#i fear i may not have been kidding when i said i might have a giantess kink

[quillkiller]

6ft tall Lily but it's Alice when she grows very big in the house, in wondrland

no because this image has been living in my mind rent free these past couple of days….

[januaryembrs]

YOU WERE LIKE AN ANGEL TO ME | Spencer Reid x Sunshine!Reader

Request: my DARLING @avis-writeshq says- i’m a menace but i ADORED the spencer fic u posted 🥹 UGH THEYRE SO CUTE YOUR HONOURRRR 👹if it’s okay, may i request another fic with the same couple 🙈 perhaps one day reader is not as sweet or chirpy as she usually is, or she gets injured or threatened in the field? much love and lots of kisses xoxo 🫶

Description: Spencer swore he wanted to hate her. She was too happy, too chirpy, too much for a guy who spent months rotting in prison. But how could he ever hate her when she cried in his chest like that?

Length: 5k (I'm feral for these two)

warnings: post prison reid. Angst. depiction of suicide from the Unsub. gory language used. guns mentioned. mention of $nuff video and other murders. Nothing that hasn't been done on CM already.

authors note: if y'all want to see more with these two just SAY because I am all ears I would die on this ship

There were a lot of times in his time at the BAU that Spencer had wished he could have changed the outcome of their bad guy, surprisingly enough. There was the time they found their UnSub a few minutes too late, and one of the victims fathers decided to take him out then and there with a shotgun to the head. He was just a kid. There was the entire time he was with Tobias Hankel, and he lived in a state of both fear and sympathy for the boy trapped in his own body after years of abuse. There was Nathan Harris, the kid who had stopped him at the subway station and practically begged him for help to stop his urges to murder, only to slit his own wrists before Spencer could get to him because he thought he was tainted. 

He could see how it was easy in their job to get wrapped up in saving the day, in saving everyone they could. He just had hoped, on some stupid grace of a god he didn’t even believe in, that she would have at least remained untouched by the bad luck. 

Spencer had always thought, since the first day he had arrived back into the office after his stint in prison, that she seemed to just waltz through life easier than anyone else. He knew the concept of luck was not quantifiable, that it was just a coincidence that good things happened to some people, and bad things happened to others. He always grouped himself in with the latter, because what was his entire life if not one bad hand of cards after another?

Part of him had been seething with vitriol jealousy when he first met her. He hated how the elevator doors seemed to open without hesitation for her, no waiting required. He hated how her hair never seemed to fall out of place, while his required primping and preening to upkeep. He hated how she was always so happy, whether it had been she’d been given an extra cookie at the bakery for free, or her coffee had just tasted super delicious that morning, or the road works clogging the city had been put on hold the one day she needed to drive into the office. She was one of those people, he had decided, that life just seemed to smile down upon, and she beamed back in that dazzling grin. 

He felt sick to his stomach for ever wishing it gone, especially when she looked like she might never smile again. 

They never liked to say that they had easy cases and hard ones, all of their cases were difficult to process. But this one had been a handful above the rest. 

“UnSub has been killed on site, all units stand down,” Luke said into the radio, and the entire squadron took a sigh of relief, all of them except him. 

Because he saw that look in her eye, the way everything sparkly about her seemed to have vanished.

They had been following Bobbie Wrids for a week. Five bodies in, five men shot between the eyes execution style, almost six by the time they’d arrived on the scene. 

She’d gone with Tara around the front of the abandoned building; Penelope tracked their newest victim, Henry Frond, through his phone pinging off the nearest satellite towers, and it had been straight forward from there. Or at least it should have been. 

Because by the time Spencer and Luke arrived in their own SUV, Penelope had time to access the rest of Henry’s phone, and it was clear to see the victimology behind all six men. 

They were distributing snuff videos of women, some between themselves, some to other usernames on the darkweb, and Bobbie Wrids’ daughter had been one of them.

Bobbie had become somewhat of a vigilante, but he was a grieving father above all. He was a wounded animal chomping at the bit to soothe the ripping pain of his daughter's murder, the same one those men were getting off to. 

Tara and her exchanged a glance as Penelope relayed the information over their headsets, her once serious expression falling into something sombre and sorrowful. How could she arrest a man she couldn’t help but feel sorry for, one she couldn’t help but think wasn’t entirely wrong in his actions. 

“Bobbie Wrids,” Tara’s voice was stern, cutting through the silence of the desolate building. Their footsteps were careful as they made their way through the hallway, down to what had once been a rec-room, or perhaps a staff room, where they knew Bobbie had Henry, “This is the FBI, we’d like to talk,” 

They heard nothing, and she looked up to the older woman hesitantly, her finger hovering over the trigger the way Spencer had taught her. Tara took a minute, knowing she was leading the charge here with the girl being so inexperienced, before she nodded to the door knob and the rookie twisted the handle, pushing the peeling wood open gently. 

Bobbie Wrids stood in the centre of the room, moth eaten couches either side of the damp rug, the ceiling tiles half caved in from wear and tear. Henry Frond was already a pulp in the UnSub’s arms, and yet it was Bobbie that her eyes shot to first, sympathy shooting through every fibre of her being when she saw the distraught look on the father’s face. 

He was grieving. He was grieving his little girl’s death. He was looking for a solution, and this seemed to be his best bet. 

“Bobbie,” Her voice was shaky, her and Tara frozen in the doorway as the man brought the pistol to Henry’s beaten face, cocking it towards his temple before they could even explain themselves. “We’re going to come in, is that okay? We just want to talk, just let us talk-”

They had only edged closer by three paces between them as she was speaking before his knuckles turned white and he squeezed the gun tighter to Henry’s skin, the barrel contorting the flesh, “Don’t come any closer, this pig isn’t worth your mercy,”

“We know,” She said, her and Tara slowly stepping over a fallen ceiling tile, cracking under her boot as she met his desolate gaze for the first time, his head snapping to her. “We know what he did, Bobbie. What they all did.”

His throat bobbed, his bottom lip quivering and the sight of it, a man so broken, forced a frog into her oesophagus, and she willed herself not to cry. 

“They hurt my little girl,” Bobbie choked out, his face turning mauve as the tears began to build behind his eyes, “She was my girl. She was only eighteen.” 

She nodded, his wetted hues seemingly permissive when she stepped closer to where he held Henry hostage. 

“I know, I’m so sorry for what happened to her,” She said, her voice croaky, unstable as she wrenched it into something audible, “I’m so sorry,” 

“He doesn’t deserve mercy, none of them did,” Bobbie spat, his forearm crushing against Henry’s trachea in a vice-like grip. The man floundered, a wheeze coming from his lungs, not that she felt much sympathy for him. 

She sprung into action, flicking her gun onto safety and holstering it, Tara doing the same as she lowered her weapon to her side. He profiled as a vigilante; he had no reason to hurt them. 

“Bobbie, listen, I know they didn’t deserve to walk free, okay?” She said, taking the smallest step towards where the men stood, “But she wouldn’t want this for you, would she?”

The man flinched, his jaw hard as a rock with how he clenched his teeth together, as if holding back a sob. 

“Come on, Bobbie. Let him go, we have enough evidence to get him sentenced. We can get you a plea deal, I know a good lawyer,” She begged, because she wasn’t beneath it, because she knew he was a good man backed into a corner, “Please,”

Maybe it was the way her eyes were soft when she looked at him, or the fact two more agents burst into the room from the hallway, Spencer’s eye immediately falling to where she was stood so close to their UnSub, her gun out of hand. Tara stood by, but that wasn’t good enough for him. He edged with light footsteps until he was behind her, his gaze cautious, never leaving the gun in Bobbie’s hand. 

“Please,” She repeated, and Spencer saw Bobbie’s shoulders drop, every sliver of resolve draining from his body at her gentle tone, a deer approaching a hunter. 

Henry was thrown to the floor, the man practically dead weight as he gasped, almost retching at the feeling of air sucking back into his chest frantically, and Luke and Tara were quick to wrestle him into cuffs, the woman reading him his Miranda rights. 

Spencer almost made a grab for her then, because she was still creeping forward towards the man who had a loaded gun still live in his hand. He didn’t care for one second that the statistics said Bobbie wouldn’t lay a hand on her since she wasn’t part of his list. He didn’t care that every sign pointed to their UnSub being benevolent towards women, especially younger ones, that she fit his daughter’s description. Spencer didn’t care, he wanted her as far away from that gun as possible. 

His heart lurched into his throat when Bobbie did in fact make a lunge for her, just not the way he’d feared. Because she had grabbed him. She’d pulled him into an embrace, a hug, kind and sweet as she always was. 

Spencer cursed her for being so soft. It was going to get her killed. 

“Agent,” His voice was terse, worried if you dug a little deeper than the sharp surface, but she didn’t listen to him. She held Bobbie tight as the man unravelled on her shoulder, falling into heart breaking sobs and it was then Spencer realised she was crying with him. 

“It’s going to be okay, you’re okay,” She was shushing him, the killer, reassuring him he was safe, as if the killing thing wasn’t still between his fingers that clutched at her back with rough hands. 

“They killed my girl, they took her from me, and then they laughed about it,” He wailed, and she nodded, squeezing him even tighter if that was so possible, “No one would listen, the police didn’t listen, I had to do something,”

“I know, I know, I’m so sorry,” This was wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be sympathising with the criminals. But she couldn’t help it, she couldn’t help the gasping urge to comfort the man who had lost his whole world, “I’m listening. Tell me about her,” 

“She was so beautiful,” Bobbie whimpered, sniffling into her shoulder. Spencer felt his chest twinge at the scene. He hated that she was so soft. “She never hurt a soul,”

She cried with him, though hers were choked down as much as she could get them, her wet cheeks the only proof she had ever let them slip. 

“I’m sorry,” She said again, because no matter how many times she repeated those two little words, it would never bring his daughter back, “I can help you,”

He pulled away from her shoulder, and it was only then that Bobbie Wrids even noticed Spencer, his face taut in anxiety as he watched the man’s hands still holding onto her body as if she was the only thing that kept him upright, which Spencer wouldn’t be surprised if it were true. 

He fished the cuffs out of his back pocket, his finger never leaving the trigger as he stared down at their UnSub cautiously. He knew he may be being cruel, knew that ten years ago he would be just as caring as her. But that Spencer was long gone. And what remained was screaming in terror that she was in the line of danger, that she was holding the danger in her bare hands like she didn’t see the jeopardy she was putting herself in. 

Bobbie pulled away to look at her, the creases around his eyes deep chasms, and even with the smattering of grey hair, the stubble, the cold, empty look of someone with nothing left, she thought he might have been a handsome man once. He looked at her with a ghost of a smile, and one of his callused hands came up to tuck her hair behind her ear as if it had been second nature to him for eighteen years. 

“You’re a sweet girl,” He murmured, and she blinked at him, her chest easing at the way his wails had subsided into something quiet. She could help him, she swore she would help him. He was a good man beneath it all. “But no one can help me anymore, sweet girl,”

And with that he lifted the pistol beneath his chin and pulled the trigger.

—

She heard someone scream before she realised it was coming from her own throat, but her ears were ringing and she couldn’t open her eyes. Her face was wet and hot, and for a second she thought it was tears, but she was beyond crying now. She felt arms pulling her back into a strong chest, and someone was murmuring to her, or perhaps they were speaking normally and the sound of the gunshot had knocked her hearing. Either way, it was like someone had pulled a bag over her head as she brought her shaking hands up to her eyes to wipe. 

She managed to crack her lids then when the sludge was gone, only to see the room still a blurry mess. She could make out, in the haze of blobs and crimson tint, Bobbie’s body slumped to the floor, a dark puddle seeping into the rug as those long arms tugged her out of the room. She only then looked down to her hands where she had rubbed her face and she caught the same claret plasma coating her fingers, her white shirt, her pants, her arms. It covered her head to toe. 

It was in her eyes, she realised when she saw the ichor coating her fingertips. It was blocking her vision, turning the world a vivid wine colour, and she thinks she whimpered, or perhaps it was a moan of horror seeing the puddle beneath Bobbie’s body growing larger by the second. 

“I don’t understand,” She said out loud, her head spinning, and she brought her fingertips up to her eyes again, maybe to get the blood out, god there was so much blood on her face, or maybe because she hoped to everything out there that she would clear her sight and find it all a terrible hallucination, the product of one too many nights of sleepless tossing. 

But when she rubbed her lids again, this time seeing the scene a little better, Bobbie was still dead. She had still been too late. 

“You’re in shock, you need to breathe,” A voice instructed her over her shoulder, and it was from the same person who had their hands around her waist, pulling her away from the crime scene, as CSI filed in from behind them. 

She tried pushing the arms off her, weak because she couldn’t feel anything that wasn’t the horror in her stomach, and it took her a second before she listened to their words and realised she was holding a breath in her chest, the way a toddler does when they’re overwhelmed. 

“I don’t-” She gasped, the air rushing through her lungs, so fast it made her cough, “I don’t understand, I was going to help him- I don’t understand- why?”

“I know, just breathe for me, sweetheart,” Spencer. She only just realised it was Spencer speaking, because he had never called her that and the gentle tone he’d taken was nothing like his usual, civil cadence. He had been dropping a few jokes the past few weeks since she’d driven him home, had been more touchy feely with correcting her form when she was at the shooting range, had delicately touched the small of her back when they were navigating a crowd together. He was slowly cracking from his statuesque expression that hadn’t left his face since he’d gotten out of prison, but the softness with which he held her waist was entirely new. 

“Spencer, I don’t- I don’t get it,” She said, her voice bubbling into a sob as she allowed herself to be pulled away with no fight left in her. He took her into the hallway, turning her body from the sight of his hand lifeless on the floor with little to no effort. She was damn near limp in his arms, “Spencer, I don’t under-understand, I was going to h-help him, why would h-he do that-”

“Shhh, you need to breathe,” He murmured into her hair, trying to lead her out the front of the building and far away from where she’d just been front row seats to a messy suicide, “Come on, just breathe for me, baby, and then we can talk,”

But she wasn’t listening, and he wasn’t offended. Spencer knew it was the shock. He knew the symptoms by how her respiratory system had picked up in a matter of seconds and it was like she had gone from zero to a hundred. She let out a long whine, tears collecting the blood on her lash line and her chest seized into action, gulping down air, too short to do anything for her lungs, and her legs began to buckle beneath the two of them. 

Spencer stopped in the hallway, realising she was in more shock than he must have thought. He knew she was sensitive, hell it was one of his favourite things about her. He knew she felt everything so deeply, burned too easily, like a daisy wilting in a dry heat, or candyfloss melting in his mouth. Spencer knew, as awful as watching death up close was for any agent, it would hit her hardest of all of them. 

He moved around to her front, his hands migrating from her waist up to her shoulders, brushing over her upper arms soothingly. But her body felt numb, her head felt heavy, and her eyes were glazed over, down a rabbit hole entirely away from him, even when one of his hands cupped her wetted cheek gently. 

“Just breathe, hey, look at me,” He tried a firmer tone, and she bent to his will too easily. It was a punch in the gut seeing everything shining and pretty leached out of her eyes, as if she had become soulless in a matter of minutes, as if she had lost all hope in the world the second Bobbie pulled that trigger. She looked like hell, blood still fresh on her cheeks, in her hair, smeared around her eye sockets where she had scrubbed so hard to get it off her skin, “You need to calm down, you’re going to faint if you don’t breathe,”

She nodded, or something close to it, her eyes falling down to the floor, and she seemed to wrestle for control over her chest then. But what came after was worse, Spencer thought. Her brows screwed together, her eyes welling up with more of those fat tears, and her lips dropping into a devastated pout, her eyes trailing over the mess on her uniform, on her hands. 

“Spencer, I don’t understand, I tried to help him, I wanted to help him,” She sobbed, sniffling to herself miserably, and he barely even thought about it when he pulled her into his chest, not caring that her skin would dirty his shirt. 

His hand wound into her hair, stroking her sweetly as she buried her wails into his vest. He used his other arm to pull her close to him, which she seemed to have zero qualms about as she clawed at his back to keep him close, as if she didn’t want to face what was going to happen when they left that building. 

Spencer regretted ever thinking her sunshine was too bright for him. 

–

She hadn’t smiled in a whole week. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. She had given Penny a very forced smile when she had fussed over the younger woman the first day she got back, had said thankyou with downcast eyes and a fragile grin when the blonde presented her with a framed picture of a puppy to keep on her desk ‘incase she needed something nice to think about,’

She hadn’t looked at it once, because they both knew it wouldn’t do anything, no matter how much she pretended for Penelope’s sake that she would put it to good use. 

He had taken her out for coffee on him that first day, but by the time they had got to the front of the queue, he had been doing almost all of the talking, which had become rare nowadays since he had come home from Mexico. Usually, it had been her filling the silences, because he knew in her right mind she hated the sound of static nothingness, she found it awkward and unnecessary when she could talk to anyone without thinking about it too hard. 

They had got to the desk, the barista smiling up at him as he ordered his usual, before he turned to look at her as the woman serving asked her what she would like. But she wasn’t listening, she was watching out the window, nothing particularly invigorating beside a bird cleaning its feathers on top of a stop sign. 

He said her name, putting his hand on her back and her head whipped around, her eyes empty as they looked up at him expectantly, “What do you want to drink?” 

She blinked, waking herself from a stupor, and looked at the barista with an embarrassed expression, “Hot chocolate, please,” 

And that was all she really had to say until lunch rolled around, and she excused herself to head home early. Emily smiled at her reassuringly, her eyes wary as she watched their happy-go-lucky rookie head for the elevators with a desolate look in her eyes. 

Spencer hoped she would come around on her own, or maybe even be brave enough to talk to someone about the thoughts rattling around that head of hers, but she just didn’t. She stayed as silent as possible, only ever speaking when spoken to, asking Emily if she could finish off her reports at home, to which the Prentiss woman never protested. 

But Spencer had had enough. He’d worried himself sick over her, and where all thoughts of how endearing and lovely and charming she was had sat in his head before, now it was all just ways he could think to make her smile again. 

It was the following Tuesday by the time he braved action. She had gone home after their midday briefing, apologising to Emily with tired eyes that seemed to be growing more and more heavy by the day, like she hadn’t slept a wink in a fortnight. Which Spencer thought was entirely possible. 

He pulled up to the house Penelope had not so discreetly told him was hers, definitely not because he’d asked, and definitely, definitely not breaching any human resource policies about distributing fellow workers information (meaning Spencer had almost certainly not begged Penelope for the address with those puppy eyes of his he knew could bag him anything). 

The peonies in the window bays were wilting but her house was something out of a fairytale. He wasn’t sure why he was really so surprised. It screamed her, everything about it, from the toadstool post box to the little green, cast iron bench that sat in the garden, the metal forged to look like florets of ivy holding the sitter upright. 

He rapped the brass knocker, the metal cold under his long fingers. Brushing invisible dirt off his shirt, he hoped she would answer as the present squirmed at his feet. 

“Just a second,” He hushed, and as if she heard him, the front door swung open to reveal her bare face he hadn’t seen since he’d helped her wipe the blood from her skin in the back of the ambulance. 

She looked at him with furrowed brows, before they quickly shot to the floor, to her cobbled pathway that had clicked under his shoes, and her face washed with a shock. 

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She crouched to her knees, a slobbery lick immediately meeting her cheek as the Spaniel rubbed his wet nose up to her ear, sniffing her unique smell, as if it was a bag of Class A’s, “I never knew you had a dog,” 

“I don’t,” He replied, kneeling with her to ruffle the soft fur behind the canine’s ear, “This is Ace. He retired from the Bomb Unit a month ago and Penelope sent me his handler’s number. They said he’s the happiest dog in the world,” 

 “I would be too if I stopped so many people from blowing up,” She said, but before he could ask what she meant exactly by that, Ace had jumped up and attacked her entire face with kisses as if he too thought that statement was worth silencing. 

And she laughed. She laughed louder than she had in days, weeks, her eyes crinkling in joy as the little pink tongue stole away her sorrow, tickled away the traces of the blood that had tainted her skin. 

Spencer smiled, his eyes watching her face scrunch in a squeal, hands eventually coming up to the elderly dog’s jowls to gently push him down. 

“Oh, you are the sweetest guy,” She said, and the words had him tugging at the leash to lick her all over again, “Yes you are, you’re the sweetest little guy around, huh?” 

She chuckled, scratching down the mutt’s neck, and her eyes flicked back up to Spencer, who watched her with more intent than she’d realised. 

“Petting and receiving affection from pets causes spikes in serotonin in our brain and reduces anxiety, did you know that?” Spencer said, Ace pushing his muzzle into the palm of her hand to prove a point. 

Her smile wavered slightly, and she looked at his hazel hues that seemed to see right through her, “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been so off lately, I just can’t sleep at the moment-”

 “Don’t apologise,” He cut in, though his tone was kind, and the two of them stood back up to their full height, “What happened was horrifying, even some of the longest serving agents I know would struggle seeing that,” 

She scoffed, unusually pessimistic coming out of her mouth, “You wouldn’t,”

His head tilted, not quite understanding what she meant, because she hadn’t sounded cruel when she said it. Then again, he didn’t think she was actually capable of that emotion. 

She looked at him, a flash of something vulnerable in her eyes, something like that day he’d held her in the hallway; too fast he almost missed it.

“You’re so brave, Spencer, you’re like invincible. I mean, you survived prison and your mom getting kidnapped and you bounced straight back to work like it was nothing. I can’t even watch a murderer die without spiralling out of control,” She huffed, rubbing the bridge of her nose and before he could respond on just how wrong she was, before he could tell her that that was exactly the opposite of what had happened because he had damn near changed every inch of himself in prison to stop himself from breaking, he caught her murmuring and he thought he might just have been punched all over again, “I wish I was like you,”

His jaw clenched, eyebrows furrowing into a frown as he stepped towards her, and her head shot to him, worried she may have said the wrong thing by mentioning everything that had happened, everything Pen had specifically said was a touchy subject, and she opened her mouth to apologise. 

“Do you know how unbelievably glad I am that you are nothing like me?” Spencer said, his voice bordering on furious and her fumbled for a reply, worried she had truly pissed him off. 

She wouldn’t blame him for hating her. She’d always worried, until perhaps that day they’d gotten into her car and she’d driven him home, that her very essence annoyed him. 

“I’m sorry-” She started, but he shook his head.

“Stop apologising,” He said, his hand reaching up to grab where her fingers tugged together nervously, his hold featherlike, his face softening when he saw her expression, “I don’t want you to be anything like me. I like you just how you are,” 

She sighed, eyes doe like with emotion as she looked at him, “Really?”

He smiled, a rare and genuine smile as she seemed to glow under his words, “Yes, really.” Spencer allowed himself to enjoy the way that the twinkle returned to her expression when he smiled at her with something almost like the old Spencer in him, before he cleared his throat, “We all like you. Everyone on the team likes how you are,”

She paused, nodding to herself as if knocking herself out of a silly daze, and Ace bounced on his hind legs trying to get her attention again. 

“You don’t think I’m too sensitive?” She asked, holding her palm out for the dog to nuzzle at with that wet nose of his. 

Spencer shook his head, “Sensitive is good. It means you feel something. Means you feel the good things deeper too,” 

Her smile was blinding, because she’d never thought of it that way before, and she looked like her old self again. Spencer wasn’t stupid enough to think she was never going to think about Bobbie again, he still thought about that first UnSub he’d tried to save. He still thought about Tobias Hankel. He thought about them all. 

But he was going to make sure she never turned into him. He didn’t think he’d ever forgive himself if she did. He’d protect her sunlight even if it burned him to know he could never have her the way he wanted. Because she was everything good, and he was him. 

She looked down at Ace, the life returning to her as she stood aside for the two of them to enter her house, “Tea?”

Yep. Spencer felt something run hot knowing she would always be out of reach. Didn’t stop him from thinking about it, though. 

[lina-lovebug]

I'd Fight The Devil

Alastor x fem! reader

Background: (Y/N) is the elder Morningstar, and wants to fix her relationship with her dad. But her dad hates her boyfriend.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 - Finale

Allusions to sex, actual sex, angel being angel, and cannibalism

_____

Angel spit out his drink, "You're with Alastor?!"

"Yeah, thoughts?"

"And prayers, girl," Angel could never imagine a sweet girl like (Y/N) getting it on with the Radio Demon himself.

But everyone has their kinks, he supposed.

Alastor manifested behind her, and she immediately felt his presence. Pressing herself against him, he leaned into her warmth and kept his arms around her shoulders.

"How was your day, mon amour?"

"It'll be even better," She trailed off, turning around to face him, "when we meet my dad for dinner."

Silence.

And not even radio silence.

"Not to be rash, but I'm sure your father would sooner see my head on a pike than on my body," Alastor adored the fact that she was mending their bond, even more so when Lucifer makes the effort.

But announcing their relationship to him?

He could see it ending in flames.

"I know you two don't get along, but I thought a nice dinner might smooth things over."

"And if he disapproves of us?" He lifted her head upwards with his finger, bemused as to what her answer may be.

"Then he'll have to get used to it," (Y/N) replied, sending a shiver of excitement up his spine.

Only a feeling that the she-devil he was utterly obsessed with could provide.

"Ugh, can you guys go fuck somewhere else?" Angel said, "or at all? I can't imagine going a lifetime without dick."

Alastors eye twitch, "now that's our business, isn't it?"

"Okay, okay," Charlie spoke up, "you guys go get ready."

Charlie couldn't help but notice the change in Alastor. It had only been a few months, but being in her sisters presence alone has made him kind. Sure, the both of them would skin someone alive over an insult, but Alastor would rip out his own eyes if (Y/N) asked.

A perfect match.

(Y/N) dawned a black dress with a pearl necklace that Alastor bought for her. Well, she thinks he bought it but he actually stole it off of a fresh kill.

How sweet.

"Pumpkin! Oh look at you! You're as radiant as ever!" Lucifer fawned over his daughter as they made it to the restaurant, making it a point to ignore the red demon behind her.

"Catching strays?" Lucifer gestured to him.

"Lovely to see you again," Alastor retorted.

"Dad, why don't we go inside? And Alastor will be joining us," now, Lucifer didn't forget what he said. He recognized that the fearsome deer demon had the intention of claiming Princess (Y/N) as his own, but did his daughter return such feelings?

Honestly, Lucifer feared that.

Not it being Alastor persay, but his little girls being hurt.

He knew how awful it felt to go through the divorce with Lilith, and then her disappearance.

He didn't ever want his daughters to feel that way.

"So, Alastor, what do you do again?"

"I have a radio broadcast. Your daughter has actually helped me repair the studio after the attack," He laid his land on hers.

And Lucifer picked up Alastors hand.

And placed it away from hers.

"Uh, dad-"

"Look, if you two are fucking, don't tell me."

"Dad!" Her face burned red, "we aren't-that's not. . .I love Alastor, and he loves me. I want you to accept us both."

"Love? Whoa, whoa, whoa! Pumpkin, I don't think-"

"I'm not a little kid," She interrupted, "I'm a grown woman, and I'm able to make my own decisions. I want to be with Alastor because I love him. You may not think I know what love is, but I know it's what I feel with Alastor."

That's when he saw it.

That look.

Whilst (Y/N) was defending herself, defending their love, Alastor looked at her. Only her. And it was like he was staring at the nebula itself, seeing all its beauty in the Heir of Hell. His smile faltered, closing his mouth, and his eyes softened.

It's the same look that he used to give Lilith.

"If I ever hear that you've made her cry, or even laid a single hand upon her," Lucifer stared him down, "I'll make you disappear."

"A man true to his word. Looks like we have something in common," Alastor agreed, his hand back on hers. She gave him a smile, one that reminded him of Lilith.

The rest of dinner went off without any incidents. The small jab here and there, but no one died, and no one was stabbed. Lucifer learned more about his daughters business and how she lit up talking about it.

"You hardly ate, Alastor. Is something wrong?" (Y/N) asked when her father went to the restroom.

"Oh no, my dear. Just hungry for something else, is all," His eyes raked up her form, earning a cough from the she-devil.

Honestly, she didn't know where he was on his spectrum. She was fine never even being intimate, so long as he was happy, but this spark in his eyes lit a fire within her.

"O-oh. . .are you sure?" Believe it or not, (Y/N) had only had sex twice and both times she'd call it lackluster.

"I don't want you to force yourself if you don't want to," oh how innocent she was. Honestly, Alastor assumed he was aroace before he met the she-devil. Her ferocity - her chaos in fights, her genuine kindness, and her soul - itself brought out that spark.

There are moments where the carnal desire needs to be satisfied.

"Mon cher, I'd never ask if I didn't mean it."

That look, it made her softly gasp.

"Alast-"

"Ew."

Right.

Lucifer.

He showed up from his restroom break and found the pair giving eachother "fuck me" eyes.

"Could I eat my dinner without you groping my child?" Lucifer hissed, despite Alastor only touching her hand.

He blinked, thinking how he's never even groped a woman.

"Maybe."

Sick bastard.

_ _ _ ☆ _ _ _

"Fuck! Alastor!"

(Y/N) had never cum before, so Alastor being her first to ever do so and smiling away at her quivering legs made it so much better.

"Oh fuck. . ." She moaned weakly, his tongue slithering in and out of her to lick up every last drop.

"Al. . ." She was breathless, staring at his strained member. Reaching up to unzip his pants, he tutted as he grabbed her wrist.

"Al?"

"It's about you. Don't worry about me, amour," He purred, kissing the bite marks on her thighs.

"But you-"

Before she could detest further, wishing to satisfy him, the door opened.

"Oh my God, they were right! Alastor, you sly dog," Angel Dust was at the door, and Alastor quickly covered his beloveds' body with the covers before his horns started to grow and his back stretched.

"I'm going to kill you."

"Not before you make love to me, you're not," still in his demonic form, (Y/N) blew a gust of wind to slam the door shut.

Her body displayed on the bed, Alastor agreed.

"And stay in that form. It suits you."

[deadsetobsessions]

Fae adjacent! Danny pt. 2

Timothy Drake hadn’t figured out what Danny Fenton was. The shop keeper had been kind, something the nine year old hadn’t expected when he walked into Danny’s shop, willing to trade away his name and soul to get Jason back.

As the young man tilted his head at Jason’s grave, something distinctly inhuman crossing his face as he smelt the soil, Tim had the slightest inkling that he didn’t want to know.

Tim, despite what most people would say, had some kind of self preservation instinct. He wouldn’t have survived traipsing after vigilantes in Gotham this long if he didn’t.

He did not want to find out what kind of creature Danny Fenton could be when enraged. (Despite the fear, something in Tim trilled in Danny presence. Safety, it said. Acceptance.)

——

Danny hummed. The soil here had been disturbed. The dead had not stayed dead. Danny smirked. He knew a bit about not staying dead.

“Your Jason isn’t here, little Sparrow.”

“What?”

“See the soil?”

The little sparrow- Tim- curiously looked down. Danny was sure the kid was smart and a few seconds later, he was proven right.

“The soul’s fresh. Overturned. Someone dug him up? No. An indent. No soil on the outside of the burial, it’s not square- he dug himself up?”

Danny sent the little sparrow an approving smile. “Well, Gotham was never known for its rule abiding citizens, dead or not.”

The little sparrow sighed. “Great. He’s a zombie now?”

“Not quite. Come, we will find your brother.”

“He's, uh, not my brother.”

Danny blinked, pausing. “You would give your name for someone who isn’t family?”

Tim flushed. “He’s- he’s my hero!”

"He'd better be thankful for this, then. What a good friend you are, little sparrow."

Tim lowered his voice, "He doesn't know I exist?”

Danny stared at him and wondered if Phantom ever had anyone who would give their names for him. He also wondered if the standard for human stupidity had lowered since he woke up.

“You see how that's worse, right?"

"Can we get this done, please? Preferably before Batman comes out at night?"

"There are worse things than the Bat, but yes, we may. This way."

As Danny led the way, following the scent of a newly retethered soul and trace amounts of what this world called Lazarus Pits, he found himself wondering who taught this kid his self preservation instincts because they needed to be fired. Tim had followed him, through shady alleys and darkened roads, without a thought for his own safety.

They reached the door of what clearly was a pixie den. Before Danny entered, he turned to Tim. "You, little sparrow, would be the first to be murdered in a poorly done horror movie. Now, stay here while I get Jason."

With that said and satisfaction taken from Tim's flabbergasted and insulted face, Danny headed inside the pixie den to collect the wayward soul.

——

"It's Danny!"

"Danny!"

The pixies in the room cheered as he walked in. Their teeth were a bit too sharp, ears a little too pointed, with shirts that did not fit quite right at their backs.

"Hey, guys." Danny strode to the room, following the scent of Jason's soul. "

"Ah, interested in our fresh catch?" One of the more... prolific pixies sidled up to him. "I think we'll make good entertainment of this boy yet. Maybe even the king would like a gift. His soul's pretty strong, mind's almost dead though."

Danny turned to the pixie and smiled. "I'm coming to collect on my contract, unfortunately."

The bar fell to complete silence. The mist and haze of the bar settled and drew back from the tinge of green in Danny's eyes. Oberon might have ruled his court but Danny's court was above even his.

"Oh- I. Yes, of course, please." The pixie stepped back hastily. Danny strode the rest of the way, content in the unnatural silence of the normally chatty pixies. He picked Jason up from the seat, frowning as he caught the scent of mind numbing herbal paste in the food in front of the kid.

"The children," he uttered commandingly. "Are off limits."

"But-!"

Danny clicked his tongue chidingly as he began leading the unsteady kid out the door.

"It isn't quite the days of old anymore, where people are aware of normal trickery. If an adult falls for your schemes, then that is on them. Children? No. To pick on a newly tethered soul is too far into my court for me to turn a blind eye."

"How are we supposed to do anything with the bat watching the skies?"

"Then fly below him," Danny drew his lips back, allowing Phantom to flicker onto his human face and warping it to something more inhuman. Like them.

"We understand," the bar's proprietor agreed. "Your word will be heard and heeded, king of another court."

"Much appreciated."

——

"Jason!"

"One second, little sparrow." Danny focused, drawing upon the chaotic magic that laid beneath the thrum of ectoplasm. He, oddly enough, has had enough practice returning memories to make this process as easy as a twist of his hand. Jason went limp.

"Jason!" Tim's cry had a little more panic in it.

"Worry not, he's simply sleeping. Regained memories tend to be quite taxing." He shuffled Jason a little closer to Tim. "Here you are, little sparrow. One Jason, whole and generally unharmed."

Tim glanced at Jason and then at himself. He sheepishly looked at Danny. "Would you mind helping me get him back home?"

Danny tilted his head back and laughed.

[stevesgother]

I Don't Want You Like A Bestfriend - S.H

Pairing - Bestfriend!Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

WC - 2.3k

Warnings - mentions of anxiety, reader not liking large gatherings, swearing, alcohol (reader works at a bar). As always, let me know if I missed anything!

AN - Part 2 of the Dress mini series! This could technically be a standalone fic, but for the full context I would recommend reading part 1 :) 

Dress Series - Pt 1, Pt 2

December 1987

2 bowls of popcorn and 4 movies later, you’re laying on opposite ends of your twin bed with your best friend; gossiping lazily with droopy eyelids.

“I cannot go to their wedding without a date, Rob.” looking at her exasperated, “That’s like, totally embarrassing! Steve’s gonna have this Madonna-ey, bombshell blonde and with giant boobs and I'm gonna bring who? My cousin? Not happening.” You say with finality.

“Well forgive me,” Robin deadpans. “I only know like,” She gestures dramatically, trying to count in her head, “7 boys!”

May 1985

Immediately upon opening your eyes, you’re met with the blinding pain of your too big brain bouncing around inside your skull and a foreboding sense of dread upon recalling the way you behaved the night before.

You could only remember bits and pieces of the wretched night, but you were humiliated nonetheless. Had you said something you shouldn’t have? Your stomach churns at the thought and briefly you fear you might yak again.

A few weeks later, you were walking the stage, diploma in hand. Steve had broken up with Nancy Wheeler the week following prom. Feigning some bullshit about him leaving for college; not wanting to do long distance. Those cliche, overused excuses that everyone knows loosely translate to “I don’t love you anymore.”

Steve didn’t even get into tech, unbeknownst to Nancy. He was dodgy when you asked him about their breakup. “I just felt like we didn’t make sense anymore, you know? But it-” he sighed, “it’s just, it’s not like I could say that to her.” 

You didn’t want to push the subject further, despite your bewilderment. Part of you felt desperately guilty at the idea that you may have been the catalyst for what happened to their relationship. You didn’t dare ask, though. Maybe you didn’t want to know, or maybe you just didn’t want to make it about yourself. 

December 1987

The Wandering Dog was especially busy tonight. Folks trying to escape their in-laws for a few hours during the holiday season, college kids home for break trying to get wasted; and all of it was your problem. The pay was nice, you made good tips bartending. Right as you watch someone knock over an entire tray of drinks, a familiar head of hair makes its way to sit in front of you at the bar. Distracting, but not enough to suppress the groan that leaves your throat when it dawns on you that those drinks are your mess to clean up later.

“Steve-o,” you force a smile at him, “what can I do for ya on this..lovely evening?”

“Can’t a guy visit his favorite lady without needing a reason?” He lilts.

You try not to let on how flustered you feel at his usage of ‘favorite lady’. 

“You hate this bar, you’re also technically banned-” he cuts you off with a wave of his hand “Still? Seriously? It was one time-” Your turn to interrupt, “No actually, year prior? That was your first warning.” You’re met with a roll of the eyes, forgetting how utterly sassy he’s become in the last few years. You can’t decide whether you love or hate the development.

“I actually uh,” he runs a hand through his hair- a nervous habit, “I wanted to ask you something,”. You look at him quizzically, unable to pinpoint what's caused such a sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Okay…” you draw out the last syllable, more confused than unkind. “Spill it Hairspray, you’re kind of freaking me out.” you give an awkward chuckle. Your friendship is hardly what you’d consider serious. Sure, you’ve had your share of late night, existential conversations; but you can count on one hand the amount of times you’ve made the other actually nervous.

He clears his throat, “sorry yeah, sorry. I was wondering uh, ifyouwouldbemydatetojoyceandhopperswedding.”

The rest of his sentence comes out as one jumbled word. You do a double take when you finally process what he’s asking, and you choke a little on the Coke you were sipping. “What?-”

“-As friends!” he blurts loudly as his hands shoot out in front of him in a defensive gesture, “obviously, as friends. That’s- what I meant.” his words lose confidence every time he opens his mouth.

You stare for a little too long, mouth hanging open like a trout. “You don’t..already have a date?” You hope he doesn’t take offense to the inquiry. Steve Harrington can most certainly find a plus one to a simple wedding.

“Yeah I- something like that,” his mouth opens like he’s going to explain further before deciding against it; settling on a lopsided smile instead. He’s terrified he’s blown his cover. If he had given any effort at all to the endeavor, surely he would’ve been able to find a date. Fancy car, rich parents, million dollar smile and his infallible charm. The problem was that he didn’t want to go with another Heidi. Another Jessica. Another Stacy.

He wanted to go with you.

Even if it meant just as friends. You two were just friends.

-

Joyce and Hopper’s wedding was at Pokagon State Park, and the drive up was less than stellar. 3 hours stuffed inside a cramped BMW with Robin, Eddie, and Vickie. You were fortunate enough to be riding shotgun next to Steve for the trip, Eddie muttering something about ‘date privilege’.

When you arrived at the cabin you’d be sharing with your 4 friends, you were a little mortified. There was a room for Vickie and Robin, and Eddie claimed the pullout couch almost immediately. This leaves one more room. With one bed. For you and Steve Harrington. It’s possible Joyce may have misinterpreted the reality of your situation when booking the rooming accommodations.

If it bothered Steve, he didn’t show it. You guys had had sleepovers before, but almost never in the same bed. His house had a plethora of guest bedrooms, and your father would be found dead before he let a boy sleep in your room, even at the ripe age of 20.

We’re adults, you think. We can be mature about this.

There isn’t much time to dwell on it before you’re being stuffed by Robin into a too tight, wine red bridesmaid dress.

“I feel sick,” you say, groaning. “Do not barf on me,” she warns with a stern look, though you can tell she’s not really annoyed. “I really like these shoes.” Despite the itchy fabric of the dress and the obnoxiously loud color, you do look breathtakingly beautiful. Red has always been your color. 

“Hey dingus! Stop gawking and zip me would you?” Robin lightly kicks you with her bare foot, taking you out of your own head. When you exit the bathroom, you’re immediately met with the 2 boys. Even Eddie, who you don’t believe you’ve ever seen not in ripped jeans, cleans up nice.

Steve looks…strapping. Not handsome in the boyish way you’re used to. He’s all slicked hair, cufflinks and well-pressed wool. He meets your gaze and you swear his pupils dilate just slightly. An arm is offered to walk you to his car. He smells like cinnamon and cedar, woodsy and spice. He opens the passenger door for you and God, he’s a gentleman.

It’s going to be a long night.

- 

The venue was terribly charming. Floor to ceiling windows highlight the snow falling outside in big, fat flakes over the water. The room was lit entirely by yellow string lights, casting a permanent warm hue over the lodge.

On a table clad in lace, there were 5 notecards scribbled on in cursive ink. The one that adorned your name was directly adjacent to one that read Steve Harrington. They were paired with party favors wrapped neatly with a white silk bow.

Steve wanted to pull out your chair for you. He wanted to sit beside you with his hand in yours. Hell, he would’ve bought you a corsage if he thought it appropriate. A death by a thousand cuts; he was again reminded of the fact that you were not his, and he was not yours.

You were unable to identify the source of the nagging anxiety you felt. You were never partial to big gatherings like this, but the unease you were experiencing now was different. All you could do was relax, and try to enjoy the reception. Try not to pay mind to the stark, masculine presence sitting beside you.

The newlyweds’ first dance was to the beloved ‘Never Tear Us Apart’ By INXS. You think about how remarkably fitting a song it was for them and everything they had endured together. The restlessness you had previously felt started to steadily fade after that; laughing and chatting with your friends. It started to feel..normal, for a while.

Just then, like some sick esoteric joke, you hear the unmistakable beginning notes of ‘I’ll Be Over You’ by Toto. When you turn to your left, Steve has a poorly concealed, shit-eating grin on his face.

In the most sober tone he can muster through his unseriousness, he asks, “Can I have this dance?” while extending his hand to you. He prays you don’t notice it trembling slightly. It’s the undeniable corniness of his request that manages to strangle a laugh out of you.

 “I thought you’d never ask.”

With one hand delicately placed on your hip, he threads the other one with your own fingers as he starts to sway. You clumsily try to match his rhythm; so nervous that you’re becoming uncoordinated. His chest is nearly touching yours, and your noses are a hairsbreadth apart. It feels profoundly intimate.

'as soon as forever is through, I'll be over you.'

He leans his head down so his lips just brush your ear as he whispers, “You okay?”

You scoff, unconvincingly. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You know he can see right through you. It’s fruitless to try and deceive him.

“You just seem,” he gives your waist a small squeeze, “a little tense.” You swallow hard.

“Just say the word and I'll take you home.” ‘Home’ meaning back to the cabin. Not the comforting safety of your own bed back in Hawkins. You appreciate his earnestly either way.

“I know, Steve.” you lilt, trying to lighten the intensity of the moment with a teasing tone. You rest your head against his shoulder, if only so you don’t have to keep holding his all-consuming gaze.

-

Despite the thermostat being set at a comfortable 75 degrees, you were still shivering slightly. You always ran cold. You stood in front of a dusty vanity mirror trying to extend your arms behind your back far enough to unzip this godforsaken dress.

You felt him more than you saw him. Steve’s presence displaces the air in the room as one does to water when they sink down into a steaming bath: noticeably, and comfortably. You pay him no mind as you continue to struggle with the zipper. Mulling around the same room; busy with your separate tasks, this was familiar to you. Not often did you have to acknowledge the other for them to know you were grateful for their company.

“Need a hand with that?” he asks, slightly amused as he saunters over to you.

You hesitate for a moment before looking over your shoulder and offering him a shy smile, “Yeah, if you wouldn’t mind?” You know he doesn’t.

His scent envelopes you like a thick fog when he approaches you. His calloused fingers pinch the clasp and pull it down its tracks slowly. The sound is piercing in the quiet of your shared room; your senses dialed up to 11. You can feel his warm, freshly minty breath fan over your shoulders and the nape of your neck. Your arms erupt in goosebumps at the sensation.

He stands there, he realizes, longer than he needs to. 

“Okay I’m gonna-” “There you go-” you both speak at the same time. 

You huff an awkward breath of a laugh before you finish your thought, “I’m gonna..go change.” you throw a thumb behind you in the direction of the ensuite. “Right, yeah,” he shakes his head as if to escape his own thoughts; his turn to act shy.

-

Lying in bed, you’re suddenly grateful that Steve has always been something of a personal space heater. The warmth he radiates makes you want to curl into him, against your better judgment. The silence in the room is deafening; the only sounds to be heard are rhythmic breathing and the creaking of the ancient plumbing.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Steve’s voice is hoarse, no doubt from the boisterous singing he’d been doing earlier in the evening. Still, you’re grateful for the crack in the wall that's been plastered between you.

“I like secrets,”

“I hate weddings.”

The stiff fabric of the pillowcase crinkles as you turn your head to look at him.

“I am happy for them, it’s not that,” he starts, “it’s just, what if it’s never me up there ya know?”  It’s not that he’s scared he’ll never marry; it’s that he’s scared he’ll never marry you.

You want to reach out for him then. Hold his face in your hands and tell him you understand. There are so many unspoken words between you. Things unsaid, but implied. The desire to yell and scream and confess how much you love him is overwhelming.

“Steve. You’re only twenty,” smiling lightheartedly, “there’s so much time for you. There are plenty of women out there that would be delighted to swear themselves to you for eternity. Believe me.” You chuckle and pretend like the reason you know that to be the truth isn’t because you’re one of them.

“I know, I know,” he brings a hand up to card through his bed mussed hair, “you’re right, it’s silly.”

“I didn’t say it was silly,” you elbow his side gently, consequently moving your body closer to his.

He doesn’t say anything then. Instead, his hand cautiously moves over the bed until it’s touching yours; intertwining your pinkies. He doesn’t breathe, as if any sudden movements might scare you like a frightened doe. If he breathes, you might remember you’re not supposed to be doing this.

“If we’re not married by the time we’re,” he pretends to ponder, “32, will you marry me?”

You laugh, the unexpected loudness of it making you cringe a little, “yes,”

“Promise?” He sounds deadly serious.

You tighten your pinky around his, “Promise.”

[seungkwanniee]

pairing : idol!seventeen x fem!reader

genre : angst , little fluff too

warnings : eating disorder , anorexia , bulimia , vomit (seungkwan , vernon , dino) , mention of food , mention of starving for hours (seungkwan) , half naked body (joshua) , pet names

synopsis : s.o. having truble with food

an : it's a really deep topic to be written , so if you don't feel comfortable with it , I ask you to not read it. I tried to not making it tooo angst and I think you can deffo say it (i'm a little dissatisfied 😭). Plus, I've been through this , so I know what i'm talking about.

(masterlist)

SCOUPS 』

wants to talk to you as soon as he notice the bad habit you was growing

when one day he got off pratice later, and see that you prepared a meal only for him, he decided that it was the day

the excuse "I've already eaten" was too weak for him, didn't belived it for a sec

drags your chair closer to him effortlessly

"what's up with you, sweetheart?"

he leans closer to your face, now his breath slightly tickling your neck

hand on your thing, while the other tucks your hair behind your ears

looks up at you with puppy mixed authoritative look

would stay silent until you don't open your mouth to give him explanations

deffo would put you between his legs, feeding you and pratically forcing you to eat

looks at you so proudly when you finish a meal

JEONGHAN 』

he is smart, he knows immediatly when something is off

notice how he doesn't catch you eating your favorite snack at the same anymore, they aren't even in your kitchen shelf anymore

starts buying it for you, but he is pouts when he sees that you still don't eat them. All the red packaging sitting there waiting to be opened

"love, can I know why you don't eat your snacks? you don't like them anymore?"

he acts dumb, he wants to hear the reason slip out your mouth

when you admit your fears to him, he decides to actually take control

(as the relationship is public) he decide to do lives togheter while eating, trying to distact you from what you are actually doing

JOSHUA 』

he opens the bathroom door without thinking too much 'bout it, he tought you was napping in your shared room

well, it wasn't really like this

"oh, im sor- honey..."

he was about to leave when he noticed you was in bathroom instead, but rethinking his choice when he see the scene folding in front of his eyes

from above your clothes, he didn't notice how thin you've got. He is blaming himself for sure

his eyes looks at your tiny and fragile figure, only underwear was covering you

shivers go downs his spine when he can see clearly the form of your ribs

"come here, don't look at it" he refers to the nosense number written down here

and when he talks about it to Jeonghan, blaming himself, oh man he is crying like a kid when he don't get what he wants

JUN 』

Jun is so lost when you don't accept your usually month chinese resturant date

he overthinks it so much: "I made her angry?" "I forgot a date?"

but he will just overthink all alone, by himself. Maybe it's not just the right week for your date, university can be stressing

He would ask some days later, hoping you was craving Chinese food as he was

but when he recives another no, I think he might tear up

"i'm asking Minghao then"

may sound mad, but he was the saddest man living right now

you can notice his little pout and his eyes was saying evrything he wasn't

that's when you decided to tell him the truth behind your rejecting, it hurts you see your man like this

he is in shock when you confess him your worrys

he holds your waist, reassuring you

"we can eat something delicious togheter? only a little bit"

loving him bye

HOSHI 』

when he runs into you, crying in front of a meal, he is so shocked

he would pout for a sec, too stunned to move

at the start, he don't even thinks that the main problem it's right in front of him

he hugs you, letting your head rest on his stomach, petting your hair

"cutie, something happened at work? someone said something to you?"

PANICKED BOY

when the only thing he can hear are your little sobs, he coups your face making you look him straight on his face

when you finally open to him, he is almost crying too. How his beloved can think this strict of her?

cuddle until you fall asleep, while his mind a mess of solutions he is trying to think

WONWOO 』

you climb on the bed with a bowl with the only things you've been eating lately

you like to sit here and watch your pretty gamer boyfriend playing some dumb games

you tought he wouldn't even notice you, seeing how immersed in the game he is everytime

but it wasn't really like this

"can i know why I only see you eating bananas and ice"

he turns around togheter with gamer chair, moving to his neck his headphones. Sign to tell you indirectly that his attention is all on you now

makes jump from surprise for his deep but caring voice and for his sudden moves

absolutely panicked because you don't know if to tell him the truth

moves his head on the side with an halfmoon smile to encourage you to speak

once he knows how the things actually are, he have the sweetest words for you

starts to buy recipes book so you can have baking dates and you can eat properly

WOOZI 』

usually, when you are around his studio, you would order something to eat togheter

anyway, this was the third time that you didn't even mention food

from his comfy chair, he eyes you laying on the little sofa playing with your silly games on the phone

despite he's being busy clicking something on his laptop, he would notice how you clutch your stomach painfully

so, he just decide to order you two food without even telling you

knows you too well to already know that you would reject every kind of food he would propose

he wasn't even hungry, but he will not let her girlfriend eat all alone knowing she is struggling

"ji, did you ordered food?"

you frown when a bag of tteokbokki already cooked it is delivered to the studio door

just smirks, already saved everything on his computer so now nothing can disturb your meal

DOKYEOM 』

today Jeonghan and Seungkwan invited over some of you to eat dinner

you was mad nervous, after some weird thoughts invaded your mind

"baby, we already done it so many times, why you're nervous today?"

he looks at you for a sec worried

one hand on the wheel, while the other caress your knee

you don't want to worry him, it would just ruin the dinner because he is worried for you

you shake it off, knowing tho he didn't buy it

but you're safe for now, no?

no you weren't

as soon as you two get out of the car, he grabs your wrist making you lean closer to his chest

"I can tell something is bothering you, plese don't lie to me"

he cups your cheeks, looking at you straight into your eyes

they look so worried, so you know your making things worst for not letting him know as he should, so you decide to tell him

he reassures you the whole dinner, not forcing you to eat to not making you overwhelmed

a kiss on your forhead or on you cheeks every now an then is a must. It's like he is saying he is here for you

MINGYU 』

he ALWAYS cooks for you, never letting you doing it

(also because you are a mess at cooking)

meanwhile he is cooking, you'd always be around him, trying to eat something

tho, today it's not like this

he finds so weird and empty the kitchen without you messing around

but he just thinks you are busy studing for your upcoming exam

it couldn't go worst when he calls you because the food is ready, and you reject it

"baby, why you're acting weird today?"

he comes to your room with a plate of food, a no isn't in his list

when you say for the umpteenth time that you aren't hungry, and him not buying it, you decide to admit it

"baby..." he slightly pouts wrapping his arms around you

"tell me something you would eat now, i'm making it"

would cook you thousand dishes only to see you eating

MINGHAO 』

gives you a side eye when you reject the snack he was trying to feed you

but this looked too weird to him

he can see how you aren't focused at all on the tv playing a comedy film

you were eyeing the food your boyfriend was putting in his mouth

"i'm full, eat them"

liar, he could ate another thousand of them but he wanted you eat them

he leans closer the plate to you, so you can easly picking it

boy wasn't going to give up when neither this time you were eating it

so he just decide to cling on you, and feeding you them

at this point you were too hungry to say no

SEUNGKWAN 』

it was common that Seungkwan mother would pack some leftovers for you two, as you both adore her kitchen

when Seungkwan come home with a bowl of food, you involuntarily wrinkle your nose in disapproval

he was OFFENDED, like how you can make a face for HIS mother food

you didn't want to expose yourself too, so you just keep it quite

he started to eat alone, giving you side eye

but he was feeling too bad for you, you wasn't eating dinner and you should always eat properly

"come here" he pat his tight, giving you an hint

the chopstick he was holding were keeping in balance the food

you really wanted to say no, but you didn't want to make him more upset and you didn't touch food since last night

you were going almost one day without feeding yourself that you were scared you was going to throw up as soon as you would put something in your mouth

you end up sitting on his lap, being feeded by your boyfriend that was making you laugh so much

VERNON 』

vernon didn't minded that much when you quickly got up and went straight to the bathroom

you don't stay in it for too much, so why he should worry for something innocent?

he would bump in you eating late at night, a pretty good amount of food

he would just think that you're cute with your cheeks fluffly and full of food

he kiss your cheek, mess with your hair and go to sleep again after whising you a goodnight

he started to get suspicious when a day, after having snacks, he heard weird noises inside of it

"babe? you kay?" he knocks the bathroom door

deffo not okay as you don't answer him and the worrying noise continue

now he can't do nothing but enter even without your permission

the scene folding in front of her eyes completely breaks his cold heart

you kneeling in front of the toilet, your arms shaking and your back going up and down because of his sobs WASN'T something he wanted ever see

patting your head, trying to mantain his calm behavior because its what you need right now

never ever letting you using the bathroom after eating again

DINO 』

"take a bite" he hands you the sandwich he was eating

Dino got hungry mid day, so he just decided to do a sandwich, not before asking you if you wanted to eat too

he was feeling guilty eating right in your face, without you having atleast a bite

how you can't be hungry too?

"come on honey" he repeats after you shaked your head

he can't do nothing, he can't see you looking at him eating. You should eat properly too

Dino at the end of the day always wins with you, but at what cost?

as soon as the sandwich touches your tongue, a weird and annoying feeling it expands in your mouth

you quickly get up running to the bathroom, the feeling of thorwing up was too strong to let you pretend nothing

he drops the sandwhich, don't even know where, and he runs after you

completly blaming himself for pushing you and don't noticing something was off

he holds your hair back, caressing your back and apologizing maybe too many times

after this, now he always make sure he doesn't force you in ANYTHING

it kinda traumatized him

[tinytinyblogs]

Okay hear me out can I request yandere skz whose darling hates/refuses to even look at them and says mean things to the boys in order to get them to leave her alone but it has the opposite effect

Are you defying me, darling?

The more you distance yourself, the closer they might become. Take it slow if you're unsure.

⚠️ yandere theme, unhealthy obsession, and a lot more⚠️

Hyung line, Maknae line

💬 Thanks for your patience! Things have been a bit hectic lately, and I apologize for the delay. Here's the reaction post you requested, as promised. Let me know if you have any feedback or if there's anything I can improve on.

stray kids masterlist

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Chan

Chan, your sunshine, your anchor – the very picture of gentleness. He opens doors with a smile, treats you like royalty, and knows exactly how to make you laugh. Yet, a knot of apprehension coils in your stomach because for all his sweetness, there's a line you never want him to cross. The air hangs heavy. You haven't spoken in what feels like hours, the silence a suffocating blanket. It started with a simple plea, a desperate need for some space, some time to breathe without the constant hum of his presence. The words tumbled out, harsh and ragged. "Can you just leave me alone, damn it?" The change in Chan is instantaneous. His smile vanishes, replaced by a coldness that sends shivers down your spine. A heavy silence descends, thick and suffocating. You steal a glance at him, and your heart plummets. His eyes, usually sparkling with warmth, are now narrowed lasers, fixated on you. The air crackles with a tension you've never witnessed before. Then, a deceptively calm voice breaks the silence. "What did you just say, sweetheart?" he asks, the endearment sounding foreign in this new context. It's clear he doesn't like what he heard, and a flicker of fear ignites in your chest.

You shrink back, your voice barely a whisper as you repeat, "I... I just want to be alone, Chan." But the damage is done. With a slow, deliberate movement, Chan closes the distance. He towers over you, his form an imposing shadow. He crouches down, invading your personal space, and gently, but firmly, cups your chin with his hand. You wince as his nails dig slightly into your skin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "Sweetheart," he says, his voice a low rumble, sending shivers down your spine. It's calm, almost too calm, and that terrifies you more than any outburst. His eyes hold you captive, a storm brewing beneath the surface. "I may love you," he continues, his words laced with a dangerous undercurrent, "but disrespect won't be tolerated. Remember that." Seeing the tear, a flicker of something crossed Chan's face – maybe regret, maybe anger. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a chilling coldness. "Tears won't work this time," he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. He reached out, a single finger brushing against your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. "You will explain yourself," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "And you will understand exactly why you don't get to ask for space from me."

Minho

Minho wasn't like other guys. He didn't crave grand gestures or whispered sweet nothings. No, Minho thrived on the spark in your eyes when he sent shivers down your spine with a surprise tickle or a whispered threat that danced on the edge of plausibility. The way you flustered, the stammer that replaced your usual sharp retorts when he'd corner you with a teasing question – that was his fuel. So, when you finally snapped, a glorious eruption after weeks of his calculated torment, a thrill snaked through him, cold and exhilarating. "Get away from me, don't touch me, you jerk!" you shouted, cheeks flushed a furious red. He'd expected the usual splutter of insults, a well-placed punch maybe, but this raw defiance, this unfamiliar vulnerability – it was intoxicating. Minho's smirk wasn't playful this time. It was a slow, deliberate twist of his lips, a predator recognizing a challenge in its prey. You wanted him gone? Perfect. He'd become your shadow, a constant reminder of the delicious chaos he reveled in unleashing. The way your breath hitched when he brushed past a little too close, the flinch you couldn't quite suppress when he materialized at your locker – oh, he'd savor every startled reaction, every muttered curse under your breath.

Perhaps you didn't understand him, and maybe that was part of the allure. Minho was an enigma, a puzzle only he held the key to. But that didn't matter. He thrived on the chase, on the unpredictable rhythm your dynamic had taken. Your pain, a byproduct of his gamesmanship, was a mere footnote – the price you paid for defying him. "Feeling spicy today, aren't we?" he drawled, his voice low and gravelly. He stopped directly in front of you, his face mere inches away. "Seems like somebody needs a reminder of who's in charge," he continued, his smirk widening. A single finger brushed against your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. You wanted to fight back, to spit out a retort, but the words wouldn't come. The fear was a thick fog clouding your thoughts. Minho seemed to revel in your silence. He chuckled, a low, humorless sound. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he leaned in closer, his voice barely a whisper but filled with chilling promise. "We have plenty of time for you to learn your lesson." The enclosed space became a prison, the air thick with unspoken threats and simmering tension. You knew this wasn't a game anymore. This was Minho asserting his dominance, and you were the unwilling participant in his twisted play.

Changbin

You clench your fists, heart hammering against your ribs. "Damn you," you growl, the words tasting metallic on your tongue, "don't come any closer, jerk!" Changbin's laugh echoes in the confined space. It's a sound you've never heard before, devoid of its usual teasing lilt and replaced with something darker, hungrier. This new side of him sends a shiver down your spine, both terrifying and...exciting? The thought is fleeting, pushed aside by the urgency of the situation. He ignores your protest, a predatory glint in his eyes. Each step he takes is a deliberate invasion of your personal space, until your back is pressed flush against the wall, trapped. His hands snake around you, pinning you against the cool surface. It feels like the room has shrunk, the air itself thick with unspoken tension. "So what, huh?" he taunts, leaning in so close his warm breath tickles your ear. "I can do whatever I want." His voice is a low rumble, sending shivers down your spine. It's as if this sudden resistance has ignited a fire within him, a twisted competition to break you, to own you completely. You can almost see the gears turning in his head, a game suddenly unfolding before you. One he intends to win.

Shame burned through you, hot and acrid. You hated yourself for the traitorous flicker of excitement that had dared to ignite within you. Changbin's dark eyes, usually lit with playful mischief, were now narrowed with predatory intent. The possessiveness that radiated from him was suffocating. "This isn't a game, Changbin," you spat, your voice shaking but defiant. You met his gaze head-on, refusing to show fear. "Don't you dare turn this into some twisted dominance act." A flicker of surprise crossed his face, quickly replaced by a slow, dangerous smile. "Dominance act?" he echoed, his voice low and silken. His thumbs brushed across your wrists, sending a jolt through you. "Perhaps," he continued, leaning in further, his breath hot against your cheek. "Or maybe it's just a reminder of who calls the shots here, sweetheart." His smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of something you couldn't decipher passing through his eyes. Then, with a sigh that seemed to shake the very room, he released you. You stumbled back a step, breathing heavily, the air suddenly feeling thin. "Maybe you're right," he conceded, his voice back to its usual drawl, though a hint of darkness lingered. "Maybe we need a different kind of reminder." He took a step back, his eyes holding yours with an intensity that sent chills down your spine. "A reminder of the consequences of defying me."

Hyunjin

Your outburst, a tirade fueled by pent-up frustration and veiled truths, had frozen Hyunjin. He stood there, a statue carved from confusion and a flicker of something darker. You spat out the final words, "Just get out! Leave me alone you jerk!" expecting a fight, an apology, anything but the unsettling silence that followed. He left, the quiet deafening and thick with unspoken threats. But the absence wasn't a reprieve. It was a predator stalking its prey. Every creak of the floorboards sent your pulse racing, every shadow a potential monster. Sleep was a distant memory replaced by a hypervigilance that left you drained. The bed felt vast and empty, the once comforting weight of Hyunjin beside you a chilling reminder of what you'd lost. Days blurred. The air crackled with a tension so thick you choked on it. Then, one evening, just as the remnants of hope started to flicker, Hyunjin reappeared. He wasn't the playful boy you knew. His eyes, usually sparkling with amusement, were now steely and focused. They scanned the room, lingering on you, assessing. Silence stretched, broken only by the shallow rasp of your own breath. "So," he finally spoke, his voice devoid of its usual warmth, "you want to be alone, do you?" It wasn't a question.

It was a challenge, a test to gauge your sincerity. You opened your mouth to apologize, to plead, but the words wouldn't come. The fear had lodged itself in your throat, a physical weight hindering any attempt at defiance. A slow, predatory smile spread across Hyunjin's face. "There are consequences for everything," he said, each word dripping with a chilling possessiveness. "Especially disrespect." Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision. You wanted to scream, to fight back against the oppressive atmosphere, but the fear kept you rooted to the spot. "I… I'm sorry," you stammered, your voice barely a whisper. Hyunjin stopped in front of you, his face inches away. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the intensity of his gaze making it difficult to breathe. "Sorry isn't enough," he said, his voice a low growl. "You will understand, one way or another, how much respect I deserve." He reached out, a single finger tilting your chin up so you were forced to meet his gaze. "We don't need space," he murmured, his voice a chilling caress. "We need understanding. And you," he leaned in even closer, his breath hot against your ear, "will learn exactly what that means." He wasn't angry, exactly. He was calculating, methodical, a predator who had finally cornered his prey.

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

HOUR NINETEEN

in which everything changes.

→ tropes: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, slow burn

→ warnings: strong language, smut (p in v), almost shower sex, talk of male masturbation, oral (f receiving), upside down does not exist, minors dni

→ wc: 7.7k+

→ a/n: big shout out to @myosotisa for beta-reading this chapter so that for once, it's not unedited, and it's not just between me and god.

masterlist.

spotify playlist.

◁ previous part, next part▷

19:00 ─────────────ㅇ── 24:00

DINGUS: so either these two are getting along REALLY well or they truly still hate each other’s guts

NANCE: Why do you say that?

DINGUS: when i called to make sure they weren’t dead, it sounded like they were arguing over the line. 

BIRDIE: woah woah woah, hold on. dingus. are you telling me you just SPIED on the lovebirds? or did this ‘fight’ happen during your conversation?

DINGUS: it wasn’t spying! eddie answered and rushed off the line, but it sounded like he forgot to hang up. i was just… curious.

NANCE: No, you were SPYING on them. 

ARGYLE 😎: what did they say, dude? 

BIRDIE: yeah let’s drop the morality bullshit – what’d you hear, my lovely oblivious spy? 

DINGUS: @BIRDIE NOT A SPY. 

DINGUS: but it just sounded like eddie asking her if she was, and i quote, “fucking kidding him”. He sounded weird when he was talking to me, too.

BIRDIE: the most romantic words to ever be spoken. truly. 

NANCE: Was that all you heard?

DINGUS: yeah, i hung up after that. why?

ARGYLE 😎: should’ve stayed on the line.

BIRDIE: what he said.

JOHNNY BOY: Do you people have no morals? 

HOUR NINETEEN – 10:00 AM

It becomes glaringly obvious to you that your comment had been a little too spot on after several minutes of waiting for Eddie to return. 

You hadn’t expected him to really leave you high and dry after that, to just go and take care of himself rather than include you in that process. Honestly, you thought the two of you were finally past hiding behind closed doors. But clearly, you had been wrong. Very, very wrong. And now, the consequences of your own actions were mocking you; there was an insistent, uncomfortable, unignorable burn in the pit of your stomach, and every shift of your thighs that had your underwear grazing your clit had you desperate, nearly mewling and arching your back. The longer you laid on that couch and realized what Eddie was currently doing, the more hot and bothered you grew. 

Fuck him. You’re about ten seconds away from taking care of your own problem right here, right now, on this god forsaken couch. 

Your ears perk involuntarily for any and all noises that may come from the hallway, but five minutes of silence tells you that Eddie had learned his lesson. He wasn’t going to be loud again. 

Fuck him. 

At least if he was falling apart by his own hand, he should have the decency to let you hear such, obviously. If he was going to finish what the two of you started alone with just him and his hand and the polished porcelain of his bathroom, you would have at least appreciated something to get you going, to urge your imagination to roam free through a conglomeration of both fantasies and memories. But, no – the man was so silent, you were beginning to fear he might be dead. 

Maybe he was dead. Death by blue balls. Good. Fuck him.

Your thighs squeeze together once more of their own free will, and you throw your head back violently to groan at the persistent throbbing. You couldn’t even be angry at him, not in a genuine sense, because you had insisted on talking rather than continuing whatever Deftones had started. What a dumb, idiotic, catastrophic decision. What a painful hill to die on. What a shit move on your part. 

It doesn’t take long before you make the choice to stop laying there, wallowing in your misery. If you weren’t going to take care of your problem, and if you were regretting your choices so desperately, you were an adult. He was down the hall, he was here for now, and there was nothing stopping you from just marching up to the door. This wasn’t anything like the beginning hours – the man had seen you bare before him far too many times for you to be shy. He had just been dry humping you like some teenager on his couch. 

No, you didn’t need to have shame right now. At least, not for these last five hours. 

You get up quick enough to make yourself dizzy, swinging your legs and making the soles of your feet connect with the living room floor with resounding slaps. A bit aggressive, and it might startle whoever had the displeasure of living below Eddie, but you don’t care. You have a one track mind, and you force your body into action before you can chicken out. 

You have him. At some wild capacity, the man behind the bathroom door is yours. Whether it be temporary, whether it had started before this night or would last beyond this experience, it was still a matter of fact. You have him – God, you have him so tightly that you don’t even doubt you’re the one on his mind right now as he does what you’re sure he’s doing behind this door – and it was time to accept that he has you. 

He has had you for a while, you realize a few steps away from the bathroom. The moment he had you laughing at his side in some smokey bar all those moons ago, he had first caught you in his web. You hate that it took this long, that it took this moment that should be laced with embarrassment, to let it all settle into acceptance. Like rubble of a destroyed building, the dust is clearing and all you can see is him. Him, with his stupid fucking dimples. Him, with his wide shoulders. Him, with all his twisted words and confusing actions. He’s had you in his grasp – it’s the only way anyone would have been able to get under your skin like he has this past year. 

“Eddie?” you call out as you rap your knuckles on that wooden door, a few too many times for good measure. Your ears strain now that you’re closer, thinking you might catch subtle sounds out of him. Heavy breaths, slick skin, mute whimpers. Anything.

You get nothing for a solid ten seconds.

And then, you hear him clearing his throat, obnoxiously so, before answering, “Y-Yeah?” 

Unsure. He’s stuttering, and the footing of his words is unstable. You were fucking right. 

“Are you…” you start, pinching your eyes shut, shooing away that internal wave of heat as your mind runs wild and imagines him behind the door. The way he’d be naked, the way his fist would curl around the base of his cock, the way his tip has never failed to be the exact same shade of pink as his lips- “Are you still alive in there?” 

Because I’m certainly not out here. 

“Oh, me?” he chuckles nervously, “Yeah, I-I’m good. Sorry, just got distracted!” 

By what? you nearly call in response, your dick in your hands? 

You don’t say it outloud. You have some restraint. 

“That’s fine…” you trail off, unsure of what exactly you should say all while biting your tongue. 

Your mind is still reeling for a possible ending for that thought when Eddie calls out, “I’m gonna take a shower, ‘s all. You cool with that?” 

No. No, I’m not fucking cool with that. 

“Oh!” you squeak out instead, “Yeah, yeah. That’s… that’s fine. Sorry, I’ll just…”

You trail off again as you begin to take a few steps back from the door, making your way back to the living room painstakingly slowly. You’ve hardly moved an inch when you hear the shower turn on inside the bathroom, stuttering a few times as the water begins its flow, static rising from the way it splatters into the tub. 

And then it turns off. Mere seconds later, as quickly as the flow of water had begun, the creaking in the pipes cease. You take another step back until your back bumps into the wall of the hallway, across and veered away from the bathroom door – the throbbing between your thighs still irritating and your confusion even more palpable. 

Wasn’t he going to take a shower? Did he just turn it on to get you to walk away? Were you hallucinating just how quickly the seconds were passin-

The bathroom door is suddenly thrown open with Eddie in the middle of calling out your name, those pajama pants hanging dangerously low on his hips. The moment his eyes land on your, his beckoning for you dies in his throat before he has to clear it. “Oh. Uh, hey.” 

Why were you both being so fucking awkward? 

“Hi,” you breathe out, pressing further into the wall. You felt like a child being caught doing wrong, as if he hadn’t been aware of your proximity to the door just moments before. 

Maybe he was going to find it creepy that you had lingered for so long, and were still so close. You don’t know – you can’t think clearly as you look at the bare skin of his chest and try to decipher whether the moisture gathered there is sweat or condensation from the steam of the shower. 

“Sorry, I just-” he cuts himself off this time before a hand reaches up to his hair, now down and unfurled around his shoulders. His palm presses back his bangs and you can see the moment that all the tension of awkwardness finally snaps, “Oh, fuck this. Do you want to shower with me?” 

Once it snaps for him, you feel your own clinging to it release. It slips from between your fingers slowly, and you come to the realization that there’s no heat emitting from the bathroom behind him – that moisture wasn’t from steam, he didn’t even have the water on long enough for it to get that hot. You should have realized that immediately, but your mind was working slowly through the fog. 

“You don’t have to,” you hadn’t answered him fast enough, and you’re watching him backpedal right before your eyes. 

A quick shake of your head and the smile that splits your lips stops all of his backwards movements, makes his head tilt to the side and a smirk graces his features when you finally reply, “I thought you’d never ask.” 

He shifts to the side of the doorway naturally, leaving just enough room for you to brush past him and let your shoulder knock slightly against his chest once you push off the wall eagerly. 

There’s still a puddle of water at the base of the tub, circling the drain as Eddie closes the door behind your entrance. It’s a bit redundant considering you’re the only two here, but you don’t say a word. You just let your eyes trace over the droplets of water racing down his shower curtain, properly focus in on his toothbrush on the sink and the tube of toothpaste beside it curled up over half the length. 

It hits you all at once, how this game of tension is so ridiculous. “We’re so stupid.”

Eddie is shocked by your snort, “Excuse me?” 

“We’re stupid,” you repeat yourself, “Why are we acting like middle schoolers who just held hands? You’ve seen me naked, for fucks sake. We’ve-” you cut off and turn to him abruptly, waving your hands wildly in the space between you two, “We’ve already crossed this line a million times, Eddie. And we just… it’s like, we keep putting one foot on the other side of it, dip our toes into it, and then take it back when it’s all said and done.” 

A boring dance. The two of you were taking part in the most boring dance of tension the world had ever seen, and only the four walls of Eddie’s apartment had the pleasure of being audience to it. 

You expect his laughter to come out in a bark, but it’s subtle instead, face relaxing in realization at what you mean, “Jesus. I- I mean, you’re right. But does that make us stupid? I think it’s kinda cute, personally.”

“Cute?” you lurch forward ever so slightly, grinning with your teeth. Eddie’s eyes squint up a bit from how widely he grins in return at your amusement, “What about this is cute?” 

“The way you keep getting so nervous around me,” Eddie shrugs, killing off the distance between you as he moves in front of you. You straighten up quickly, and he’s fast to tuck the loose strands of your hair behind your ear, “The way I keep getting so nervous around you.” 

“That’s not cute, that’s just… stupid.” 

“Same thing.”

“It definitely isn’t.” 

You’re close enough to kiss him. And you realize easily that this may be your favorite place in the world, toe-to-toe with him and nearly brushing noses, feeling each breath like a huff of wind on the highs of your cheekbones. 

“Agree to disagree,” he whispers before his lips duck down to yours. The hand that had tucked away your strands of hair had never left your face, you realize, palm now cupping your cheek as he tugs you closer to him. 

Warmth spreads across your chest, brings spring to all the vines you’ve been catering to for a year now. Being able to step back and call this for what it was, ridiculous, makes it all a bit easier to bear. 

It’s just his lips against yours, the shower not even running yet, the gasps that emit from both of you serving as a white noise instead. 

“Is this,” he breaks away from you, only pulling back his lips and leaving his forehead resting against yours with his hand still curled on your cheek, “still stupid?” 

“Even more so,” you nod and he moves his head with yours, almost making you laugh more, “So, so stupid.”

More kisses are exchanged, wandering hands trying to find new curves on the other’s body, before Eddie goes through the motions of turning his shower back on. You notice that from the looks of it, he does turn it on as hot as it can get. It occurs to you that these are small details you’d like to know – how hot he prefers his showers, whether he prefers to take them in the morning or at night, what scent of body wash he swears by – and that you only had so much time to learn the answer to not even half of your curiosities. 

Time. Time was not on your side. 

“You know,” you drawl as Eddie finally kicks off his pants, you soon following his lead as if this was nothing. Because it wasn’t. The two of you had been naked before each other. You weren’t two middle schoolers who had just shared a first kiss or held hands – you were two adults who had had sex, who had admitted to being attracted to each other if nothing more, “You never did say what you’re actually doing with the money.” 

“Again with that conversation?” Eddie asks, pausing with his thumbs hooked in the band of his boxers. 

“Again,” you affirm, tossing your shirt into the same corner that his pants had been discarded, “Can you blame me for being curious? Aren’t you curious what I’m doing with my money?” 

He thinks for a second as you strip off your underwear, leaving you completely naked first. “I mean, I sort of am.”

“College,” you supply easily. You don’t even wait for him to properly ask. He purses his lips and you catch the way his eyes sweep over your nude body quickly before he yanks off his last article of clothing, “College, and then all my debt. Then maybe I can start saving like a real adult. Move to some fancy city once I graduate. Make a…” you pause and make a conscious effort to not let your eyes wander as his had, “Make a real life for myself, I guess.”

“You sound so excited.” 

He’s being sarcastic, you know it, but it begs the question – were you excited about the prospective? All you had ever known was school. Your entire personality has been built thus far on being a student.

So what comes next? Settling into some boring nine to five job that hardly satisfies the dreams that were born of your major? Getting underpaid, getting bored with monotony but telling yourself you were satisfied? 

And that doesn’t even scratch the surface of the bigger questions of the future. You haven’t even spared a thought to kids, to getting married, to life past the next two years. 

“I mean… I am,” you shrug and step into the shower first, Eddie following close behind you and listening intently, “It’ll be nice to finally have the damn piece of paper to say ‘hey! I did it!’” 

“But?” he presses, scooting the two of you around in the small space so that he was standing directly beneath the spray of water. His curls flatten against his head immediately. 

“No buts,” you insist. As if you’re trying to convince yourself more of it than him. 

“So that’s all? You just want to get out of here?” he isn’t looking at you as he reaches for a bottle of shampoo, blinking water out of his eyes. 

This conversation is going surprisingly well. 

“Not here specifically,” you clarify. Your chest aches at the thought of just leaving behind all the friends you’d made, the life you had started in this city. The thought of already beginning to preemptively tear it down was enough to dampen your mood worse than the steam of the shower was doing to your hair, “I don’t know. Who cares about the future? What are you doing with your money?” 

He’s about to squirt some of the shampoo into the palm of his hand when you suddenly snatch it from him, holding up a finger and twirling it in a demanding manner. He’s shocked, but he turns for you regardless, even bending his knees as he gets the message. 

He doesn’t question the fact that you’re about to wash his hair. No protests towards something so domestic between previously sworn enemies. 

“I wasn’t lying earlier,” he starts just as you have lathered up your palms and set aside the shampoo on the shower ledge, fingertips digging right into his scalp. Even with the slight bend in his posture, your arms have to stretch to reach the crown of his head, “A new bike or guitar would be nice but– Oh,” a particular scratch of your nails has him faltering in his words, throwing his head back a bit more and humming. The throb, the ache, the burn returns. “Oh, that’s nice.” 

“Keep talking, pretty boy,” you murmur as he hums even louder. 

“Well, I… It’s not a lot of money, y’know? I mean, it is. But it also isn’t. Am I making any sense? Fuck, that feels good,” he stumbles across his point as your fingers continue small circles, and you already know without looking that his eyes have fluttered shut. 

The pit of your stomach can only rally, twisting and tumbling at his satisfaction. Something so domestic and something you had started with sweet intentions was quickly derailing, but you couldn’t be bothered to care. 

You have him. But you don’t have him. The same type of conundrum he faces with the amount of money promised to the both of you if you were to survive these hours. 

“You’re making sense,” you promise with a shy grin you know he can’t see, “Like, I know the money won’t pay off all my debts or college tuition, but it’s a good start. Anyways, as you were saying?” 

Both of you struggle to focus as he continues on, melting even further into your touch, “I dunno. Maybe if I have anything leftover, I’ll send it to my uncle.” 

His voice is strained as he’s occupied with the feeling of your hands against his scalp, and you know it’s a throwaway sentence, but the small detail of his life you’ve been awarded doesn’t go unnoticed.

Uncle? Why uncle? 

“You in debt to your uncle over a bad night of gambling or somethin’?” you try to joke as you finally release your fingertips from his scalp. Your palms come down on his shoulders as you spin him slowly, encouraging him to keep his head tipped back as he lets the water wash away the suds produced. 

Surprisingly, his shampoo doesn’t smell like boy. It’s akin to green apples, maybe something smoother beneath it all like coconut. Something sweet and something innocent. 

Maybe that’s what has him being so open to you as he explains, “I’ll always be in debt to him, but not for gambling. He raised me. My folks… weren’t the best. I owe everything to that man.” 

There are no good words to respond with. You suddenly feel selfish for pushing him to admit it, and for making that joke to begin with. 

But he only cracks open his eyes as the suds are mostly gone, looking at you through squinty eyes as he grins, “Guess I’m the boner killer now, huh?” 

You snort again (fuck, had he always been this funny?) and shake your head, finally glimpsing below his hips. 

Ironic of him to say that he was a boner killer when there he was, harder than ever for you, tip pink and glistening in a taunt towards you. 

You were both going to Hell. You were standing in his shower, talking about his uncle, both far too horny for the topic of conversation. 

“Modern day Bonnie and Clyde, but make it horny,” you manage to get out, still staring at him and resisting the urge to reach out and start something you didn’t know how to finish, “Does talking about money always get you this hard?” 

“Bonnie and Clyde were robbers, not killers,” he corrects you, “And why, yes. How did you know? Do you plan to use this lethal information against me again later?” 

A cavern in your chest screams out, when is later? Later within the next four hours, or later within the next year? Will you ever even give me a chance to use this against you again? 

You laugh along with his joke instead. 

“Absolutely. Also, who the fuck knows that much about Bonnie and Clyde?” 

You make him turn around again, and repeat a similar process with the conditioner. The entire time, you try to not think about the awareness that the same burn in your own gut is alight in him. 

He shrugs a little, bends a little more to encourage your fingertips back to his scalp. It doesn’t work — you’re focusing the conditioner on the drier ends of his curls. “I do.”

“Well, that’s just weird.” 

You work in silence as you finish threading the conditioner through and detangling his hair with just your fingers. You don’t immediately have him rinse it out, and he takes the opportunity to reward you with the same care, the same domesticity. And just as he hadn’t questioned you, you don’t protest when he manhandles you to spin and face your back to him. You let him indulge you in the same massaging motions that you had just pampered him with, let suds of that sweetness surround you as your eyes shut delicately and you lean your head back into his deliberate touches.

Same care, same domesticity, same sensuality. You never thought washing someone’s hair could be something so intimate until his knuckles are between your locks and your back is brushing up against his chest due to limited space.

“It’s not about the money,” he randomly announces to you once the shampoo has been rinsed out and the conditioner takes its place. “I mean, I figured you knew that, but… still thought I’d say.” 

“Figured as much.”

“I also wasn’t pissing,” he continues to overshare, “I know you figured as much there too.” 

Biting your bottom lip to hold back a grin, you keep the rest of your face relaxed as you nonchalantly ask, “No? What distracted you, then?” 

You can feel every deep breath he takes. The expansion of his chest only presses the two of you closer. Soon, you should both rinse out the conditioner. You should stop wasting water. The two of you should get out of this damn confining space and sleep, do something useful, make the most of the final four hours. 

Instead, you’re letting yourself get lost in billows of steam, and teasing him. And maybe that’s something useful for you. 

“You’re gonna make me say it, aren’t you?” 

You can hear his grin. God, you can hear his grin and those stupid dimples making an appearance without needing to see his face.

“Say what?” you ploy faux innocence. His fingers are still in your hair. He has no reason to continue to comb them through, but they remain there, grazing your scalp and brushing the back of your neck.

His chin meets your shoulder suddenly, his breath on your ear. “What did you call this earlier, sweetheart? I believe you called it… stupid.” 

Right. Stupid. 

Stupid was the ache that resided inside you for him. Stupid was the way your thighs shook from how hard they pressed together from each soft caress of his breath on the shell of your ear. Stupid was the urge to reach your arm around your back and grab onto him, any part of him, and try to pull him as closely as humanly possible — and then some. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

You’re a bad liar. And he loves it.

“Right,” he draws out the single syllable, hands leaving your hair, drifting at sea as they find comfort on your biceps, touch feather light, “You have no idea what I was doing in here. You weren’t staying by the door to see if you could hear me, trying to get a free show.” 

So you had been right in calling the two of you stupid. Neither of you had been very conspicuous. 

“A free show to what?” you keep up the act of innocence and swallow down the delighted hun when his hands move down your arms. You’re fully flush to his chest now, almost to the point of leaning your weight back against him.

“To me touching myself to you,” bold, crass words leave his lips, “To me fucking my fist to the thought of you. Squeezing my fist around my cock, trying to make it feel like that sweet pussy.” 

Your knees nearly buckle. You try to play it cool, “Oh? Is that what you were doing?”

His playful chuckle is the final straw, and his hands now on your waist are the only thing keeping you upright.

“I was.”

“And were you successful?”

How you kept your tone so steady, so even, was lost on you. 

“I wasn’t.”

One hand stays planted on your waist firmly, as if he knows he’s the only thing keeping you from collapsing in this heat between the two of you. The other dares to round to the front of your stomach, fingers splayed and fingertips almost tickling you as he lets them run down the center of your navel. He’s taking his time. Slowly, painfully, his hand travels. Down, down, down. Until his fingertips are grazing right over that fire he built inside you, mere inches from where you need him to touch you most. He has you right where he wants you, and he knows it.

And so he stops. Inches, maybe less, from where your cunt is throbbing for him. 

“Didn’t you say you were good with your fingers?” you’re trying to keep up a cool facade, but it’s becoming useless at this point. Your voice comes out a whine, and your hips subtly buck against empty air to try to encourage his touch lower.

“I did,” he hums directly into your ear. The hand on your waist becomes an arm fully wrapped around your front, and the press of your back to his chest becomes far more intentional. All of it to hold you in place as he moves his hand right over where you want him. He avoids your body’s pleas, and jumps straight to teasing his fingertips over the tops of your thighs. “Wouldn’t you agree?” 

It’s almost funny to remember how flustered he was when he’d first made the comment, how quick he had been to defend it against being something dirtier, only to now be using it against you in anything but an innocent context.

“Please,” the beg falls from your lip as you give up on the game.

It’s a combination of all his gentle touches, the feeling of his curls between your knuckles, the steam that is smothering the two of you without notice, the way you can still feel every damn breath of his. Both through his mouth now softly kissing at the lobe of your ear, and his chest that only presses more tightly to you. That tightening arm around your waist, and the subtle change of position of his knee.

You aren’t expecting it, and your feet slide apart quickly, nearly dropping onto his sweetly placed leg between yours. 

“Please what, sweetheart?” 

You can’t even recall the feeling of hatred you used to get at the nickname. Now, in its place, is something buzzing, something buttery, something contradictory. You’re dizzy with satisfaction from the way he murmurs it directly into your ear. 

“Please touch me,” you gasp when his knee brushes upwards, not quite reaching where you need him. You swear there’s a pulse now, a throbbing cry that would do just about anything to feel those hands on you, “Please, please.” 

You’re losing focus as your thoughts start to fuzz at the edges, suddenly only able to manage the words please and his name.

And it isn’t lost on him. “Look at you. I haven’t even touched you yet, and you’re already going so dumb for me, aren’t you?” 

Your stomach churns, everything in you tightens, and your pride isn’t above dropping yourself down properly onto his knee and grinding. You would if you could — his fucking arm won’t let you.

When you glance down, you realize just how tight his grip is. You can trace each vein along his forearm, catch the white of his knuckles as they curl against you.

He’s holding onto you for dear life, and yet his death grip doesn’t so much as hurt. You only feel safe, you only feel wanted. 

“Please just touch me, Eddie,” you whimper out, not caring about how desperate you sound anymore. You have no shame, no pride, no careful calculations left for the man behind you. 

His hands stop their dance across the apex of your thighs. One moment, you can barely feel his fingertips running over their softness, and the next, it vanishes completely. 

You open your mouth to protest, but all that comes out is a gasp as his fingers are suddenly on your cunt, spreading you apart at a leisurely pace. You move to grab onto his forearm for leverage but he suddenly tsks and stops all of his movements. 

“You can either have me touch you, or you touch me. But you can’t have both, sweetheart. Not right now.” 

Through the haze, you’re unable to use your words to answer, instead cracking your eyes back open and trying to crane your neck to see Eddie properly. But he’s only chuckling into your ear again, arm around your waist tightening. 

“C’mon, baby. Use your words. Which would you rather have?” he taunts, tilting his chin down and letting his nose nuzzle against the peak of your shoulder, lips barely brushing the skin. 

You would have expected to not even catch the subtle feeling of plushness on you right now between your ever-growing frustration and the water still raining down on both of you. But you do; your body is growing acutely aware of every single point of contact between the two of you as the minutes go on. Every inch of your skin is tuned into his touch and where it flows, where it leaves you, where it presses deeper. 

You open your mouth to respond to him, but you can’t. You can’t explain it: there isn’t a tightness in your throat, a pain grasp on your chest, a fear that is swallowing the words whole. It’s the opposite. All of your taut strings have gone slack, waves of surrendering to him having overcome all of your deepest anxieties. In this moment, amongst the white noise of a shitty apartment shower, all that there exists is him. The time limit slips away, the bet is a thing of the past, and the road taken to bring you both here is completely forgotten. 

His touch is able to remain light when he decides to turn you in his arm, the grip once around your waist now pressing into your lower back as you face him. You’re completely malleable for him to do as he wishes. 

Facing him, you watch all of the amusement and cockiness melt away from his features. His smirk goes soft and his face falls in awe, mouth parted as he takes in that look in your eyes. He knows. He knows that in this moment, you are completely defenseless and utterly his. 

You watch all the air leave his lungs, and feel the consequential breath that releases hit the bridge of your nose due to the proximity. “You really are cock drunk for me right now, aren’t you? I haven’t even given it to you yet and you’re just… gone.” 

If you weren’t completely under his spell at this moment, you would have burned with embarrassment down to the bone. 

You just nod. 

With this revelation, his grip on you completely transforms. It’s not just a matter of keeping you upright, but a matter of keeping you tethered to him. As if he’s afraid that the moment he lets go, he loses you. 

If you could find the words, you’d assure him that he wouldn’t. You weren’t something so fleeting, so passing. 

Without words, all you can do is show him. So you press up onto your tip-toes and kiss him. Hard, then soft. Fervently, then patiently. Achingly, and then assuredly. Every flash of contradiction between the two of you and all that has accumulated goes into the kiss as you let him find his breath again, solely by stealing yours. 

“Tell me what you want,” he murmurs against your lips, before his nose rubs against the tip of yours as it begins a journey. Across your cheek, down your jaw, into the crook of your neck. You feel spouts of warm water trickle over his collarbones and against your own. 

This time, you do have the words for him. Or rather, the word for him.

“You.”

There’s no other way to put it. You just want him. 

He pulls back and stares directly into your eyes, his own brown ones swarming with varied emotions. You’re finally able to start deciphering some of them – lust, want, surprise – but not quite all of them yet. 

Before you realize what’s happening, he’s sinking to his knees. Somehow, he’s twisted you so that your back meets the cool tile of the wall, careful in watching the way it supports you during the entirety of his descent. 

He doesn’t say a word, his eyes doing all the talking necessary through wet lashes as he guides you to balance a foot on the edge of the tub and hook your knee onto his shoulder. Just as you realize what he’s doing, his mouth is on your hot cunt. 

For all the talk and thoughts about just how good his fingers were, you seemed to have forgotten just how good his mouth was. 

His tongue works away at your clit, tracing patterns before alternating to suck it sharply between his lips. He seems to have forgotten about his earlier threat, or maybe he’s just feeling merciful, as your hands instinctively reach down and wind into the roots of his wet hair. Curls matt in your grasp instantly. A harsh tug, and he’s moving his attention elsewhere, nose now nudging your clit as he circles around your entrance, pulling whines from deep within you at the teasing. 

“Eddie,” you throw your head back hard enough that you’re sure that there will be an ache to feel once all is said and done, “Fuck. Right there.”

“I see someone’s found their words,” his voice is muffled and you can feel his smirk rather than see it. 

It’s a damn pretty sight. Him, on his knees, wet curls plastering down his shoulders and back as his face is buried between your thighs. 

You can trace over each indent of muscle across his skin through half-lidded eyes, memorize the way it looks dazzling with the moisture, watch as water pools where his fingers dig into your thighs to keep you balanced. 

When his tongue finally slips inside of you, slow and stretching as the tip of his nose digs deeper into your clit, you swear you’re seeing stars. You were going to snarkily reply, but you don’t have the capacity to reply with anything other than chants of his name. Mixtures of praying to him and praying to God fall from your lips alongside curses. All muddled, all strings of whimpers and moans as he continues to bring you closer to your edge. When he finally resorts to bringing his hand back into the mix, sinking two fingers into your cunt with little warning as he returns to lazy work on your clit, you gasp out – your body lurches forward as your curl into him and your back leaves the now sticky, warm wall. 

The arm that was wrapped around your lifted leg to help you balance is quick to throw over your hips, keeping half your body still pressed to the wall. “Careful, princess.” 

Each word reverberates through you, both physically and somewhere deep in your mind, sending you even further reeling as your fingers grab onto him deeper and try to press him impossibly close. 

Princess. Somewhere along crossing all these lines, you have ventured into new territory. A territory where the nicknames get under your skin in a brand new way, slipping into your subconscious for the better rather than arising any irritation. 

Baby, princess, sweetheart. 

You’ll take whatever you can get from him. 

“Wouldn’t want you slipping and falling,” he murmurs as he pulls back, face now slick with you rather than the steam or water, “Can’t have you ruining that pretty face, getting blood all over my bathroom, now can we?” 

He’s right. God, you fucking hate when he’s right. As much as every part of your body is screaming for him to take you right here against the shower wall, you know it’s not a good idea. And you’ve really, really succumbed to enough bad ideas in these last nineteen hours. 

“Bed,” you manage to gasp out, quick to detangle your fingers from his hair and try to grab onto his shoulders without purchase due to the water still tumbling down, “Bed, now.” 

He gets the message. Rises to his feet and lets your leg fall back down, shaking as he turns to cut the shower abruptly. Without asking, he’s the one to exit into the fierce cold of the apartment first, grabbing at the flesh of your hips and guiding you out along with him. He doesn’t even bother with towels – once he has you out of that potential death trap of a tub, his lips are on yours, nipping and passionate as you breathe him in. He’s the one that maneuvers the two of you out of the bathroom, you don’t even notice when he reaches behind himself to open the door, impressively never tripping as he walks backwards and keeps your lips on his. 

It occurs to you that this is how you two work best. No overshadow of being honest with each other, no clouds of feelings getting in the way. And yet, somehow, it’s the most vulnerable you’ve managed to feel with him yet. 

You don’t want it to only be this easy when both your clothes are off. You want it to be this easy in the early mornings that you wake him up for work, you want it this easy over late night take-out and horror movie marathons. You want more cigarettes at sunset with him, soft confessionals over a rising sun. 

You can’t keep pretending that nothing has changed. You simply can’t. The fierce promise of his protection, the way his eyes stay trained on you even in the busiest of rooms. Nothing could ever erase the blooms left from him hooking his pinky with yours at the parking garage. 

All of the night is flashing through your mind, and even in the trance he has you under, you’re seeing with perfect clarity. 

It’s why just as the backs of your knees connect with his mattress, before he can throw you down and continue what was started in the shower, you’re pushing your palms against his wet chest and forcing him to look into your eyes. 

“If we do this,” you shakily begin, watching his chest rise and fall in sync with yours. Once you say these words, you can’t take them back. You’re vividly aware of it before you continue to force your voice to come out the most steadily it has the entire night, “It changes everything.” 

He blinks, eyes owlish. Once, twice. More of that emotion you finally can single out but never identify swirls like storm clouds in his vision. You wait for him to run, for him to take it all back. You wait for it all to be over – for him to deliver the final blow and leave you to collect the rubble and blood money so you can pretend this night never happened. 

“Okay.” 

Those aren’t the words of a fatal blow. You think they might send you reeling even worse, though. 

“Okay?” you clarify. If your tongue wasn’t so heavy, you’d say more. Remind him of what exactly it means to change everything. 

It seems he already knows as he parrots back, “Okay.” 

Lips meet again, and this time, they’re charged with everything. With a promise of change and a promise that maybe there isn’t a ridiculous time limit here. There is no doomsday clock between the two of you. When the clock strikes 3 PM, neither of you will vanish into thin air. 

You let him throw you back onto the bed. Your bare back meets the surprisingly soft sheets, and they erupt in the scent of Eddie. Cigarettes, a hint of weed, whatever cologne he seems to douse himself in. You can even pinpoint his shampoo amongst the fragrance now. 

It’s no longer the smell of boy that you once ran from. His hand is behind your back, but not trapped. It’s there willingly and it is caressing every inch of you that he can find, tracing out any dimples in your back he can discover as he lets your legs curl up onto his hips, kisses dappling your neck, jaw, and lips alike. 

Your vines stretch high and proud, and drink in his waves with every passing of his breath on your skin that raises goosebumps. 

You want to live here forever. In the feel of him pausing right before his cock presses into you, in the way his face scrunches up and his mouth falls agape, the haze now spreading from your mind and across both of you. Nameless chants and pleads for what was already both in the palm of your hands before you even knew what to do with it. The roll of his hips and the way his wet skin sticks to your own. Your heels digging into him, bringing him in closer, closer, closer.

Every time, it has felt this way. Something beneath the surface that has you surrendering over yourself. He has hurt you, time and time again, and you’ve let your knives be just as sharp – but the wounds scab over now when it’s just the two of you like this. 

You’re best like this for a reason. Because for once, neither of you are overthinking it. You are vulnerable and you are bare, not just physically but emotionally. Honesty isn’t a request; it is a given. You don’t just have him, you know him. Across oceans and across gardens, across midnight skies and across soft morning light. 

You have him. You know him. 

It’s enough. 

Smokey bars. His protection. Slamming doors and the clicking of locks released. The night air surrounding you and the warmth of his back as you cling to him on a motorcycle that seems to be going faster than light in your memories. That parking garage, and that hook of his pinky – a way to get closer, but also a whisper of a promise. 

He’s bled for you. He’s bled from you. 

This changes everything. 

When his hips movements become sloppy, when the knot in your stomach tightens one last time, when your nails dig into his back and leave their mark, you know it to be true. 

Everything, everything, changes. 

Eddie never really hated you, never really could, and you realize now that the feeling is mutual. 

—

You hadn’t considered exactly what the aftermath would be when Eddie first dragged you out of the shower, but you surely never could have imagined the scene now playing out. 

Him, on his back, content and humming a song you’re too tired to ask him about. His fingers are trailing mindlessly up and down your spine as you splay out across his chest. You both probably need another shower, but neither of you are willing to leave his bed for it. 

It’s not you who remembers the photo. No, you’re tired, one foot already in the door of sleep as you curl yourself tighter into his side. 

He doesn’t use your phone this time. You didn’t even realize his outdated flip phone had a camera on it. You’re not even sure if you dreamt the soft click that sounds like a camera as you nuzzle deeper into his chest.

“Everything,” he whispers, just as the edges of your consciousness begin to blacken, “Yeah, this changes everything.”

Your last thought is a curious one; will he send the photo he just took? 

Would he dare to admit to everyone how everything has changed?

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☀︎︎ Luke Castellan x reader

a collection of short stories all tying together

majority can be read as stand-alones..

☼ moodboards…

- luke’s moodboard

- readers moodboard

- overall series moodboard

➾ 𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇.. You show Luke what it means to be loved and to give love.

➾ Fluff, Apollo reader, mutual pining, eventual relationship, canon divergent (luke does not betray anyone because it hurt me too much to write that.)

✵ prologue

Slow motion love potion - Luke Castellan has returned from his quest, but he refuses to see anyone. Too bad you’ve been assigned to watch over him.

✵ PART ONE

About you - You discover just how accident prone Luke Castellan is.

I keep these longings locked - You discover just how flirtatious Luke really is.

The sweetest torture - You discover jealousy.

When you know, you know - You discover these feelings probably won’t just go away.

Foolish Lovers game - You discover that Luke does remember that night.

The Alchemy - You discover that everyone at camp can tell. Everyone except for Luke.

In a world of boys (he’s a gentleman) - You discover just how easy it is to make an Ares kid angry. (And Luke looks really good when he’s bloody.)

Let the light in (Luke POV) - Luke discovers the three times he denied his feelings for you, and the one time he accepted them.

Deep fears that the world would divide us - You discover Luke’s anger towards the Gods, and maybe your own hidden anger as well.

Secret Moments in a crowded room - You discover that maybe your feelings aren’t just your own.

Is it cool that I said all that? - You discover just how hard it is to keep a secret. Good thing Percy Jackson has a big mouth.

✵ THE IN-BETWEEN

Can I go where you go? - You discover that you want Luke to come home with you every year.

Hold on to the Memories (Luke POV) - Luke discovers that maybe Christmas isn’t all that bad.

✵ PART TWO

This is me trying - You discover just how stressful things really are as The Apollo Cabins head counselor.

Meet me in the Afterglow - You discover just how much you don’t deserve Luke.

The Lakes - You discover that you enjoy the quietness that comes with love.

The Albatross - You discover that you don’t like the newest camp arrival all that much.

Is it casual now? - You discover jealousy. Again.

You’re losing me - You discover that Eliza has a lot to say.

Sad, Beautiful, Tragic - You discover that Luke deserves better.

How did it end? - You discover that gossip spreads around camp way too quickly.

Loss Of My Life - You discover that seeing Luke around camp might be more than you can bare.

We Were Happy - You discover that while the kids may have good intentions, you will always get burned.

Hits Different - You discover that drinking while in the midst of a breakup is never a good idea.

Forever Winter (Luke POV) - Luke discovers just how hard it is to let you go.

You All Over Me - You discover why there is a no maiming rule.

Timeless - You discover that maybe you were enough for Luke after all.

You are in love - You discover forever.

[colorfulbard]

Sacrifice

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Summary♥︎ A forced visit to Whole Cake Island takes a turn for the worst when Big Mom is experiencing hunger pangs while Katakuri is away on a mission.

Pairing♥︎ Katakuri x Fem!Reader

warnings♥︎ Reader has kids with Katakuri, angst at the end

a/n♥︎ I've been starving for some more Katakuri fics so I had to take matters into my own hands. I put that warning because I know some people don't like reading fanfic where the reader has kids. Don't worry there will be a part 2!

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People always say, "practice makes perfect". That means, the more you do something, the better you'll be. Like baking, for example. If you practice making the same for over twenty years, you would be considered an expert. You might even be running through the steps on autopilot.

But, no matter how many times you've dealt with this scenario, it never became easier. Honestly, it felt harder to deal with each time.

An easy going saying like, "practice makes perfect", doesn't apply when dealing with a tyrannical emperor with deadly hunger pangs.

The steps taken when it began never changed. All high ranking officials were to report to the surveillance room, turn on the video snails, and give orders to anyone available at the Chateau.

Those down at the Chateau were to remain clear of Big Mom and evacuate any and all innocent citizens.

After many, many years, those steps were done in no time at all. And yet, the sick feeling of fear in your stomach never subsided. Your hands were pinned under your arms to keep from biting your nails. Too bad that didn't stop you from biting your lip instead.

You truly hated traveling to the main island for this reason. You longed for your home, back at Komugi island. The one you shared with your husband, Katakuri, and your fifteen children. Peace and quiet may be impossible to come by, but dealing with a child's temper tantrum was preferable to Big Mom's.

Having to deal with this on your own only made your bitter feelings towards the Whole Cake Chateau grow. The initial plan was to travel together, you and Katakuri. He knew how nervous being alone with his mother made you. But those plans were squandered when Big Mom ordered all ministers gather ingredients for her blasted wedding cake. Then, to make matters worse, he was called away on another mission.

Now, because of that string of unfortunate events, he somehow convinced you to bring your two oldest sons with you, Warabiko and Manju. For some reason, you had said yes. Probably just to ease his mind. In return, your mind was not at ease. It was filled to the brim with anxiety.

You took a slow, deep breath. "And we're sure it's not possible to catch the croquembouche that checked out this morning?" You asked slowly to keep your voice steady.

"It doesn't seem plausible. Either way it'd be a half hour."

You wanted to open your mouth to argue, but it was too difficult. The screams of the terrified homies made it impossible to focus. Those screams were keeping you in a continuous state of unease. You couldn't be selfish and mute the video feed. It was imperative for everyone to hear what was happening.

Big Mom was getting further away from the current video snail. It was time to play the waiting game and see when the feed would switch. You looked down at the floor for a moment of respite from staring at the rampaging Emperor.

You clenched your eyes shut. The screams were distant now, but you could still hear them. Your mind unwillingly imagined it as your sons. You knew they were somewhere safe, away from harm. You made sure of that before you reported to the surveillance room. Even so, as the screams continued, your mind took you the worst possible scenario.

You let your head tilt down to face the floor. At least then, if you somehow managed to open your eyes, you wouldn't be facing the screen.

'Kata... Please, come back to me soon..' Tears began to form behind your eyelids when you thought of him. You needed him to be here.

A hand softly landed on your shoulder in an attempt to not startle you. You took that as a nonverbal sign that the video feed switched. You glanced over your shoulder to see Tamago's hand, but he wasn't looking at you. His eyes were locked onto the screen, his mouth agape.

Your brows furrowed, he always seemed much more coolheaded than you in these scenarios, so, why did he look so spooked? Before checking the footage, you glanced at everyone in the room. Their expression matched Tamago's. The air in the room was tense, as if your anxiety had seeped out of your body and infected everyone else.

You finally looked towards the screen. The scene was the same except Big Mom was getting further away. Homies were still trampled and distant screams could be heard as she trampled over more. But you didn't even notice any of those things.

When you spotted what everyone else was staring at, you froze. Your muscles were locked.

Right there, where Big Mom was stomping through moments ago, stood your eldest son. You couldn't see his face, his back was facing away from the snail. He held onto his sword tightly. It was a gift from you and Katakuri on his eighteenth birthday.

Your hand moved on its own to cover your mouth in shock, the other moved to your stomach. Were you breathing? You couldn't feel anything.

Your head shook from side to side. "No." You whimpered.

Static flickered through the screen and then showed an enraged Big Mom rampaging. You breathing hitched when the sight of your son was gone. The silent scene of your son's determination was replaced by helpless homies getting eaten or stomped on.

Every second that was wasted staring, your son was getting closer to Big Mom. Without wasting anymore time, you pushed Tamago's hand from your shoulder and ran out of the room.

The state of the room remained the same as you left. Everyone stayed silent as they continued watching the footage. Too anxious to see what might happen next.

~

When Warabiko finally reached Big Mom, he was horrified. All of citizens of Whole Cake were terrified, running for their lives lest they be squashed under her heel. He had never seen this happen. He now understood why his family's trips to Whole Cake never lasted more than a day.

He remembered that whenever a tea party was held for one his newest siblings, you demanded to leave as soon as it was over. No matter how much his siblings whined about being tired and wanting to sleep on land, you put your foot down. This was his first time being here for over a day, much to your chagrin.

When he grew older and more mature, you told him stories of his grandmother's famous hunger pangs. The stories were short and brief. He could tell you didn't like talking about them. He finally understood why as he watched Big Mom rampage with reckless abandon.

Something in his gut told him to turn back now and hide with his brother. He ignored that feeling. He couldn't stand by and do nothing. With his father away on a mission, the duty of evacuating citizens and calming Big Mom fell on his shoulders. He was going to make his father proud.

Fighting her was out of question, but he could try and reason with her. She had to be willing to listen to his first grandchild, right?

Her path of destruction was never-ending as he got closer to her. He had to be careful. It was clear that when she's this hungry, all of her sense was gone. She didn't care who or what was in her way during her search.

It didn't even matter if it was an innocent little girl. She hadn't even tripped over the rubble, she had tripped over her feet trying to keep up with her mother. The mother hadn't even noticed, too terrified to look back.

The girl shakily stood on her feet and rubbed the debris from her knees. Her heard swayed from side to side to try and spot her mother. She had no idea Big Mom's foot was inches away from crushing her.

Warabiko immediately lunged towards Big Mom's feet and grabbed the girl. He landed on his feet and placed the girl on the ground.

The girl looked up and smiled up at her savior. "Thank you so much!" She cheered, "that was fun!"

She acted like she wasn't just moments away from being killed. Warabiko smothered his feeling of shock down and sighed. "Run away from her and find your mother. It's not safe," he instructed.

The girl nodded with a giggle and ran off, far from Big Mom.

Whilst Warabiko had dealt with the girl, Big Mom had busied herself with eating any homie or building in her way. Her anger grew as each thing she shoved down her throat tasted nothing like her craving.

"Where is it?!" She whined, "where is my croquembouche?!" She punched another building. Nothing but croquembouche could placate her.

"Mama, please! You just have to wait! The chefs will be here soon!"

Warabiko recognized the voice as one of his uncle's, Mont-d'Or. Another one of his uncle's and aunt led citizens away in the opposite direction.

Nothing Mont-d'Or said got through her to her. He was too far away for her to care. Warabiko's jaw clenched and he ran to stand in front of her, arms out. "Grandma, please! You have to stop!" He pleaded.

Big Mom paused and locked eyes with the source of the sound. She snarled and clenched her fist, "who's there?" She questioned.

Warabiko's brows furrowed and he could feel himself grow warm. "I-It's me! Grandma, it's Warabiko!" His voice grew higher in pitch, his hands began to shake, "don't you recognize me?" The question was practically a whisper.

Big Mom growled and swung at where he stood. Warabiko was able to dodge, but not without losing his footing. He fell onto scattered rubble and grunted when it dug into his back.

Mont-d'Or's mouth was open wide in shock the moment he saw Warabiko enter the fray. "M-Mama! Wait!" He pleaded, coming closer. "You have to stop! It's Warabiko! Your grandson!"

Big Mom paid Mont-d'Or's pleading no mind. She was still infuriated that her search for croquembouche was interrupted. "Where is my croquembouche boy?!" She demanded. "All I want is my croquembouche!" She swung at the building next to Warabiko and ate the contents she managed to grab.

The remnants of her snack flew all around. Warabiko turned over on his side and cradled his head. He could hear it land all around him.

Mont-d'Or clenched his jaw as he watched Warabiko cradle himself. He couldn't go over there and try to save him, he'd end up dying too. He just hoped Warabiko was a fast runner.

"Warabiko, you have to run! You can't reason with when she's like this!" He yelled.

Warabiko lifted his head and looked towards his uncle. Judging by the way Mont-d'Or stared at him, he was sure his terror was plain as day. He couldn't move thanks to that terror gripping his muscles. It was affecting his brain, not allowing him to choose between fight or flight. Maybe Big Mom wouldn't pay him any mind if he stayed silent.

She was still there, right behind him. Warabiko didn't have to turn his head to know that. He could practically feel her breathing down his neck. The only part of his body that managed to move was his spine as shivers went down it. She wasn't moving away from him. Her gaze was burning into his back.

Big Mom's breathing grew stronger and he could smell the sweets emanating from it.

Warabiko somehow willed his head to move back to look at his grandmother. His next breath was caught in his throat when he locked eyes with her.

Her scowl was gone. In its place was a sickening grin. Her eyes were unrecognizable, they were glazed over and crazed. Drool was dripping down her chin and she stared at him.

She leaned closer to his face. "Life..." She whispered, giggling like a mad woman, "or treat?"

Warabiko couldn't answer even if he wanted to. The words were caught in his throat, choking him. He could only watch as his grandmother raised her first high in the air.

He knew what his grandmother's fruit was capable of, his father had told him. His father had probably hoped he would take it as a warning to stay away. Too bad he didn't listen.

Everything began to slow down. His mother's first was taking minutes to reach him and Mont-d'Or's yelling was indistinguishable. Typically, these were the moments where one's life would flash before their eyes. Oddly enough, that didn't happen. He only saw one thing. It was you. His sweet mother, smiling down at him. Your eyes crinkled as you smiled. They were the same color as his own. That was the only feature you two shared.

From his point of view, he could see his hands attempt to grab your face. They were so small here. He must've been a baby. This was a memory he didn't even realize he had.

You were giggling at his futile attempts. You brushed his cheek with your finger and began to sing.

La la lu

La la lu

Oh, my little star sweeper

Your voice was so soft and sweet. His eyes began to droop as your singing lulled him to sleep. The warmth of your arms was seeping through the soft blanket touching his skin. He recognized the blanket. It was his favorite, handmade by you. Each of siblings had one similar to it, a different color for each one.

He could feel you moving him about the room, swaying him. Through his half lidded eyes, he could see his father standing at the corner of the room. The scarf was gone, and he was smiling.

It was such a nice, warm memory. It was perfect for falling asleep. Warabiko kept forcing his eyes open to stay awake, but your voice was so comforting. It reminded him of the warm donuts you made, fresh out of the oven on a quiet morning.

There was no harm in closing his eyes, he'll see you again when he woke up. His small body went limp in your arms as his eyes began to close without fight.

His body was mere milliseconds away from relaxing into a comfy sleep. Until a sharp jab at his side forced him awake. The warmth of the memory was gone. Whatever it was that hit him launched far from where he previously was.

Warabiko was on high alert now. Big Mom was still angry, still searching for croquembouche. He shakily stood on his feet with a hand on the side where he was jabbed. He glanced back to where he remembered seeing his uncle's and aunt.

Physically, he could see they weren't hurt. But their faces held a different story. They were terrified, all color was drained from their faces. It was odd considering Mont-d'Or and Opera's skin tone.

Warabiko dared follow their gaze and he soon wished he hadn't. His heart stopped and ice filled his veins, making him freeze in place.

He didn't even notice nor hear Big Mom stomp away in the opposite direction, demanding croquembouche. In that moment, in his mind, everything was quiet.

A mirror image of his eyes was staring straight into his own. That familiar color he always saw in the mirror was drained away, and only white remained.

The only movement that was seen wasn't a sign of life. It was just your body falling to the ground. The sound of it reverberated throughout the whole Chateau.

Warabiko would hear that sound in his nightmares.

[19burstraat]

I know I've definitely seen posts abt this before, but I can't get over how much the 'Jordie' in Kaz's head is just... not Jordie. Like obviously it's not, bc he's dead, but it's also not even accurate to Kaz's memory of him.

Like these are the sorts of things that are attributed to 'the voice of' Jordie:

Jordie had come for his vengeance at last. It's time to pay your debts, Kaz. You never get something for nothing. But he could hear Jordie laughing. No, little brother. No one is stronger. You've cheated death too many times. Greed may do your bidding, but death serves no man.

While Jordie was no stranger to grandstanding statements, and one might argue Kaz actually picked that habit up from him ('The city is winning so far, but you'll see who wins in the end' for example), these aren't the sorts of things he'd have said to his kid brother??? Yes, he could be arrogant, and he's snappy with / acts superior to Kaz a few times, but as far as we see, Jordie is mostly very good with Kaz; he has a remarkable tolerance for/patience with him, especially for a newly orphaned thirteen year old. Kaz admittedly comes across as a quiet kid and is pretty compliant; he rarely talks to anyone except Jordie and Saskia, he seems to just watch for most of their interactions with 'Hertzoon', he largely does as he's told and doesn't wander off, but he's still like... nine, and wants to do stuff like see the magicians and make all the dogs walk at once, and sulks when Jordie stops him from doing stuff and makes him stay inside. We also see Jordie pretty frequently lying to Kaz to try and make him feel better. But this mental-Jordie is not a comforting presence. The start of SOC is literally set up to make you think Jordie is someone that Kaz has swindled or betrayed, that he fears will come back for vengeance, so it's a big 'oh wait wtf' moment when you realise that he's not a rival gang member or anything, he's just his brother, and it wasn't his fault. But you wouldn't know it! Kaz wants 'Jordie's' voice silenced 'forever' and seems afraid of it, almost— at least, it turns up in vulnerable moments. He thinks that 'paying his debt' (i.e. taking out Rollins) will get rid of it. (Sorry hon. It won't.) Kaz thinks at one point that he still sees Jordie as "infallible" and looks at him through the eyes of the child he'd been, but in other scenes he's glove-puppeting 'his brother' to punish himself. I guess he still sees Jordie, even in death, as the ultimate authority figure, and to cope with guilt/stress/grief he imagines that this is something he's being compelled or commanded to do, and that when he does it he'll have redeemed himself, when really it's just desperate flailing to get the closure he couldn't have. I'm sure he knows goddamn well that this isn't actually what Jordie wanted for him ('You'll go to school') and that's why the mental 'Jordie' is really off, because Kaz knows its not really the will of his brother— it's just him. It talks like him! He doesn't even try to imitate the real Jordie! It's just Kaz, alone— but he's never really been able to come to terms with that.

[oneforthemunny]

Mafia!eddie Break my heart (pls put it back together) angst+fluff

you ask and you shall receive. i am not liable for the pain and suffering this blurb may cause. lol. also this is pre- bea obviously. angst with a little fluff (little unresolved). also contains mafia themes and some mentions of violence but nothing graphic.

"Would you ever... want kids?"

Eddie's body went still, rigid like it did when he opened the door and saw a fed standing there, or when he saw Gareth battered and bleeding after being jumped and robbed by a rival. A fear that ran through his body and left him unmoving, body snapping into a survival mode that was rare in the comfort of his own bedroom- rare with you.

You looked up, brows furrowing in the dim light of the room. "Ed?" You hummed, taking in his stoic expression, cold and unmoving. "What? Did I-I said something wrong?"

"No," Eddie swallowed, throat tight but voice coming out even. "No, I just- Where's this coming from?" He looked down at you, eyes scanning over every single detail of your features.

You looked down sheepishly towards your hand rested on Eddie's chest, engagement ring bright, glistening in the moonshine that crept in between the curtains. "I dunno." You mumbled, burning with embarrassment. "I just- I was just thinking about it the other day."

"I thought we talked about it." Eddie's tone was harsher than he meant it to, throat strangling his words.

"I know," You mumbled, face falling in disappointment. "Just... Never mind."

"No," Eddie shook his head. "Baby, you know... You know I don't want kids. I thought I was pretty clear when I told you that." Early in your relationship, what felt like a lifetime ago, when you were just getting serious, when it was all becoming real, you'd brought it up. He'd told you that he didn't want them, didn't want to be like his dad and bring a kid into this "shit show".

That was so long ago. Things had changed, you and Eddie had gone through so much, engaged and planning to go through so much more. You thought maybe, just maybe, he might have changed his mind.

The look on his face, bordering on horrified, told you he hadn't.

"You were, just- I'm sorry, just forget it." You huffed, pushing off his chest, rolling over to your side of the bed, desperately trying to ignore the burning in your throat.

"Hey, c'mon," Eddie's hand reached out for yours, trying to stop you. "Don't do this. Talk to me. Where's this coming from?"

You swallowed down your tears, trying to even your own voice. "It's just," Your voice shook. "I just thought maybe you... you changed your mind." You looked at Eddie with watery eyes.

"Baby," Eddie cooed, hand sliding up your arm comfortingly. "I'm not changing my mind on that."

Your heart fell, pulling your arm away from him harshly. "Wait, hey- Where are you going?" Eddie huffed, leaning to smack on the light.

You fumbled out of bed, reaching for your nightgown that had been discarded on the ground, hoping Eddie couldn't hear the sobs you were trying to muffle.

"What- Why are you so upset?" Eddie furrowed his brows. "What is going on with you? You knew how I felt-"

"-Yeah, I did." You snapped. "But I didn't think you'd be so- so final on it." It was stupid, you knew it was, stupid to ever think for a moment that he would change his mind. But he'd been so good with your nephew, so sweet and so... so natural when he held him and rocked him. You'd just thought maybe, maybe it would be different now.

"Was I not clear?" Eddie scoffed lightly, throwing a hand up. "Did I say something that made you think I'd changed my mind?"

"No, you- just forget it." You snapped, wiping your tears away quickly. "Just fucking forget it."

"Wait, hold on," Eddie stood, voice booming when you started to leave. "What's going on? What's your problem?"

"Nothing!" You shrilled, refusing to look at him. "I'm just sleeping in the guest room-"

"-No, you're not." Eddie shook his head, finality in his tone. "Turn around and talk to me. Tell me what's going on. Where this is coming from."

Your lip wobbled, a wave of tears threatening to spill over that you tried to swallow down. "Y-You know, you don't have to be so final about it." You turned, glaring at him. "Like having a baby with me would be the worst thing in the world."

Eddie gawked. "Did I say that? I never fucking said that, so don't start putting words in my mouth-"

"-You didn't have to say it!" You yelled. "I mean, I get why you were so passionate about it before, but now... You're telling me you don't ever even think about it? You've never once imagined what it would be like to have a baby with me?"

Eddie's breath stuttered, mind blanking for a moment. Of course, he had. From the moment you met the boys, cooed over them and spoiled them, all he thought about was how good of a mom you'd be. How good of a mom you'd be if you had your own little baby.

"N-No." Eddie stammered lightly, heart lurching when your face fell, choking on a sob, turning towards the door. "Wait, wait, don't- come back here." Flinging the blanket off the bed, scrambling after you.

The dogs were in the hallway, Vecna and Lucifer following you closely, ears high on alert for who caused your upset. "Baby, come back here. I-I didn't- it's not you."

"N-No," Your chest shook with sobs, stomping down the stairs. "It's fine."

"Don't do this, just-just listen to me. It's not you. It's never been you, it's me. You know it's me, and-and this." Eddie frantically motioned to the space around him, a house bought with blood money, money he'd gotten from his job.

You didn't reply, a sniffly, wet sob his only response. The dogs footsteps blending with yours, down the hall and to the guest room, the door snapping shut echoing through the house.

Eddie ran a hand down his face, taking a slow, deep breath to try and control his flustered emotions, trying to gather his racing thoughts before he went to try and make things right, unsure of where to start.

[themindofachronicdaydreamer]

The Cat Distribution System

fluffy fluff fluff plot: you find a stray kitten and bring it home to Gojo content: alludes to smut, cats, mentions of violence (curses), established relationship, reader referred to as girlfriend word count: 3.1k satoru gojo x reader note: thank you for readingggg :) this is my first so be patient with me. it is purely self indulgent & I am still learning and trying to improve! not proofread super thoroughly so sorry for mistakes! love you <3

Of anything in the world, Gojo was certain he was cats were your favorite. 

This might be able to explain why you start smiling at your phone every time there’s a cat on it. 

This may explain your constant stream of texts to him of pictures of the most adorable cats from the internet or funny TikToks starring kittens being absolutely hilarious. 

It could explain why you constantly dragged him to places that have cats, whether it be a pet shelter or a newly popular cat cafe in the area. 

This might explain why you absolutely broke down when seeing a stray little kitten crying in an alleyway of Tokyo. 

It may explain how, in the middle of a mission, you dropped everything to go to the nearest convenience store, bought a bulk-sized pack of churu sticks to feed the lonesome kitten, and gave it all the pets it ever wanted. 

That also may explain why you just arrived back home earlier than expected - but with a cat. 

Walking into the door of yours and Gojo’s shared apartment, you shout, “I’m home!”

Gojo, who is sitting on the couch watching an old movie while eating a bag of gummy worms, is confused. It was his day off and he had been bored all day, not having you or anyone else available to bother relentlessly for his own entertainment. He had gone for a walk, tried a new restaurant, and came back home just as bored and with many more sweets. He could always sense your specific cursed energy from afar, so he knew you were nearing him before you even reached the door. While he’s in no way complaining about having more time with you, he’s still curious as to what cut the mission short. Before he could vocalize his question, you continue on. 

“Satoru! Where are you? You’ll never guess what happened. You’re a dad now!” You excitedly wonder aloud, knowing he’s home and that will catch his attention if you hadn’t already. 

Gojo is immediately confused. His mind runs a through a long list of possibilities to solve what riddle you just set in front of him. A dad? Yeah, you two may practice creating kids every now and then, but he was certain you weren’t pregnant the past nine whole months. He would know that, right? Wouldn’t it be noticeable? Not in a bad way, just in the nature of growing a human in you and the way your body would adjust to that. He’s sure you would tell him you were pregnant though, or that he would figure it out before eventual labor. Well, he knows you would tell him. You definitely would. You’ve talked about that before. So what isn’t he getting here?

“Sweetheart?” Gojo calls for you while quickly standing up and making his way toward the hallway at the entrance. He stops not too far from the couch when he hears a little squeak. 

Was that… a meow?

He doesn’t have time to think through the noise as you exit the hall and turn the corner toward him. A tiny fur ball is cradled in your arms, eyes wide in curiosity of its new surroundings. Immediately, any question in Gojo's mind was answered.

“Meet Suki!” Your face lights up as you move your arms toward your boyfriend, displaying the cat the best you can. Gojo smiles widely as he looks at your new little bundle of joy - a likely malnourished tiny kitten with a goopy right eye, dirty fur, and potentially (probably) fleas. Immediately he starts fawning over it. 

“Awwwwwwwwwe!“ Gojo said coos as he tilts his head and forms grabby hands reaching toward you and the kitten. With the sudden movement, the claws of the kitten dig into your skin a bit out of fear. She looks up at you, pupils dilated, seemingly asking for help. 

“Saturo, be slow and gentle with her, please! She’s a little nervous still,” you explain to him. The kitten was found alone and while she was not feral, it was obvious she had not had much interaction with people. Plus, when you stumbled on her, you were mid-fight. While the chances of her being able to see the curses are quite low, it felt like she could sense the tension in the surrounding atmosphere as she was cowering behind a dumpster, only coming out when she smelled the delicious churu you had in your hand.

“I’m sorry, baby. She’s just so cute!” Gojo exclaims, causing you to giggle and nod your head in agreement.

Gojo slowly and ever-so carefully reaches his hand toward Suki to allow the cat to sniff him. She recoils a bit, untrusting of the stranger. After thinking about it for a second, Suki sniffs Gojo’s hand, looking quizzically at his snowy white hair. She then turns and snuggles back into you and away from Gojo. He freezes in his position, mouth slightly agape due to the rejection. A small huh? escapes him. 

“I think she’s exhausted. She had a long day. Maybe she’ll be more comfortable after a nap,” you explain after seeing Gojo develop a pout from the rejection. You figured she was still sensitive to new people and was already tired, so you didn’t want to push her more than you already had when trying to feed her earlier. “I bought some stuff at a convenience store and stuffed it in my purse to take care of her before taking her to the vet tomorrow, so I’m gonna go run her a bath.” 

“Wait, wait!" Satoru exclaimed. He was already beginning to miss your attention being solely on him, so he prolonged talking to you and you leaving him to bathe the cat. "Let me guess - you were fighting, saw her, quickly ended the fight because you were only entertaining them to cure your boredom as the typical sorcerer does, helped her, and now you’re here?” Gojo guesses, causing you to gasp and shake your head no.

“No! That is absolutely not what happened. I saw her, immediately exorcized the curses, got her some food, and then I called Nanami to take over for me because of a ‘family emergency’,” you said while using finger quotes. You rolled your eyes in feigned annoyance as you continued, exasperated, “I wasn’t done with my mission, but I wouldn’t just leave it unfinished, Satoru! What kind of sorcerer do you think I am?” 

“Sorry, princess,” Satoru responds as he shakes his head with a chuckle. He watches as you lovingly look at the creature in your arms, mesmerized by the shape of your jaw and the soft smile on your lips. He gives your hair a quick tousle before continuing, “You’re m’favorite sorcerer. The best one out there. Other than me, of course.”

You look up at him, a faint blush spreading across your features. You gave him a disapproving look for his last comment, but the hue of your cheeks gave away the fact that you still get flustered when he compliments you. You gently push on the tips of your toes, lifting yourself up enough to lean toward your boyfriend. After a chaste kiss on his cheek, you hear a meow from your arms. Looking at the kitten, she repeats the same little sound. 

“What, you jealous?” Satoru teases the animal. “You want her attention? Can’t stand to spare a second for a kiss on my cheek?”

You let out a laugh as Suki gives Gojo what you would consider a dirty look. He picks up on it too, clicking his tongue at the kitten and again turning his attention to you. “Friendly, isn’t she?” he states, sticking his tongue out at Suki. 

“Right now, she's shy and nervous,” you answered, heading toward the guest bedroom in the apartment. You knew that at this rate if you did not leave now, you would never be giving her a bath. “I’m gonna use the guest bath.”

“Do you need help?” Gojo asked. He followed behind you, a puppy craving the attention of its owner.

“Actually, yeah. Look, I know it’s late and that this is a big ask, but I didn’t have the hands to get her more food and essentials. Can you go out for me and get some things? I’ll send you a list,” you give him pleading eyes you know never fail to make his knees weak and heart flutter. You wanted to grab these things before, but you could not bring yourself to leave the kitten alone for a second longer than she already had been for who knows how long. You were going to go later that night so as to not bother Satoru - but since he offered and you are a little tired, why not have him do it for you? A quick run to the pet store for some scratching boards, dry food, wet food, and other basics wouldn’t be the worst you’ve ever asked of him. 

“Yeah, honey, of course. Text me the list, yeah? I’ll get going now,” Satoru, your savior in flesh and bone, agrees as he flashes you a big, toothy smile, then moves to grab his keys.

“Thank you, Toru,” you say as you cuddle the kitten closer. 

Satoru smiles at the sight he knows he is going to grow to love; you looking at the kitten like she is your entire world, while he looks at you knowing you are his.

"Anything for you. I love you," Satoru says as he walks around to hug you from behind and not disturb Suki. He presses a kiss to your head, you melting into his touch.

"Alright, let me give her a bath! Stop stalling me," you say. Satoru releases you from his grasp. You turn to face him to see his face has a pout once again.

"Gimme a kiss before I go, please?" He says, then puckers his lips and leans forward.

"You're a dork," you say, but continue to lean in and kiss him. "But I love you too."

------

With Suki now bathed to the best of your ability and eating another churu stick while in a big fluffy blanket, you are beginning to wonder what is taking your boyfriend so long. The pet store is not a far walk and is an even closer drive, yet you finished the bath about an hour and a half ago.

Just on cue, you hear the front door open after a slight struggle. Suki's ears perk up, but she is too tired and invested in eating the churu that she does not even bother to glance in the direction.

You hear quick footsteps until Gojo appears from the hallway. With a big box under one arm and a couple tote bags full of things that you can't quite tell what they are, he stumbles into the kitchen. He quickly sets everything down, giving you a better sight of what all he has. You see the big box was a cat tree, and in the bags is a variety of canned food, wet food, treats, toys, tunnels, collars, more treats, multiple automatic food and water bowl sets, and a couple of outfits. This is why you never send Gojo on errands.

"Satoru, you bought way too much!" you say. You motion to the bags of stuff he put down as he walks toward you with an innocent smile on his face.

"I actually think I didn't buy enough. I figured you would want a say in some things though, so I held off. A little bit," the man in question responds. He then pulls out a little box of icing covered treats with sprinkles on them. "I even got her sweets!"

Suki - coincidentally - now decides to acknowledge her new father's presence, meowing at him from across the room in her blanket. Gojo looks over and coos as he walks over to her.

"Hi sweet girl, did you have a scary day? Do you want some delicious treats to celebrate you coming home today?" He opens the box toward the kitten, who stares at it, sniffing the aroma she finds so enticing. She then walks forward, rubs her head against the hand holding the box, and meows again. Gojo giggles as he takes the treat out of the container to help the cat.

Your heart feels like it is about to burst. Watching the two interact brings you so much joy, and with how welcoming Gojo has been ever since you spurred this on him, you could not be more excited. He takes his phone out of his pocket and takes a billion pictures of the new addition to the family.

"Tell me everything, baby. How'd you find her? How was the mission? I'm sure Nanami is pissed," Gojo says to you after he puts his phone away.

You had wanted a cat for a while, but it never seemed like the right time. With you and Gojo being jujutsu sorcerers, you had been worried about leaving a new cat alone for an extended period of time or not being able to come home to it. You had considered it once you and Gojo finally moved in, but life never seemed to give you a break, and here you are now.

Still, you did not yield even a single hesitation about leaving this kitten behind. The second you saw her, you were hers.

"Mission was easy, just annoying. Found her behind a dumpster in an alley. Nanami was only slightly irritated. I told him that it's just the cat distribution system, and that no one could deny fate," you shrug your shoulders.

"Oh yeah, like those videos you send me? Where cats just choose their new owner?" Gojo says, causing you to smile.

"You actually watch all of those?" You questioned.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I?" he says, appearing genuinely confused.

"Dunno, I just send them a lot. But yeah, you're right. The second I saw her, I had a feeling," you elaborated. "She was mine!"

Satoru thinks to the first time he saw you back at Jujutsu High on the first day there. He remembers every detail: how you did your hair that day (two braids with black bows at the ends of them), who you were with (Shoko, a childhood best friend of yours), the way you laughed (a cute little laugh, throwing your head back at Shoko's joke). He remembers time moving so slowly, he felt like he was staring at you for hours. Suguru Geto, his new friend, stared at Gojo's frozen features and sighed, waving Shoko, another new friend, over.

Gojo can recall clear as day how your hair framed your face, your eyes stared into his icey ones hidden by black shades, and how you introduced yourself to him.

He knew then that you were different. He knew you were going to be in his life for a while. You were his, and he was yours. He just had a feeling.

Who knew that one day comparing his love for you to your love for your new kitten you found, mid-fight and in a dark, Tokyo alley?

He just can't contain his giddiness toward you anymore. You were so cute, so soft, and so sweet. He wanted to dote on you and shower you in all of the love he could.

"God, baby. You are the cutest thing I have ever seen!" He exclaims as he pinches your cheeks.

"Stop, Toru," you wave him off. "I thought we were talking about Suki?"

"You were. You just distract me," he says, a hand coming up to stroke your cheek. He leaned in and placed a kiss on your forehead. "How could you not when you look so adorable?"

A little meow echoes throughout the room.

"Do not flirt with me in front of our child! She is clearly uncomfortable," You jokingly tease your beloved boyfriend.

Gojo glares at Suki, who is still eating her treats, content with her new life of luxury.

"Ugh. Way to cockblock, Suki," Saturo groans as he flashes the innocent kitten the finger

"First of many," You add, smiling. You swat at his outstretched hand, grabbing it and pulling it into you. You smile up at him, pulling his blindfold up so you can see his eyes, and giving him a loving kiss. "I love you, Toru."

"I love you more, cutie."

As much as you cats are your favorite of anything in the world, you know it is impossible to love anything more than you love Satoru Gojo. As you stare into his eyes, you know he knows that too.

Cats are a very near second place, though.

Bonus

Your phone rings with a familiar ringtone. You look down to see Megumi's contact staring back at you and press answer, lifting the phone to your ear.

Before you could even say hello, you hear, "Now why the hell did you get a cat?"

"Hello to you, too, Megumi. My day has been great, thanks!" You tease. "Yeah, yeah. Now why?"

"How do you even know? I was gonna tell you next time I saw you," you ponder, already having an idea of the answer to your question.

"Gojo posted it everywhere already. Every story. Every single one," Megumi confirmed your suspicions. "Answer my question, please? I am not the most fond of those things."

"It's the cat distribution system," Megumi hears another voice in the background say.

"The what?"

Suddenly, the phone is lifted from your hands, your boyfriend having replaced you in speaking to Megumi. "Hey, Gumi!"

"Gojo? I said not to call me that," Megumi groans, although you know he doesn't really mind the nickname.

"The cat distribution system is a phenomenon where stray cats choose a random owner, and the new owner must take care of the cat because simply, the cat decides it will!" Gojo explains. "Isn't that cool? My Suki-bear was all alone and my lovely girlfriend here brought her to the safety of our humble abode."

Megumi is silent for a moment before huffing, "There is no way you actually believe that."

A mischievous smirk appears on Gojo's face as he says "Megumi, are you afraid of cats?"

Megumi began stuttering nonstop as he said, "N-No, I... I just... I don't like them. Um. I... I'm allergic?" Gojo laughs at this response, causing Megumi to scoff. "Whatever."

The line goes silent, and Gojo hands you the phone. He looks at your irritated expression with an unwavering smile.

Before you could say anything, a little meow is heard, causing Gojo to laugh before saying, "Right, Suki? What a loser! Who wouldn't love you?"

-----

the ending isnt my fave but i hope you enjoyeeddddd thank you for reading all this way ilyyyyyy

[mywitchyblog]

I just wanted to say your takes on age and shifting have been really helping me. I didn't have the opportunity to enjoy my teenage years and I feel like everything is falling apart in my adult life, so I really want to age myself down and experience life as a teen again. However, tiktok constantly made me feel like a creep and I was even starting to doubt myself and my motivations, which is crazy. So thank you for standing your ground and having our back lol and stay away from shiftok yall

AS.YOU.FUCKING.SHOULD.

Girl, keeping your distance from ShiftTok? Absolutely the right call. That place is less of a community and more of a cult with a superiority complex, stuffed with self-appointed “moral guardians” who’d rather police everyone’s shifting practices than actually understand a damn thing about shifting itself 💅. They’re too busy gatekeeping, throwing their tired opinions around, and stirring up drama to realize just how hypocritical they look. Chile, the irony is thick enough to choke on, and trust, we see it 👀.

And don’t even get me started on the anti-age-change crew. These people couldn’t argue their way out of a paper bag without leaning on the same three tired-as-hell logical fallacies, dragging them out every time to keep shifters in check without an ounce of actual understanding or empathy.

Ad Hominem – This is anti-age changers’ go-to move when they’re out of actual arguments. They skip right over any real discussion and dive into calling people “pedo” or “creep” just to shut them up. Rather than taking the time to understand why someone might genuinely want to experience being younger again, they grab for the ugliest insults they can think of and throw them like confetti 🎉… only it’s confetti made of trash 💀. Example: A shifter explains, “I age down in my Desired Reality because I had a tough youth and want to relive a better version of it. Plus, I want to experience a healthy, innocent romance from my teenage years.” But instead of even thinking about the idea that there might be something healing and meaningful in that, here comes an anti-age changer with: “If you want to age down to date, you’re a predator—plain and simple.” Here’s the kicker: these critics don’t care about the reasons. They’ll weaponize shame to make shifters look like villains, ignoring the fact that not everyone who age-shifts and dates does it for predatory reasons. Many want to experience that sweet, teenage love they didn’t get in this reality, to relive the simpler emotions of that time without adult complications. But the anti’s? They’d rather throw accusations than try to understand even a sliver of the truth. They’re using the “pedo” card because they know it’ll silence some people, and honey, it’s a sad attempt at control through fear 🙄.

Straw Man Fallacy – Here’s where things get especially messy 🥴. Instead of listening to what you’re actually saying, they twist it into something completely off-base, creating a fake argument to attack. They don’t want to engage with your actual reasons; they’d rather paint you as something you’re not so they can feel good about their so-called “moral high ground.” 🙄Example: Imagine a shifter saying, “I age down because I missed out on a carefree youth and want to date someone my age in that reality. I want to experience young love in a non-sexual, simple way.” The anti immediately twists this into, “Oh, so you’re saying you’re an adult wanting to act like a teenager to date kids? That’s sick.” See the problem? They’re creating a whole new argument based on something you never said. This shifter just wants a clean, innocent experience of being young again, complete with those little flutters and first dates that only make sense at that age. Some shifters may even explore young relationships with some intimacy, but it’s coming from a place of reliving a time they missed—not about attraction to minors or anything predatory. These critics twist the intention, making it sound like a fetish when it’s about pure curiosity, nostalgia, or healing. They’ve crafted their own horror story and are trying to pin it on you 👑, and honestly? It’s lazy, transparent, and completely off the mark.

Hasty Generalization – This is when anti-age changers pull out the big, sloppy brush and slap the same, tired accusation onto every age-changing shifter. Because they’ve heard one example of someone age-shifting for sketchy reasons, they assume everyone who does it must have some secret, shady agenda. Girl, the logic isn’t even there 🤦‍♀️.Example: Anti-age changers will say, “Oh, I heard about this one person who aged down to act out some weird fantasy, so clearly all shifters who age down to date are predators.”This is their way of weaponizing a single, extreme case to invalidate every other shifter’s unique, personal reasons. There are countless reasons people age down and engage in romance, and most have nothing to do with predatory behavior. Imagine someone who wants to experience a first crush all over again, or who never got a chance to date as a teen and just wants that innocent thrill of hand-holding and kissing at a school dance 🕺💃. Some might even explore sexual intimacy because, for them, it’s about curiosity and filling in experiences they missed—not some twisted attraction.Let’s get real: most age-changing shifters just want to feel what it’s like to be young again, to make memories that heal, to have those butterflies and firsts they missed out on. The antis are so obsessed with scandalizing that they can’t imagine a reality where someone wants to age down without any creepy motives. This broad-strokes accusation is not only unfair; it’s lazy as hell. It paints every age-changing shifter with the same brush, and it does nothing but create stigma and misinformation. Like… maybe sit down and breathe for a second instead of trying to stir up a scandal? 😒

Here’s the reality: these fallacies are tools they use to twist, shame, and silence. They’re not here to have a real conversation about why someone might age-shift or date in that reality, or to understand that those desires can come from totally normal, even therapeutic places. They’re here to make it sound twisted, full stop.

The next time they pull out these tired arguments, just remember: they’re not about facts, they’re about control. They use moral panic as a blunt weapon, hoping people won’t look closer and see right through their paper-thin accusations. Keep doing you, stay fierce 🔥, and don’t let their fallacies dull your shine.

[pix-writes]

I just watched Pride&Prejudice and I cannot stop thinking about love confessions, how would the Grunkles confess their feelings? I imagine Mabel wanting so bad to do a sort of kiss the girl situation with a boat and romantic music lmao

I find it difficult to say exactly how they would both confess their feelings, just because I think it really depends on the relationship and certain circumstances to be honest?

But, yeah! I definitely think Mabel would want to intervene (and therefore rope Dipper into helping her), using her adorable powers for good intentions, but ultimately perhaps is a little more niave than she realises when it comes to trying to set adults up with each other lol ^_^' I love Mabel, her heart is in exactly the right place (so I forgive her immediately), but she is a 13-ish year old girl! Setting people up in such cliche/obvious scenarios could very likely go wrong, and by wrong I mean her efforts may not have the outcomes she expects! (btw I'm not saying it would backfire terribly, but it might deter some suitors if just from sheer awkwardness)

To be honest and fair to her, she is right these grumpy grunkles DO need pushing in the right direction✨towards you, beautiful reader! ✨especially in the initial stages, she will definitely be encouraging them to talk to you, get them to try to open up and talk with you about what interests you might have and maybe share, so they (she) can know if they're the right match for them. She's their biggest cheerleader and supporter and she'll have bragging rights at your eventual wedding because of course she knew you were right for each other! Mabel simply loves love! (more under cut)

Realistically though, I think after the events surrounding the Love God and the Stans' lives after the series ends, I think Mabel will be just a tad less chaotic/intense with her matchmaker tendencies and in turn the grunkles may brush her off (gently) from any big, romatic set-ups. They certianly don't need their grand-niece to orchestrate getting somebody's number or asking someone on a date! Anyways, romance is complicated and the grunkles have too much baggage to want to launch into something so suddenly.

Though they will cave in under some of her advice/encouragements to spend time with you, however that may be (like I said, they both have a track record of being a bit hopeless lol). And she is a good source of some creative date ideas, too.

I think Stan would most likely want to make more of his confession, make it on a date night where you go to some nice restaurant by the sea or something, but either he backs out of it for some reason or another and feels like he's floundering, he just needs to tell you, what's scary about that? (ah, the fear of rejection, we all know it!) Instead, it ends up slipping out of his mouth in a more mundane setting. Like maybe you're both on the porch, you come back with a drink, not just for yourself but for him too, or you've come round to help him because both of the kids got the flu and he needs someone to go to the store, or he's helping you unpack your groceries, or you're just talking shit and joking with each other one evening on the stan o war II - and he comes out with it causally, hardly thinking, "I love you, you know?" or "Thanks, sweetheart. Love ya." and then once he realises what he's said it's like the moment has been shattered. He hasn't moved but he's panicking internally and trying to get his brain to catch up to his goddamn mouth to say something else - and then! You accept it. You say you love him too and he'll feel the relief of it once he's gone through another few minutes or so of disbelief that you love him back! haha ;w;

That doesn't mean he couldn't do the big confession, in fact, I think he'd give it his best shot, he can be romantic and he has watched a lot of period dramas and they seem silly to him in reality but shouldn't he try to do that for you? But it's in a very Stan way 😅 It's very sweet of him to make a lovey speech on your anniversary, even if he messed it up near the end and gave up on what he was trying to say. The fact that he loses some of his smooth composure in front of you just shows you how important you are to him, so its still effective. Oh, and he takes you out dancing too! Actions can be just a effective as words in this case ;) Stanley is here to sweep you off your feet one way or another and he damn well knows how to give you a fun night out (Now shush and make out with me in the stanmobile, handsome!)

Ford would likely be a little the same, just different in approach. I think he'd like to make his confession privately, even if you're on a date, he wants it to feel like its between you both. He feels those three words in his throat like its stuck there all the time, it crops up in those little moments, he's watching you tidy up the lab or putting a blanket over stan and the kids who have fallen asleep on the boat, or in the morning when you're both in the kitchen waiting for the coffee to be done and he's marvelling at the wonder and beauty that is you in the early sunrise and how you seemed to love him, something he never expected to happen - but he feels like he can't say it, he wants so badly to say it, but he doesn't know how to just 'bring it up' and then the moment passes. Until the next one. Then he starts getting frustrated with himself, why can't he simply get the words out? What if you don't really like him as he has begun to believe and you reject him? Why must he hold himself in this limbo? He needs to move forwards!

But he doesn't know how to bring it up, he's created speeches in his head or written his confession down, he scoffs at himself for acting like some lovesick teenager when he discards draft number 11 and goes to put it into the shredder (so no one can come across it accidentally and read it). I feel like it could go a lot of ways, perhaps you indicate, not too overtly or too subtly, some hint towards your love for him on a date and it gives him the push he needs to finally say it. In this instance, he tries his best to do a small speech about his love for you, stuttering a little as he confesses, because he sees how you're looking at him and it's making his heart beat faster because, oh wow, you love him too! Maybe he doesn't finish because you can't take it any longer and give him a smooch. yay! ^-^

Or in one of those small everyday moments he bites the bullet and confesses. Or maybe you're going out on one of your shared adventures and he stops you for a moment to blurt it out, unable to contain it because he wants you to know why he's so protective over you before you go any further.

"I love you, (name). I think I've loved you for some time now, and I hope you do too? I just... didn't know how to say it, before."

[goingmerryfics]

Hello!! I recently found your blog and I love it!! ❤️

I was wondering if I could request something!

Kid, Mihawk and Law with a partner who’s into gothic clothing. uwu

Gothic style S/O w/ Kid, Mihawk & Law

Content: Gender Neutral reader, SFW!

Notes* Glad to have you! Thanks for the request :) Out of anyone, I think these three would be the most accepting/understanding of someone with this style and even indulge in it a bit themselves so I tried to make this a little more personal to each character. That being said, I feel like they turned out a little shorter than normal, but I hope you still enjoy it!

Kid

He wouldn’t even bat an eye if this was a regular thing to be dressed in gothic style. It’s pretty common around the crew, and even if it wasn’t, Kid appreciates the aesthetic of the style

He also just doesn’t give a shit what you wear as long as you can do your job

Looking good while doing it is also a plus

For that reason, he would help you out with your makeup for sure. Not that he has much experience with it in the first place, but he just likes any excuse to look at your lips

On the other hand, if your weren’t introduced to him in black and chains, he wouldn’t recognize you if you just up and changed your wardrobe

You walk out of your room in your new style, the one you’ve been wanting to try for years and never had the bravery to out of fear of judgement

But after joining the Kid Pirates, it didn’t feel so scary to go outside of the world’s expectations

“Who the fuck are you!? How’d you get on my ship!?”

After managing to convince him not to just throw you overboard, he does the unthinkable

“Oh. You look good. Better than that boring shit you used to wear.”

He compliments you

Kid will pick at your outfits and give unsolicited advice on how to coordinate or style your clothing

He isn’t one for making jewelry, but he might try if you can’t find anything that would match your clothes

Mihawk

No comment from him. You’d have to outright ask him what he thought, and even then it would be a short answer

“Yes, it’s a good look on you.”

He isn’t actually looking at you when he answers, but it’s genuine

You’d find him staring at you quite often, though

He enjoys the style on you, especially since his style is very close/similar to gothic

He respects your backbone for sticking to what makes you happy, and he’ll encourage you to stick up for yourself if anyone has anything to say about your look

Honestly, he’s seen people look and dress a lot worse, so he doesn’t see why anyone should be making unnecessary comments

Despite being a man of few words, he would still compliment your outfits every time

He, having a eye for the fashion, would also help you coordinate and mix up your clothing items and accessories to freshen up the looks

“That won’t do. We need to get you some earrings that will match this.”

It’s such a sweet way to spend the time that you two have together

Law

Law gets whiplash at first

His emo phase is coming back to him all at once and he’s cringing internally

But despite his own emotional setbacks, he is happy if you feel comfortable dressing this way

He’s very level-headed, so there’s not going to be a very big reaction out of him right away

His perception of you hasn’t changed, and it won’t anytime soon

“Express yourself however you like, just make sure you don’t alter the uniform too much.”

He’ll warn you that the crew might ask some dumbass questions or make rude comments

He also will ask you some questions, very carefully, not wanting to sound ignorant

He would come to your aid if you needed support, especially within his own crew

If you’re the type to wear a lot of make-up, he’ll be on your ass about cleaning your face every night 

He’d even help you do a skin care routine to make sure you were taking care of yourself!

If you bother him enough, he’ll start to do it with you, too

Gets you stuff that remind him of you, things he believes may align with your style

All in all, he’s pretty indifferent to the style, and may even be open to dipping back into it a little bit

He looks great in eyeliner, but damn it he keeps smudging it