he thought was literal magicks.

After that, girls literally started flocking around him and Garroth. And he earned his flirtatious attitude from that. He never had a girlfriend at the guard academy, but he did get around.

Garroth was very intrigued by his hair. He’d never seen a boy with hair so long. He asked Laurance why he kept it long. To him, it seemed more like a pain than anything. When he talked to Garroth, it was the first and really only time he explained everything about his hair. What it meant to him, why he had started growing it out in the first place, and his complete disdain for chicken wire fences. Garroth understood, but still questioned how difficult it might be when fighting. Laurance never gave him an answer.

Cadenza had also taught him how to braid his hair. Around the time they were 18, Laurance’s hair was so unruly, but he was absolutely not gonna let her cut it. So, she braided it for him whenever he had a shift at the guardpost. Eventually, she taught him how to do it. She was getting tired of taking care of his mess of a mane.

A few years later, Cadenza had the bright idea to dye Laurance’s hair. She was so adamant about it. But Laurance always remarked on how it looked like her head was on fire. But she ended up convincing him. Laurance regretted it immediately. He had been ready for some sort of change. But once he saw it, he just started laughing. He really DID look like Cadenza. Which is weird, seeing as they’re adopted siblings and from completely different racial backgrounds. But they have the same soft features, and the same sharp jawline.

And then, he met Aphmau. She was the first woman he really had to try with. In Meteli, if he gave someone the right look, they’d be fawning over him. But he was so interested in Aphmau. She was allusive, and powerful. And she did not give a shit about him. Yes, she was a very caring person, but all of his sly remarks were ignored. However, she was very interested in his hair. A lot of people were, but she didn’t know the meaning behind it. Once he told her, she was fascinated. The idea of hair holding spirit and strength enticed her, and it really resonated with her, too. She let Laurance braid her hair whenever he wanted after that.

When Laurance gets out of the nether, he feels entirely lost and disconnected from himself. Cadenza offers to clean him up, and get him in some new clothes. Even though he's blind, Cadenza can see the emptiness in his eyes. She offers to dye his hair back to its original color. And there's something unlocked within him. His hair. It feels wrong, and heavy. Not so much because of how dirty it is, his own blood and sweat in it. It's weighed down by everything that's happened. He's something new now. Something that feels less. "Cut it off," He says. Cadenza freezes. She knows why he keeps his hair long, and has witnessed his hatred of haircuts first hand. But she does it anyway. Whatever Laurance needs from her, she'll do it.

When Garroth saw him later that night at the baby shower, he was more than concerned. He really hadn’t seen much of Laurance since they’d found him, terrified of seeing him in that state. But then he did. He was blind. His hair was cut short, and it was brown again. Garroth knew more than anyone what Laur’s hair meant. He was scared of what this implied. And he knew Laurance was a Shadow Knight now. He couldn’t have survived the nether for that long without being transformed. Laurance was his friend, maybe more, but he was someone else now.

A distance formed between them. Laurance was struggling, even when his sight somewhat came back. And Garroth kept thinking about the amendment he made in the Guard’s Oath. He didn’t want Laurance dead, but he wanted Aphmau safe. And then, she wasn’t. She had left, and they hadn’t heard from her in weeks. So, with some malice between them, the two guards had to go find their Lord.

When Laurance, Garroth, and Aphmau went on that long journey, all of their hair grew out pretty fast. He saw Garroth and Aphmau cutting each other's hair one time. He didn't really mention it, not wanting anyone to get any ideas about HIS hair. But, eventually, Garroth pointed out the literal rat's nest growing on his head. Laurance let him cut his hair. It was the first haircut he ever had that he didn't hate. From then on, only Garroth could touch his hair.

Laurance realized how easy it was to take care of short hair. He hadn’t had hair this short since he was a child. But he felt lighter. He felt like he had completely changed as a person, now that he was a Shadow Knight. He held his strength elsewhere, now. He was growing a disdain for his heritage, and his past. Being something new opened a different chapter of his life. He was beginning to hate his human side, and his culture. So he let Garroth cut his hair every once in a while.

And then they went to the Irene dimension. And Garroth got left behind. Laurance was in a world without his other half, which Garroth had grown to be. He stopped thinking about his hair really, and when he did it was memories of Garroth sitting behind him, knife in hand as he trimmed his hair. So, over the months, maybe years that Garroth was gone, he began to grow his hair again. Was it in respect for Garroth this time? The memories they shared, the time they had lost?

By the time they saved Garroth, and Aaron had died, Laurance’s hair was past his shoulders. Garroth was trying to settle into this new era. He knew that so much time had passed, the decay of Phoenix Drop showing that. But when he saw Laurance, that just solidified the deep sorrow for all he’d lost. There were new scars on Laurance’s face, a tenseness in his posture. His hair was long again. Nowhere near the length it had reached before, but substantial enough to hurt Garroth in a way he’d never felt before.

Laurance kept growing out his hair after that. It just… felt right. The calling was consuming him. He needed his strength again, something to hold his true spirit. He needed a visible reminder that he was Laurance, not whatever the calling wanted him to be. And it worked, for a while. He let his anger simmer deep within him. He tried to hold on to whatever was keeping him sane. Garroth needed him, Aphmau needed him. He just needed to hold on.

And then he heard about Aphmau’s pregnancy. He had gotten over her for the most part, but there was something in him that just wouldn’t let her go. It was the calling. It wouldn’t let him let her go. And hearing that she was pregnant, with Aaron’s child, lit a flame inside of him. The simmering anger in his heart had exploded into an eternal flame.

He wasn’t in control anymore. His limbs moved against his command. He found a nether portal. He took his sword, the one Aphmau had gifted to him, and cut off his hair. And he jumped in.

#i wanna be eaten by the void now please #the scary part about all of this is that i don't even remember writing this #it just happened guys i promise 😭😭😭#liberty and justice for no one but laurance zvahl #aphblr #aphmau #aphmau minecraft diaries #aphmau mcd #laurance zvahl #minecraft diaries #garroth ro'meave #mcd laurance #minecraft diaries laurance #aphverse #lore #garrance #laurmau #larmau

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