#i have the skins next to the drawings just because it's funny. like look at what i drew and then look at the canonical guy. epic

[auriidae]

gently slides you two silly scar headcanons..

1) he has vex wings, same as cub, but thinks they're scary-looking so he keeps them folded up. they're pretty thin and only semi-corporeal so he can pull this off with minimal discomfort most of the time

2) he is a very subtle shapeshifter but just. has never noticed ghfsjf. (so things like hair color, body type, face shape, and the appearance of nonhuman traits like his ears + tail change gradually over time. scar is and has always been completely unaware of this) (this is partially an explanation for why i draw him looking completely differently depending on the series but also to account for his many characters + skins. plus it's hilarious)

[wendichester]

Love your writing, you write Dean so well!!!!!! If you’re still taking them, can I request one based on the Siren episode, where reader is on the mission with Dean and Sam, and Dean’s dream girl looks eerily like the reader and you’re like “dude… why does she look like me?” funny, fluffy and smutty? Dean and reader have unresolved tension from previous missions

˙˖°🪞⋆｡⊹˚ ideal type,

summary. there's a siren on the lose and dean is its next target .ᐟ

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 937.

notes. i went to rewatch this episode because I had completely forgotten about it. i had a blast writing this and hope I was able to meet your expectations ehe ‹𝟹

The motel room is small, as always. One bed for you, another for Sam, and Dean relegated to the couch because he lost rock-paper-scissors. Again. The Siren case had been dragging on for days, and the three of you were starting to fray at the edges.

The oldest Winchester leans against the edge of the bed, his eyes locked on the woman before him. Her smile is teasing, lips curving in a way that sets his nerves alight. Everything about her feels familiar―too familiar. She leans in closer, brushing her fingers over his arm.

"You're tense," she says, voice smooth and low, like honey dripping off a spoon.

Dean chuckles, trying to shake off the unease pooling in his gut. "Yeah, well, comes with the territory."

She tilts her head, her dark eyes boring into his. "I can help with that."

Her hand slides up his arm, over his shoulder, and lands on his chest. Dean swallows hard. Something's off, he knows it. But her face... her face looks so much like you, it's unnerving. It's you, but it's not. Not really. Her eyes are just a shade darker, her voice carrying a sultry undertone that he's never heard from you. Yet, the curve of her lips, the line of her jaw... it's almost an exact match.

"You're so goddamn beautiful," he mutters, almost to himself.

Her smile widens, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "I know,"

Before Dean can process the odd response, she closes the distance between them, her lips pressing against his. It's electric, and for a moment, he forgets everything. Her hands curl into his hair, tugging lightly as the kiss deepens. Dean's hands move instinctively, gripping her waist and pulling her flush against him. The warmth of her body, the intoxicating scent of her skin, is almost too much.

But then, a sharp sting cuts through the haze, the back of his throat burning. His mind races―something's wrong.

The door bursts open, and Sam storms in with you trailing behind him, wide-eyed and alarmed.

"Dean!" Sam shouts, and Dean jerks back from the woman, his heart pounding.

Your eyes dart between Dean and the woman who looks just like you, horror and confusion etched across your face. "Dude," you breathe, your voice laced with disbelief. "Why does she look exactly like me?"

Dean stumbles back, his head spinning as the realization hits him like a freight train. "Wha‒I‒"

Sam doesn't hesitate. He grabs Dean's arm, yanking him back as the woman―the siren―advances. "She's infected you," Sam snaps, pulling out a bronze dagger from his bag. "Hold still."

Dean barely has time to react before Sam slashes his arm with the blade, drawing blood. Dean hisses but stays upright, his body tingling as the siren lunges. Sam moves like lightning, driving the blood-coated dagger into her chest.

The siren's eyes widen in shock before she collapses, her form flickering and changing, her resemblance to you fading as her true monstrous features are revealed.

The room falls into silence, save for Dean's labored breathing. He presses his hand into his bleeding arm, his gaze darting to you as you approach him.

"You okay?" your voice comes out soft.

"Yeah," he manages to mutter hoarsely. "I'm okay."

Hours later, the Impala hums softly on the road. Sam is passed out in the backseat, his head lolling the window. You sit in the passenger seat, arms crossed under your chest as you glance at Dean, who's gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly.

Finally, you break the silence. "Can we address the elephant in the room, now?"

Dean exhales sharply through his nose, his jaw working as he searches for an answer. "I... don't know."

You turn in your seat to face him, brows furrowing as the leather of the Impala cracks underneath you. "Dean,"

He glances at you, then back at the road. "Maybe it's... I don't know. Sirens mess with your head. Make you see things."

Your cheeks heat up, but you press on. "Technically―they show you what you desire most, ya' know... according to Bobby."

Dean's grip on the wheel tightens, his knuckles turning white. "Don't be a smartass," he grumbles under his breath, doing his best to avoid your gaze.

"I'm not being a smartass," you counter, your voice softer now. "It's okay, you know. If that's how you feel."

His jaw ticks as he glances at you again, his green eyes darker than usual. "You don't get it," he says, voice low. "It's not just how you look. It's... everything."

Your breath catches, and you struggle to find the right words. The tension in the car is thick, electric. Finally, Dean sighs, shaking his head. "Forget it."

But you don't want to forget it. Not when his words have your heart racing. "Dean..."

He pulls over suddenly, the Impala rolling to a stop on the side of the empty road. He turns to you, his expression intense. "I'm not good at this," he admits. "But, yeah. Maybe the siren got it right. Maybe I do... want you."

Your heart feels like it might burst as his words sink in. "You‒"

He cuts you off by leaning across the seat, his hand cupping your cheek as he presses his lips to yours. It's soft at first, hesitant, but when you kiss him back, it deepens, years of unspoken tension finally breaking free.

When you finally pull back, you're both breathless. Dean rests his forehead against yours, his hand still cradling your face. "You're not just what I want," he whispers. "You're what I need."

The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, as the Impala's engine hums softly in the background. For the first time in a long time, you feel at ease, the only weight you feel is Dean's hand resting on your thigh.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery

[burningembers91]

The Shape of You - Park Gyeong-Seok x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Follow up piece to

Loving You From Afar

Synopsis: When babysitting Na-Yeon, you discover one of Park Gyeong-Seok’s secrets.

You were looking after Na-Yeon when you found the drawings. One of her Barbie’s shoes had fallen down the side of the sofa, and as you leaned down to retrieve it, you felt the wads of paper stuff between the sofa and wall. Pulling them onto your lap, you were shocked to see at least a dozen drawings and paintings of you. There were ones of your whole body, ones of just your face, ones where you were laughing, and one where you were staring off into the distance. You had no idea Gyeong-Seok had been drawing you, had no idea why he’d kept these hidden. You’d never thought of yourself as particularly beautiful and yet he’d managed to capture you in the most stunning light. He was out until late evening, taking on some extra work as an art teacher in a local night school, but you needed to find out why he drawn you so many times and then hidden them away.

You fed Na-Yeon and read her to sleep, before settling back on the sofa with the pictures. Gyeong-Seok had captured you so perfectly, had painted you in a light you’d never seen yourself in. you couldn’t stop looking at the images in front of you, wondering if this was how he saw you. You so looked so confident, so sure of yourself and so naturally beautiful. You tried comparing your reflection to the drawing but somehow, Gyeong-Seok had managed to capture you better than a mirror ever could.

The TV was down low when he arrived home. He’d has such a great evening, and there had even been talk of giving him a more permanent position. It would mean more money for him and Na-Yeon, more money to maybe finally take you out on a date. He stopped dead when he saw you, still clutching the drawings he thought he’d hidden so carefully.

“I…” He stood dumbstruck as you held them up to him.

“These are really good,” you smiled. “I had no idea.”

“I…” Again, Gyeong-Seok seemed unable to form words, the embarrassment creeping up his face like a red-hot poker. You weren’t meant to see those drawings; he never should have made them.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, “I look… you’ve made me look more beautiful than I’ve ever felt before.”

“I was just painting you how I see you,” he shrugged, shifting his bag from his shoulder to the rickety kitchen table.

“But I look so beautiful,” you whispered, still unable to believe that you were the person depicted on the pages.

“Well,” he said quietly, so quietly you barely heard him. “It’s because you are. You are beautiful.”

You both stood staring at each other, both wondering what came next. He wanted to kiss you so badly, to show you that you were so much more beautiful than you ever gave yourself credit for. You both slowly closed the gap between you, the air buzzing with the growing tension.

“Say it again,” you whispered, your eyes fixed on him.

“You are beautiful,” he replied. “And funny, and kind, and so good to me and Na-Yeon.”

You were mere inches apart now, your faces so close he could see the specks of colour dotted in your irises. “You are so beautiful,” he repeated, his hand coming to rest gingerly on your cheek.

His lips met yours, soft and sweet, both of you testing the water. This felt so good, so right, and neither of you could believe you’d denied yourselves this happiness for so long. His fingers caressed your neck, your arms entwining round his waist as you deepened the kiss, the tips of your tongues meeting as you explored one another. Gyeong-Seok wanted you, needed you. He needed to feel every inch of your skin, needed to hear you moan his name as he fucked you. He led you gently to his threadbare sofa, never once breaking your kiss. But it was you who gently pushed him down into the pillows. It was you who straddled him, removing his checkered shirt as your lips traced the sweet contours of his neck. You’d thought about fucking him right here on this very sofa more times that you could count. Gyeong-Seok had so much pent-up stress inside of him, and you were dying to release it. There would be time to explore each other properly; right now, you both just needed to quell the deep aches between your legs.

Pushing him down further into the cushions, you removed his faded grey t-shirt, giggling quietly as he helped remove your sweater. You looked so perfect in the dim light of the TV, your curves more perfect than he ever could have imagined. His torso was toned, his arms surprisingly strong as he manoeuvred your body on top of his. He heard the sound of his jeans unzipping, felt your hand dip into his underwear and gently grip his cock. He had to clamp his hand over his mouth to supress the moan that fell from his lips. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this, and he’d forgotten how good it felt. You bit back another giggle, hopping off the sofa to fully remove his jeans. As you pulled down your skirt and underwear, Gyeong-Seok looked up at you from his reclined position on the sofa. Reaching his hand up, his slid his fingers ever so gently through your slick folds. Now it was your turn to supress a moan as he slipped two fingers inside you. You were so wet, so perfect and he smiled as you shivered against his touch. You couldn’t bare it any longer; you needed each other.

You climbed on top of him, lowering yourself down on his hard cock, your lips meeting in a crashing kiss as you desperately sought to subdue your moans. You moved against each other, Gyeong-Seok’s hips thrusting into you in the sweetest of rhythms. His hands traced your stomach, your breasts, his fingers tracing delicate circles over your flushed skin. he felt you shudder against him as you reached your peak, your teeth grazing his lower lip in quiet ecstasy. He wasn’t far behind you, his hands gripping your hips as he spilled himself inside of you.

you stayed with him that night, cuddled up on the sofa bed with the threadbare fabric and the broken springs. Gyeong-Seok held you as you slept, the scent of your perfume already staining his sheets. Tomorrow, he would ask you out for that cup of coffee. Tomorrow, he would finally ask out the girl he’d fallen in love with.

[sinofwriting]

Fling - Charles Leclerc

Words: 1,072 Summary: Charles overhears his girlfriend telling someone that they are just a fling and will be ending soon which is more than confusing for him. Note(s): Reader is plus size in this. It is not said outright but very much implied. Charles and Reader both suck at communicating btw. Also this is based on a somewhat recent convo I had with someone where they told me I’d be pretty if it weren’t for me being fat so… Good thing I have thick skin

Masterlist | Support Me!

“It’s not going to last.”

Her eyes flicker off her phone screen for a second, eyebrow raising just a hint before they go back, typing a message. “Okay.”

“That’s all you have to say? Okay.”

“Well, you were a bit vague.” She draws out the last word, sighing. “So, yeah,” she nods, pausing. “Okay.”

The other huffs, shaking her head. “Charles and you, it’s never going to last. It was a good fling, a summer romance, but by next year you’ll be gone.”

Her lips thin and she pockets her phone, finally making eye contact with Silvia. “I’m more than aware that I don’t look like Charles’ past partners and that you have more than your fair share of issues with that and me. But Silvia, you don’t have to state the obvious. I’ve been aware.”

The older woman’s eyes are wide.

“It’s called enjoying something while it lasts and I intend to do so, enjoy this thing with Charles until it inevitably comes to end. Probably in the next month. We all know how you like him to be single going into the new year.”

Respect settles across Silvia’s face. “You are different than I thought.”

“Should’ve had a conversation with me.” She counters and Silvia concedes with a nod of her head. “Don’t worry, I’ll put out an insta story saying we parted on good terms and that things just don’t always work out. I’d say better as friends, but I think you’d kill me if I ever showed up in the garage again after this.”

“Just a bit.” Silvia then frowns. “You really knew this was never going to last? Between you and Charles?”

“Silvia,” And her tone softens for the first time. “It’s like I said. I’m aware of what I look like, especially compared to Charles and his exes. But it’s Charles, I would have been more stupid to say no to him and then to have him for at least a few months.”

Silvia holds her gaze for a few seconds before nodding and reaching forward, patting her hand. “It is a shame how you look. You would have made the perfect partner.”

And she doesn’t even flinch at the insult to her weight.

—

“Is everything okay?”

Her eyes are full of concern as she watches Charles move around the hotel room. His body tense, lips pressed together, jaw twitching.

His nostrils flare and she swears she can hear his teeth grinding.

“I overheard something, you and Silvia.” He fully turns to look at her and she’s unable to even get a second to mourn the loss of his side profile as she sees hurt in his eyes that’s surrounded by frustration.

“We aren’t going to last? I’m leaving you in the next month?”

“Charles,”

“No.” He shakes his head, cutting her off. “This is all news to me.”

“Is it?”

His head jerks back, “what?”

“We never talked about being serious, Charles. And you have a type, I’m so far away from that type it’s not even funny.”

“We never talked about being serious because every time I try to talk about our future you shut me down, you change the subject. And my type is you!” His voice is louder. “I know what my exes look like, I know my pattern, the jokes of how and why I date, but you are the most gorgeous woman in the world, as soon as I saw you, my type changed, I have no type, it is just you. It’s been seven months and I haven’t even looked at another woman.”

Her mind is struggling to process, her heart nearly beating out of her chest, her mouth slack with shock.

“You never tried talking about our future.” It’s all she can say because she can’t think of a single time he brought it up, he tried bringing it up.

“I tried asking you to come to lunch with my brothers and mom.”

Her eyes widened. “That was in July.”

“I asked about holiday plans, I asked about meeting your family. If you wanted kids, when you wanted them. And all I know is that you are going to family for two days for the holidays and that you want kids. That is all I got out of you. I tried giving you a key to my apartment.”

“I’m only ever in Monaco when I’m with you. Why would I ever need a key?”

He flushes, rubbing at the back of his neck. “This might be my bad, it was my way of asking you to move in, or just keep things at my place at least.”

“Charles.”

“I love you.”

Her heart skips a beat and all the hurt and frustration that had been on Charles’ face is gone, replaced by something she’s never seen directed at her.

“I’m crazy in love with you. And obviously we both need to work on things, talking, but I want to do that. I want you. I want you to move in with me, to continue going to all my races, to chide Leo before cuddling him. I want to marry you. In a day, a week, a month, a year, I don’t care when. And I want children with you. I want them to have your smile, your laugh, your stubbornness even though it infuriates me.”

Tears are spilling down her cheeks, lip trembling, and she nearly can’t speak.

“Charles, I want you too. I want all of that. I love you.”

He’s striding forward, his hands gentle on her face as he steals the breath from her lips.

They’ve shared many kisses in the seven months since they’ve known each other, but none like this.

“We are never breaking up.” Charles states when he pulls away after brushing their lips together once more.

“Never.” She agrees, a rush of excitement flooding her as she realizes that she gets to have this, have him, and never give him up.

He smiles at the answer, at the happiness that has flooded her face, the tension he didn’t even know was there that has left her body. “Now, when would you like to get married? I think I have a favor or two I could call to get us married tomorrow if you’d like.”

“Charles,” She shakes her head.

“What?”

“Take me to bed.”

His eyes widen for a brief second and then a smirk plays on his lips. “Happily, amour.”

[milfloveer]

Hello! Good morning, good afternoon, or good evening! I’d like to know if you accept fanfic suggestions. If so, I’d love to request a fanfic of Lilia Calderu x Female Reader, where the reader is drawing, and Lilia approaches to take a look and asks if she can see the drawing. However, while flipping through some pages, Lilia ends up finding several drawings of herself. It would be similar to that scene from Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse, when Gwen picks up Miles’ sketchbook and sees several drawings of her. (I imagine Lilia’s reaction would be the cutest ever (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)).

Drawings of you

Pairing: Lilia Calderu x fem!reader

Prompt: (request)

Warnings: scars and history about them (reader has whip scars)

A/n: Hiiii!!! Thank you so much for the request!! Hope this is what you've asked for, please tell me what y'all think cause I think I've wandered a little 👉🏻👈🏻 Also I added some more plot hope it didn't ruin it tho.

As we finished the second trial, Alice's trial, and made sure Teen was alright we settled down and made a fire so we could rest for the night.

We sat by the fire and were currently sharing our battle scars, Lilia pointed out to her neck pulling her shirt aside making me shift on my seat "Check this out." we all reached a little closer to see better, my cheeks painted with a soft pink and then Jen asked what we were all thinking "What is that?" and Lilia, still showing it says "Vampire bite. Right before I knock out his other tooth." she says making all of us laugh.

Alice then turns to me "What about you, y/n? Do you have any battle scars?" she asks innocently, I couldn't hide my sudden face drop as my body tenses, my eyes fall to Rio cause she knows what my scars are about, her expression unreadable and then my eyes fall to Lilia's, her eyes curious about what I have to show and so I sigh "I do have them, yes. But they're really ugly and how I got them... Well, let's say it's not as funny as Lilia's." I say softly, preparing them to see my scars. I turn around, my back now facing them, and I lift my shirt, they gasp and an 'Oh gods' left Lilia's mouth.

When I turn around they all have a shocking and scared face, I look down at my intertwined hands as I could not bear their gazes directed at me "It all happened when I was in Salem, I was held captive by a powerful man... Not by power tho, but by money and other things, he was well known and respected by the people. So one day he found out I was a witch and how powerful I was, all because of a stupid mistake I've made." I said sighing in frustration memories of that haunting me "All those years he held me captive he made me do things for him, like cure people, read their fortune and if needed I would do some potions and cast some spells.... Curses even. If not or if I did it wrong he would whipp me over and over again until I had no skin left. It was that or burning in a stake." I tell as they all share a look "Dead almost caught me that time." I scoff taking a glance at Rio. Lilia shifts in her seat, her mouth opens to say something, but Agatha arrives and sits down next to Rio, so Lilia stays silent, but her eyes remain in my figure like she's trying to read me just like a book.

To take the tension out and to divert the attention from me I turn to Agatha "Agatha, do you have any battle scars?" I ask and she smirks pulling her sleeve up, Rio makes a snort knowing full well what she was going to show. Her scar is in the elbow "Knitting needle to the elbow." she says while showing it around as we all made a disgusted face "Ever heard of the daughters of liberty?" she asked and we all answered with 'no' while shaking our heads "Exactly." she says making all of us laugh.

And then, out of the blue, Rio says "I've got a scar." as Agatha quickly replies "No you don't." that makes me raise an eyebrow "Yes, I do." Rio reinforces taking a look at Agatha as she keeps explaining "A long time ago I loved someone. And I had to do something I did not wanna do... Even though it was my job. And it hurt them... She is my scar." she finishes and looks directly at Agatha, not even trying to hide who it was. Agatha then gets up saying she needs to stretch her legs and Rio follows her, leaving us four at the fire.

We all look at each other and shrug, I mean we all knew they had an history, it was clear as water, so we didn't bother. It's not like they're gonna tell us anyway.

I take a glance at the three witches "Y'all get some rest, I'll take the first watch." I tell them and they all nod, Jen and Alice got comfortable against the rock they were, Lilia did the same.

To pass time I conjured my sketchbook and pencil so I could draw something and by something I mean the elder wise witch sleeping a couple of feet in front of me. I couldn't take her out of my mind since the first day I saw her at Agatha's house, her curly hair, her curved nose, her soft looking lips, oh how I would love to kiss them, those dark irises I could drown in a matter of seconds, her angelic voice, the whole of her, I could not stop thinking about her and only her. And I couldn't stop drawing her since, my sketchbook was full of her images, profile, full body, different expressions, her hands, her necklace, I couldn't stop, I won't stop.

I now started to draw her sleeping figure, how her body was curled in as she lays on her side facing me, her hands next to her chest in a protective way. She was in a deep sleep as her now relaxed body only moved with her soft breathing. I lost myself in the lines drawing efficiently every detail of her, capturing her essence as she sleeps... But the pencil started to weigh too much and so did my eyelids, I didn't even realise when I fell asleep, sliding into a deep slumber myself.

The shaking of my body and a soft voice is what makes me aware of my sleeping state and so I jump awake "Whoa, calm down, darling, it's just me." Lilia whispers as the rest of the coven is still sleeping, I frown "What's wrong?" I ask confused, she smiles softly "Nothing, dear, I only wanted to put you in a more comfortable position as you were not looking rather comfortable in that one." she says chuckling lightly, she then looks next to me where my sketchbook fell and she reaches for it "Oh, No-" I say trying to stop her but she's quicker than me "I always wondered what you spend so much time drawing about." she says teasingly and opens the book "Oh-" she says as she flips through the pages.

My face turns red, red as a tomato, as a strawberry, as her lipstick "Lilia-" I breathe out, but she looks at me tenderly "These are amazing, darling. But why me?" she asks innocently and I am left with no words, mouth agape as staring embarrassed at her "Have you seen yourself?" I ask, my voice lower than a whisper. She chuckles and shakes her head "No need to be shy now, dear." and my only reaction is to hide my face behind my hands with embarrassment.

Lilia's soft hands grab mine and put them down, her face really close to mine "I really appreciate it." she says and I almost choke with the air on my throat as she leans in and gives me a tender kiss on my cheek. Well if I wasn't red before, now certainly I was, my heart was ready to jump out of my chest as my head was ready to explode "Now, try to rest, dear, I'll take the next watch." she says laughing softly as she backs up to her previous spot.

How am I gonna sleep after this?!

[a-simple-imagine]

Perfectly Pathetic

synopsis: when you take an interest in the new girl, regina takes an interest in you

pairing: regina george x plastics!fem!reader

words: 4.6k+

A/N - in the nicest of ways, please DO NOT read this if you don't want to read about toxic relationships. you have been warned. I don't want a repeat of last time. also we need more fics where regina is actually mean so

WARNINGS - swearing, alcohol use, general toxicity, toxic relationships and bullying/vague reference to weight

Buy me a ko-fi

the clash of plastic trays and idle chatter brought alive the fragile student body of North Shore High School. on the outside this may seem like any other lunch room but inside it was a carefully crafted game of chess. every move was calculated. each person has their place and if you stray too far you're at risk. you're sat next to Gretchen Weiners. known for big hair and keeping secrets, she knows everything about everyone. opposite her is Karen Shetty. she... tries her best and looks adorable doing it. a ray of sunshine if you get to know her. and before you sits the most beautiful woman you have ever had the pleasure of meeting. Regina George. effortlessly perfect but needlessly cruel. she was the most popular person in school and one of your best friends.

perfectly manicured nails stab into the skin of your cheek as your head is yanked in her direction. razor-sharp eyes stare back. "are you even listening?" the answer was no but you didn't want to say that. "what are you staring at?"

a flash of blonde as she looks behind her. you push against her grip to look too. across the room sat Janis 'imi'ike and Damian Hubbard. you hardly ever spoke to them but you were lab partners with Damian. he was funny. today, however, there was a new addition with strawberry blonde hair, a blue checkered shirt and brown pants. you knew everyone at this school to some degree. a curse of popularity. but you had never seen her before. "seems they've got themselves a new friend"

"who cares," her nails dig a little deeper drawing a pained expression as she pulls your head back to face her. She holds your gaze for a moment. a silent challenge. before fingertips glide across your cheek and she goes back to leading the conversation across the table. you pick at the food on the tray with a fork but you can't help but be intrigued. North Shore was boring and predictable. a direct result of being under Regina's control. but this girl was new and you couldn't help but be drawn to that. to the unknown. to the possibility. three pairs of eyes as you push up from the table and march across the room.

"I haven't seen you around here before." was all you could think to say as you approached the end of the table. Janis and Damian share a look before settling on... confusion. You weren't ever particularly mean to others but you were guilty by association. people mess with you. they mess with Regina.

"oh," by the look on her face, she already knew who you were or at the very least your friends. "it's my first day."

"Where did you transfer from?"

"uh... Kenya," she seems unsure. you put it down to nerves.

"you sure about that?" a curious raise of your brow. "'cause you don't sound-"

"we're leaving" stated firmly as three girls breeze past. the blonde leads the way. the other two are just a step behind.

"so what made you move all the way here from Kenya?"

"my mom got a new job."

"couldn't find one-"

the sound of your name echoes through the room bringing the world to a stop. a weird silence settles over the room. "come. now." growled through gritted teeth and paired with snapping fingers. you were being summoned like a naughty dog ignoring their owner. a sigh as all eyes fall to you. waiting to see what you'd do but make no mistake, they already knew the answer.

"I'll see you around." a flash of a smile before you scamper after Regina.

"so your ears do work." is all the girl says as she shoves you through the door. you bite back any comment because that was how this worked. you may be top of the food chain to everyone else but Regina led the pack.

as the final bell for the day rings, you're shoving things in your locker when you spot the new girl. she seems to be struggling to even open it. you watch her for a moment. a smirk settling. this was another chance to talk and this time Regina couldn't demand your presence. "need some help?" it seemed to take her by surprise as a handful of papers drifted to the floor. a small chuckle, you reach down to collect her work and hand it back. "how's your first day going?"

she shrugs, taking the papers. "it's alright."

"anyone giving you any trouble?" you ask, falling to lean against the lockers. people around here were not nice and took every chance to show it. some more than others. She shakes her head. "you sure? if anyone does anything, I can sort them out." you give her a knowing look and she offers a sort of amused smile. "so you do know how to smile, it's cute. are you gonna tell me your name or am I gonna have to guess?"

"it's cady. Cady heron."

"well, cady heron. the trick to these," you tap her locker door with your knuckle. "is to push in and pull up before trying to open it. annoying, I know but they're old." you watch her try again and this time it swings open. "see."

"Thanks." you linger as they shove some of their stuff inside. you notice a few stray stickers on the locker opposite.

"no problem." you push up from the metal. "I can show you all types of tricks to get through this hellscape if you want?" she shuts her locker and you both start walking towards the exit. "number one tip, avoid Regina."

"Isn't she your friend?"

"yeah," you nod. "that's why I said it. She can be... a lot. surely Janis told you that."

Cady looks at you for a long moment. "something like that." you let out a chuckle. Janis probably told her what a massive bitch Regina was. they had a less than favourable history.

"I should go. I'll see you around Cady Heron." as you both go your separate ways, you can't help but glance at her as she walks away.

having a study period just before lunch was both an absolutely ridiculous idea and the best thing to happen to your schedule. it basically guaranteed you didn't do any work whatsoever and felt more like a two-hour lunch period. seems you shared it with the new girl because she was sitting at a table scribbling in a book alongside Janis who was doing her normal embroidery or whatever.

"if it isn't Cady Heron," you comment, taking a seat on the bench. her face brightens at the sight.

"where's the rest of the coven?" Janis asks, not even bothering to look up from her work. "wait- don't tell me, a house fell on them."

"you're so funny Janis," an exaggerated sarcastic laugh.

"I think I can hear children singing... ding... dong the witch-"

"So Cady, how are you enjoying north shore?" you interrupt loudly and the 'song' trails off.

"It's fine."

"you don't talk much huh?"

her mouth opens but falls silent as Gretchen approaches the end of the table. she shoots you a less than favourable look. your brow furrows a little.

"Can I talk to you," pitch a little too high to say no.

"Sure," a shrug. you look at her for a long moment waiting for her to continue.

"in private," Gretchen urges. with a roll of your eyes, you stand up. flashing a smile at Cady, Gretchen grabs your hand and drags you away before you can say anything.

"what are you doing?" whisper yelled at you.

"I was just talking." god this girl was dramatic. you take your usual spot. she sits opposite.

"to the art freaks?"

"dude, it's fine."

"no it's not." she urges quickly, shaking her head "You know how Regina gets."

"Regina isn't here?" and she wouldn't be until lunch. only you and Gretchen share this free period. usually, you spend it listening to her gossip about people. she could not keep a secret to save her life at least not when it came to anyone outside of you and your friends; even then it's dicey. fun for you though.

"All I'm saying is you need to be careful,"

"don't worry. I was only interested in the new girl."

"that's worse," you just roll your eyes. "Regina doesn't like her."

"Regina doesn't even know her," you argue. "none of us do. she's been here like a week."

Gretchen thinks the idea of even wanting to talk to Cady is blasphemy. that it's better to avoid her but you think she's overreacting. Cady hadn't established herself at this school yet. right now she is with Janis but tomorrow who knows? she could be cool. it's a matter of perspective.

a pretty perfect smile does little to distract from playful eyes as you approach her jeep. the blonde is in the driver's seat. one hand rested over the steering wheel. the other typing something on her phone. She had sent a message telling you to hurry up but on arrival, neither Karen nor Gretchen were even here yet. you toss your bag in the back, climbing into your usual spot behind the driver's seat. Karen is usually next to you. "sit in the front, weirdo," she comments. you don't bother with a comeback, just moving to the front passenger seat.

"Where are the others?" you ask, glancing at her. the soft glow of the afternoon sun kissed her skin beautifully. black shades hang on the end of her nose. She really was something to be admired. Regina shrugs and then tosses her phone down. the car roars to life and you're starting down the road before you can think any more about it. it's pretty silent at first. the sound of the radio filling the space. the lack of your two other friends acting as a buffer was sitting weirdly. this wasn't your first time alone with Regina but she's been so grumpy lately. whatever you say feels like an invitation.

"so you like the new girl?" asked casually as she came to an abrupt stop at a red light. you just forward, the seatbelt digging into your neck. it drags up a quick cough but that could also be from surprise. other than that first interaction where she'd summoned you from across the room, you had never spoken to Cady when she was around. Gretchen may be dramatic but she probably wasn't wrong and you really didn't feel like risking it.

"Sorry?" feign confusion was... a choice but it seemed like the better option here.

"you like the new girl," repeated calmly; her eyes drift to you as yours move towards the traffic light. was this the longest red light in history? "right?"

now it's your turn to shrug. you find Cady intriguing but you're not entirely sure if it's interested in the way Regina is implying or just because you were so bored of the every day. "she's cool." a scoff as she pulls away continuing down the road. "you've hardly spoken to her."

"don't need to," Regina didn't miss a beat. Cady definitely didn't fit into what she'd consider cool but then again, neither had you. not entirely anyway and now you're here. you hang out with the most popular people in school. went to the hottest parties. you were currently being driven around by the Regina George. you never understood why or maybe you did and just refused to accept it was that simple. you know what everyone else says. that it's because of the attention you show her. you wouldn't necessarily say they're wrong but everyone gave her attention. She did always say there was something special about you. "I thought you at least had standards."

the rest of the car ride is silent as you think over what she said and Regina keeps to herself. the music is the only thing, keeping you sane until you pull up at the George residence. you always forget just how big her house is until you're there. As you walk inside, her mum appears abruptly startling you a little.

"hey, ms. George."

"hey girls," she singsonged. "how was school?"

"fine," Regina shoots back.

"well if you need anything? a drink? some snacks? advice? I'm here,"

"I'd actually love an iced-"

"we're good," growled as she grabbed your wrist hauling you up the stairs. "don't bother us." a confused look but she didn't let go until you were firmly inside her bedroom. door slammed shut. the blonde tosses her bag down.

"you should really be nicer to your mom, she adores you," you say idly taking a seat on the end of her bed, placing your bag down.

"you should shut up because it's none of your fucking business."

jesus christ. you kinda regret the decision to come over. "I just wanted an iced tea. maybe a little snack."

"god knows you don't need it," Regina comments. wow. okay. she was in a mood.

"what's up with you?"

"I'm fine," she responds. "you're just being so fucking annoying recently."

"I haven't done anything?" you've not been acting any differently so you have no clue what she's talking about.

"just absolutely drooling over the new girl. it's embarrassing." she declares, taking a seat on the bed.

"I..." you stop yourself because you're more confused than anything else. "we've spoken like once."

"liar" she responds. "I know you've been talking all the time," fucking Gretchen. "do you think she's pretty?"

"Cady?" Regina nods. you shrug. "I guess."

"prettier than me?" her head tilts. you can't tell if she was jealous or fishing for compliments; neither was her style. so it was probably a trap.

"no." you wanna say she's being dramatic but that wouldn't end well. She doesn't say anything, hardly even reacts. just cold eyes. Is she expecting you to say more? "of course not." you're waiting for the ball to drop. for her to make a snide comment or something. anything was better than nothing. but it just never comes. she takes out her phone and starts typing. you fall back on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. you both just sit in the quiet. you're worried about saying anything that'll lead to more insults. god knows what she is doing on her phone.

"you're so pathetic." Regina eventually says. you'd take offence if you weren't used to it; basically a term of endearment at this point. you can hear her moving but don't bother looking until she's towering over you. dark eyes and a small smile that would seem genuine coming from anyone else. a hand cups your cheek but no nails follow; it's gentle and slow as she runs her thumb over your skin. what was happening right now? "do you ever think about me?" you blink a few times trying to make sense of everything. why was she being so nice? why was she being so gentle? why did she ask that?

"what do you mean?"

a roll of her pretty eyes. "you know what I mean." you did but surely not.

"I... don't know what to say."

"Because I think about you," your breathing hitches as you sit up. looking at her properly. "those pretty eyes," she moves closer. "these lips," her thumb runs over your bottom lip. you swallow hard. "do you wanna kiss me?" you just stare back. a smirk as she ghosts your lips.

"say you wanna kiss me." this felt cruel. you lean in and she pulls back slightly. a finger pressed against your lips. her expression is colder now. sharp. "say it."

"I... wanna kiss you," you dare and that smirk quickly returns. removing her finger, Regina leans in and connects your lips. it's soft and slow. not at all like you imagined kissing Regina George would feel like... until the girl pushes into you and it's exactly like you imagined. fast. forceful. like she wanted to devour you. A hand pushes you back against her massive bed and she moves to straddle your hips. your heart is beating so loudly you wouldn't be surprised if she could hear it.

"still thinking about the new girl?"

"I never-" You feel her press a little harder against your chest so you change your answer. "no." Regina tosses her hair over one shoulder, and a finger under your chin pushes your head up.

"I don't think you should talk to her anymore," Regina states before leaning down to connect your lips once more. "understood?"

you're too caught up in the moment to really gauge how serious she was being so you nod. "good girl." whispered against your lips.

Regina George had always been a lot. She always demanded attention and you often gave her it. you weren't ashamed of that. She knew you'd do anything for her. As did most of the school.

"Hey," Cady suddenly appears beside you in the hallway. she seems a lot more relaxed around you which was nice to see. however, you have not spoken to them since that weird night with Regina. She wouldn't like it. plus Gretchen would probably snitch on you immediately. "so we should probably figure out a time to work on our project." you've been paired up for an assignment in American literature.

"We can do it today after school if you want?" she nods. "I'll meet you out front."

"hey Cady," Karen slides up beside you on the other side, instantly looping your arms. ever the pleasant company. you wonder if she just wanted to see you or get you away from Cady. probably the former.

"I'll see you later," you say to the new girl before turning to your friend. "what do you want?"

"you're coming to Connor's party Saturday?"

"Obviously,"

"I have the perfect-"

"no," you respond instantly. you loved Karen. she was genuinely the sweetest person you know. but at every party, she tries to give you a Karen Shetty special aka a makeover. and every single time you have to say no.

"but I have the perfect outfit for you."

"is it actually perfect for me or just slutty."

"Both," Karen states excitedly. "please," pleading eyes as she draws you closer, hugging your arm. "please please please."

a loud groan. "fine."

"Really?" her eyes light up and circulation quickly returns to your arm. you nod at her which leads to excited clapping. maybe it wouldn't be so bad. maybe it was the perfect outfit for you but also sexy enough to satisfy Karen.

"oh here," you reach into your bag and produce a homemade friendship bracelet. you'd been tutoring some younger students for extra credit but sometimes you just hung out with them. "made them with some of the kids so,"

"ah thank you," she takes it eagerly. you had one for Gretchen and Regina too. only one of them would appreciate it though.

"why were you chatting with Cady?" Karen asks, sliding on her bracelet as she takes your arm once more.

"we're doing a project together," you explain. "you were literally just in class with us Karen."

"oh yeah," she smiles brightly. "I'm starving." you chuckle a little and allow her to eagerly pull you towards the dining room.

you're sitting on the grass. Cady is talking in your ear as you stare into the distance. most students had gone home already. The rest were working on homework or projects or extracurricular activities. you arranged this meeting but god were you bored. no offence to Cady but you kinda wish you'd been paired with Karen so you could be fucking about right now and then rush the work the night before it's due.

"are you going to the party Saturday?" you ask idly.

"What party?"

"oh shit." you forgot she was hanging out with Janis and Damian who definitely wouldn't have been invited. "connor mckay is having a party. The dudes a mess, big house though. you should come,"

"don't think I was invited,"

"I'm inviting you."

"not sure that's how it works."

"Just come Cady," you insist. "you can bring Janis and Damian too if you want. everyone will be too fucked to notice."

"uh, thanks then" she smiles a little, glancing back at her textbook. "I'll think about it."

"you have to think about attending your first high school party?" you question. laying down on your back. "I'll be there," you turn your head to look at them. "it'll be fun." you watch her carefully and soon she smiles.

"Okay, yeah."

"well that was easy," should have just started by stating you'll be there. "Be careful, Cady." you tease, looking back to clouds passing by but you can't help but smirk a little. "I'll start thinking you like me."

sat in the back of Regina's jeep as she fixes her hair in the overhead mirror, Karen inspects your face while Gretchen is copying Regina by fixing her hair. "can we just go in," you insist, slapping Karen's hands away. "before I regret coming."

"Why would you regret coming?" Gretchen questions, looking around at you.

"I feel stupid,"

"you look amazing," Karen urges. "perfect."

"you would say that."

"stop whining," Regina insists. flipping up her mirror. "you look hot. now let's go."

finally. "I'm gonna get so fucked up," you state as you step out of the car. walking beside Regina with Gretchen and Karen a step behind. the party is already alive. started at six. It was eight.

you reach the point in every party where you just don't want to be there anymore pretty quickly tonight. you're suddenly so aware of how annoying everyone is. sat on the kitchen counter, you swing your legs back and forth as you sip whatever was in your cup. Gretchen gave it to you. the party passes around you like you're not even there until an all too familiar blonde appears. "you look sad," you'd mistake that for genuine concern if it wasn't Regina "Already at sad drunk, that's impressive."

"what do you want Regina?" she had basically ignored you since you arrived so why she suddenly thought you were worthy of her presence, you'll never know. Shane was the object of her disgustingly public displays of affection tonight. "thought you'd be too busy with Shane."

"god, you're so obsessed with Shane," a roll of her eyes as she takes the cup from your hand to help herself. you watch her as the red cup comes to painted lips. not a hair out of place. so perfect. Regina was perfect. it was annoying

"I invited Cady tonight," you state, snatching your cup back.

"ew. why? I thought we agreed you weren't going near Cady anymore," technically you did. practically it wasn't that deep. who cares.

"And Janis and Damian but mostly to get Cady here,"

"desperate to hang out with losers," Regina sighs. "is she here?"

you shrug. "too many people. too big a house. I haven't looked, to be honest."

"Well," a hand finds its way to your thigh, running up and then down softly. "if you're good tonight maybe I'll give you a little treat."

"don't," you push her hand away. "go back to your boyfriend."

"he's not my boyfriend,"

"well whatever he is," you jump down off the countertop. "you made it very clear that I'm not what you want."

"you're so dramatic," she pushes up too. "I hate when you get drunk."

"Whatever."

"fuck sake," Regina responds. "you act like I said we're together or something."

"you're such an asshole," you huff. "I'm gonna find Cady."

"good luck with that,"

there are so many people at this party. you're not sure who half of them even are but they all seem to know you as you stumble around after the new girl. a constant barrage of 'hellos' and 'you look hot' in various forms. it's tiring. annoying. and you're about to give up and go find Gretchen so she can rub your back to make you feel better when you spot her. She was looking as awkward as ever. "you came." shouted over the thump of the music

"yeah," her face lit up. "Damian too. Janis said she'd rather jump off a bridge than come so..."

"That sounds... exactly like her," you nod. "I like..." you glance at her outfit. Regina would hate it. you don't love it. "your outfit. very school teacher chic."

"Thanks," she replies. "I didn't have anything to wear so,"

"it's cool. I'm just happy someone here isn't gonna irritate me- do you want a drink?"

"Sure," she nods. "do they have juice?"

"uh... probably somewhere." who asks for juice at a party? "I'll check. stay here."

you wander off back to the kitchen in search of some juice. your first stop is the fridge which is very stocked. you briefly scan for anything open, sweet and edible before just grabbing a carton of fresh orange and deciding that will do. pouring her a glass before heading back. she's still in the same spot only a particular blonde in the tightest little black dress has decided to strike up a conversation. you immediately know something is wrong. Regina can't stand Cady. it's why you told her you admitted to inviting her so easily. You wanted to piss her off. you can't make out what is happening but as you make your approach the redhead leaves. Regina turns to you with a sugary sweet smile betrayed by her eyes. "hey baby girl, feeling any better?"

"What did you say to her?"

"why do you have a glass of" brow knitted as she tapped her nail against the glass. "orange juice?"

"What did you say to her?"

"who?" you let her have the glass and she takes a sip. a visible look of disgust. "is there anything in this?"

"It's just fresh orange,"

"what the fuck? are you trying to sober up or what?"

"it was for Cady," you explain. "what did you say?"

the blonde shrugs. "she just had to go. not my fault." you don't believe her. why would you? She has a track record of being a conniving person who'll make trouble just for the sake of it. it'd be naive to think she didn't do anything."

"Why do you have to be such a fucking bitch all of the time," you grumble loudly. a hand snaps around your wrist and suddenly you're yanked closer to her. hot breath sending a shiver down your spine.

"I let you off before because you were all sad and tragic but don't think you can ever talk to me like that," growled in your ear before she abruptly shoved you away. "Cady left. get over it."

"she only left because you said something,"

"she left because she realised you don't like her," the blonde snapped. such a pretty poison came in the form of Regina George as she turned her gaze on you. She was pissed but kept it quietly contained to just beneath the music so nobody else had a clue. "that you've just been stringing her along. pretending to be her friend. all because I wasn't showing you enough attention," she's close again. too close. she wasn't physically that tall but right she seemed massive as she loomed over you. her eyes flicker to your lips and back up. did she wanna kiss you or kill you? neither seemed smart. "she realised that you belong to me."

"I'm not a dog Regina."

"you sure about that," a mean glint in those pretty eyes. "you wanted my attention. you got it." she shoves the orange juice back in your hand. it's contents splashing your hand. "don't cry about it now." and with that she turns on her heel and disappears into the crowd

// NEXT

[julietsbody]

wait wait hear me out:

doodling cute lil hearts on Luke’s bicep and he acts like he hates it because it makes him look “weak” but next time you spar with him you notice they’re still there

this is TEWWW CUTEEEE

luke’s jaw was ticking the whole time you were drawing on him, truly he wasn’t sure why he even allowed himself to agree to this, especially after you pulled out that pink glittery pen. he purposefully flexes his bicep under the push of the metal pen, watching the ink falter it’s path from the sudden change of surface, and you lightly slap his arm with a pout, “that’s not funny, luke!” 

“it is funny— hey, how long is this shit g’na take?” 

“just a little more, why?” 

“needa know if i can wash it off before training. ‘m not gonna look like a pussy in front of everyone.”

but the next time you see him, during training to be exact, the sleeve is his shirt is ever so slightly bunched up, exposing the pink glittery ink peppered on his skin in the shape of hearts. you smile sweetly at it, pointing it out, and he simply just rolls his eyes with a grumble, “didn’t have time, ‘kay? trust me, if i did, this shit would be gone.” 

but he’s such a liar!!!

[mirohlayo]

F1 DRIVERS AND THEIR FIRST KISS

WITH YOU

including boys from mclaren, ferrari, mercedes + verstappen, ricciardo & gasly

warning : none, some fluff

note : looks like i don't like max danny and pierre bc i didn't put any color for them but there's just no matching color on tumblr 😔

!! english not my first language !!

ᦈ OSCAR PIASTRI 81

on a date. he's a simple, romantic kind of guy but still he puts a lot of efforts to make everything perfect and special. he would brings you to the restaurant, offering you an luxurious meal just for you. or maybe an amusement park. whatever you like, as long as you enjoy the date. and then he'll takes you home, making sure he sees you walk inside your apartment and close the door behind you so that he knows you're all safe. but just before that, he would smiles with loving eyes and cups your face gently. maybe a bit hesitant at first, but then he leans in and captures your warm lips, kissing you as if it was the last time he could do it. but fortunately, it is the first and for sure not the last time that he will do it. and then when you disappear behind the wooden door he giggles so hard and can't stop smiling, still feeling the pleasant sensation.

ᦈ LANDO NORRIS 4

after a podium during a race. he jumps out of his car after winning a podium well deserved. he runs towards the engineers and the race team who are congratulating him for his fantastic job. everyone hugs him and pats his shoulder, head. he smiles brightly as he hugs back every single one person. and then your turn. next was you. he literally stop himself right in front of you. of course you congratulate him, saying that you are proud of him and everything. his smile widens , his gaze softens, and the second later his lips are on yours. he would kiss you roughly because of how much he craved to kiss you but still softly, he wants to savor every second of it. then he pulls out, stroking your rosy cheeks as the cameras takes loads of photos of you two, smiling at each other.

ᦈ CHARLES LECLERC 16

playing piano together and quick kiss. you guys would just randomly touch some keys of the piano, sharing the seat and so seating next to each other, shoulders pressed together. charles already loves your touch and closeness as he can also smells your sweet and fruity perfume which tickles his nose. then he starts playing a beautiful, romantic song that was actually meant for you. you just listen carefully to the melody, closing your eyes and feeling the emotion that seizes you. but the music stops suddenly, and you open your eyes confused. he places his thumb and forefinger on your chin to make you look at him, and when your eyes meet, he gets lost in them before suddenly placing a quick kiss on your lips. you blink, trying to process what just happened, and charles would just starts pecking all of your face, but mostly your lips.

ᦈ CARLOS SAINZ 55

like oscar, on a date. but a cooking or baking date. you invite him to your apartment and suggest cooking together and then after watch something on the tv. first, you guys would follow the recipe because of course you wanted to eat a delicious dinner. but gradually it become a mess and a food battle takes place. carlos would just throws you flour, or even draws some lines and patterns on your skin such as your arms, shoulders and of course your face. he also traces hearts on your cheeks with some ketchup on his finger. literally, just painting you with cute stuff. but the moment is just too funny and sweet, that now he's focused on your lips which forms a smile. i think he would go with something like "you have a stain here" and right after leans in and kiss you tenderly. but soon the cooking date would become a kissing and pecking session, almost forgetting about the recipe and dinner.

ᦈ LEWIS HAMILTON 44

waking up next to each other. you are already dating for some months now, but never you really kissed each other. in any case, never on the lips. you guys just going with pecks and kisses on the cheek, neck, forehead or hands. actually, every part of your faces except your lips. because maybe you were too shy but also it is something very important and special for both of you, especially hamilton. but now, you are both sleeping in your shared bed, you in lewis' arms. his grip is tight on your waist because he always wants to keep you close to him during the night. and the morning, he wakes up first. he looks down at you, eyes fluttering slowly as he admires your pretty sleepy face, a lazy smile glues on his lips. and then you wake up, crossing his lovely gaze. he would smiles wider and says "good morning love" before pressing for the first time his lips on yours. and his heart feels lighter, experiencing this new pleasant sensation.

ᦈ GEORGE RUSSEL 63

dancing in the rain. george takes you on a walk, because he just wanted to spend some time with you. just the two of you together. and you both like walking, maybe for some people it is boring but it's an another way to appreciate each other's presence and that was enough for you. he grabs your hand and intertwines your fingers, gently stroking the top of your hand with his thumb. you walk for a while, sometimes stopping in front of store fronts until little water drops starts to fall from the sky. and then more and more water drops falls. now it is raining. a lot. so you decides to secure and stays underneath a bus stop. you waited and hoped the rain would calms down. but no, still raining a lot. and so george has this idea. he would grabs your hand and takes you with him under the rain. first you would be a bit angry, but when he starts dancing with you and laughing at te situation, you follow him and start to enjoy the moment. and the moment is so perfect, he has to kiss you. so he does it. your hot lips warms his person as he delights into the feeling. and no need to say it would be by now his favorite activity.

ᦈ MAX VERSTAPPEN 33

truth or dare game, but it is just true. a sleepover between max and your common friends was organized. and now it's time to go. you greet your friends as you walk inside the house, and smile brightly to max who is waving to you. you go to the bathroom to change into your pajama and then the sleepover starts. you're sitting next to max, mostly talking with him because of course he is your secret crush. one of your friend then suggests to play a truth or dare game, because it is something you all had the habit to do during nights like that. so the game starts, your friends mostly answering truth questions. then the bottle turns, and obviously it stopped right in front of max. he chooses dare. and fuck. the dare is to kiss someone present here. you feel weird, a bit awkward because you didn't want to see him kiss another girl. but max takes your chin between his fingers to make you look at him. and without realizing it, he's already kissing you. you kiss him back, and you can feel he struggles to pull back. and after he would whisper in your ear "the kiss was not a game. just my true feelings"

ᦈ DANIEL RICCIARDO 3

photoshoot kiss. daniel loves taking photos. especially of you, because he always says your his muse and you're super photogenic. so you two were on a trip right now. and of course daniel had to take his camera. to take lot of photos and make good memories. the landscape is just amazing. it is winter and christmas decorations and lights are everywhere in the streets. you stop walking to sit on a bench, taking a little break before going to a random restaurant you would find on your way. as you sit down, daniel takes his camera in his hands. and of course he had to take plenty photos of both of you, together, in this amazing place. he clicks on the button, and just can't stop taking photos. from smiling faces to funny faces, easily a hundred pictures have been taken. but one photo is missing. and daniel don't like when he don't have the perfect photo. so without thinking more, he places the camera in front of you to take a selfie and says "look at me". he clicks on the button and then as the flash lights you his lips captures yours. now you are all shy and he's just giggling, looking by now at his favorite photo for the rest of forever.

ᦈ PIERRE GASLY 10

during your birthday party. it is your birthday day, and a party have been organized by pierre, your best friend and your family. so when you come to the place, all eyes are on you. everyone is saying happy birthday and wishing you the best, but pierre can't take take off his eyes of you. you are just too beautiful. and then the party starts. people are dancing and singing, just enjoying the moment. you're sitting to a table with your closest friends, including pierre. you didn't remark it but he was just stealing glances at you. soon it is the the end of the party and all are playfully asking you to do a speech. you laugh shyly, not really wanting to do it but pierre's smile reassure you, so you just start speaking. you thank everybody of course, and after your speech pierre joins you, standing next to you. he would go with something like "this is my gift for you" and then after quickly kiss you. and kiss you once again but this time more deeply and tenderly, showing all of his love for his favorite birthday person.

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 24

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pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n hi. it's me. i'm back. i don't have any excuses to make.

please also check out daybreak, posting weekly from now on (yes i did write an entire smau instead of queenmaker and sit on it for almost six months)

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Comeback approaches like a hurricane; it's there, developing in the corner of your eye just off the coast of your island, and then all at once it is here, and it is so all-encompassing that you're not even sure where here is anymore.

Comeback. Debut. The most important day of your life. One of those.

 Time starts to fly by; schedules and practice and filming and every so often the chance to sleep or to grab something to eat with the others. It drags at your coattails, sticks itself to your feet and settles like a weight upon your shoulders, but you can't stop. There are performances to film, and then there is a concert that you are missing so much of the choreography for, and even when all of that is over, you are headfirst into award season and special performances and group activities for the company and-

First, debut. Second, everything else.

The camera sits on the table in front of you, staring with one dark, unblinking eye as a brush darts across your face, erasing all your imperfections. It fills your stomach with a funny kind of fear, small but poisonous, stinging when you think about turning it on - you've managed to put it off so far, waiting until your face was made up to at least avoid having to see your own naked skin reflected back at you in the viewfinder. No one else wanted to see that either, you're sure, after the things you've read and...well, the experiences you've had in the past. It's good to know your limits, after all.

That excuse is fast running out now though, and the time to go up towards the stage is drawing closer with alarming speed, and if you don't capture any footage before that happens, you're in some real trouble, no matter how loudly Seungmin and Felix are churning out hours worth of content on the other side of the room.

It takes real, deliberate effort to lean forward and turn that camera on once the makeup artist proclaims you ready, your hands delaying still as they fiddle with the angle and the focus, following the motions the manager that had handed it to you had shown you before he left. It gives you a little red light to say it is filming, and you swallow down the stone in your throat and sit up straight, looking around at the room to avoid the stare of its lense.

The first minute of your vlog is very boring. It's probably only the thought of some stranger sitting in a room later and watching you sit there awkwardly for a ridiculous amount of time that spurs you into saying anything at all. 

"Hello Stay," you begin, because it seems the only way to begin. The words feel awkward in your mouth, your tongue stiff and undeserving of saying them, and your throat scratches and dries; you think, as you speak, that you do not sound like a singer at all. "It's nice to meet you...for the second time." 

A noise rises up from behind you, giving you pause just as you run out of things to say - Han, running his voice up and down the scales as he begins to warm up. You've gotten used to that by now, the volume of the boys around you, but you're grateful for the excuse to pause in your self-rumination anyway, the precious seconds it gives you to figure out what it is you're saying.

Act normal, you tell yourself firmly as you turn back to the camera.

"I guess I should introduce myself, shouldn't I?" you say, your fingers twisting in your lap. "I'm L/N Y/N from Stray Kids, and today we're at [] for our first performance of Back Door, and I have just finished with the makeup..."

In the corner of the viewfinder, you notice a face hovering over your shoulder; Jeongin, waving a peace sign just out of your field of vision. You turn to look at him, shuffling over so that he is in full view for the camera. "What are you doing?" you ask and he leans in closer, automatically fixing the angle for the camera.

"I just wanted to see what you were doing," he says, refreshingly peaceful compared to the chaos that is building in the rest of the room. "Is this a vlog?"

"Mhm," you answer, and he smiles and waves again to the camera. "Are you dressed already?"

"Nearly," he says, glancing down at his white shirt and the black necklace that dangles around his neck. "You have time still."

You glance down at yourself; hoodie and cargo pants, neat but not show-ready by any means. "Mine is cold," you say by way of explanation, thinking of the skirt and thin shirt that wait on a rack in the next room, a far cry from the long pants the eight of them are wearing; and you really do like the look you've been given, but the thought of sitting around cold before you had to was less than enticing. "I was going to go and change in a minute."

"Maybe you should swap with someone," I.N suggests slyly. "I bet Changbin would look good in a skirt."

"Changbin's pants wouldn't fit me," you throw back, and he has to turn away from the camera to hide the ugly laugh that snorts from his nose. "He's too-"

Short, you don't say, your eyes tracking the boy in question as he passes by. He pauses in the back of your video when he notices your eyes on him, looks between you suspiciously, and then dances his way out of frame, having decided, you guess, that you aren't up to anything worthy of comment.

The look you share with I.N almost makes you laugh again. "I'm going," you say, scooping up your camera as you stand, "before he realises we're talking about him."

---

"Why do you look nervous?" Chan asks, a shadow that suddenly stands beside you as someone clips a mic pack onto his belt. You eye him in disbelief to avoid turning to look at the hallway that leads to the stage again, trying to figure out if he's joking or not.

"I can be nervous if I want to," you answer after a few seconds, in a way that definitely doesn't hide how anxious you feel at all. 

"But you shouldn't be," he insists, "because there's nothing to be nervous about."

"You know that won't stop me," you scoff.

He cracks a smile despite himself. He almost laughs, except that he's busy turning to nod in acknowledgement of whatever the assistant behind him says on her way past. "It's going to be a good performance," he says, like the simple act of saying it is enough to manifest it into existance, like he would never believe otherwise.

"It's going to be good," you agree readily. "The concerts next week are going to be good too."

That smile flashes across his face again, his eyes lighting up. "You're excited?" he asks - and you almost feel guilty, that he would think that you wouldn't be excited, that you've worked so hard and put on such a stoic face that any of them might start to think this is a chore for you, rather than a dream coming true in front of your eyes.

"Of course I'm excited," you tell him emphatically, before he can get any ideas. "I can't wait to-"

"Y/N noona!" Changbin says as he strides across the room, stopping the thought halfway through. You turn to face him and the phone he waggles in his hand questioningly. "Take a photo with me."

"Right now?" you ask, looping your in-ears over your shoulders as if to demonstrate just how poor his timing is.

Changbin doesn't notice at all. "Why not now?" he questions. "I'm supposed to take a photo for instagram. Come and take one with me."

Beside you, Chan looks like he still has something to say, but when you glance at him, he only shrugs, turning away to fiddle with his own equipment. "Alright," you agree easily and follow Changbin, over to a bland enough piece of wall with decent lighting. You have a feeling someone has already scouted the room earlier for the best places to take photos, judging by how easy it is to find and how well it photographs.

It's a good distraction from the nerves for a few minutes, but it doesn't last much longer than that; especially not when Changbin barks and fusses over the angle and the faces, and then Hyunjin comes wandering over to take the camera out of his hand, and you realise that he's occupying you as much as doing what Skijigi have asked him to do. After that, you laugh and poke fun back at him with just the same vivacity, but it does nothing to assauge the anxiety that's planted deep in your gut, roots curling out to envelop you.

Somehow, when you're done, it is time to go up to the stage - and suddenly, you are engulfed within the group and walking that hallway you had been staring at what feels like moments ago, trying to swallow with a dry mouth and a stone in your throat and wondering if you'll actually be able to get any of the notes out at all.

Chan's hand touches your shoulder as you walk, appearing by your side in just the same way as he had earlier. You wonder if he can smell fear or something; or if you really are just that pale and drawn in the face, if your hands are shaking or something. Whatever it is, you're clearly not doing a very good job of hiding it. 

"You still look nervous," he tells you cheerily, and if he's aware that he's reading your thoughts, he doesn't give any indication of it, not even as he pulls you aside as you reach side-stage and glances up at the huddle of boys that continue to the bottom of the stairs, eyeing them as if there's something he doesn't want them to hear.

"I got you something," he says, when he's sure there are no eavesdroppers, and lets his lips curve in a secretive, delighted smile.

Your eyebrow raises in surprise, almost certain that he did not forget, but rather has been looking for the right time to bring it up - but he doesn't notice the look of disbelief, fishing a small, velvet bag out of his pocket. He offers it to you on an outstretched palm, a bridge to form the gap between you.

With timid, shaking fingers you take it, noting the pink that stains his cheeks and the way he cringes away from meeting your eye as you pull the drawstrings loose. "I saw you playing with the ones at K-Con," he hurries to explain before you can even see what's inside. "And you - fidget a lot. I thought it might help."

A ring tumbles out of the bag and into your palm, the full stop to the end of his sentence. It's only a plain silver band, softly curved at the edges and gleaming where the light hits it - nothing ostentatious or gaudy. Just a simple band for you to twist around your finger, the letters SKZ engraved on its inner circle.

"Thankyou," you manage to say as you slip it onto your finger - and then fiddle with it, twisting it and forth to distract yourself from the nervous hum that seems to hang in the air between you.

"Oh, no." He waves you away before you can even get the words out, that pink flushing his face. "Look, it works already." 

You glance down at your fingers and the twist of the ring, and feel the grin that bites at your face. "I like it," you admit, and try to breathe the nervous jitters out of your chest with the words. 

He looks...relieved? You're not sure, when the music blasts on stage and then cuts off and the crowd roars in response, cutting him off before he can say whatever it is that now lines the back of his teeth. It looks like relief on his face though; as if he'd been worried you wouldn't take the gift or something. Wouldn't see the sentiment behind it even if you didn't like it. What does he think of you, if that's how he thinks you might react?

The thought sends another thrill of fear down your spine, one that the scrape of that ring on your finger can't quiet. So does the scream of that crowd - adrenaline rises from your chest, wrapping its hands around your throat; that wild, senseless energy tensing in your body like you're about to run from a fight-

A hand claps your shoulder. "Are you breathing?" Seungmin asks, balancing on one foot as he leans around you to frown at your face.

You have to inhale to retort, and he smirks. "That's what I was wondering," Chan says behind that grin - but the brush of his hand over the back of yours is much softer; questioning, rather than the jolt of contact from Seungmin.

"I don't need to breathe," you throw at them weakly. "I'm a robot."

"How do I turn you off, then?" Chan asks, and then laughs when you stare at him, surprised. Betrayed, maybe, when you would have expected such a thing to come out of Seungmin's mouth rather than his.

You're distracted by the call of a staff member, waiting to usher you onto the stage - and there, again, are your nerves, returned in two-fold. Debut, you remember again for the thousandth time today. Your dream. Your reward. Your life's work, the only work you've ever learnt how to do.

The group huddle together, say some quick words of encouragement that float past you with registering at all. Your hand is warm in the centre of all of theirs, crushed by the weight of someone's palm as eight hands go down and whoever is on the bottom goes up, ruining the whole thing. You know that you laugh, between the groans and cries of retribution, but it doesn't reach right into your chest. All your attention is laser-focused on the steps before you and the buzz of the crowd waiting beyond.

You are not alone in your daze, at least. Many hands pat your shoulders, smooth your hair. Felix throws an arm around you until you reach the stairs, a one-armed hug while he talks about something in your ear. He lets you go while you climb, and follows on your heels out onto the stage.

The crowd is smaller than K-Con, to your mercy, even if they scream and cheer just as loud as that massive crowd had. It seems like a stupid thing to find comfort in a moment later, when the thought hits you again; of course the crowd is smaller. This is only a broadcast recording, not the concerts that leer at your from the near future.

Some of the boys are already at the centre of the stage, waving and talking to fans. You join them long enough for the official greeting - and then melt away into the background when Changbin immediately commands attention. You find Han there with you, arms swinging by his sides in one last warmup, but you can't think of anything to say other than the tight grin that offers itself to him, no doubt writing all you nerves right onto your face. The smile he gives you in return is sympathetic, and devoid of pretty words to go with it; just a flash of teeth, a puff of air that blows into his cheeks before exhaling. It's a little comfort, at least.

The call to begin shatters any calm it pulls over you just as quickly as it arrives though, the stage a hive of activity as everyone finds their places. For a long moment, no one moves and nothing plays, the tense, still seconds ticking by at an excruciating pace-

And then the music starts.

And then you dance.

And then you sing, loud and clear and bright - and steady, even with the complex movement of your body and the increasing cry of your chest for air. 

The finale rises and culminates with Felix's voice, standing at the end of the line behind you. You feel his weight bump against you as he shifts on his feet, hear the moment of silence and then the renewed cheer of the crowd when his ending fairy comes up on the screens. You can't see when it ends, so you count to five before you turn, ducking out of the line as requested and immediately finding the red light of the camera that was told to be waiting for you. Finger hearts, Felix had suggested backstage and Hyunjin had agreed, and so that is what you give them, angled just so by your cheek and the giddy smile that had been pulling on your lips before the music was even finished.

The stage goes silent, the few scattered beginnings of applause quickly throttled by the hands that remain in their laps. The seconds tick by at a glacial pace, the smile threatening to slip from your face. You glue it there with all the fire that remains in your veins.

You could swear the camera lingers, just to drink in your pain. Logically, you know it is the same time as Felix had. Somehow, the thought isn't comforting.

Finally, that lense clicks off and the boys move around you, giving the crowd something else to hawk and squeal at. Something they really want to see, you allow yourself to think acerbically, and carefully avoid looking any of them in the eye as you do your forced, casual wander off the stage. It is hard enough to achieve in your own bubble, to resist that urge to run, let alone if you catch anything like sympathy on their faces.

The first one below, you take one look at the playback monitor and excuse yourself to the staff, fleeing towards the bathrooms. You're dimly aware of footsteps behind you and the sound of your name, but they do not process and your feet won't stop - not until the heavy door slams shut behind you and the propel of your walk carries you in sight of the mirror over the sinks-

Beautiful, you'd dared to think earlier, staring vindictively at just the same image that looks back at you now. The careful fit of the navy shirt, the short skirt flattering the length and lines of your legs, the layered bangles and the diamonds that glitter around your neck...perfectly crafted to slip right in amongst the silk and patterns of the boys - and not unlike Midnight's dark queen concept either, the concept you hadn't had the right look for. You'd even liked your face, and the unearthly glow they'd painted into your cheeks, the perfect frame of your dark hair-

But something had displeased that crowd. Whether the look, or the dancing, or stupid, stubborn pettiness over girlish crushes - or all of it put together. It took a lot to silence an entire crowd. You knew that - you'd seen one refuse to be silenced before, but never nominally refuse to cheer. Never pass the sentiment around and come to an absolute mutual agreement.

It's a talent, to be able to do that by yourself, you think as you stare into your own eyes in the mirror; and you don't have it in you to deny the rush of feelings that wells in your chest this time, or the hot prick of tears in your eyes. Your thoughts are swept off in the storm, the questions clamouring, crying, begging for one answer; why, why, why, why. Why do they hate you, why are they so mean about it, why didn't you just go home? Why did you ever come to this country in the first place? Why id you think you were good enough to be worth their love?

A soft knock on the door precedes the tentative entry of an assistant; one of the girls from JYP that always travels with you on schedules. You know her name, but you should know her better; instead, you've just been keeping to yourself. Another point of failure, probably.

"Y/N?" she says, daring to put one foot through the door as you blink and nod in acknowledgement. "Sorry - we need to start heading back now. You can have another moment - if you need-"

"I'm coming," you hurry to say; and it is shame that colours your cheeks and gives you the strength again to swallow it down like a hard stone. The tears burn as you blink them away, as you stare at the mirror and decide that no more will fall except for the traitorous three that have already escaped. You'll have to go back on that stage - you won't go red-eyed and puffy, won't give them that satisfaction.

You'll have to do that ending again too, though. Weather that storm a second time. Well, you'll just have to make sure this take is perfect, and then no one will ask for a third. You'll be able to go home and hide.

Your moment is up. You know that, and so you turn yourself away from the mirror, to the girl that waits. She willingly averts her eyes as she steps out, holding the door for you until you grip the edge of it with your own hand and follow her.

Chan is waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall and staring at nothing as he waits. There's a dark anger in his eyes when he turns, but it isn't for you - no, the tissue box in his hand is for you, offered like a bridge that spans the gap between you. 

Warily, you draw one and turn aside to dab at your eyes and try to cool the burn in your cheeks. You want to cringe away from yourself and hide in the bathroom again, to put off facing him until he goes away - but if you do that, he'll know you're hiding, and the hovering assistant will bear the blame of not bringing you back, and those fans will think they know why it's taking so long-

Stupid. They already know that they've won. Chan can see you crying. There's no one left to make a fool of except yourself.

"Are you alright?" Chan asks - and just like you thought, there is none of that anger in the gentle voice that asks.

"It's fine," you answer, biting at your tongue agains the tears that threaten to stir anew. "Sorry. I just needed - a moment. I'm ready to go again."

"Take another moment," he tells you.

"I'd rather go," you say, and it comes out harsher than you mean it to - but it is only the tears that you are fighting, that horrible, gut-wrenching wave of emotion that wants to wash over you. "I'm fine. Really."

The tissue crushes in your palm. You wonder if the sceptical look he gives you is because of the makeup you've surely smudged, or if he just doesn't believe you. "Are you sure?" he asks, and you steel yourself as you breathe in.

"I will be if we don't talk about it," you tell him tightly, and then you take the lead before he can disagree. He falls into step willingly anyway, thoughtful or maybe brooding as you weave your way back to the stage.

"We're not doing the endings again," he tells you as you approach, right as the flock of makeup artists engulf you. Like they knew you'd be crying, you think acerbically, and then banish the thought before it can unbalance you again.

"Were there any notes for me?" you ask as a brush dusts your cheek. The dancing; that's the only thing you need to focus on. The performance. Do it perfectly, and you can escape. Subconsciously, you fingers find the ring, twisting it around and around.

"Not for you," Chan says. "Just try to enjoy it again, yeah?"

Several choice comments come to mind as you gaze at him, each one as dry and hurt as the last, but a look at the occupants of the room stills your tongue. Assistants and stylists and employees of the show - people that you shouldn't be caught speaking ill of fans or members in front of. You've read your contracts and the company ethics, seen the bill for your training attached to your name. You know how far fans and a good public image takes even the most insidious people.

"I'll try," you promise instead, firmly holding your tongue to your principals. No point complaining about hardships anyway. This isn't an industry that takes pity on those who are too weak to survive it.

Even so, the answer seems vapid and contrived the moment it spills out of your mouth. Chan doesn't have time to contest it; the others are already returning to the stage to entertain that undeserving crowd, and so you must follow too, side by side in silence. His microphone passes restlessly from hand to hand, even when you step on stage and his brow smoothes out. You wonder how long that rage will simmer beneath his skin.

Until he can do something about it, a little voice whispers to you with a thrill, watching his receding back.

The stage sweeps you away after that, Chan disappearing into the midst of the others with just one last glance over his shoulder to make sure that you're following. Seungmin replaces him, appearing unobtrusively in your shadow as Felix slings an arm back around your shoulders and bats his hand away from messing with your hair. They flank you until you drift into your position, and then the stage goes quiet so that the music can start again. 

The dance flies by; chorus, verse, bridge, dance break. The fans cheer and chant along as dutifully as they had the first time, but the sound resonates hollow in your chest this time, the faces that you give the camera manufactured rather than brought on by the music. It's hard to forget, now that you know the truth, that those cheers aren't for you; only the boys that surround you, their bodies moving in unison with yours. Part of them, and yet set apart. 

You'd come six years ago expecting to be the jewel in that kind of crown, you think. This crowd has made you the flaw, ugly and unmistakably out of place.

It's a relief when the song ends and you can let go, your shoulders slumping and your chin dropping to your chest as you stare at the floor and try to breathe. A hundred emotions sweep by you, there and then swallowed again by the storm that churns in your stomach; you flinch away from the crowd's laughter at something Han does, and then laugh when Changbin's face appears upside-down in your field of vision, his body contorted strangely in an effort to meet your eyes. There's still something hiding in Chan's eyes and Felix is openly angry, but Minho gives nothing away in the nod he gives you as he passes by. Changbin talks about what to get for dinner on the way back down the stairs, but the words just wash over you; you're not hungry anyway, after all of this, just hollow and restless and tired.

Your third filming trudges by much the same, correcting a small mistake by Han in the pursuit of perfection. The boy looks apologetic as he passes you by, but it's not him or the dancing that you resent. It's just a thing you have to do, until all nine of you are pleased, until you can finally leave that stage and draw the hoodie you'd worn here on a very different kind of morning back over your head and climb into a car to go home.

You don't win any awards. The boys hide their disappointment, but you know it is there. You know, too, where the fan vote went and why that trophy was stolen away from them. 

You're not really sure what anyone expects you to do about it.

---

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[sigma-alpha-writer-chad]

Grow Up, Would You? [Josh Washington]

“I don’t know if you’ve changed any since middle school but I really hope you’ve learned the difference between pranking somebody and just being a fucking bully.”

You can also find this story on Ao3!

Chapter Four / Chapter Five / Chapter Six

[CHAPTER FIVE]

"Chris, you are... not good at this," Josh says, holding a 4 of diamonds in his hand. "This is, like, the third time you've gotten my card wrong."

"I'd be better if I wasn't drunk off my ass," Chris defends, smacking the deck of cards on the counter. I say nothing, too busy trying to calm my laughter and holding on to Matt for balance. Laughing, himself, he holds my forearms to keep me steady.

Although they'd left us for a while, Matt and Mike eventually migrated back into the kitchen at the sound of the laughter. I was shocked that Emily wasn't wrapped around Mike like she usually was, but no one would ever hear me complain or even acknowledge her absence.

"I don't think we've ever actually spent much time together," Matt says, straightening up as he wiped a tear from his eye. "You're cool. I'm sorry for maybe seeing kind of, standoffish, earlier...?" He rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"Oh, no," I giggle. "It's awkward meeting new people, I get it. Thank you, though." I knew Matt was more meek than the others, but I didn't realize he was a sweetheart. Mike pats me on the back.

"She's maaad cool," he confirms. By the way his words merge together I can tell he's drunk. "I've never gotten to talk to her thoughhh, Emily think she wants me or whatever."

"Emily thinks everyone wants you," Josh snorts. Mike gasps, placing his hands over his torso dramatically.

"Don't they?" I cringe. Josh taps the counter loudly, drawing our attention to the lineup of shots.

"What are the, uh," Chris starts, looking into his shot as he tries to find the words he needs. "The girls! Sam, Jess, and Emily, the twins, what're they doing?" he asks.

"Some skin routine, or something. Jess brought an entire kit," Mike sighs. "I'm pretty bummed out that she said girls only, that stuff is fire." We all clink our glasses together and take the shots, Matt shaking his head violently after he swallowed.

"Goddamn, shit is nasty," he hissed, scrunching up his face. Everyone else can't help but laugh, though I can feel my face starting to burn. It could be nothing or anything, but in the past I've learned that sometimes it means I just need some air.

"I'm gonna go get some air," I say, hiking my thumb behind me towards the back balcony.

"Gonna hurl?" Josh asks, that stupid grin on his stupid face.

"No, just need some air." I walk out the door and outside. Shit. I forgot my coat. I decide against going inside - it would be embarrassing if they realized. The night was going so well, I didn't want them to watch me take the walk of shame to grab my winter garments.

I clear off a part of the railing and lean against it, shivering and holding myself. The icy air did it's job quickly in cooling my skin and opening my lungs. Despite my shivering, I took slow, deep breaths until I hear the door opening and closing behind me.

"Hey," I greet, not turning around.

"Cold?" I chew on my cheek as Josh leans next to me, holding one of his thick coats in his hands.

"Freezing," I admit, laughing. Josh says nothing, instead gently placing his coat over my shoulders. Holy fuck it was warm. Despite my reservations I quickly put it on and zip it closed, letting out a heavy sigh of relief. "Oh, wow, thank you. It's so warm." Josh laughs loudly and leans again on the railing next to me, our shoulders a hair apart.

"I have it hanging next to the fireplace," he explains. I look up at him through my lashes, and he looks down at me. "So, always nice and toasty... like a Hot Pocket." I look back out across the snowy forest in a failed attempt to hide the smile from my face. I don't know why I thought it was funny - because it wasn't.

I've always hated that Josh was able to make me smile, even when he was at his worst bullying me. If he was making jokes nearby, I was the one nearly bursting a blood vessel trying not to laugh. I know he sees me, though, because he had a twinkle in his eye and a gentle grin of his own.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks me, tilting his head in an attempt to be on my level.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply, surprised he was asking. "I just need a break sometimes." I pause. "Thanks for checking."

"Alright, girl, well," he starts, leaning against me for a second. He's so warm I almost ask him to stay there. I knew at that thought that I should start drinking less vodka and more water. "I'll give you your... your alone time."

"Thank you, Josh." I say. He pauses, and suddenly there's much more hesitance to leave. I wonder why. Is it that I said his name? "Are you okay?" he takes a deep inhale.

"Yeah," he starts, though I'm immediately not convinced. "I just need a little space, sometimes, too." There's another pause. He's still leaning against me, our shoulders pressed together. For a millisecond I can feel my head move to lean on his shoulder and I freeze. Josh opens his mouth again, hesitating to speak. "I don't know how I'm feeling about Mike, lately."

"Mike?" I repeat. He nods, taking another deep breath.

"Hannah's got a thing for him," Josh states. He's looking across the forest with his eyebrows furrowed. "And he keeps playing with her feelings, I think."

"You think?" He nods again.

"He hasn't - he won't reject her. He knows how she feels about him and he just let's her. I think he digs the attention or something, but it's pissing me off. I tried to tell Hannah he wasn't into her, but -" he cuts himself off and shakes his head. I can tell he's getting angry at just the thought of the subject. "But she just won't listen. How can a girl so smart not see what he's doing?"

"I don't know," I murmur. I wasn't sure what to say, or how to comfort him. "She asked me about him, earlier." Josh looks at me as he waits for me to continue. "Asked what I thought about him. I just said he wasn't my type, he's got a girlfriend, whatever."

"Oh, well, what is your type?" He smirks. I roll my eyes and lean hard against him as he laughs at me.

"I think she knows Mike doesn't feel the same," I say. "She just doesn't care."

"The land of delusion," Josh huffs before looking at me. "Wanting somebody you can't have, well... I guess that sort of runs in the family." I side eye him and my heart rate picks up.

"Sam?" I gulp. Josh bursts out in laughter.

"Oh, Jordan," he starts, rubbing his eyes. "You kill me."

"I'm funny, I know," I grin. We make eye contact again and the pressure of his shoulder against mine increases as he leans further into me before, finally, pulling away. The absence of his warmth is immediate and I frown.

"I'm just worried about Hannah, is all," he clarifies, suddenly. "I'll see you back inside."

"See you." I smile, softly, and listen as the door opens. Instead of closing, though, I hear gentle conversation and a 'she wants some alone time right now, man.' I turn around to see Mike trying to go to the balcony with me, Joshua blocking his way. They continue to bicker, but I can't hear anything else until Mike notices me watching.

"Hey, Jordan, just thought we could get to know each other better without Emily bitching you out!" He calls. I frown and look at Josh, who is staring at the back of Mike's head so intensely I half expected to see smoke start rising from his dark hair.

"You talk about your girlfriend weird," I blurt out. I look around me as if Emily would descend upon us at any moment and exact her wrath. "Don't you like her or something?" Mike laughs and shakes his head, finally pushing past Josh, who stumbles a few feet back.

"Of course I do," he says, placing both hands on my shoulders. I tense up immediately and make an attempt to gently shrug him off, but he just tightens his grip slightly. "But sometimes she tries to keep me from making new friends, or trying to strengthen already existing relationships. You understand, right? Jealous girlfriend things."

"I'm about to go inside," I gulp. I want his hands off of me now. I don't hate Mike, but the discomfort was incredible. "Just go on in and wait for me."

"Oh, come on, let's -"

"She said she's going inside." Josh butts in. I furrow my eyebrows and Mike finally lets me go. My feelings are complicated, both appreciation and annoyance swirling in my chest. Appreciation for the defense, and annoyance for not letting me handle it myself.

The appreciation wins over.

I pull the coat up over my cold nose and look between Josh and Mike. It's now, as Mike holds his hands up in defeat and he and Josh bicker, that I realize Josh's coat smelled so good. Did he smell this good? My drunken mind considers getting really close to Josh to find out.

It smells like pine, firewood, and cologne. I was almost sure though that the pine and firewood was from the cologne itself. I close my eyes. The scent was comforting and made me feel warmer.

My serenity is interrupted by Mike slamming the lodge door behind him as he finally relented and went inside. I jump, startled, and slip, falling flat on my back. There was enough snow that it didn't hurt, but I wasn't happy. I can hear Josh laughing.

"I'm going to try to help you up," he says through giggles. I start to sit up, slowly, and he offers is hand. I take it, and smile mischievously. "What're you-" I pull him down into the snow with me, doing my best evil laugh as I stand up. Josh rolls around, trying to get a grip on his surroundings, and he grabs my leg and pulls me back down on top of him.

I land on his chest and he lets out a huff, the air from his lungs being knocked out of him. As I try to get up, he wraps his arms around me and doesn't let go.

"Hey, hey! Release me, wench!" I yell. I try to sound serious, but I'm giggling and beaming.

"No can do, lady. Feel the wrath of Mr. Winter!" He rolls over so that I'm sunken into the pile of snow that had accumulated at the edge of the balcony. It reaches just over my ears.

And he's on top of me, his hands now on my hips and holding me down, his knee resting between mine. I'm shaking, but not from the cold anymore.

"Comfy?" He asks, moving his hands from me to hold himself up.

"Five stars," I sigh, rolling my eyes. I wish I wasn't smiling. I wish my heart wasn't pounding. "Can I get up now?"

"I don't know, all this alcohol and being wasted shit has made me tired," he yawns. His breath smells like booze and breath mints he'd been popping all night. He moves slowly, as if giving me an opportunity to stop him, and lays fully on top of me. "I'm going to sleep." Instead of shoving him off and screaming, like a part of me tells me to, I let him. His breath is warm on my neck as he fake-snores loudly. I shudder.

"Okay pal, get off me before somebody comes out here and sees this."

"Embarrassed?" Josh laughs breathily, his warm breath continuing to send chills through my body.

"Nervous."

"I make you nervous?" He sits himself back up again, that dumb smile back on his face. I try to think about the terrible things he'd done to me in our elementary and middle school times, but I can't seem to be upset at him no matter how much I try. I'm feeling something different for him. Not disdain or annoyance or the usual hatred.

It's something different.

"Yes." I relent. "And you do smell good."

"What?" I laugh out loud in embarrassment and disbelief at myself.

"I've had too much to drink," I sigh. I smile at Josh, and he smiles back, but he appears nervous and his eyes can't reach mine. He chews his lip as he starts to get up. I almost frown as he does, the warmth and weight of his body was comforting. He reached out his hand, again, and this time I take it.

"Let's go back inside," he mumbles, brushing the snow off of me. I smile as he does. "Okay?

"Okay."

----------

I sit at the counter of the bar, resting my chin on the palm of my right hand. On the other side stood Josh. He has a cocktail shaker in his hands, shaking it like a professional bartender would.

"Another water for the fair young lady?" He asks, taking my glass and filling it with the clear liquid, adding as much dramatic flair as he could.

"Oh, yes, m'dear, thank you," I hum. Chris and everyone else had headed to bed long ago, leaving Josh and I alone in the kitchen, the both of us deciding to be mostly sober before even going to bed. Josh slides the water to me and winks. I laugh, then snap my mouth shut.

"What is it?" He asks, tilting his head and leaning over the counter.

"I..." I start to laugh, moving my arm to hide my face. "I sound so, so drunk." Josh laughs at me before pushing the glass of water to me again.

"Drink up, madam," he says. I grab the glass, slowly sliding it towards me as Josh and I lock eyes. I raise an eyebrow and bring the water to my lips, downing it quickly like a massive shot.

"I'd like another, please. And make that a double."

"As you wish," he laughs. He gives me water in a much bigger glass, not bothering with the theatrics this time as he gets himself a drink as well. Instead of walking around the bar to sit, he stays opposite of me and leaning over the counter. I take a sip from the cup. I can feel myself growing more sober as time passes, but not by much. "How're you feeling?" I tilt my head in thought. I wondered for just a moment if I should be honest with him.

"I'm feeling good," I admit, smiling to myself. I can feel him watching me. "I'm..." I swallow, a bit nervous. "I'm glad I came. Thank you for tolerating me." My eyes move to his. The kitchen was completely dark save for a single light above the stove. For a moment I think he almost looks handsome in this lighting.

I must be wasted.

"I should say the same," Josh sighs, looking away from me. He's staring at the counter now. "I know I'm not... Your favorite." He starts, inhaling deeply. "But you've been showing up, anyways, for Chris and... And my sisters. I love Chris, and I love my sisters, more than anything, y'know? So... If they call you friend, you..." His eyes meet mine for not even a second, seemingly too nervous to meet my eyes. "You let me know if you need anything and I'll try to help you out, alright?" My eyes are watering. Why are my eyes watering? Why is he saying this to me.

"...okay," I croak. I can barely get the words out of my throat. "Thank you." I gulp down the rest of my water in an attempt to snuff out the fire burning in my chest. The air becomes heavy and thick with awkward tension. I wonder if he can hear my heart pounding.

"Do you want to put on a movie?" Josh asks, snapping me out of my fog.

"Uhm, sure. What are you thinking?"

"I've got Scream," he grins. "Do you like scary movies?" I roll my eyes, but I can't hide the smile growing on my face. "Ahh, there it is," Josh says gently, his voice low. My face feels like its set on fire.

"Is the couch fine?!" I gasp, standing up quickly and stumbling backwards. Josh laughs and asks if I'm okay, but I ignore him and scurry to the couch. Above the fireplace was a massive television. Josh turns it on and flips through channels to his own recording of Scream. I can't help but laugh.

"You recorded Scream?"

"Hey, man, don't be a hater," Josh sighs. As the movie starts he takes his seat. I'm at one end of the couch, and he's at the other. As we watch the movie, I take suspicious glances every now and then at Josh. Sometimes, I look at him and he's fully turned to look at me.

"Is there something on my face?" I ask when I catch him again. He shakes his head.

"No, I just want to see your reactions to the movie," he admitted. He's sounding less sober and more tired. As I look back towards the TV I can feel the sofa move as he moves towards me.

"I've seen this before," I whisper.

"Say what?" Josh scoots closer again so he can hear me. When I look at him again the movie starts to disappear. I don't know what I'm thinking.

I scoot closer to him.

"I said I've seen this movie before," I repeat, slightly louder. Josh is staring at me now without hesitation. I can tell he's tired, yet he has no issue with keeping his eyes on me. He looks like a puppy dog, pleading for any sort of attention.

"Oh, have you?" He says. This time, he's whispering, yet he's close enough that I can hear him just fine. I only realize, now, that our knees our touching, exactly as they did at the pizza bar. My heart rate picks up as Josh scans every detail of my face.

"Mhm," I hum. I look at his lips. They look soft. My hand twitches as I resist the urge to reach up and brush my thumb across his lip. How much have I had to drink?

"Jordan..." He starts, leaning in.

"Josh?" I gulp, looking back into his eyes.

Green eyes.

His hand slowly moves itself to my forearm.

"I am..." He laughs softly. "I think I have to be wasted." His hand slowly moves up my arm and to my shoulder but he doesn't stop. He brushes his thumb across my collarbone before he gently settles his hand gently at the side of my neck.

"Me, too," I whisper. Josh parts his lips and slowly moves closer to me, his thumb brushing my jawline. Is he going to kiss me? Holy shit. Is Joshua Washington going to kiss me? My heart pounds and I worry for a moment that I'm about to die. My chest is going to burst open at any second now.

"So we should stop," I say breathlessly, my hands quickly moving to his chest. It was surprisingly solid. My heart is twisted harshly, my chest so tight it felt as if my ribs would shatter at any moment. I half expect him to call me ugly, to scoff and roll his eyes, tell me it was just a joke.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against my own.

"I'm sorry, Jordan, I don't know what came over me," he spoke softly, just above a whisper. His hand doesn't leave it's place on my skin, and for some unspeakable reason I don't mind it. "Can I just... I'm... I don't know. Things feel fine with you," he admits, whispering as if I'll break if he speaks too loud. "Can we just stay like this for a while?" I nod, closing my own eyes as he rests his head on my shoulder. My hands move to his head as if on instinct, one hand brushing his hair softly and the other tracing circles on his back. He slowly wraps his arms around me in a loose hug, his weight pushing me backwards as he fell deeper into sleep.

Instead of laying back, myself, I slowly guided his head to my lap, where I continued to run my fingers through his hair.

"Chris would go insane if he saw this," I chuckle, a small smile on my face.

"You drive me insane," Josh mumbles something I can barely catch.

"Says you, Mr. Locker-Rats," I scoff. He smiles at the nickname.

"That's such a stupid name," he laughs. He takes a deep breath and his smile falters. Thank you, Jordan," he sighs, turning over into his side. "I really needed this."

"Hm?"

"I need this..." Josh says as he drifts off to sleep.

I'm sober now.

I know I'll remember this. I'll remember this for the rest of my life. The fragile body of my worst enemy left open and vulnerable to me like no one else had ever been, his head in my lap, with what felt like his soul held in my very hands. I felt as if one wrong move would break him.

Would he remember? Will he still be so kind, so gentle when everyone else can see him be kind to me?

I didn't think so. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth. Despite my reservations I continue to slowly pet his thick, soft hair. It's now, as I look down at him sleeping, that I start to realize that maybe I don't hate him anymore.

Maybe we could be some sort of friends.

I smile to myself and sigh, leaning back against the couch. I swear right then that I wouldn't fall asleep. Once the movie was over, I would go to my own room to spare Josh and I the embarrassment of being found in such a comfortable position with each other.

"You've changed," I murmur. "I think I like it." He says nothing. As the movie goes on, I watch his body rise and fall with his steady breathing. He'd been good to me today.

As the credits roll, I gently slide out from under him and replace my lap with a pillow under Josh's head. He doesn't move, and I lay a nearby throw blanket over him. I contemplate removing his boots, but decide against it to avoid waking him up. As I crouch down to his level, I take a moment to examine his face.

I hate to admit it, I do, but he looked serene. I thought to myself that maybe it was time to admit that he was physically appealing. I felt a safety and comfort around Josh, now, that I'd never felt before. Why? Is he really that different? Does he really care about me?

Or are we both drunk?

I chew on my lip as I stare at him. I don't know what's happening to me, I don't know what's come over me, but I run my fingers through his hair one more time as I place a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose. He shifts, and for a split second I think I see him trying to hold back a smile. I squint, but he doesn't move again. I sigh.

"Goodnight, Joshua."

--------------

Hey y'all! Thank you so much for your patience. This chapter did not want to work with me and kept not saving progress made and I kept having to re write it. I believe this chapter is a bit longer than normal, so I hope that makes up for it! The next one will be longer, too. I love talking to everybody, so thank you all so much for the kind comments, they make me so happy. Much love!!

Also: Accidentally posted this early, so some may be seeing this a second time. If that's you, this is the FINISHED chapter! Thank you.

❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @sc4rrc @mattymxmo @cellyx33 @jenepleurepasbaby @kalynnjonas @spinback-kiva @frankcastlesvest @barnxsromanxff

[a-hazbin-reader]

Hi there! I love all your work and I saw wife!reader and alastor getting married when they were alive and wanted to know how they met or who fell in love first.

You don't have to do this though, have a lovely day! ❤️

I really love this...I won't do how they met because I want people to be able to decide that for themselves but..

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Reader goes on a date, Implied Murder, Alastor being jealous, Suggestive

Description: ☝️⬆️

You are most likely the one who falls first, not that anybody could blame you, Alastor is F I N E

He's a well sought after man with his good looks, charming conversation skills and various other talents

So it makes sense that when you meet him and get to know him a little more, you're smitten with the radio host

But you're well aware that the chances of becoming an item with Alastor are slim to none

He's never once showed an interest in being in a relationship and visibly tenses when someone flirts with him

So you resolve yourself to try and get over this little crush and keep your friendship with him intact

If you were being honest with yourself, then it's more than just a crush, you're head over heels in love with him

You two do become fast friends though, something always drawing the two of you close, a sort of magnetic pull

You're practically the best of friends, always together, inside jokes, judging people together

A dozen almost kisses, romantically charged interactions, almost sexually charged drunken escapades

You even bring him food when he's at work so that he doesn't forget to eat and take care of himself

He sets aside time to take you to different restaurants, clubs, parks, anywhere that might be enjoyable

People are quick to assume you two are a couple, but you're always quicker to correct them

It's the truth but it sort of bothers him

He can't deny that you're great company, or that you're beautiful, or that he hates it when you're not smiling

Or that he has a great...fondness for you and your little quirks/talents

He's very attached to you to say the least, you're an important person in his life

That's what he tells people anyways

He doesn't even realize that he's in love with you until you're suddenly gushing about meeting someone new

You look so hopeful, so excited that some guy asked you out but the idea of you on a date makes his skin crawl

But you're only so hopeful and excited because you think maybe this guy will help you get over your feelings for Alastor?

He's a very sweet man, cute, funny, a little touchy-feely but nothing you can't handle

You don't notice the way Alastor's smile twitches ever so slightly whenever you bring up your date

Or his sour tone and the way he tries to discourage you from going

"Y/N, do you even like him? Can you picture yourself having a future with him?"

"That's why I'm going on a date with him, besides... he's very sweet to me!"

Another eye twitch and a sound that's almost like a snarl, Alastor is sweet to you, this guy isn't special

Okay, you notice but you assume he's just being protective

Alastor doesn't even realize his thunderous expression until your soft hand grips his chin, forcing him to lock eyes with you

"Alastor, I'll be fine. I'm a big girl and I can handle myself, you don't need to worry about me.."

Even though you want him to worry about you, you want him to beg you not to go, to tell you that he-

But he won't

His attitude only gets worse once he actually sees the guy who asked you out on a date

Oh no he's hot

If Alastor knew the word, then he would surely call him a himbo but he doesn't know that word, so he just calls him "Next."

Watching you interact with him was something that was truly sickening, seeing someone so clearly enamored with you

And you're enjoying the attention, Alastor gives you attention, he compliments you and takes you to fun places

Just never with obvious romantic intentions before...

Your date kisses your hand and Alastor wants to scrub it clean for you, Alastor can kiss you-

Kissing you wouldn't be so bad...or possibly more...

What was all that sickeningly sweet stuff you used to talk about couples doing together? Dates, cuddling, sex? He could do that, with you that is-

It's a little hot under his collar all of a sudden

It's not like Alastor hasn't already been practically taking you out on dates, courting you

Everyone already thinks you two are a couple anyways

Fuck he's in love with you and he's probably already missed his chance

He wrestles with himself over the sudden revelation all the days leading up to your date

It's not until you come out looking like the most heavenly creature on earth that Alastor realizes you're actually going on a date

"You... you're really going to go out with him? You can do so much better, Y/N."

He doesn't miss the frustrated look on your face and the way you hug yourself

"Well, he's the only one who's taken an interest in me, Al."

"And if someone else asked you?"

He's cautious with his words, already formulating a plan in his head based off of your reaction

"...there's only one person who I want to take notice of me."

Oh he's stealing you away now

He stands up and slaps his hands on your arms, giving you a charming smile as he leans in

Your body instinctively reacts, and you lean in to meet him halfway, your lips drawn to his-

"Make sure you guys tune into my show later tonight, okay? I'll have something special whipped up for your date!"

He hugs you and leaves you feeling more conflicted than ever, the feeling doesn't leave even after Alastor sees you off for your date

Your lips still tingle from that almost kiss

Your date is absolutely ruined, Alastor having completely taken over your thoughts with his strange behavior

Not that he didn't always take over your thoughts already

But you can hardly focus on your date, who's very sweet, very dumb and a little too touchy for your tastes

You end the date early, already knowing there's no shaking off your love for your best friend

You'll just long for Alastor for the rest of yours days...

Then you remember he asked you to tune into his radio show! Without even realizing it, your feet have taken you to his radio tower

You can hear him in there, getting ready for his show, you grab the handle and press your ear to the door

"Good evening, folks! I would like to dedicate this special song to the love of my life! My soulmate, Y/N!"

You feel your body freeze as a familiar song fills your ears, a song that was special only to you and Alastor

It's the closest thing to a confession that you'll probably ever get from him-

You'll take it

When you open the door to the broadcast booth you can tell he's surprised to see you there

"I thought you would at least be letting him drive you home by now..."

He's nervous but clearly trying to hide it, making his way towards you slowly

"I just wanted to be here with you..."

His arms are sliding around your waist, the nervousness he had before melting away into a smug grin

He's so fucking handsome

"You missed me so much that you ditched you date~?"

Your fingers are tangling in his hair as you pull him in closer, lips nearly touching as the emotions between you two threaten to burst

"And you just dedicated an entire love song to me on air to steal me away from my date."

His warm breath hits your face as he chuckles, bypassing your waiting lips to kiss your ear softly instead

"What can I say, my dear? I'm a fool when it comes to love~"

His voice nearly makes your knees buckle, but Alastor easily holds you up, pushing you up against the door while giving you a bruising kiss

For someone who's never really taken an interest in relationships, he's a really talented fucking kisser

I really hope you like this one! I had so much fun with it!

[haveihitanerve]

Thought about Bruce calling Jason different variations of 'My __ little boy' (eg. 'My nerdy little boy', 'My mean little boy', 'My lovely little boy') And each time Jason is just like "Dad, it's only a 2 inch difference, I ain't little."

Even better if this isn't him saying it as Brucie, but as Bruce Wayne who just loves his little gremlin of a child even if he is an adult now.

The first time Bruce did it, Jason almost cried. They were at a Wayne Gala, and Bruce was leading him around, because he didn't trust anyone alone with his child want Jason running away, when they met a lovely old lady, a sweetheart, different to most Gotham Elite.

"Well, isn't he just darling." She cooed, and Bruce grew an actual smile, bending to kiss her hand.

"Mrs. Kershaw, a pleasure, as always. You look radiant. Also as always." He winked, and the woman, Mrs. Kershaw, laughed, blushing, as she pushed his shoulder teasingly.

"Och you, always knows just what to say." Jason pulled a face, but he couldn't deny it was nice to meet someone in Gotham at a Wayne event that Bruce actually liked. Mrs. Kershaw turned to Jason, bending so she was at eye level. A surprise, as most people took some sick pleasure in having height over him.

"Hello there dear, what's your name?" Jason offered a polite smile, waiting for the horrible pinching of his cheeks the older ladies seemed to be fond of.

"I'm Jason, ma'am."

"Jason Todd." Bruce added, and Jason shot him a confused look over his shoulder. When people, to be polite or something, asked his name, he always stuck to the first name, so that people didn't know he kept his own last name and wasn't a Wayne. Well, it was hyphenated, but that was a little too much.

But Mrs. Kershaw smiled, hands reaching dreadingly for Jason's cheeks. He tensed, but her hands were warm, and soft, and cradled his cheeks rather than pinched them. Like a mother. "You are such an angel, Jason Todd" She laughed, brushing his hair away from his face with a small smile.

"Putting up with Brucie all this time." Jason laughed, surprised that she was actually funny, and that she had insulted Bruce. To his face. But Bruce was grinning, seemingly pleased she liked him, and pleased he liked her, without even flinching at her Brucie.

"Yep. That's Jay." Bruce's hand landed on his shoulder, tugging him against his leg. Mrs. Kershaw straightened, pulling her hands away as Bruce rubbed his back. "My little angel boy." He laughed and continued conversing with her, but Jason couldn't hear anything. His ears were stuffed with wool, brain focused on those four little words. Those four, perfect words. My little angel boy. His boy. He was- he was Bruce's boy.

"It's always nice to see you Brucie, do stop by soon won't you? And bring your son, he's such a doll." Bruce laughed, drawing Jason back to the present.

"I certainly will," He promised, squeezing Jason's shoulder. "I don't go anywhere without my kiddo." He laughed again, and Jason wrapped his arms around his legs, squeezing tight.

The last time Bruce said it, Jason couldn't hear him. His body hurt, it burned, pain lacing every pore, every single cell. He could feel Bruce's arms around him, Batman suit scraping against his skin painfully, but he couldn't speak, couldn't move, couldn't do anything, and he didn't want to anyway. He didn't want Bruce to put him down. Not now.

Bruce's head was hung, on his knees, Jason clutched to his chest. Jason could see, faintly, out of the corner of his eyes, the remnants of a burning building. It looked familiar somehow, but the memories were just out of reach.

Bruce's lips were moving, repeating, chanting something, over and over, body shaking with silent sobs as cradled Jason's limp body. "My boy, my darling boy, my boy."

The next time Bruce said it, Jason almost punched him. "Is this him?" The voice was soft, disbelieving, and so, so grievously scratchy and old.

"It is, Mrs. Kershaw." Bruce answered quietly, holding the old woman's hand as he sat on the edge of her bed. "Its Jason. My baby boy." Jason gaped at him, taking a seat next to the bed.

"I'm two inches shorter than you, old man." He grumbled, leaning forward to be in Mrs. Kershaw's eyeline. "Hello ma'am." He greeted quietly. Mrs. Kershaw's eyes crinkled, and she reached one weathered, wrinkled hand for his cheek.

"Oh, oh my darling angel." She whispered, hand tracing the scars on his face. Jason fought the urge to squirm, to escape her condemnation, swallowing hard. Her eyes filled with tears as she cupped his cheek.

"I'm so sorry for all you went through, my Todd." Jason choked on his tears, heart constricting at the old nickname, the soft touch. Her fingers expertly wiped every tear away, smiling softly. Her hands dropped eventually, exhaustion clear in every breath.

"Take it easy, darling." Bruce murmured quietly, pressing a kiss to her hand again as he set it down on the bed. "We'll visit again soon." She smiled, hand reaching up one last time to snag Jason's.

"You done good, angel. Putting up with Brucie. He loves you." Jason smiled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to her hand as well.

"I know ma'am. I know. Sleep well. We'll come visit." She smiled, squeezing his hand before letting go. "You'd better." Jason chuckled, exiting the room to meet Bruce, waiting outside with a smile.

"Hey old man." Bruce swung an arm around his shoulders, knocking their heads together gently. "Hey, my lovely little boy."

uhhhhhh hope you enjoyed??? So sorry for bringing in a random OC it just felt right??? Idk i hope you liked Mrs. Kershaw as much as I did, and hope my story satisfied you, I'm still working through all the asks I've gotten, but my motivation as been like... awful, so i'm trying but make no promises :/ sry for the wait but this one just sparked up some thoughts and i had to write it, hope you liked!

[saythatuwill]

something in the water (siren au fic)

now playing: hunter // paris paloma

warnings: none apply (if you think something should be tagged, let me know!)

pairing: noah sebastian x gn!reader

au: merfolk/sirens

word count: 2.5k

so, funny story... what i was trying to do was write a list format of the first meeting. but instead i ... sorta accidentally wrote the whole fic, just not as poetic as i normally would. so... SURPRISEEEEE!!!! enjoy!!

reblogs, comments, and likes ALWAYS appreciated!!

You've only lived by the beach for a few years, and it definitely has its perks and disadvantages. While it's great that you don't need to invest in a pool, the rain is your worst enemy due to flooding. At least the walks by the water kind of make up for it. Everyone in town keeps warning you about the same thing related to that beach since you moved in; never go there at night or risk being eaten by a siren.

You don't believe a word of it, you think it's bullshit actually. Sirens? What is this, some fairy tale? Or maybe Homer's Odyssey? Sirens do not exist. You've never seen one (which, in hindsight, is a good thing).

After a nasty breakup with your partner, you find yourself needing to get out of the house more. It's been hard to function, if you stay at home all day you're bound to isolate yourself. So, you start taking walks along the shoreline, which was first a one time thing. Then a once a week thing, and now you do it almost every night.

Tonight is the exact same. You leave your phone at home and go out there with a bag for seashells and a pocket knife for self defense- it's 11pm in the summertime after all.

But it's on this walk that by the rocks you see... something. From afar it's a weird black mass. Once you get closer though, you see what is absolutely a tail. The tail of a fucking orca. An ORCA washed up on the shore. At least, it looks like one.

Closer inspection tells you that it's definitely covered in a fishnet which shocks you; they make fish nets big enough for killer whales? Who do you call about that? 911? Animal control?

You take two steps closer, then you see something different. You're looking at the back of a man, no, you're looking at the entire upper body of an adult man. You can't entirely process what you're looking at until it hisses at you. You jump out of your skin one second, the next you find yourself on your ass.

Only then does it dawn on you that you are looking back at a siren. It's growling and hissing at you, pupils narrowed into thin slits. Blood trickles down its skin, even its face. A monster. You're certain that any second now, the song will begin and you will be dinner. Only the ocean and this siren will know where you went. You're paralyzed in fear, and you realize you have no other option. So you close your eyes. And wait.

And wait.

...And— okay, this is weird. You're still alive, but how? You open your eyes, and find it still glaring at you. Only then do you remember the situation at hand. It's stuck in a fish net.

HA! You think triumphantly. The predator becomes the prey!

That should've been your cue to up and leave and let it die, but you can't stop looking at it. The longer you do, the more you notice the actual look in its eyes. It wasn't hissing at you because it wanted to attack you, it's hissing because it thinks you're going to attack it. It's trying to defend itself. It's shaking in fear of you.

You feel the guilt heavy in your chest. Poor thing, stuck here in that net. If the next tide change is low, it's bound to dry up and die on the sand by tomorrow. Sounds like a terrible way to die, honestly. You wouldn't wish that on your worst enemy.

While a siren would never help you, let alone spare your life, you're willing to help a siren, just this once.

You go for the net first, thinking you could rip it open with your bare hands. Only to wince when it cuts up your skin, drawing blood. The siren is getting a little frightened over you being so close to it. It's making a sound deep in its throat, a growl. You've heard it in cats before, when they're threatened and are about to pounce.

Finally, you remember the pocket knife! Thank GOD you brought it with you!

"Hey, do you mind if I use my knife real quick?" Silence. "I need to use the knife to cut open the net." Silence. "Are you ignoring me?" Nothing.

Wait... do sirens even speak English? You're kind of letting The Little Mermaid pave your way through this situation, but the siren's looking at you like you have three heads. It's definitely not ignoring you, it just doesn't understand what you're saying. But what language would merfolk speak? Do they speak?

You decide to push forward regardless, you're not leaving it to die. This only scares the siren further, thrashing and shaking around, but you manage to cut the net open, leaving the creature relatively unscathed minus a few minor cuts. It takes a minute before it realizes this. Carefully, it wiggles out of the net, and looks at you. Examines you.

Then it's making sounds, though still not a siren song like you'd expected. More like a language of some kind. Trilling sounds, clicks, purrs, all of which you don't understand. It's your turn to be confused.

Should you even be calling it an "it"? It looks like a man. Is it frowned upon to humanize deadly creatures? It's not like a siren actually understands human language or empathy for that matter—

"Name?" His voice is rough, raspy from disuse. No doubt a man's voice, sounds like any other guy you'd interact with on the street. You look at him funny, and he repeats himself. "Name? Name?"

You blurt your name out, and immediately curse yourself out for it. No way in hell it's a good call to tell a siren your name. However, he's looking at you expectantly, waiting for something. Slowly, you repeat yourself again. And again. He's staring at your lips, his mouth opening and closing as he memorizes how to say it. He repeats it back to you. It's almost a conversation.

"What about you?" You ask. He tilts his head, which would be adorable if this wasn't an apex predator. You attempt to ask again, but still to no avail. He must only understand a few words, perhaps you need to be more basic with it. Talk to him like a toddler.

"Name. You?" You sound absolutely ridiculous, but there's recognition in his eyes. Speaking of his eyes, the pupils seem to be getting larger as his guard lowers. They're really pretty, actually.

"No..." He responds, and you're prepared to shrug it off.

"Oh, that's okay—"

"...ah."

"Huh?"

"No. Nn...nnooooo....ah. Nooooah. Noah." Oh! So he does have a name. Noah. It really suits him.

"Noah." You repeat back to him, and his eyes light up. He nods. It's only then that you realize he is... not looking you in the eyes. He's looking further down. At your... chest? Is he staring at your chest? Seriously?

"No. Bad— what're you doing?" You begin to scold him, but he's reaching his claws out to you, and you stiffen. Is he about to claw your throat out? Strangle you?

You feel a rough tug at your neck. That's when you realize what the fucker is trying to do. He's trying to steal your necklace, the one your ex gave you. Sure, you two had a horrible break up but in no way are you ready to get rid of it!

You swat at his hand until he pulls it back, growling at you. What a brat, he really is like a toddler, throwing a tantrum because he's not getting what he wants.

"Mine." You point at your necklace. "Mine. Me. (name)." He sighs at you, the sound dramatic, like this is personally inconveniencing him. You definitely don't have to guess whether or not he understands.

You end up sticking around for a while after, something you never thought you'd do with a siren. He's learned a few words from you, not so much when to use them but it's an effort.

"What happened?" You ask him, looking down at the fishnet prison he'd been stuck in. You pick it up to show him. "Noah. What?"

This conversation has not become any less weird.

"Noah." He echoes, looking over his shoulder. "There. Hmm... there." Suddenly, he's playing charades with you. He turns around and points at the deeper sea, and does an impression of a fisherman on a boat. It makes you laugh, and if you had seen that quick smile on his lips, you would've known he played it up on purpose.

You fill in the blanks; he was likely swimming underneath a boat and got stuck in the net they'd set up for smaller fish. The fishermen likely got so scared they let him go, but obviously didn't cut him out of the net.

You frown (albeit a bit more exaggerated so it's visible) and Noah nods, pleased that you understand. It's a broken conversation full of charades and minimal words, but the longer you sit there with him on the rocks, the more it's really dawning on you. You are here, alone, with a siren, and he hasn't tried to eat you, or drown you, or anything.

What an odd creature.

About two hours in, you finally come to your senses. You should really get home, what if other sirens show up? What if he randomly changes his mind and kills you? Best to go while you still can.

"Noah." He looks at you. "Me," you point behind you at the sand, at the houses and passing cars, "me. Bye. Bye."

There's a look in his eyes for a moment, sadness? No, maybe you were just seeing things. With the way tonight has been, you wouldn't be shocked.

The next thing you know, Noah reaches out for you again with both hands. You tense up and nearly flinch away out of your own wariness, but it turns out all he wanted to do was hug you.

Wait. He's hugging you? You can feel the vibration of his purrs as his hands gingerly touch along your back, your shoulder blades, the back of your neck, as if he's trying to memorize you. You're not sure why he's doing this, but you assume it's some sort of merfolk custom. Maybe it's his way of saying thank you. You slowly return the hug, and his purrs get louder.

When you part from him, you do so with a smile, stepping further and further away, waving at him. He returns the smile, but doesn't mirror the waving.

You almost feel disappointed when you realize you'll likely never see him again. Or if you do, there's no way he'll be as friendly as he is now. You hardly understand why he's being friendly in the first place.

You're almost completely off the beach when you realize your neck feels lighter. You reach to touch your neck, and the absence of your necklace makes you jump.

"What?" You speak to yourself, searching for at least the chain, but it's gone. You were certain it was there, because Noah was— Noah.

"That bastard!" You turn around on your heel, prepared to march right back over when you spot him. He's holding up the necklace with his clawed fingers and laughing at you. So that was why he'd hugged you. To take the necklace straight off your fucking neck!

He swims around in circles like some sort of prideful dance. He's not just laughing at you, he's gloating over how he tricked you. He gives you a sharp-toothed grin, laughing some more before finally waving at you. A no way in hell you're getting this back kind of wave.

You groan, shaking your head and stalking out of the beach, turning the corner onto the streets. You feel naked without the necklace, yet you had to admit... you felt mentally lighter without it too. You'd refused to sell it, or even give back to your ex when shit hit the fan. You hadn't been getting over them in the slightest with it on, and now that it's gone...

Once you arrive home, you trudge up the stairs to your bedroom. For the first time in weeks, you open up the shades to your big window that overlooks the ocean. You stare out at the waves, wondering if you could still see Noah from out here. But to your... disappointment? You don't see the black scales glimmering in the moonlight, or his big black and white orca tail.

Going to sleep that night feels like a strange new beginning, and another feeling sets in your chest as you doze off. A feeling that you were absolutely going to see Noah again.

"What's gotten into you?" Jolly clicks at Noah, eyebrow raised as his best friend swims about with a newfound excitement.

"I met a human." Noah clicks back, holding up the necklace he'd stolen from you and shaking it.

"Met? You don't mean, 'ate'?" Jolly swims closer to inspect the necklace, but Noah hisses and moves back before he can touch it.

"Mine!" It slips out in English, and it makes the both of them stop.

"You... met a human." After a moment, the older siren speaks. "What is the matter with you?"

"You don't understand!" Noah clicks and growls, "they saved me. Out of a net. Used a sharp thing to cut it open."

"...Why?""

"I don't know either. I tried to ask them. They didn't respond." Noah frowns at the memory. The way he'd been trying to ask 'why did you help me? Don't you know I kill things like you?' The confusion in your eyes, the furrow in your brow.

"Humans speak English. Or other human languages. They don't know ours." Jolly explains, "the language you just spoke is English."

"English... no wonder it sounds so strange."

"Humans would probably say the same thing about ours." He chuckles, "it gets less strange once you learn it. I like to think I'm fluent in English now."

"Teach me."

"What?"

"English. I want to learn. I want to speak to them."

"Do you know how insane you sound? This is a human, our food! What makes you think they would want to interact with you ever again?"

"Well... the necklace is theirs." Noah shakes it again. "They'll come looking for me, I'm sure."

Jolly looks at Noah for a long moment, and just when he's sure that he's about to be scolded for wanting to learn English for a human...

"I won't do it for free."

"I'll let you have first pick at the next full moon. But not at that beach."

"Fine then. Tomorrow, meet me here. But this human better be worth it."

"Thank you, Jolly." Noah gives his friend a smile, which Jolly only rolls his eyes at.

"Just be careful, it's not usually recommended for us to play with our food." With that, he swims past the younger siren, giving him a look before disappearing.

If there's one thing Noah knows for certain, he will see you again. He has to.

[eustasskidagenda]

can i request headcanons of what the monster trio+Usopp and Law think of Goth reader who wears all black, has tattoos and piercings, and loves horror ?? and who would like goths the most?? and idk how but could u mix a little nsfw with this if possible?? thank u!!

Yes, sure thing, here we go with some headcanons ! I didn't add nsfw for Luffy because I do not write smut for him. But for the others, there's a bit of nsfw at the end. Hope it meets your expectations, thank you for requesting :D

☆Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp & Law with a goth s/o

CW : g/n reader, MDNI, both sfw and nsfw, mention of alcohol for Zoro, mention of bullets for law, mention of blood and murder still for law (he’s talking about a horror movie)

WC : 2,4K

Luffy

Luffy's open-mindedness and curiosity would lead him to ask many questions about your style. He finds it cool.

"When did you discover this lifestyle?", "What's the meaning of your tattoo?", "What's your fav piercing?"

At random times, he would touch your tattoos and then, questions time again, "Is it really in your skin? Can you take showers with them, it doesn't fade? Oh wait, look, I can slide my finger into your earring gauge. All those piercings, woh, you must have a lot of holes."

He's so innocent, help.

Of course, he would love to try some goth clothes or to wear make-up just like you. Good luck, he's an incompetent model. Always fidgeting. He is unable to remain still. He would be quite annoying. You would clearly have a lot of struggles to draw a beautiful eyeliner on his over-smiling face. 

And you know, those scenes where he's imitating Sanji or Chopper? He would imitate you. Not to make fun of you, just because Luffy loves that kind of imitation.

He believes that his full black outfit and stunning eye-liner make him look really cool. He would be so proud to show the good job you made on him to everyone. 

Even while sleeping, he would keep his make-up on. He doesn't know that make-up needs to be removed. 

If you want to watch a horror movie, he may freak out because it was really scary or he may laugh heartily because it was quite funny. Especially in a slasher movie. He thinks that the characters' terrible decisions are amusing. "That was hilarious!"

He would love to trace your tattoos with his fingers. Luffy is fond of physical touch with his loved ones, so yes, his hands would be glued to your tattoos all the time. 

"Hey, Y/N, I have an idea for your next tattoo!" While showing you a really ugly drawing. This guy can't even draw a proper circle so a full tattoo… 

He wants to see it on your body now, so good luck.

Zoro 

CW : slight roux sex, oral sex (Zoro receiving), slight dacryphilia

Zoro is so oblivious and stoic that he doesn't care much about anything. He's not into fashion or trends; the only thing he's truly interested in is saké and training. He would not really care about what you're wearing, like he doesn't even know it's called gothic. For him, it's just black clothes, make up, tattoos and piercings. It's fine as long as you enjoy your outfit.

"Ugh, it's called goth… I thought it was just black clothes…" 

However, if someone dares to make a mean comment about your style, he would be pissed off. Zoro craves honor and respect, so he would get really angry. No one can make fun of his s/o. 

"Ain't no fucking way" if you want to put make-up on his face. Paint his nails black is the only thing you can do. 

I believe he would be fond of your piercings. He has some earrings himself, and he thinks they're cool. He would offer you some jewels sometime. "I thought it would look cool on you." Although his appearance is stoic, he has a genuine desire to please you.

And if you two are watching a horror movie together… honestly he would just fall asleep. Saw? Sleeping. Conjuring? Sleeping. Alien? Sleeping. The silence of the lambs? S.l.e.e.p.i.n.g. You just can't freak out Zoro. But he would enjoy having a peaceful moment with you. 

NSFW 

Zoro would be thrilled if you got a tattoo on your back. What a beautiful sight when he takes you roughly from behind: he can watch his cock sliding in and out of you, your ass, and your back tattoo. He would retrace your tattoo with his hands and bite or lick it. All. The. Time. 

Another thing he would enjoy? Your tongue piercing. "That's it, put this piercing into good use" while you're literally gagging on his cock slamming deep down your throat. The way you piercing rolls along his length or on his tip would elicit deep, low grunts from Zoro. Your watery eyes, faded eyeliner, and black drops running down your cheek would be a major turn-on for him.  "Fuck, you look so pretty with your make-up all messed up."

Sanji 

CW : oral sex (reader receiving), penetrative sex (no mention of genital for the reader), for the last paragraph, the reader is wearing a skirt + fishnet tights, but no pronoun used 

Sanji would love your style. He likes fashion and well-dressed people. He thinks that black outfits combined with beautiful smoky eyes and some piercings is an amazing style. 

But well, it's Sanji, so even if you were wearing a paper towel outfit, he would still think you're the most beautiful person in the whole universe. 

He would be a fantastic help with your makeup. Are you in need of flawless eyeliner? Just leave it to him. Same with the lipstick or even nail polish. He is a divine being with hands and he probably learned a few things during the time skip. 

He would have a great time watching scary movies with you. Because it means spending time with his s/o. He would prepare some healthy snacks for the both of you. But on the flip side, he's not a big fan of violence, so he would take this opportunity to get closer to you. "Oh, so scary!" Before holding you firmly. And no letting you go before the end of the movie.

Sanji would be more than happy to help you choose new clothes, make-up, or jewelry. He has really good taste. And he would try some outfits himself just to please you. 

"Y/N, try this one" while showing you a shirt with a big low-cut neckline. Just because he likes to watch your chest. 

If you have a tattoo on your chest, prepare yourself because Sanji's hands would be glued on it. It's too beautiful to resist, he can't help it.

Whenever you get a new tattoo, he will certainly aid you in applying the cream. He's more than happy to lend a hand if it involves touching you.

NSFW

When you're watching a movie, Sanji would enjoy the "chill" time more than the "movie" time. He would begin to retrace all of your tattoos while the movie is still running before going down on you. "Let's see if you can scream more than those guys on screen."

The way you look at him with those beautiful made-up eyes while he's thrusting into you? Intoxicating. The passion, the eyeliner, the make-up…. If you begin to kiss his neck, smearing your lipstick on his skin, his cock would be throbbing within you. It's too much for him to handle.

If you're into wearing skirts and fishnet tights, Sanji would definitely nosebleed. He would just pin you against the wall or sit you on the table, hike up your skirt, and slowly sink his length into you, moaning close to your ear.

Usopp

CW: slight fingering (reader receiving), slight cum play

At the start, he would be impressed by you. Once Usopp gets accustomed to your style, he would absolutely love it.

Your aesthetic, particularly your tattoos and jewels, would be a great source of inspiration for him. Since he is a god of his hands, he would create some outfits and jewels for you. 

To surprise you, he would work really hard on a beautiful tattoo. Unlike Luffy, he is skilled at drawing. He also knows your tastes, so honestly, the final piece would be mesmerizing. Usopp would be very proud if you tattooed his drawing on your skin. 

"R-really, you… you tattooed my drawing on your skin?" With a flustered expression and his heart pounding. 

Even though Usopp doesn't share the same musical/cinematographic tastes, he would try to learn more about your likes. Despite his dislike for scary movies. Our poor Usopp would be so freaked out, especially with the jump scares. At the conclusion of the movie, he would become clingy and even fearful of sleeping alone in the dark. 

He's a dreamer and a good storyteller, so seeing your outfits would help him with his inspiration. He loves to imagine stories and would end up daydreaming about you wearing specific outfits in specific situations. Occasionally, he would draw you. 

Perhaps he could make a weapon that is based on your favorite music or movie. He's so creative. 

He's a coward so piercings/tattoos are not for him, but he would help you take care of yours. And he's really conscientious about it. 

The same applies to your hairstyle or make-up, Usopp knows how to cut hair and he's good with make-up because he's an artist. Please let him do your make-up and hair. He's fond of those moments of intimacy. 

NSFW

"Hey y/n… so I have an idea… you know… your outfit is quite… pretty. I'd love to draw you… but you know, like… a spicy drawing… I mean, an artistic one… you see?" he would babble so much. Poor Usopp is so embarrassed. But he can't help it, you're really inspiring his creative soul. And as you accept being drawn in some suggestive positions, Usopp would try his best to keep both hands on his pencil and hide how turned on he is. But his hard cock pressing against his pants is unavoidable. Please, have mercy.

Another fantasy of his? Painting of your naked body. The sight of your bare body is breathtaking. Usopp would have a lovely and sweet time painting your curves. The softness of his touch and all his mesmerizing comments about how amazing you are, are quite adorable. His hands would be heavenly soft and he would have a glimmer of pride in his eyes because he's truly doing a great job. "Y/N… I need you so bad…" while watching at your exposed bare bottom. With your consent, sure, he would slide two fingers into you, moaning through gritted teeth. He would slide his hard cock between your ass cheeks until he cum. His seed would be on your back, thighs, almost everywhere. "Now, what a beautiful painting."

Law

CW : slight dirty talk, slight teasing, slight nipple play, slight choking 

Law being... Law, he would not be very vocal about his thoughts. Like, you want to wear black clothes? Okay. A lot of piercings? Okay. You like horror movies? Fine. He has too much on his plate to care about that type of thing.

But he would be really curious about your tattoos. At first, he would stay silent because he is aloof. After some time, he would be happy to learn more about the meanings of your tattoos, if they have one. And if not, just how did you get the idea. There's a chance he'll talk about his own tattoos. 

Law finds it difficult to communicate, so having something in common with him would make it easier. He is interested in discussing art with you, or even getting a tattoo with you. Law would love this date idea.

As a skilled doctor, he would be extremely attentive to the healing process. "Y/N-ya, don't forget your cream." all the day. He would leave a note if he's not around.

Putting make-up on his face is not an option. "I don't need make-up anyway, I already have dark circles under my eyes." He's not wrong in fact

Law would probably be uneasy with certain horror movies. Particularly if it can trigger his past trauma. If the plot is about sickness or people taking a bullet, he's not willing to watch it and even mad if you try to force him to. 

If it's a random slasher or something paranormal, it’s okay. And he knows a number of movies. However, he would be extremely irritating. Like, pointing out all the incoherences and the jump cuts. Again, he's a doctor, so whenever there's a gore scene, he can't help but comment on it. "Ugh, it's so ridiculous, it doesn't look like this. You know that Y/N-ya, right? In fact, when people are killed like this, the organs are damaged... first, the..." Prepare yourself for a complete explanation during the movie. "The blood is unrealistic and the costumes are cheap, it's awful."

He's such a nerd. 

Law probably shares your musical tastes, so perhaps he could create a playlist for you. Without any word, just like "Hey, listen to this Y/N-ya" before returning to his office. 

NSFW 

Piercings? Big yes. Nipple piercing? Total heaven. For hours, Law would suck and bite your nipples. Or pinch them. It's so intoxicating for him. "Your nipples are so damn hard, you like when I play with them?" 

Law would be delighted to use a mirror when he plows into you from behind, as he loves your tattoos. The nice jiggle on your ass, all your tattoos wet with sweat, how you squirm and the expression of pure bliss on your face… "You're so beautiful when I'm fucking you" If you're wearing that kind of tight chain necklace, he would brutally pull on, enjoying how you're gagging. And as he buries your head against the pillow, he would love to watch the faded makeup on your face and the marks on the pillow. "You look cute when you bite the pillow." He would say, slapping your ass before continue to fuck you senseless. 

And Law, as the teaser he is, would just love running his fingers along your tattooed skin for hours. Making you tremble with anticipation and desire. He would trace each line and curve from your neck to your ankles, avoiding all your sensitive areas. "You're already so turned on… for absolutely nothing. You need me so badly, y/n-ya? " 

He loves your tattoos and he knows you love his. So while he fucks you, his tattooed fingers would be wrapped around your neck. "My fingers are quite a beautiful collar for you, don't you think? " With his favorite teasing grin. It's written " death " on them for a good reason, because you're here to discover what "a little death" means.

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

She thought that coming up the hill would be the hardest part, but that proves to be wrong once she’s at the top.

Max hadn’t had the courage to visit by herself. Hadn’t wanted to experience the awkwardness of being both alone and un-alone, talking to someone and no one.

Most likely no one.

She thought about buying a Ouija board, but Robin very narrowly talked her out of it.

This seemed like a better alternative anyway.

Of all the birthdays she knows her brother spent alone, held up in his room with no gifts or cake because he claimed to not care about that shit, she figured that he shouldn’t get to choose this time.

So, there’s a blanket spread out on the grass with an unopened cake from Melvald’s on top, and a bouquet of flowers.

“Man, he would’ve called this gay,” Steve muses.

He leans against his hand, legs semi-stretched beside him, admiring the inscription on the headstone like it’s nothing more than a rock with writing on it.

And maybe, to him, it isn’t.

Max huffs a laugh, but it’s clipped near the end. Heavy, when her throat bobs, and she nods as tears slip down her cheeks.

“He’d call me a shithead and probably still try to steal a slice when nobody was looking,” Max says with a chuckle.

Steve huffs amusedly and shrugs.

“He was a funny guy.”

His gaze wanders off as he tugs some blades of grass up from the ground, snapping and sprinkling them into a small pile at his side with his free hand.

The finality to his words has Max’s brows drawing together.

She often wonders if, maybe, she and Steve never clicked for a reason, and if she probably shouldn’t have invited him up here when Robin suggested it.

Trust me, she had said. Take Steve, if you take anyone.

“Guess so,” Max murmurs.

Her eyes wander down to the cake sitting between them, blank, just as it was on the shelf. She wipes her eyes and thinks about reaching out to pop the plastic lid off when Steve shifts.

“Wasn’t really big on sweets,” he says.

Max blinks at him.

“What?”

“Billy,” Steve says, glancing over at her and gesturing vaguely to the headstone. “He didn’t like sweets.”

She stares for a long moment, searching her mind for a protest. Comes up blank when she tries to think of the two of them getting ice cream or something together, but she can’t recall him ever ordering anything for himself.

Across the blanket, Steve hums amusedly and smiles to himself, fiddling with a single grass blade between his fingers.

“He liked the apple pie at the diner, though. With a scoop of plain vanilla ice cream.”

“You guys went to the diner together?”

Steve’s face flushes a light pink and he shrugs again.

“Yeah? Quite a bit, actually. I think they still have his senior photo up by the register. Guy could demolish a burger.”

Max’s eyes mist over again, but she chews her lip and nods. Pushes a hand through her hair and turns her gaze down toward the blanket.

“I always thought he was, like, out partying or something.”

“We partied,” Steve admits. Shifts and lays down on his side, propping his head up in his hand. “But we usually… found somewhere quiet and just talked. Sometimes at the diner, sometimes the quarry, I think even the pool once or twice.”

He suppresses a grin as he thinks to himself, lightly nudging his sneaker against the stone. Like he’s unaware that it’s even there.

The line between Max’s brows deepens.

“If you guys were so close, then why weren’t you at his funeral?” she snaps.

Immediately, she cups a hand over her mouth, eyes widening as Steve glances at her again.

His brown eyes grow bigger for just a moment.

“I don’t know,” he confesses. A new heat rises to the surface of his skin, eyes becoming glassy. “Felt like maybe I wasn’t supposed…” he pauses to clear his throat before continuing, “I, ah, visit a lot, though.”

“You do?” Max blurts.

Steve nods. Nudges the slightly older, more brittle bouquet lying next to the fresh one with the tip of his shoe.

“Who do you think leaves the flowers?”

With her hand still clamped over her mouth, Max stares at him again.

“How often do you come here?”

“Oh, just… whenever,” he says. “Maybe like three or more times a week?”

“Three or more times a week?”

Now, Steve sits up, brows drawing together.

“What’s your deal? If I knew you were gonna freak out and yell at me about everything I say, I wouldn’t have agreed to come up here.”

Max holds her hands out in front of her.

“Okay, no, you’re right, I’m sorry,” she says. Sighs and rubs a hand over her face. “I guess I just… I dunno, we were never close, but I kinda always thought I knew him best. Now I’m finding out you guys were apparently linked at the hip, and he never… I didn’t even know he didn’t like sweet stuff…”

Her skin grows hot and her eyes well with tears again. Chapped and boiling over.

Steve’s expression relaxes, and he drops his shoulders.

“He wasn’t just secretive with you. Most of what I learned about him was just by observing,” Steve reassures. Then chuckles. “He was always calling me these stupid nicknames, and the one time I called him something back — angel face — he flipped and yelled at me. No idea why.”

Max sniffles and wipes her eyes with her palms, accepting the small bundle of napkins when Steve passes it over to her.

“Angel face?” she asks.

Suddenly, Steve looks away bashfully.

“Dunno, it was kind of a spur of the moment thing I said. He hated it, so I never used nicknames again.”

Max shakes her head, which earns a puzzled look.

“He didn’t hate nicknames,” she says. Glances briefly at the headstone and then away again. “Angel face is what his mom called him.” It feels like a betrayal, to say it out loud, and Max winces. “I overheard Neil mention it in their arguments once or twice.”

She fiddles with her pant leg in her lap for a moment. Looks up to see Steve’s eyes nearly overflowing with tears, staring at the headstone.

“Oh,” he croaks.

The sight, the sound of his voice has Max’s throat going tight.

She shifts in place. Watches as Steve takes a shaky breath and reaches up to wipe his eyes with the heel of his palm. Then, she’s pushing herself up and shuffling across the blanket on her knees, reaching her arms around his shoulders.

At first, he doesn’t react. Then there’s an arm stretching around her back.

Hugging him is exactly like she thought it would be. Like he’s comforting her, and not the other way around. Steady, grounding, like she knows him to be for others.

She makes a mental note to thank Robin later on.

“He really was a funny guy.”

[gnohomotho]

May I play with you? 「✦Pt.3✦」

Pairing: The Salesman // The Recruiter x fem!reader Summary: Well, you were and still are screwed, only in a manner so much worse and so much more intricate than before. It's always the quiet, polite ones, isn't it? The games with this coiling serpent of a man are starting to get...personal. And he is truly, woefully, dangerously enamoured. We have a kind father figure, we have new characters, we have a very lascivious wager, and we have many, many games. And games behind games. And intimacy that is more dangerous than a loaded gun. Oh, and fluff, because it's me writing and by God, there will be tenderness. (❀´ ˘ `❀) Warnings: Not quite smut yet, but...some very nasty implications, sexual content, and a realistic depiction of trauma reactions/mental processes. Violence, harsh language, touching, fondling, undressing, 18+ and MDNI. Even if it's not too overt yet, I stuff most of the things between lines and wouldn't wish to hurt anyone. Word count: 5k A/N: Decided to halve this as I was writing between my actual work and duties, so the next chapter should be up tomorrow. ˙ᵕ˙ Tried very hard to stay truthful to character but also include some...dangerous fluff? May I call it that? It could be projection. Maybe this is all a gigantic Rorschach test. ⭒˚.⋆˖➴༯ Thank you so, so very much for all the support and kind messages, I cherish every one of you. ♥ If you like my writing, every like // reblog // follow // message is welcome and helps boost more activity - meaning more writing! ♥ Link to previous Link to next Gorgeous gif by @phantom-evil Tag list: @storytellers-randomshortstorys @ingstadstarlight જ⁀➴

Of course there had to be an investigation.

You don’t quite remember too well how you managed to leave.

The rainy night enveloped you like a careful lover welcoming you back into their arms. The rain kissed your skin as you walked, coatless, like a ghost. Every movement you made, you checked your body periodically – the words of the salesman still stung in your ringing ears.

Where those dirty, undeserving hands have been…

You wished you could take off your skin. The rain did its best.

“We’ll continue the game soon,” he had said, playing with the gun. As he laid it to his mouth, his round face circled to you slowly and as his lips brushed the barrel, his eyes pierced you straight through.

How can something so blunt and dead remain so sharp?

The warmth you must have imagined in them as you spoke of a flower must have been just that. Imagined. He was playing with you. Playing with you the entire time.

Of course there had to be an investigation.

❥❥❥

You sat in a dingy room with grey walls, on an uncomfortable plastic chair. An unopened water bottle, a crinkly vending machine snack, and a vague drawing lay before you. It took you every reserved nerve in your body not to laugh maniacally at the crude caricature.

It looked like someone drew a toupee on a smooth pumpkin.

“I don’t remember anything. I have no idea who this is. Can I go now?”

“Miss, we have it on good authority that this man either kidnapped you or kidnapped your colleague and then lured you to him.”

Funny, the man didn’t look like an investigator. Too nonchalant. Too…casual. Maybe you just watched too much Columbo when you were younger.

“We need to find him.” The overcoat with a man inside said.

“Alright. Find him. I don’t know why you think I can help you.”

“You’ve been seen on the subway, talking to someone resembling the description and the picture.”

You look down to the drawing and that pesky mouth corner is visibly tugging at itself the more you study the black lines. The eyes are literally upturned “U” shapes and the mouth looks like a child tried to draw lips puckering into a kiss.

“Have you been watching me?”

“Not officially, no.”

“Have you been watching me?” You repeat, sinking your eyes into the shallow light pools of the man before you. Older man. Tacky suit in an overcoat. Light hair. Pale grey eyes. Lines in the face and not enough sleep. A small belly. You mentally recoil a tad. The type reminds you of your late nights trying to avoid precisely this kind of man.

“Then officially, please stop. I cannot help you. I’m happy I got out alive, I don’t remember anyone’s face – it was dark, and I’m in shock, and I might just dissociate to god knows where from the trauma alone. Don’t you have any regard for revictimization?”

The man visibly paused, your buzzword monologue seems to have pulled on something and held.

“No, miss, I’m sorry…would you like me to fetch someone…to talk to you? About that?”

“No. I want to go home. I have someone to talk to. And they respect doctor-patient confidentiality which you cannot breach without a court order. Can I go?”

“Miss, this is for your safety. We…I have it on good authority…that that man is dangerous. Very dangerous.” The sudden softening of the tone, trying to act almost fatherly turns your stomach, likely using his sincere attempt at rapport building against him – you do not wish to even think of thinking of your own father.

“Whose authority?”

Yet he continues as if he didn’t hear your question.

“He may appear charming, he may appear kind and thoughtful, having your best interests at heart. But it is nothing like that. He is a snake. And you won’t know you’re about to be eaten alive until the very last inch of that slimy body coils around you and strangles the breath from your tender lungs.”

“Leave my tender lungs out of this, detective…detective….”

“Detective Lubomier. But please call me Bomi.”

You raise your eyebrows and sit back, scanning him anew. You didn’t hear anything in his accent, yet his name is most definitely familiar to you.

“Detective…Bomi?” You’re trying to be polite, you really are. Pesky mouth corners.

His eyes soften further, and he finally sits opposite to you, resting his hands on the table next to the recording device.

“My daughter calls me that.” He looks down, avoiding your eyes, but leaves his palm open on the table.

“She’s eleven years old, a little ball of energy with eyes that somehow always sneak past any boundary I come up with. Gentle thing, used to make new wings for dead insects in the garden so they could fly again and join their insect ancestors. I can’t imagine anything happening to her.”

He looks up into your eyes, finally, out of nowhere grabbing your free hand into his thick palm. You note the callouses and find the gesture…endearing, should you feel anything in your still half dead limbs.

Don't fucking touch me.

Though you don't pull away physically, your entire arm from fingertips to shoulder might as well be cold plastic.

“I can’t imagine anything happening to her.” He simply states again, the words between lines so very apparent they might as well scream.

Your voice softens too, and your eyes blink slowly. As you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, you lay your other hand on his enclosing palm and stroke it reassuringly.

“If you want…do an investigation.”

Your voice is honey and kind, momentarily losing its faux sharpness, but your shoulders remain guarded and stiff.

“Investigate my father. Really dive in. Then, investigate Mishko. I’ll even let you take any swabs you need off me. Then try to look at your daughter with all those variables in place.”

You squeeze his hand reassuringly, but there seems to be an errant tear threatening to form in the corner of your left eye and sink the whole operation. Always the left eye. Although your voice is level, your demeanour cold – your voice is that of a lady softly reassuring someone to sleep as a battle rages on outside.

“…Then try this game with me again, Mr. Bomi. If you manage to do it without being sick, I will gladly bring your round-faced menace right to your doorstep.”

The man before you stiffens, but says nothing. Lost for words, he looks at you anew, slowly lifting his head to meet your eyes. Understanding plays in their carved chasms, something more than mere interest. Understanding and…you recoil.

Pity.

“Don’t.” You state, letting go of his hand. “Don’t.”

“Miss---Y/N. Y/N. If I may.” He gets up fast, rustling through a pocket of his beige overcoat and pulling out a card. He rustles through yet another set of pockets almost chaotically and finally finds what he wanted. A small rectangle that could pass for a gem or an accessory.

Extending a hand to you, he avoids your eyes.

They always do that.

“This is my card, call me, day or night. If you find him, if he finds you,” his voice momentarily freezes and his eyes seemingly wander to nowhere, but he continues without acknowledgement, “don’t hesitate. Call this number immediately. And take this with you. It’s just a simple alarm button. If you can’t get to your phone, press it for as long as you can. We…can help you. I can help you. Find you.”

His entire persona, demeanour, everything has shifted and you’re not sure how many games and how many false personalities you can keep track of. He’s almost…protective. Worried. For you. Ok. Good one. Good one. Let’s not fall for too many in one week.

But your resolve, your own cold persona, the dissociated protective shield that is becoming heavy to wear is cracking under this newfound caring warmth. Warmth you haven’t felt…in so very long. And an older man wishing to keep you from harm? That’s just cheating.

“Detective…” You get up slowly, straightening your skirt. The gesture almost brings you back to that night, to the gunshot, to the desperate fear that froze your veins – but you only let it freeze your limbs as collateral and not reach your face.

“Bomi.” You flutter kind eyes at the disquieted man before you, noting his stubble, his tense face, his quiet but somewhat compassionate eyes.

“May I take your hand?”

He wordlessly lifts his right hand to you, palm facing upwards. You appreciate the gesture and transparency. Slowly you envelop it in both of yours and smile that sad smile that reaches your eyes. The smile you use when you say that you’re tired when you’re anything but. The smile that reassures and calms down, letting people ignore the flames feasting on your body.

“It’s ok. Don’t worry about me. He won’t find me again. I’m not looking for him. I don’t even know who he is. And I’m sure he’s got bigger fish to fry than a stupid girl with sad eyes. Go to your daughter and tell her I said hello. She sounds lovely.”

You tuck the card in your pocket, the device in your other, and watch your tights contrast against the sterile white floors as you try to walk slowly, assuredly, outside.

Your breath is faster than you thought. Your shirt too tight against your neck. Your left eye has begun to leak and your right is fast behind.

It’s alright, I don’t need anything, anyone, especially not someone who couldn’t help if he wanted to. Always on my own, and that’s ok. Always on watch, and that’s ok. Who will look after you? Nobody, and that’s ok. That’s just the way the cookie crumbles. That’s just the way it is.

You had been avoiding the subway station for a couple of days now.

Come to think of it, the entire time following that horrendous night. The gunshot rang in your ears as did the words of the salesman.

The moment you thought of him, your skin reacted with visceral feeling – you could have sworn you felt his fingers on your thigh, the hot air on your ear, the visible shiver that went straight through you. The cold that enveloped you and tore warmth and life from every periphery, every finger, everything to be chucked to the wolves to be able to run faster.

But there was another feeling, nestled closely under your thawing heart. Almost unnoticeable. Tiny. Fragile yet burning.

Anticipation.

You breathe out and focus on the people around. An old lady in a pink coat. Pink is good.  

Just transfer of affect, nothing more, just a brain forcing a very bad experience into something pleasurable and nonthreatening.

A little boy holding his father’s coat. Green grass. Green tree.

Timid warmth, like that of softly glowing embers deep under the cold dark remnants of burnt wood.

Nothing. It's nothing. You need a long bath and a cyanide cocktail. Maybe you should call that person you mentioned to the detective.

"Hello, doctor X, yes, I seem to be suffering the delusion of having an unhinged lunatic fondle my thigh as he lasciviously seduces the barrel of a gun, no, I'm pretty sure I'm not psychotic yet, though the D in PTSD might as well stand for 'dumbass'. Yes, I would need you to hold me tight and break every rule in the ethics book as I turn into my best impression of a thawing puddle of ice in a microwave."

No, this will not do.

You get home. You lock the door. Twice.

And you put on a pretty dress.

❥❥❥

The mirror stares back.

You feel…wilted.

Big doll eyes...

Begging for me...

You look to the curve of your hips where the dress softly clings and falls.

Up to the neck again, exposed and the hot breath and cologne come through even now.

You place your hair over it. Touching your hands, they still seem...dead. As if lost for feeling.

For a small moment, before you could catch yourself, you imagine strong, large hands around you, holding you tight and letting nothing bad through.

You mentally break the image.

A doll, you scoff. All you need is screws and some strings.

The image of a lifeless puppet stirs something quite horrible inside of you, and you look away. Only now do the waves if consequence and reality hit you, slowly, from each side. Threatening to pull you under.

You endeavour to examine your body, no matter your dislike, no matter the insecurities, no matter the memories.

It's futile, you don't know if the bruises were there before. Your breasts...hurt. Maybe it's just your chest being so worked up, the cold air. Surely. Surely.

Fucking surely or so help me.

You try to examine higher. More intimate places. Stomach. Ribs. Lower still.

But you fail. Tights. We need tights. Something to keep everything together and covered. Skirt. Cover.

What has he touched?

What did he do?

And why is he facing no consequences while I get dollar store Columbo?

What has he touched...what has he taken. Was there anything to take? I feel...cold. Empty but dirty.

You water your plant before you leave, speaking to it softly. Assuring it that you'll come back soon.

And tuck a little something into the hem of your tights.

❥❥❥

A loud venue with loud people. That was wise. But it kind of was. The cacophony and overstimulation would eventually fry your brain, and you'd feel either safe or invisible.

You wonder if it'll rain again.

A young man in his twenties tries to yell over the music and get your attention. You sip your drink and shake your head. This was a bad idea.

Spiky hair, a little group. They always hunt in groups, don't they.

"Do you love her?"

The words reverberate and corner you.

Whoever said that saying I love you was like pointing a loaded gun obviously didn't know they'd be taken literally.

If he loved me and did that to me...what worth am I? Did I have any to begin with?

Why did he ask?

Now you feel like starting a barfight just to feel something. But instead, you sit down next to a tired looking young woman and feel nothing. As if someone pushed you out of your body and left you a little bit to the side. Occupying your form like an insolent, rotting parasite.

The lady unwittingly lays her head on your shoulder, and a momentary hint of feeling envelops you down to your wrist, but stops at your neck. You smile into her hair, humming softly.

The group of men don't seem too eager on giving up. And you kind of like this song.

"I'm really not in the mood, sorry."

"Come on, sweetheart, one dance?"

"I'm...a bit drunk. Not good for dancing." Lying hasn't failed you yet. The young man looks like he's still in school, an unassuming boy in an open collar shirt and dark trousers. Dark hair. Light eyes. They sparkle when the dim light hits them.

"I'll hold you!"

Fuck it.

Though you didn't register it straight away, you did catch the attention of a whole different kind of animal. Older. More experienced. A belly full of bones of creatures just like you. As your dress followed you in small movements to a slow song and the young man did keep his hands mostly to himself, someone was watching you. And you saw them too.

Finally. It's getting interesting.

❥❥❥

"What's a girl like you doing in a place like this?"

“Repairing a broken heart, you?”

“Same, same…would you like a drink, little one?”

Little one.

Get out of my head.

You smile the most innocent of smiles batting the thought away, very careful to not even begin to touch the older gentleman’s body. A tuck of hair behind your ear, a little gesture of a timid hand on your lips as if conveying shy embarrassment, and eyes like sweet little coin slots as you laugh a laugh he’d never see as false through his slimy urges alone. It never reaches the area beneath your eyes.

Your eyes are closed on their own, a perfect mimicry of a human smile.

Who does that remind you of?

The sounds of music get drenched in his slurring words. You learn that his wife left him, he’s worth more zeros than you can count nor care about, and how he can’t stop looking at your beautiful innocent face. Such a young, pretty face. Like a doll.

Something about loving to see it break and cry and kiss it better.

Something about those beautiful curves concealed by too much dress. How the white reminds him how innocent and pure you are.

Suddenly he leans into you and drags a hand up your thigh, the other around your back.

“I’ve got a beautiful kitty at home, would you like to see?”

A kitty?

“Awh, a kitty? Of course! I’d love to go somewhere more private. And pet a kitty.”

Your sing-song voice doesn’t match your thigh-pulling-away action.

You’re making a mistake of a lifetime, Y/N, you’re not going to solve a single issue by doing this…he’s not the one who hurt you. He’s not the one whose suffering will ease anything. Stop. Go home.

But your thoughts are cold. It doesn’t matter if he’s the not the exact copy. I bet he’s done worse. Just so happens he stuck his hand in the wrong borough. Bad luck in the game he decided to play.

No, no, no, no, all wrong. I need to get out. This isn’t me. And what exactly would I do with a bloated old body if it actually worked? Christ, Y/N…the blood? The clothes? Cameras? Phones?

What if it was your little sister, in your place?

You excuse yourself and get ready to leave. One check on the tired lady, who is still where you left her, unbothered. You leave her with a little sweet whisper and ask the barman to watch over her, just in case.

Then walk out like a ghost.

❥❥❥

The alleyway was dark, close to the road. A few cars go by gracing the suffocating walls with momentary lines of orange light. Momentary noise and light – then silence.

Just like the motel.

You shake your head visibly. You feel the change in the air as you do and don’t look behind you. You already know, you’ve taught yourself quite well.

The man found you. He seems taller than he was sitting down. His half-illuminated figure blocks the alleyway’s entrance and the back door to the venue is closed.

He seems closer now that he’s shielded by the night. You only step back as his shadow reaches the tips of your shoes.

As he closes the distance between you, you find you don’t move back. He pushes you against the cold wall with one clumsy movement and you hiss as the stone scratches your now exposed back.

His thick harsh fingers find your thigh and your struggles only exacerbate his oafish displays of power over your cold body. You didn’t even get time to drag out your little disposable razorblade you wished to use should you go through with the plan.

And you truly don’t wish for him to find it either, nor get that far up your leg.

Nails it is.

Why doesn’t my body move the way I will it?

My legs are so…wooden. My arms don’t listen.

Maybe he’ll kill me. Maybe I should let him.

Fuck.

Fuck!

You try to deliver a kick between his legs and buy yourself time, but you were slow. It only made him angry. You feel sharp pain in your ribs and sudden blunt pain in your face. He hit you.

“Fucking whore.”

So you try to get up and grab the collar of his shirt, pulling at him and doing your very best to punch back now that his face is so close – chaotic, desperate hits, shoves, scratches; half of them don’t land but you don’t care. Both your eyes are blurry, both your cheeks wet and you smell copper.

Piece of trash.

Trash!

Abusing little girls.

Abusing women.

Abusing your pathetic, undeserved power.

Trash!

You deserve to die slowly.

You deserve your eyes scooped out with my blunt nails and stuffed into your decrepit mouth!

The hit to your stomach was too much and you double over, losing your footing. He grabs you by the neck and forces you to straighten. Clumsily, you feel each of your collarbones react with a blunt tear from the grip, and get another grab at your nape.

“Good little girl, now, won’t you come home with me? Kitties need to be petted.”

You can’t see him through your cut off head movements as the sped-up blur meshes all dark colours together and each passing car light blinds you with new contrast; you fling your head side to side, your body caught in an adrenalin fuelled, desperate, vivid struggle, each limb seemingly of its own furious mind – finally you can feel something. Even if you’re losing. All that rage. All that quiet, subdued emotion. All that ice. All of it to be hurled back at this pathetic figure before you.

But should anyone see you…they would see you’re losing. Your limbs are fragile and cannot keep up. Your body is visibly giving up with every effort it flings into a wall. Your breaths barely reach your lungs. Why didn’t you cry for help? Because no help ever comes.

Dark, so dark…sparkles behind eyelids…maybe I can leave…finally leave…let the darkness swallow me and hush all as I go…

The alleyway replies with a soft, almost unnoticeable whisper.

“Pspspspsps.”

Your ringing brain is hallucinating. Surely. That hit to your face must have shuffled things inside. You try to lift your head, but it is too heavy.

There is nothing between the strands of your fallen hair and stained dress.

That whisper finds its way into your cloudy mind, and rests there, as unassuming as it is sweet. A polite guest.

“Here, little pussycat.”

You must be losing too much oxygen.

But the weight of the man is suddenly…lighter. Your back isn’t being pushed against the wall. You stumble and slide down halfway, steadying yourself with your palms against the cold surface. Your neck is free, your dress torn, and your knees buckling.

You still can’t breathe and register sounds between your sharp intakes of air. Such a cloud of copper and blurs, sounds too loud yet none getting through.

“Such a sweet little thing. Why would you be so harsh?”

The man stumbles backwards, and your vision goes dark. Sounds fade together. Something heavy hitting the floor.

“No way to treat a little pussycat.”

Air disrupted, something swinging in it. And suddenly. Muffled whimpers.

Followed by a sound that drags ice through your neck and down your spine.

A crack.

Like a tree snapping underwater, subdued, enveloped in darkness.

And silence.

❥❥❥

As your eyes adjust and your head pounds, you register two things. You can see the sky and the stars. The night looks back at you, calm, quiet. The second, there is something blocking the stars to your side. A shape. You blink again. You feel blood in your mouth and barely swallow.

The dark shadow against the sky gains shape. Kneeling to you, it is still foreboding. Large.

Yet somehow. Lithe against its surroundings. Although unmoving apart from a set of breaths that are beginning to sink into eery calm, there he is. Kneeling at your side, with enough distance not to touch. Studying you. Looking at you. Charcoal eyes burning straight through you.

A small smile in the corner of his mouth, yet his gaze is anything but kind. Patience of a cat that has grown a bit bored with its mouse. You see his tie is still neat, his suit almost untouched. A little roughed up. His hair still perfectly in place with a single loose strand playing on his forehead.

He cranes his head as he rests his forearms on his knees. You almost smile at the familiarity of his stance. Your brain is so far away you might just wish to die right now.

He doesn’t smile back.

Merely asks you, level voiced, with not a hint of warmth:

“Did you win?”

❥❥❥

You lay there, gazing up at the stars. Your body aches. You find it hard to move. And he doesn’t help you. You’re rather grateful for that. He just watches you, waiting for his answer.

“Obviously didn’t,” you barely cough in a whisper. Your chest feels like it’s been punched straight through, and your neck is a numb pulsating battleground for breath.

“Hmm…” he muses, still watching you. Unsatisfied with his answer but seemingly not invested enough to care.

Or perhaps…he truly wondered if you got what you wanted.

You register movement, but don’t look at him anymore. You’re ashamed. Pathetic. And worried. Very worried, if you felt anything at all. The stars look pretty. A sickle moon shares its light with you. You wish it would rain.

“Let’s play a game,” the salesman says nonchalantly with a sparkle in his dark eye. You notice the veins standing out on his hands and wrists like thick highways, yet his face remains a smiling mask. There is something else in there, too.

Disdain? Apathy? Disappointment? Boredom?

Anger?

Projecting.

Quite easy with a one-way mirror.

You stare at the moon.

If he wanted to hurt you, he’d had done it already. You’re lying on the cold ground in a torn bloody dress in a dark alley at night. It doesn’t get any more inviting than that.

Rifling through his pockets, he pulls out a shiny object. It catches your eye like another star.

As softly as the rain that still won’t come you see his lips mouth in the darkness:

“If you win, I walk away.”

Your eyes meet his, gazing down at you.

Your body reacts. Truly reacts. Little bouts of electricity traversing your skin and your limbs, inadvertently answering to him. And you would cry if you had the energy or the inclination.

You place a hand on your stomach as if feebly laying a shield between him and you, still catching errant breaths.

They grow more and more sparse as you realise, he’s poising that prospect as the best option for you.

You speak to the moon steadying your breath, but it doesn’t listen.

“If…if I lose?”

He leans in ever so subtly, resting a closed fist against his cheek, watching you still. He doesn’t seem to blink. Every movement appears so deliberate. And though he’s not touching you, not taking advantage of the situation…you might as well be tied up.

“You come with me. Let me tend to my flower without a right to disagree.”

Before you can comprehend the weight of his wager, he delivers a single incision straight through:

“Mine for the night to do with as I please.”

So slowly that you might miss it, he smiles that sickly sweet smile, letting his arm fall loosely to you and dangle almost teasingly above your hand, still not brushing your skin.

So close.

Knowing how much you would give him; how little you’d resist. But if you’ve learnt anything about him, that’s not what he would like nor find particularly interesting. Even now. You feel sick. You feel sick because he’s not taking, demanding, snatching. He’s giving you an option. Yet you feel you have no ground to stand on. Quite literally. 

“…And I am very much in the mood for another game.”

❥❥❥

It’s just a coin toss; how much can I lose? It’s a fifty-fifty chance. What’s the most one could ever lose in a coin toss?

“Heads,” you whisper, letting your hand open and close below his, slowly, as if trying to will your fingers to life. Somehow, you feel even less. The cold cobblestones are warmer than you. His hand makes a subtle motion, gliding in the stiff air between your touch and his; a little teasing pendulum. His other moves as you voice your wager.

The salesman tosses the coin off his thumb, and your eyes follow it as it glistens among the stars.

As it falls on the back of his hand, he lets it drop into your opening and closing palm just as it closes again.

No chance of cheating.

It’s literally in my hands.

That’s just cruel.

Now he’s leaning into you and above you, shielding the sky. Nothing but his face and piercing eyes may enter your visual field. With that single strand of hair out of place and what must be blood speckles on his face, he looks like a charming mannequin not trying to pass as human anymore.

“Little lady, open your palm for me.”

You do, and don’t look.

A little polite chuckle escapes his lips; the salesman cracks his neck from side to side as if adjusting, eyes closed, before straightening to his full height. He looks down at you, head cocked to one side, examining you. Every part of you feels so naked, so exposed. And he would almost seem wistful as he towers above you. His full height truly is intimidating.

Gosh. Thank God. I can gather strength and get to a hospital.

“Little lady, little lady…” he coos, guiding your eyes with his own to your palm. You drag it up and open it in full view.

Tails.

❥❥❥