#i want to try it. and i think clippers would make it easier to try fun stuff.

[fictionalmenxyn]

Tw: mentions of blades/razors and I believe that’s it.

Placing your hand on Ghost’s head to adjust his head so you can get behind his ears; you outline the side as you glide the clippers across his head. Humming quietly to yourself you concentrate closer trying not to hurt your boyfriend in anyway possible. You found this idly calming shaving Simon’s head, it brought peace to your knowing he trusts you to do something about his look.

Ghost never really cared about what he looked like. He wears a mask constantly so it wasn’t as if anyone would see if his hair was a mess or he had bad acne across his face. Not that it will really matter to him anyways. It was just annoying that sometimes when he’d move his head that a few strands of hair would get in the way.

The only time he doesn’t wear his mask is around you. He trusted you and only you. So he didn’t mind taking it of to let his face have a break from rubbing up against his mask.

As you shaved his head you broke the comforting silence and asked softly “would you like me to shave your face too?” He hummed in response and replied “if you don’t mind, love” he placed an arm around you and pulled you closer to him.

As he still sat on the lid of the toilet, you finish brushing off the loose hair that laid on top of his head.

Opening the cupboard you grab Simon’s shaving supplies. Placing his old fashion razor on the bathroom counter, you also placed down his shaving cream and started to run the tap and fill the sink of Luke warm water.

As you started to place the blade against Simon’s delicate skin you murmured “stay still or you’ll have many cuts” Ghost replied “learnt my lesson last time” you giggled quietly at the thought of when Ghost kept moving and you kept telling him not to but he didn’t listen and ended with cuts on his face.

He asked “can I have a kiss?” You smiled as you looked at your loving Simon and answered “of course, Si” you leaned down and gave him a shirt kiss as you wanted to finish shaving his face.

As you pulled away you watched as Simon’s hand moved towards your face and gently grabbed your chin as his thumb rubbed your lip. He mentioned “you had shaving cream on your lip” you smiled and thank him for removing it.

As you finished shaving his face, you wetted one end of your face cloth and wiped the excess shaving cream off of his face and then dried his face with the other side of the cloth.

He stood up, tall enough you have to look up. He placed both hands on either side of your waist and said “thank you, my love” you smiled and said “of course, no problem” you watched as he leaned down to give you a kiss. Breaking apart you said “I love you, Si” he replied “I love you too, dove”

I wanna mention icl I like the idea of Ghost with a shaved head. I think it would kinda suit him and probs would be easier for him. I swear I saw someone draw him like that in a canary I also believe I saved it on Pinterest but I tried looking and I couldn’t find it.

Hope you enjoyed!

Make sure to request/message me if you want

Have a good day/night!🫶

[blueskittlesart]

hiiiiiiii so um. ik a while back you posted a doodle of yourself with short hair and i’ve been thinking about cutting mine short—do you have any tips about picking a style or anything that might not be obvious about having short hair?

oh fuck yes I do! I've had short-medium hair in a few different styles since I was thirteen (im 20 now, so it's been a while) and I recently buzzed my head for the second time so i'm pretty experienced in this area lol!

first thing you should know is that if anyone has ever suggested that you don't have the "facial structure" for short hair or that you're not gonna look good with it is full of shit. no one tells men they don't have the face for short hair. i promise it's gonna look good. chop that shit off

in terms of style, be aware of the amount of work the style you pick is going to take. when I first cut my hair short the reference photo I gave my stylist was of a heavily styled cut--something that would take gel and hairspray and a lot of effort to maintain every day. The base cut was fine, but it didn't look like my reference photo without a ton of effort on my part, and at 13 I wasn't really willing to put that kind of effort in, so my hair ended up unstyled and kind of flat and weird for a while. if you're someone that doesn't like to put a ton of work into styling their hair every day, pick a style you can just wake up and go with. my personal favorite lazy bitch haircut is the buzzcut that i currently have. insanely low maintenance and comes with the added benefit of stopping weird men from talking to you in public. perfect haircut.

Also be aware of how your cut is going to grow out and/or how often you're going to have to get it trimmed to keep it looking the same way. that was something i remember being really surprised about when i first cut my hair off--when your hair gets to a certain length, it grows more slowly and you don't have to cut it as regularly to maintain its health and your look. when you have shorter hair, your hair grows FAST, and if you're not planning on growing it out you're going to need much more regular trimming to keep it in check. Make sure that that's in your budget or that you have the time and skill to trim it back yourself! Alternatively, if you're planning on growing it out after the cut, look into how it's gonna grow out so you know what to expect in terms of look and styling. I like to buzz my head mid-summer and let it grow out for about a year before shaving it all off again, because I know that I like all the stages of growing out that cut and I know how to style all of them. there's always gonna be an awkward stage of growing out your hair, but make sure that you're not gonna spend a ton of time hating your look just to get your length back if that's your plan!

my final advice: if you're looking for a specifically masculine haircut as an afab person, do not go to the same older female stylist you've been going to since you were 10 years old. trust me. You can show that woman a picture of a whole grown man for reference and you will still be leaving with a karen cut. she is incapable of giving you what you want. Either try to find a stylist who you trust to use your reference faithfully, go to a male barber, or cut it yourself! especially if you're going for a simple buzzcut or something similar, it's really easy to cut your own hair at home with a pair of electric clippers from amazon. I've been cutting my hair with safety scissors and some clippers borrowed from a friend for going on 4 years now. it's easier than you think!! youtube tutorials are your best friend.

now onto things you might not know:

listen to me. this is the single most important piece of advice i can give you. buy spray-on sunscreen and SPRAY YOUR FUCKING HEAD. there is no hell like a peeling sunburn all over your fucking scalp. it will happen and you will not expect it and you will want to die. you are going to think your hair is thick enough that it won't happen and it is going to happen anyway. do not take chances with this shit

you do NOT need nearly as much shampoo and conditioner for a short cut as you are instinctively going to put in your hands after years of having long hair. think, proportionately, about the product-to-hair ratio you were using BEFORE your haircut, and do not squirt out more than like a nickel-sized pool of product at the absolute most. your bank account and your hair will thank you.

short hair still needs to be taken care of especially if you're bleaching/otherwise chemically treating it regularly! if you're putting harsh chemicals in your hair you should be using restorative treatments afterwards regardless of length. no matter how short your hair is it can still get stringy and gross and break!!

in that same vein, you CANNOT be applying bleach to your short hair in the same way you do for your long hair. listen to me. Drugstore bleach cannot be sitting directly on your scalp for more than 20 minutes. if your hair is short, any amount of bleach you put in it is going to end up sitting directly on your scalp. i know it's tedious to do multiple passes but chemical burns are even more tedious. please do not put bleach on your skin

also in regards to bleaching/color, keep in mind that your semipermanent color is probably going to have less longevity in your short hair than it did in your long hair. Since all your hair is close to your scalp now, it's taking the brunt of your shampoo regimen and therefore the dye is going to wash out quicker than it would in long hair where most of the dye is further away from the scalp. if you're regularly trimming your hair to keep it your desired length, you're also going to be cutting out a lot more color than you would by just trimming dead ends on long hair. you may find yourself spending more on hair dye if you dye your hair regularly!

[every-sanji]

I don’t have much to say other than I really love your dedication to this, you don’t miss a pixel if it even smells like sanji lmao. You haven’t stopped since I started following you, and I feel like this is an archive the people need. Oda would be proud, I think ❤️ just showing so much needed love your way, have a good day :)

wawawawa thank you!! as thanks i'm gonna give a glimpse into my journey running the blog under the read more :)

this blog has been through a lot of phases at least for me. anyone who has been around since the beginning probably remembers when i still added captions to every. single. post. that eventually evolved into my occasional tag rambles you still see today but the captions ranged from commentary to just random thoughts i was having at the time. for whatever reason i thought i had to caption every post and this lasted for a while until i realized i didnt have to do that and could just post the photo.

also when i first started the blog it was at the very very start of covid and i got very bored because all of my college classes suddenly halved their work load and i had all the time in the world to do whatever i wanted so i instantly threw like 500 posts in my queue and drafts because this was still the era when you had a maximum of 300 posts in the queue. and since you cant reverse chronological sort your drafts, every single day as posts left my queue i would go into my drafts, scroll through all 200 posts in there, and press add to queue for 5 posts to refill it to the maximum.

eventually though i went back to school and suddenly didnt have as much time as i used to so i dropped down to anywhere from 1-3 sanjis a day depending on the era. this is part of why it took so fucking long to get through water 7 and enies lobby because i was going through it 3 posts at a time. i kept the queue barely afloat with like 30 posts at most in my queue and did a chapter or two every week. this period lasted about 3 years as i finished school.

now i should mention that with everything above, i was queueing sanjis from my phone. i didn't have an automatic screenshot clipper on my college laptop so i didn't really have any other choice without going through like 5 extra steps. i went through 4 phones (my first one was a galaxy s8 that i'd had from 2018 all the way until ~2021 when it broke, followed by some notepad phone that just couldn't run games for shit so i immediately turned it back in and went back to an s8 that used to be my mom's which i had until right before i graduated college when the charging port stopped working properly and i finally upgraded to the s22 that i have now). up until about august of *last year* i was making every single post from my phone. after i moved for my summer job last summer i realized my new laptop allows me to clip my screenshots and started queuing things that way.

anyway while i was posting on my phone i did have one brief period for i think a week where my queue ran out and it was during finals for my last fall semester of college since i just had a lot happening. we had a few close calls if anyone remembers summer 2022 when i was going through some stuff irl with a death in the community but it turns out i use this blog to ground myself when i'm feeling bad sometimes lol. funny how that works

well since last summer when i realized it was easier to queue from my laptop i've been doing it like that ever since with only one exception which you might have seen my tags about lol. i had 2 weeks in august this year where i didnt have internet and my queue was running low so i bit the bullet and just added posts from my phone.

as for how i manage to find even the smallest of sanjis: i mostly just skim chapters and try to track his movements between panels. i keep an eye on who sanji is next to and what other landmarks might be there and when the panels zoom out i can normally find him if he's shown somewhere. which leads to those insanely small sanjis that are five pixels tall. it's definitely a skill you have to hone through practice and i'm sure i've missed a few sanjis even doing this but i'm definitely a lot closer to getting every single one. i do sometimes wonder if these gimmick blogs are known outside of the tumblr fandom and if word has made its way back to people involved in the series. this is mostly just a pipe dream and i know its not very realistic but a guy can dream right.

and if you've read this far, just a reminder you can make me post more sanjis a day by donating to any of the gfms in my pinned post! each donation extends the current queue by 2 weeks so you can make me really expedite the process of getting some of these sanjis out there. i'm getting close to being done with punk hazard and i'm so excited to get further

[poealexholloway]

The hull and the claws

Ship and initial claw

I thought having the angle be looking up at the deck just off of the bow would look cool, so I started looking for references. This was surprisingly hard as I started with paintings, which annoyed and confused me as they were all at the wrong angles, with the perspective being either from behind the ship or a straight side view. I then considered painting them at the time and then realised that it would actually make sense. A ship sailing towards you would get bigger as you get through much quicker than it moving away, and the most common time you see a ship sailing is away from harbour.

Regardless I eventually found this ship. It is a three masted schooner named the blue clipper and is a commercial vessel that I believe can be hired to stay in as a holiday and used for training, it is also quite a good looking ship, though I have had to make some adjustments

I also did a very quick drawing of the simpler claw shape, which can be found on fiddler crabs. My thinking was the longer claws would be more intimidating due to their size but also less aggressive, like the thing it belongs to isn't doing it to be actively hostile but is either playing or just doing it for fun, though it could also hint to other similar creatures that are more vicious. which I think is terrifying. However, I seem to like making things difficult and wanted the claw to be more complex, so started to use the red egg crab claw as a basis.

Working out the cutting section

This required a bit of trial and error, my goal was to have the claw at an angle so that more of the back of the claw was visible than other images I had found so that it would appear to fit properly around the ship. Unfortunately I was having some issues, this process began with trying to get the right shape immediately which, unsurprisingly, didn't work. So I thought I could draw what I thought the claw would look like from behind and then planned on gradually shifting features so that it worked, but it didn't as I had the same issue as before but with no proper reference. However the idea behind the process, I believe, was sound so I traced over the base claw from the red egg crab seen in a previous post, and then shifted some of the lines over so that it worked. Unfortunately I also didn't screen shot the end result as I wanted to move onto the other side of the claw, the current lines are much smoother than those seen here and do actually meet to a point, though it will appear once all the lines are put together.

The crushing claw

Finally we have the crushing claw. This was much easier to do as it's basically teeth connected to a curve. I started by looking at the inside of the claw half so I had an idea of what they looked like, I likely could have done better with the teeth but they are likely to be irregular as they could be described as rocks grown on an organism and can be eroded by water and use in the crabs life. I have also accidently emphasised the idea that these are teeth as I was thinking of their function as crushing teeth, so have the vague shape of human molars. The main difference between the two iterations is the wider curve round the back so that it appears to be a larger claw, though there is also a more significant curve at the bottom so that the curve on a claw is there and I separated the teeth

[the-firebird69]

nice you pretned your forg nd stuff but ok they like it. and are only reactive nope

Zues Hera

and tons of stuff comes out of them no. are silent. deadlyl and we heard the macs. say it. them and we do this help him. he sees it all ist fat ruin him no no t us no

and we shall try

daniel

These match don't like foreigners at all and the foreigners don't like them and yeah it is your racism and seeing the foreigners do them in then that's the pseudo empire in the Morlock and it's their counterparts the minority morlock and they see it in Miami quite a bit and coming up it's Scarface who sees it yeah I'm saying and he sees it a lot and Scarface says it is them doing it they went on to sit here and swill and they'll have heaven because it's not that great anyways but it's pretty damn good compared to this **** but he'll be used to some fighting and they fight each other now I hear it in a long time ago and our son did too and it was a different time and they didn't think they'd remember but they do and I'll tell you what they do a lot of it and they're not resisting and the pseudo empire and the moral lock are hardly fighting them at all and they're trying to pretend they're Russian and someone's using nukes and it's just the most ridiculous scene and they're Russian counterparts get mad and expose themselves it is starting up there is gonna be a launch very soon and it's from Florida We are going to see them go up there and pretty soon they're saying Saturday and we think it's earlier than that and he's checking it June 1st and that is actually Saturday as they said and that might make sense Thus far BJA has not rolled any nukes up there or devices and is would be vulnerable it's not why he's not ready two days away it is the Europa Clipper and they're talking about clipping Europe swings and it is the trumps so those teams are gonna be coming in and they've had enough of him at Monaco no they wanna come in now.

We have a couple of announcements to make and we're going to do it here

We have a couple of announcements to make and we're going to do it here- We are experiencing some difficulties in this community that are not hashing out people are obstinately in our sons way about everything in his life is getting more difficult and not easier we don't fall for tochis ever and you people have tons of it and we want you out and we told you not to do it but you are so we're going to send in teams and minority morlock are coming in and foreigners are coming in and the numbers have changed and yeah you're doomed and soon after the pseudo empire will fall and soon after the pseudo empire will fall

- There are about 10% of Florida evacuating right now the Morlock overall are 25% but minority moral lock are coming in macklemore lock are at about 20% of Florida and they've never had it that low and they're proceeding to get ready to leave as southwest Florida is really the only area where they're left in any real numbers and they're losing here too. Up in Tallahassee they're probably at 5% and that's all more lock except for Pseudo Empire up there there about 25% in dwindling that's right they're getting small but they already took the diamonds out up there I come down to Gainesville parallel they are at about 30% and they fell from 45% and that's over the past three days, go down to Tampa across to Orlando the whole area is about 30% Pseudo empire down from 45% yesterday roughly it's beginning of the day maybe start to fall rapidly and they don't get it and in Miami the pseudo empires at 25% and they were at 55% three or four days ago they may come in in a big push but they're losing spots to some minority Mollock only about 3% on average and to the max and us and they will not be able to dislodge us we're fed up with their crap. The clones are being pushed out completely all over Florida they're about 1% or less and they're leaving they're not very happy about it but they are getting pushed out and it's pushing Tommy F is doing despicable things to our son and soon he'll be gone. There's more news

There's more news

- There seems to be a discrepancy here no you people heard it you're in trouble now with the fall of the pseudo empire you Morlock are doing worse because you get picked off and picked out real quick and what you're saying to my son and deleting is not acceptable behavior and the max are coming in and they said they would and they're beating you up pulling you out and taking care of business there are several changes you should note that happened here recently that happened here recently

- He seems to be a little bit better son's disposition. There's a few things that have changed fairly solid one is that he is no longer in control of the apartment and it happened about three or four weeks ago as he lost controlling share of the consortium and therefore even if he owns this more which he does not he's got partial ownership it's more than the others but it means nothing because they can do what they want and tell him what to do they have to watch him and he is always trying to do things and we do not want him here and we don't want him here at all so we are telling you that you are to cease and desist what you're doing cool you are the good arbor now speak to you can't speed up what's wrong no we're coming down I'll do a good day to help it's dangerous to me people remind me to know that you'd like me to do that I love you it's very helpful I was sick hello we're doing a **** out of somebody short in the earth you know why video two you could baby go to baby baby baby he's just amazing I don't say this you're saying religious to the point where we hate you we should never make voiceless as a matter of fact if you get picked up you think you're kicked out take me to this brother reginald Denny the fake black guy pulled a knife with a girl in school ended up knifing her and Scott mccracken he was gonna fight that's how it happened believe it or not and it was Jenna Terry Doyle and the 9th or 39 times for his own crimes it's Holy Hills she told me in school no no I think he was spotted with it he was uh oh inside the cabin you got to check so we're talking about a story in the machine picked it up and it's about Scott Mccracken who is actually Trump he got caught with a knife because staff saw it and he blamed the girl and it was not her. Stabbed her 39 * and got arrested for murder and died in the mental hospital put it and forced our son into it because of that and he said you gave me the knife and he said why the **** would you do that and you blame me i'm gonna get you erase you you don't talk back either. So he's gonna be gone soon and his army's gone and it's over a knife and it's true he used a knife and tried to frame our son who sent it to the garbage and the knife is out in front and it's reassembled and it was melted and the guy's clue clueless as to how you do it and nobody knows how to do it so they wanted out of there. Well now they do. So we're Printing

Thor Freya

Thor Freya

[unknownjpegs]

touch-up

His hair grows. Benji cuts it for him. 

“Bold fucking thing to say,” Benji snarks at him after a nasty joke at Benji’s expense. He scruffs Maran by the back of his t-shirt, gives him a shake that makes him jostle and laugh dramatically. “Could fuck your shit up right now, if I wanted.” 

The clippers are to the back of Maran’s neck, cold metal warmed by carefully repeated swipes over skin. They��re halfway done, but Benji could finish it right here. Leave him a partial mess: Maran’s criminally, terminally awful at giving himself a trim. Plus, this is part of the ritual. 

“You won’t,” he chirps confidently, stuffing another fistful of crisps into his mouth. “Love me too much. And besides, you’ll have to be seen with me. Too much second-hand embarrassment for you to handle, Benj.” 

He gets a soft, teasing swat to the back of his prickly scalp for that. It knocks a startled laugh out of him, mouth falling open so that a crumb drops into the dye on the table. Benji’s mixed it, but he’s got a shit eye for it so it’s a nasty yellow-green. Probably will clash something awful with his skin — doesn’t matter. It’ll grow out, and they’ll do this all again.

*

His hair grows out.

Not just the slight, gentle beginning of tight curls at his scalp, but proper growth. Starts to touch his ears, which is the absolute final straw. Except he’s shit at trimming it himself, and Benji — Benji…

His hair grows out, and Benji isn’t around to cut it, and Maran tries. He really, really does.

Benji tries as well, even though these days it seems like he doesn’t have to try for much at all. 

Because Benji has always been brutal, but he comes back as something else entirely. brutal. They’d both had a bit of a tough go at life: doing what they do with the knowledge they’ve got from the age they’d started (too young). The safety of humanity at what cost, a lost childhood, crushing responsibility, blah blah. Maran’s gone through that spiral enough in his short time alive to be tired of it. 

So no, the brutality isn’t what gets him. 

It’s how much more often, how much easier, Benji seems to find it. Tap in. Go elsewhere. Be…something. Maran has to work to get there. Has to pause before a punch, wind down the guilt and fear and sickness in his gut to make himself shed blood. Gets easier every time, and that’s what he’s scared of.

The ease is what scares him. Less than the snarl of a sharp fang, the crunch and squish of flesh — the lack of effort. 

And he sees that it scares Benji, too.

*

They give it a try a few times, and each is…not awkward, not really. It’s easy. Always is, with Benji. Always will be. But it’s never been easy like it is with — this new existence. If it can be called that. 

It frightens him. He would never admit that. He can imagine the look on Benji’s face if those words found their way up. If the truth sprung forth.

You scare me, Benji.

Makes him think, makes him consider things, makes him wonder. Mostly it makes him fear. He’s frightened by the tight, thoughtful, shamed pull of Benji’s brow when he twists a head from the body. When he licks blood off his fingers without a second fucking thought. When he puts too much power in a swing, moves too fast, reacts like a predatory thing instead of the prey they’ve always been together. Together.

Maran’s scared. Regardless, Maran tries. In the end, it’s not enough effort.

Or, honestly, maybe in the end it’s that he also finds it easy. That there’s no effort in looking at Benji and flinching.

*

“Got something,” Benji says one evening, gesturing to his temple. They’ve finished clearing an old warehouse that a nasty little trio of ferals has been inhabiting. Maran thinks they’re feral, anyway. Forces himself to think it. Kinda has to blur where that line spreads, because otherwise the look of fear in crimson eyes is recognizable. Relatable. . He knows how sour and encompassing fear feels, when it seems inescapable. It makes him as nauseous as the milky haze corpse-white glaze over one of their victims.

And fear is what he feels now, staring at his best friend.

Benji reaches up, jacket tucked around his fist. Reaches up towards his face, where Maran knows he’s only going for a streak of blood across his cheekbone, splattered over the fuzz on his scalp. It’s Benji. He’ll just brush it away, clean it off. But it’s not Benji, is it? Not really. Not him. Can’t be. Doing this, looking like that, tearing things apart, being a monster — 

Maran flinches. 

And Maran goes back to their flat alone, tears in his eyes as he opens the door. Because Benji’s not trailing loudly behind him. Not kicking his shoes messily at the wall. Not complaining about sore muscles or whinging about needing a smoke.

Maran had flinched. Benji had frozen. And Maran couldn’t look at his face after that. Head turned to the side, eyes pointed at the ground and squeezed shut. Prepared for a blow. Anticipating the pain.

When he’d opened them, Benji was gone.

Maran tried. He really, really had. 

*

His hair grows out. He cuts it himself, and it looks absolutely terrible.

Could fuck your shit up.

In a lot of ways, he stops trying. Benji is still gone. Flat is still half-empty. Maran fully alone. 

Well. Not fully. Just…mostly.

He’s not fully rotting, at least. Not autopilot through jobs he probably shouldn’t be taking alone. Has other hunters to run with now. Has friends, maybe. 

Lark opens the door with a grin, little shrug of his shoulder. Come on in, which is a funny sort of invitation to get from a vampire. And it’s a funny way for Maran to think of one in the first place, right? Because Lark’s friendly, fanged smile is all it takes for Maran to amend it to friends, definitely. Alone, until —

“Been at it?” Maran asks, gesturing to the mess of the living room. The shit coffee table has been upended and the couch cushions have gone flying all over. There’s a spilled Coke can on the ground, puddle of dark amber liquid soaking into the couch. 

“Xavier.” Lark says, rolling his eyes. The single word is a complete essay. “And —”

“Ben.” 

They share an exasperated grin. It feels like more. Like sharing an inside joke. You get it, I get it, we’re understanding this together. Maran’s not watching the loop close. He’s a link in the chain. Hanging around more often.

“Where—” he starts to ask, except Lark’s already sticking his thumb over his shoulder. 

“Just missed him. Went down to the corner for snacks.” He moves further into the flat, and Maran follows slowly as the space is made. A little wariness around Lark, even now — some habits are hard to break. 

He nods, looks haltingly at the couch, feels his cheeks heating when the vampire laughs. 

“Man, what have I told you?” Lark nudges him in the shoulder. No effort, but no strength to it either. Lark holds back, and Maran barely moves because it’s a gentle touch. 

Lark holds back. Because it’s Maran, and he’s human, and Lark doesn’t want to hurt him. Because they’re friends.

Maran blinks. The vampire misreads it, can’t hear the great thundering of an important realization as it bounces around Maran’s skull. He gets another scoffing laugh for his silence.  

“Mar,” he says affectionately, “go chill , ‘kay? I’m going out, but Benny’ll be back any second.” He holds out a fist, which Maran bumps absent-mindedly. “See you.”

“Right, yeah. See ya.” Maran responds, staring down at the grocery sack he’d brought along. Filled with his wallet, a few plastic containers of dye at varying fullness, and a pair of clippers. Benji had bought them for him. Birthday gift, along with a rainbow array of dye and some reusable gloves. 

Bin that disposable razor, mate. He can hear Benji’s airless, throaty laugh in his head. Your mum’ll kill me if she knew I was letting you roam about like some reject Trolls doll. 

* 

He falls asleep like that, fist clenched around the handles of the bag. He doesn’t dream, but he wakes. Intended it to be just a nap that he’d get woken from. But when he wakes up, no afternoon light spills through the curtains. In fact, it’s gone fully dark out — and right hen, as he’s rubbing his temple, is when retro cat clock goes off. He’d bought it as a gift for Xavier, partially because the noise was so fucking grating.

Backfires now, thought. His ears ring.

“Fucking hell.” Maran sighs, tossing the bag to the ground. He drops back against the couch, heels of his hands digging into his eye sockets until color bursts.

“Losing it?”

Maran jumps, sitting upright as his head whips to the side.

Benny’s stood at the end of the couch. Looks like trouble, as always: ready-to-run slouch, a single eyebrow quirked, that signature grin on his face. Maran watches as he shrugs off his jacket and tosses it over the designated coat chair — the one Xavier’s always snipping at them to keep clear.

“Ah — huh?” He blinks up at the other man. 

“Once y-you start talking to yourself, there’s no going b-back.”

Benny drops a handful of chocolates into Maran’s lap — little silver foil wrapped ones. Benji calls it cheap, shit chocolate, but he likes them. Seems to be common knowledge.

He pops one into his mouth. Their knees knocked together as Benny sits next to him, arm slung over the back of the couch. Maran holds another up.

“Thanks. Was I talking in my sleep?”

Benny pauses a moment as he gets comfortable, then shrugs. “N-Not much. Nothing philosophical, don’t worry.”

Maran grins broadly. “Mate, trust me. Was not fuckin’ worried about that.” He deliberates over one of the chocolates before downing another two. “You knew I like these.”

It’s not quite a question, not quite an observation. Even if he isn’t waiting on an answer, Benny gives him one.

“Y-You got habits.”

It makes him grin wider, hearing something like that. He doesn’t think he has habits, but he supposes they might be obvious to someone else, if he’s being watched. He likes the idea of that. Being watched, having things that people pick up on, that they notice. Being watched, being understood. 

Lark isn’t interested when Maran’s introducing Xavier to binges of classic anime, but he does sneak peeks if their choice is some shit reality show. And even though Xavier can’t talk books, he’ll light up mega-watt bright if Maran dumps about his console repair side hustle, and listens when he talks about weapon mods.

Lark likes gossip more than he cares to admit, Xavier’s got a brain for detail and the mechanics,  and Benny — well, Benny’s got a lot of those things. Habits. 

Maran is thinking of several, becomes suddenly aware that he’s drifted, that he’s staring. He blinks several times, shakes his head and offers a sheepish laugh. 

“Sorry.” Hand up at his temple, he whistles.

Benny stares back, eyebrows raised. And Maran means to respond, but he feels thick-tongued suddenly. Even more so the longer Ben holds his gaze, expression flat as he works a toothpick between his teeth. Maran swallows, gestures again, feels stupid and strange.

“M-man, you are out of it today.” Benny notes, that jittery laugh cracking out of him. “Head wound?”

He slumps back against the couch with a heavy sigh. “Feels fuckin’ like it.”

“Should p-probably hold off on all that,” Benny teases, nudging the bag by their feet. “Ch-chemicals’ll seep into your fucking dome. Eat up all the b-brain cells you have left.”

Maran gives him a sneer, lip curled dramatically. Ben laughs, and that dry mouthed feeling comes back. He’s getting sick. Allergies, maybe? 

“Earth to Maran. I said: who was gonna dye it for you?” 

“Huh? Uh…no one.”

A beat.

“I’ll d-do it then. Save you the embarrassment of a shitty mirror-over-the-shoulder job.”

Another beat. Underneath the silence, Maran’s stomach clenches.

“All right. Can we order somethin’, though?” He follows a glance over to the counter, where a few bags of snack food from the convenience store sit. He pouts. “Naw, like. Nachos or something. Ooh. Or that pizza place? S’only a block — c’mon, I’ll call if you drive?”

Benny lasts longer against the eager, poking onslaught fingers that land on his arm, his side. And when he finally sighs — that I give up sort that means Maran’s pleaded his case proper — Maran responds with a whooping, dramatic cheer.

*

“She’s h-how old?”

“When she wins this tournament? Thirteen.” Maran answers around a mouthful of food. He smacks his hand down on his thigh, rubs the nacho cheese off on the napkin Benny had insisted on him taking. 

Maran is sat on the ground, his knees tucked up to push against the coffee table. They act as a table for the aluminum take-out container, which is so heavy it threatens to upend if he eats too much off one side.

Benny’s picking at his own food slow, on account for the trim and gloves on his hands, but he doesn’t seem to mind. He’s engrossed with the process, now. After the shave had come the deliberation over color, Maran’s toothy grin when he’d insisted on Ben mixing him something custom out of the options. 

(“You choose!” He’d chirped, plopping himself happily — with food and beverage in either hand — on the floor between Benny’s knees.)

He’d snuck a glimpse of the color in the glass bowl: dark, midnight blue. So deep a navy it looked black.

“I wasn’t expecting you to like this so much.” Maran shares, his eyes bouncing between either side of the screen. The soon-to-be-champion, a girl whose big brown eyes bug out from beneath he glasses, lands a nasty combo on her opponent. Maran jerks and cheers, fist pumping the air.

“Jesus — careful.” Ben’s fingers wrap around his shoulder, squeezing. His thumb digs into a spot on Maran’s neck that feels — he freezes in place, back straightening.

“Sorry.” Maran clips out, staring straight ahead. 

He no longer watches the movements of the fighting game characters on the screen. But…looks through it, eyes feeling too wide in his skull. After Benny carefully cleans up his hairline with a rag (fingers on the back of an ear causing his jaw to clench, his stomach to flip, to wonder maybe if the nachos were sitting wrong) they sit there in comfortable silence. He hears the occasional plastic click of the vape he’s trying to cajole out of Benny’s grasp, but not much else. Not the progress of the world’s youngest tournament winner, not even Ben’s own loud cheer when she finally brings home the last round to solidify that title.

Right as the Youtube video ends, a shrill beep makes Maran jump in place, shoulders up to his ears. It’s not Xavier’s shitty fucking clock — it’s the timer on his own phone.

“L-looks good. You g-gonna need help to wash it?“

“ThanksIcandoit!” Maran says. Except…actually, he sort of shouts, doesn’t he? His ears burn as he leaps to his feet, fists clenched at his side as he marches towards the bathroom as quickly as his feet will take him. 

The dye sits for another five minutes because he’s busy staring in the mirror, splashing water on his face, staring at the mirror, splash, stare, breathe, stare.

 And he only remember to wash it out when he drops his head back against the closed door. There’s a blue circle, like a painted sponge had been pressed against it. Later on, he’ll realize he secretly enjoyed leaving it, in a way  — proof that he’d been there, in the home of people he cared about, and someone had known him enough to pick a color they thought was beautiful.

*

Months later, when things have been repaired between them to the point that Benji will let him doze on his (cold, still) chest again, Maran feels fingers touch across his scalp.

“Shit’s busted,” Benji teases softly, plucking at a tight curl and pulling into it springs back into place. There’s no gaming tournament on in the background — instead they watch some punk  documentary that Maran will never admit is absolutely fucking boring. 

“Fuck you.” Maran mumbles, cheek smushed against his shoulder. “Your shit’s busted. Clown.”

“You’re gonna need a touch-up soon here, mate. Like, really, proper busted.” Another pull of his hair, so Maran slaps at his wrist until he yelps. “Be mean n’ I won’t bother.”

“Don’t, then.” Maran snipes back. “Found a new hair guy, anyway.”

Benji pauses. The documentary seems to grow louder, louder, until Maran realizes his heart has kicked up. That the background whoosh is his blood in his ears.”

“Oh did you?” Benji asks in a nasty voice, pushing Maran off his chest as he sits up. “Fuckin’ hell, Mar, s’that so? You got somebody like that? Hm — lemme guess, yeah? Lemme guess who —“

He cuts off into insane laughter, yelping as Maran paws and swipes at him, loose fists thumping against his shoulders, his chest. He’s so strange and solid; not in the human way, anymore, but close enough that it’s still Benji. It’ll always be Benji, he knows. Proof to the fucking point: he gets under Maran’s skin all the same.

[sonofsaviors]

(Potential) Relationships

These are NOT set in stone, but I wanted to jot down some ideas about relationships with other survivors that could be explored or help break the ice with RPing. And hopefully provide more insight into Logan as a character.

-Negan: Logan and his Dad get along fairly well, both having outgoing, playful, and sarcastic personalities that jive well together. Logan loves and trusts his Dad enough to express reservations about strategies and plans during Savior meetings (which he attends as often as he can). Logan wants nothing more than to make his Dad proud and see Sanctuary not just survive, but thrive. Of course, their opinions differ at times with Logan sometimes advocating for different approaches. He is extremely protective of Negan (as one of his only remaining family members) and will throw himself into dangerous situations without thinking clearly if his Dad is in trouble. -Lucille: Logan is most certainly a Momma's boy and adores his mom. He shares a similar sense of humor (and exasperation with Negan's eccentricities) with his mom. During her cancer diagnosis, Logan did everything he could to earn a smile from her and drawing pictures for her for her hospital room. (If) she ends up surviving her cancer diagnosis, Logan is as protective of her as he is of his Dad and rarely strays far from her. If Lucille has passed, Logan does his best to think and act on how she would want him to. He may not fully understand Negan naming his baseball bat after Lucille, but he is more understanding them most people about it. -Rick: Depending on their meeting, Logan's relationship with Alexandria's leader can be on several different levels of hostility, but Logan always has a respect for Rick Grimes and his leadership methods.

-Michonne: Kind of scares Logan and he has a healthy respect that she could probably kick his ass. She vaguely reminds him of his mom and he usually always refers to her as ma'am (Yes, ma'am/No ma'am).

Carl: Logan and Carl are very much alike and could have the potential to be the best of friends or greatest of rivals.

Judith: Despite his relationship with anyone else in Alexandria, Logan sees Judith as a little sister he always wanted and would protect her at all costs.

Simon: Logan is a little leery of Simon at times, but depending on certain aspects of their relationship, he may end up calling Simon Uncle Simon. He does poke him about being Burt Reynolds, but does enjoy spending time with Simon and some of the other Saviors outside of runs. Logan is very much the baby brother to most of them and while he is picked on a bit, it goes both ways, with Logan acting like a little shit to them.

Maggie: Their relationship is probably the pretty complicated, and Logan does tend to try to give her a respectful amount of space or right out avoid her, especially with how much he looks like his Dad.

Daryl: Logan thinks Daryl is pretty cool, but would rather eviscerate himself with a rusty toenail clipper then admit it, because he's pretty certain Daryl hates him. They probably end up butting heads and Logan will usually be caught between standing up for himself and avoiding the issue entirely because that's easier then dealing with emotional wounds from the war.

Carol: Logan has a healthy respect for Carol and generally is on his best behavior around her. He can tell she's not quite what she appears at times. At times she reminds him of his mom and if he lost Lucille, he does gravitate towards her for that similar feeling of safety and protection Carol might give him, but that he's too proud to ask for.

[thegodswhispertome]

Hm, alright then. I'll try to make it look.. not bad as best I can, okay?

[They start snipping away at her hair, going slowly as to not make large visible chunks of missing hair, they still wanted Binx to look okay. They thought perhaps electric clippers would have been more effective.

Once they finish up cutting her hair, they take a look at their work, not the best but it's easier when you can see the back of the head]

Well? What do you think?

Finally up from your nap?

-🥀🐦‍⬛

“Mhm…”

[She looks like she’s about to say something, then stops. Then she tries again. And again. This really shouldn’t be so difficult.]

“Ah, could-”

[Binx fumbles with her pockets, trying to find something to distract her as she manages to spit it out.]

“Probably sounds weird, but… D’you have anything sharp, that I could borrow? Like… A knife, or some scissors, something like that? I swear I’d give it back.”

[messengerhermes]

How to Change Your Suit

Content Warning: This post discusses coping with suicidal thoughts (also known as suicidal ideation)

I'm gonna speak from experience here. Suicidal Thoughts (ST) show up in my life when I find myself feeling trapped in my life rather than living my life. This started in childhood for me and over time I've learned to recognize these feelings of hopelessness and being stuck as indicators that my metaphorical suit isn't fitting anymore. It is helpful to realize "oh, I don't actually want to burn this suit, but I definitely don't want to wear it as it is anymore," but it's also daunting. After all, I put so much work into that suit, and people in my life have helped me get that suit to how it is, and now I'm saying I don't like it? Who am I to reject a perfectly good suit? And also, where the hell do I even start in changing it? What if I change it and I still hate it? Darlings, your suit is yours. If it does not fit right, if it's scratchy, if it doesn't suit you, you have the right to transform and play with it a hundred times over to find a style that fits. And you don't have to do it all at once. Especially if you're finding yourself in the pit of depression when your bones ache and all the world tastes like ash. As always, take what works from this post and leave what doesn't, but here are some of the guidelines I keep in mind when I start to notice my suit not fitting:

Assess things by categories: What are the parts I am happy with in my suit? What are the parts that bother me, and how do they make me feel? What things are internal (a thing that comes from within me, ie my thoughts, my skills, my emotions)? What things are external (my living situation, support system, job/school, et al)? Make note of things I want to keep and things I want to change.

Start Small: It's a lot easier to swap out the buttons on a suit than replace the lining. Looking at my "stuff I want to change" section, I come up with "fast, medium, slow" changes I can make. For example, if I'm unhappy about my appearance, a fast change is buying myself clippers and cutting my hair how I want, a medium change might be phasing out wardrobe items that I no longer like and introducing new ones, and a slow change might be exploring HRT. Some items may be solved in a single quick fix, some may be slow fixes that you switch up halfway through. The point is to get yourself to think of these things as changeable instead of fixed in stone.

Invite others into the process: I get this is scary as shit and your mileage may vary on this. Others does not have to be your family of origin. It can be friends, it can be found family. If you have access to counseling in some form, whether group or individual, that can be a huge help. It can be looking up online support groups for depression, for an identity you would like community around (parenting, gender, divorce, neurodivergence, et al). Having access to places where you get to share about struggling and wanting to change, and also witness folks sharing about their own paths, helps break down isolation and create spaces for mutual care. You are not in this alone.

Seek out new additions. Sometimes the tricky part about feeling stuck in your suit is feeling something is missing, but you aren't sure what. This is where I start writing down all the shit I've wanted to try and what the barriers are to me trying it. Once I have my list, I repeat steps two and three. For example, I've felt ashamed of envying cosplayers who could make their own costumes for years. I had a sewing machine from childhood, and a couple years ago, I looked up free patterns online, bought some clearance fabric, watched a fuckton of videos, and sewed my first dress. Now sewing is a big part of my creative life. On the flip side, as a teenager, I got curious about bookbinding. So I checked out some resources from the library, looked at some blogs, stitched a couple books from dollar store sketchbook paper and lost interest. But I still enjoyed bookbinding when I was doing it, and it was not a waste to learn it. Explore things where you feel called to, let yourself pick things up and put them down. Engage in community, online and in meatspace.

Create a space of security. This is another tricky one, particularly if you're in an abusive environment or one where you don't have a lot of control. Maybe your safe space is not where you live. Maybe it's a swing at the park. Maybe it's a forgotten corner of the library. Maybe it's a cafe. Maybe it's inside your journal and between a pair of headphones. Maybe it's a playlist. But, whatever sense of security you can build for yourself, prioritize spending time in that space even for just five minutes a day.

My suit has looked so many different ways throughout my life. At times, I've felt like it would never fit right again, or would never be anything other than a joke to other people. And maybe some people would find my suit funny. But my suit belongs to me. I have the right to make it what I wish and to use whatever agency I have to transform it how I please. Everytime I have the urge to burn it, I pause. I consider who stands to benefit from me hating my suit, from me hating myself. I consider what radical power there might be in becoming. I will not throw my suit or myself away. I will remake us, as many times as we need. I hope you snatch your suit from the fire, every time. I hope you keep making something new with it. I'm excited to see what you will do. Again and again and again. I know they'll be brilliant.

[icannotgetoverbirds]

As much as I would love a talky bird friend, I’ve been doing research into little budgies and parakeets. Less annoying but in a nice way lol.

Do you think you could train a parakeet or budgie to sing a specific tune the same way you could train a parrot to mimic human speech?

Budgies/parakeets are indeed good mimics! Some of them do actually speak, though it's not quite as common for them to speak as it is for, say, an African Grey, nor are they quite as skilled.

Teaching parrots is all about positive reinforcement and repetition. If you play and/or sing/hum the tune around them a lot, they'll probably pick up on it pretty quickly. If you teach them that it means something, especially something that they want (like treats or attention), they'll be more inclined to pick it up and use it as a tool to get that something.

Before you teach any mimicry, though, it's important that you teach a few basic things. Teach them what the word No means*, teach them to step up and down, teach them to go to their cage (target training is fantastic for many of these) and in their carrier for vet visits.

If you can teach them to take a swaddling well, to have positive associations with grooming tools (nail clippers/files, beak grinders, etc), that's even better. For the carrier and grooming training, be careful not to overdo and create negative associations with these things, because that'll make your and the vet's jobs that much harder.

Flight training is also really good - it's best to leave bird wings unclipped so that they can catch themselves when they fall, but that means that you'll need to bird-proof anywhere that they'll be from floor to ceiling and flight train them. It's more work, but it's worth it.

If you want a smaller bird that's easier to take care of but speaks well, a quaker parrot might work? It'll be bigger and therefore more expensive than a parakeet/budgie, and it might be a bit more work, too, but that's one that I've personally considered myself. If you're not sure, I'd suggest starting with a parakeet/budgie.

(*The only time you use negative reinforcement is to curb unwanted behavior, and that's with a gentle but firm "No" and a return to their cage with no more attention until they are either no longer doing the behavior or they are no longer trying to get your attention - usually about 15 minutes will do. If they're constantly screaming, you probably need to spend more time with them regardless. They will probably often be making vocalizations of some kind, that's perfectly normal and doesn't need correcting.)

[dollslayer]

Pull

Sam Wilson x f!Reader

Summary: A brief interaction in the hallway with Sam leads to a mischievous moment between friends with benefits.

W/C: 1,693

Warnings: Smut, deepthroating, face fucking, hair pulling

A/N: In honor of Sam's birthday and @whisperlullaby 's 700 challenge (Congratulations!! I'm so soft for you Sam fics so I thought I'd roll with it!) I present you this!! This is my first Sam fic so I hope you guys like it! I know that descriptors of hair can make fics not always the most inclusive but I tried really hard to make this so that anyone could read it. If you feel like there's anything I can do better to make my fics more inclusive please please just message me and tell me! I want my fics to feel like they're made for everyone! p.s. - If you haven't already feel free to check out my other fics! If you liked this fic let me know! Cheers!

Main Masterlist

____

You’d always kept your hair short, it was just easier. When you were young you didn’t want to deal with the trouble of caring for it and now it would just get in the way when you’re out in the field. The last thing you need is hair in your eyes messing up your shot or it getting caught in the various straps on your uniform.

You’d missed two hair appointments before leaving on a month-long mission and came back to a mountain of paperwork. Before you knew it another month had passed and then you spent another two just catching up on the rest of your life. Getting another appointment crossed your mind but you kept pushing it off and you didn’t trust yourself enough to take clippers to your own hair. I’ll call tomorrow became a regular note to yourself, just not one that ever got addressed.

It wasn’t until you were getting ready to head to the gym that you looked at yourself in the mirror and realized how much your hair had grown even in just that short time. Sighing, you searched for something to hold it back with so it’d stay out of your face. After wrestling with it for a minute, you had enough to make a small ponytail. Okay, for real I’ll call tomorrow. You set off towards the gym.

Making your way down the hallway with your headphones on you hadn’t heard Sam calling your name. He jogged to catch up to you and pulled you back by the ponytail to get you to stop walking. You felt your stomach drop a little bit as a jolt of surprise went straight to your core. Your hair had always been too short to put up, let alone to grab.

The look of surprise must have made it to your face because Sam immediately let go. He took a step back and moved to apologize after he let out a nervous laugh.

“I-I uh, sorry I don’t know why I grabbed your hair. It looks good though!” Sam said reassuringly, “Have you been growing it out? Um, sorry, anyways, I just wanted to make sure you were still down for later.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. Yeah, yeah I’m game for that. Just text me the details.” You replied slowly.

With a lop-sided grin and a nod Sam turned on his heel and walked the other way. As you pulled open the door to the gym you replayed the moment when he grabbed your ponytail in your head. Images of him holding your hair tightly in his hand while you went down on him flashed through your mind. What if he just pulled a little harder? Quit it, just get through the workout. You needed a cold shower.

___________

You did end up taking a cold shower after your workout, unable to stop thinking of the feeling of Sam’s hands in your hair. You two had been maintaining a friends with benefits relationship for a few months and tonight you were going to hang out.

You really enjoyed Sam in bed and as a friend, it was becoming increasingly difficult not to blur the lines. He was on the month long mission with you and you had gotten to know him so much better. You’d found that underneath his cocky and joking attitude was a good man that cared deeply for the people in his life. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want what you and Sam had to be more.

As you got ready for the night in you tried to decide what to do with your hair. Even though you hated it getting in your eyes you couldn’t deny it looked kinda cute when it was down. You set your hair free from the ponytail and let it fall around your face. You admired it in the mirror and set to work on your makeup.

__________

It had apparently been a rough day of training recruits for Sam, which meant it was likely going to be a rough night in store for you too. Not that you minded, Sam always pushed your boundaries but he also respected them so you never worried when he was a little bit more rowdy with you.

Much to your surprise and slight annoyance Sam was soft tonight. Normally this would make you swoon but if you were being real, you just wanted him to rail you and grab your hair again. Before you realized your feelings for him you were able to be a little more demanding in bed. Now that you were aware you were slowly falling for him you had become suddenly shy when it came to vocalizing your wants, almost afraid that you might let it slip that you wanted him in total.

As he kissed your collar bone you thought of ways to get him to do what you wanted without coming out and saying it. You suddenly pushed on his shoulders and flipped him so you were the one on top. You made your way down his body leaving trails of bites and kisses that had soft gasps escaping him. You took off his boxers slowly and maintained eye contact.

Finally his cock was free from its confines and it was hard as a rock. You smirked and took it in your hands, feeling the veins throb under your touch. You started pumping your hand up and down his length and let out a moan that gave you all the encouragement you needed.

You looked up at him and smirked. Showtime. You stuck your tongue out to taste the dab of precum that gathered at his tip while you dipped your tongue into his slit. He jolted upwards in momentary shock and gasped again. You could see he was trying to hold his hands at his sides, let you take your time. You could also see he was hanging by a thread already.

You took the tip of his cock into your mouth and let your tongue set his nerves ablaze. Slowly inching more of him into your mouth and using your hand on what you didn’t take. Until you didn’t. You took a breath and removed your hand, swallowing his length in one go. Sam let out the low groan that had you moaning in return. The vibrations of your voice caused him to involuntarily buck his hips upwards.

“Baby… oh my god, what on Earth are you doing to me?”

You just smiled to yourself and kept going. Sam gave into his instincts and brought one of his hands to your head, fingers tugging on what he could gather of your hair. He didn’t grab it like you’d hoped he would, just rooted himself in it and guided you gently. You looked up to find his other hand grasping desperately at the sheets with his spare hand. Okay, now do that to me You thought desperately.

You decided to double your efforts to see where it got you. You gagged as you tried to breathe through your nose while you bobbed up and down on his cock. His hips were bucking even more and you could tell he was getting close.

With no warning both his hands latched onto your hair to hold your head in place while he started to fuck your face. You were taken by surprise, even when Sam was at his roughest he’d never done this. You had to admit it was hot to see him lose control like this. You shuddered as he gripped your hair even tighter, reliving that feeling from earlier in the day. You clenched your thighs together and felt wetness stick to them as you kept your focus on breathing and getting him to cum.

Your plans were interrupted abruptly when his hands pulled you up by the hair off of his cock. You tensed in pleasure at the feeling, the tension pulling at your roots and the intense eye contact you made when he brought your head up to meet his eye. His chest was heaving, his cock pulsing and tensing from the near-orgasm.

“That was, Oh my god. I don’t even know what that was” He said as he exhaled. “Sorry I’m pullin’ on your hair again”

He untangled himself from your locks and pulled them just a little bit more in the process. You clenched your thighs again at the feeling and bit your lip to keep from moaning. Sam noticed this and his signature smirk graced his face.

“Unless… you like that?” He questioned knowingly “Does that turn you on? When I pull your hair?”

You felt heat come to your cheeks and you held back a coy smile as you looked away. You were almost too dazed and cock-drunk to feel humiliation but it still crept its way into your brain. Why am I embarrassed? He already knows. What the hell is this man doing to me?

Apparently you took too long to answer because one of his hands caught the hair at the back of your neck and forced you to look at him.

“Answer me, baby. Does it make you wet when I pull your hair?” His hand crept down your body and he swiped your folds. Bringing his hand up in front of his face so you both could see the way your slick dripped down his fingers. He smacked his lips and then sucked his fingers clean.

You could only whimper and nod when his grip tightened. His grin only grew wider watching you squirm.

“Is that why you took me so well just now? You wanted me to grab you? Wanted me to fuck your face?”

Good lord, the mouth on this man. He moved around you so that he was on top of you, lips almost brushing with yours.

“Bad girl, keeping things from me. Think you need to be punished?” he teased. His cock was still hard and you could feel it between your thighs rubbing between the mess you’d made.

“Yes, please”, You moaned a little at the feeling and nodded. This is going to be a long night.

[mysteryinkkat234]

Kaitlynn & Adrian: Like Sexy Dynamite: Prologue

(Before reading, I would recommend reading about my OC, Kaitlynn Turner, because that is the OC that is going to be used for this story. If you like what you read, I’ll maybe post more chapters. If there’s any scenarios that you want to see Kaitlynn and Adrian in, or want to request a reader insert one shot story, fly into my inbox, don’t be shy. Now Enjoy!)

Masterlist

I do wish our first meeting wasn’t like this, holding you at knifepoint before you try to shoot me. I back you up against a train cart, trying desperately not to kill you. I wish this wasn’t how we first met, as Vigilante and Clipper, we met before, as Adrian and Kaitlynn.

You came to me with your friend, Christopher Smith, right? He came to my record store asking what happened to Brady, but I was distracted by your taste in Gorillaz and Paramore music. 

Your gun is so close to my head. “Kill me and you lose important information,” I said strictly.

“You killed a man!” He blurted.

“He deserved it. He trapped women in his home, he would lure them into alleyways, he was also part of this drug ring you’re trying to stop,” as gently as I could, I took Vigilante’s arm and slowly lowered it, “you’re following a trail that goes way deeper than you think.” I try to explain calmly.

He starts to lower his guard a little, his gun still pointing at me. I quickly checked my watch, they’re gonna be here any minute now I thought. I grabbed my motorcycle that Vigilante oh so rudely popped the tire off, it was a struggle but telling him to follow me was easier, he even helped get my bike out of the area.

After a while, cars rolled up to the train yard, not cops. A hill had a view of the whole place, which was a good place to explain the situation. “You were in this train yard before, with Peacemaker.” I tried to start from the beginning, however, he cut me off pretty quickly.

“You know Peacemaker,” He asked genuinely, “also you were here and we were stopping the trade?” Is he going to keep asking questions? Time for some good ol’ fashion blackmail.

At knifepoint again, I corner him…again, now having him lean on my bike. “Your name is Adrian Chase, 30 years old, June 30th, 1991. You were here with Peacemaker, also known as Christopher Smith, 40 years old, in 1982. You stopped a drug trade and destroyed the Hyde Syrup that they were trading, you said it smelled like fruity cough syrup.” Putting everything in front of him, I could tell he was starting to tense up. I lower my knives so that he calms down. 

“Please, just…listen, you have no idea what’s going on,” as Vigilante started to relax, I started to put one of my knives in my pocket, I take a deep breath, “you are part of a team with Peacemaker, I want to be part of this team to help you. I’m not here to betray you, I want this drug out of my life forever,” I take a piece of paper out of my pocket and with a quick scribble, I give my phone number to him, “call me, you’ll know exactly who it is when it picks up. And if you try anything dirty, I will not hesitate to kill you.” I threatened him one last time.

You won’t kill him. You love him too much- shut up, shut up. It was only a threat, I didn’t mean it. Without a single word, just Vigilante staring at the piece of paper, I take my bike and leave the scene before I get caught, by anyone at this point. 

Getting to my house, covered in sweat, I take my helmet off when I’m finally inside. My pissy cat yells at me again to feed him. “Cat, I just fed you when I left, I’m not making you fat.” I complained. I undress and throw my hero stuff lazily into a hamper, and then I face-planted right into my bed. 

The negotiation had my heart beating fast, knowing full well he was the guy you saw at the same yard trying to stop the drug trade, he was also the same guy who came to my store looking at the punk section of the record store, even though he didn’t own a record player. And now I had him at knifepoint, listing his name and birthday as an intimidation tactic.

Adrian Chase was an interesting character. Reading up on him, he was kind of a mystery, which I guess means he’s been doing a good job staying hidden. Family history wasn’t listed in the profile I had, no other names except his own. Staring at his face for days though now has made it difficult to do anything else though. He had that face, you know?

Trying to sleep that night, the thought of him calling me or texting me made me go red. Keep your cool, don’t break the facade yet. I know, but it’s so hard. The Black Ops team has to help you in this, this has to be done with someone who knows more than anyone about what these drugs can do. 

Fighting with my thoughts seems to be a recurring thing, it started when I got to Evergreen when I tried to track down Vigilante and Peacemaker. “Please call me Adrian, I just want to help,” I whispered to myself, slowly closing my eyes. 

[giriwvn]

Buzzcut w/Blasé

pairing - Blasé (fa crew) x reader

warnings - none

It’s been 2 years already since you were hired as a film director in the fa crew and you were quite close with all the members but especially with blasé.

The both of you were always hanging around, simply enjoying each other’s company. Everything was just easier when you were with him.

Sunday, the end of the weekend, the day you hated the most, cause as much as you loved your job it was still, tiring as hell. You definitely were in a bad mood knowing that you’ll go to work tomorrow but as always Yeongdeok knew how to cheer you up and make something fun to ease your mind.

« I wanna do something I’m probably gonna regret. » Blasé said sitting next to you in the living room.

« Then don’t do it dummy. » You said giving him a weird look.

« I wanna do a big change to my hair and I need your help. To be honest I’d rather you messing up my hair then Dive who could literally burn my scalp ». You laugh as he looked so desperate.

« Well you should think twice before doing anything stupid » you replied standing up to go upstairs.

« Why not a dyed buzzcut, I’ve seen a lot of good ones on my insta feed these days » he said following you.

You sighed thinking that quarantine was driving him crazy. « Fine. Go sit in the bathroom I’m gonna get everything we need at the store I’ll be fast ».

20 minutes went by and you were back with all the stuff you needed. « I’m back and I hope you haven’t change your mind » you shouted from downstairs.

At your surprise Blasé was more than ready ,he prepared everything while you were gone.

• ‿ •

« You sure you’re ready? » you asked him as you were plugging the clippers. « Y/N please do it before I do it myself » « As you wish » you replied surprised by his determination.

You were in for 10 min of one of the best memories you made with him. Just the both of you laughing and vibing to JinHyeong’s last EP.

« Damn ! You don’t look that bad actually, you almost look good » you said clearly teasing him. « Thanks I guess. Let’s say I have a good hairstylist » he replied laughing.

« Now this is getting serious » you said showing him the bottles of hair dyes.

« Which color do you want ? We got blue, red, purple... »

« Express your creativity I let you take the wheel » Was he being serious? your weren’t a hairdresser what if you messed up his hair? It was your first time doing this and you knew absolutely nothing about hair dyes.

« What’s up with you liking the risk today ? You can’t be mad at me if I mess up okay? » you truly weren’t sure of what you were in, Blasé is a good looking guy for sure but hair is just so important.

« I promise I won’t be mad do as you like I trust you » he said looking at you straight in the eyes. Fuck, this boy truly can literally make you blush over nothing.

You didn’t know shit bout what you were doing, thanks youtube for all the tutorials because without it the bathroom would be in fire.

2 hour went by and you were so tired of standing up trying to not mess up the boy’s hair. Blasé almost fell asleep under your touch, he was just so relaxed. He was truly trusting you. Only 1 more hour and you were done.

• ‿ •

« Okay it’s not perfect but it look kind of good » you said to blasé hiding the mirror. « Y/N let me see I’m sure it’s not that bad » as he was trying to steal the mirror from your hands.

« Wow » he said. « You did a great job, is there a thing you can’t do seriously? »

« Oh boy he’s flirting »you said teasing him « Thank you I’m proud of myself to be honest ». The truth is that he was looking way too hot. You truly did a good job but the thing is that you couldn’t take your eyes off him.

« Come here » he said taking you by the hips. You looked at him in confusion . He looked at you straight in the eyes for what felt an eternity not taking his hands off your hips. His eyes went to look deeply at your lips and at this moment you knew things were going to be serious. Without hesitation his lips went to yours. You clearly wanted him and so did he. The kiss was taking what seemed forever, this boy knew what he was doing and how he made you feel.

You were the one who broke the kiss not knowing what the fuck you were doing. But Blasé seemed just so relaxed and nothing seemed to bother him. The both of you just ended up giggling like two idiots. At this exact moment you realized how important Blasé was for you, after this intimate moments you didn’t wanted to leave his arms so you both stayed in the couch clinging each other’s till the others would come back.

• ‿ •

The afternoon was coming to an end and you could hear the others coming back from the studio.

You and Blasé were greeting them as they were complimenting your work.

« Yeah she did a good work for sure » he said while hugging you by the waist.

« Let’s say I had a good model » you replied blushing.

« Anyway who’s up for a movie night ? »...

And that’s how we ended the night, laughing and playing like monday didn’t exist...

A/N : hi this is my first time writing and English is not my first language so I hope I did good :) hope you’ll like it

[robininthelabyrinth]

centuries of violent cultivation have left their mark on the nie bloodline in some rather obvious ways. this is half the reason nhs hides behind a fan: it’s a lot easier to get away with being lazy when people aren’t regularly reminded of his fangs whenever he smiles.

unofficially part of Tigers

1

Nie Huaisang was wailing again.

“It’s not that bad,” Nie Mingjue said helplessly. “You’ll grow into them.”

Nie Huaisang shook his head furiously, clutching at his mouth. “Dun wan fangs!”

“The whole family has them –”

“Dun care!”

“They’re at least good for eating, aren’t they –”

“Nuh-uh!”

“It’s just a little lisp –”

Another wail.

2

Meng Yao wasn’t entirely sure of what to make of his newest duties.

It was a sign of trust, he knew that much, and that was good – it meant his plan to make himself irreplaceable to the Sect Leader was working, and his position would be all the more unshakable. The Nie sect might be seen as brutish and crude in Lanling, but their power was unquestionable, and he needed any backing he could get.

(When he made the plan, he hadn’t really cared much about who the Sect Leader he’d need to entice was, but he found to his surprise, and a little annoyance, that despite himself he actually rather liked Nie Mingjue, who was everything righteous cultivators usually pretended to be. It was almost a pity that Meng Yao already knew his life’s ambition, and that Nie Mingjue could never be more than a stepping-stone on his way.)

But still, it was a puzzle – Meng Yao knew that Nie Mingjue was a man who despised all manner of vanity and disdained the need for personal attendants, preferring to take care of himself whenever possible. So why would he feel the need to ask for help in something as mundane as trimming his nails?

“They’re getting too long again,” Nie Mingjue said, offering up a grinding stone, of all things; he looked resigned. “Do your best – I won’t hold it against you if you can’t do it.”

Meng Yao was confused until he realized that Nie Mingjue’s fingernails had were long and slightly hooked, like claws, and hard as bone – a clipper would be useless, and he’d need something of Baxia’s heft if he wanted to try cutting them with a knife. The only way to get them under control was to slowly dull the edge with the grindstone, wearing them down to a manageable length.

(It was tedious, but Nie Mingjue made up for it with conversation about the sect, the war, important things – years later, Jin Guangyao would sit at his father’s side, looking down at the frivolous assignments he was forced to take on, and think enviously back to those days.)

3

Lan Xichen knocked on Nie Huaisang’s door. “Nie-gongzi?” he called lightly. “I saw that you missed classes both yesterday and today – are you all right?”

There was no response at first, which made him wonder if Nie Huaisang really had snuck out or something – it didn’t seem likely. Nie Huaisang was a poor student, to be sure, and a daydreamer, but he was generally good at coming to the lectures even if he didn’t retain much of it. Probably worried that his older brother would break his legs if he didn’t at least pretend to be studious most of the time.

Missing two days of class, therefore, was unprecedented.

“Nie-gongzi?”

Maybe he was sick? But if so, he should go to visit the healers, not simply linger in his room – unless it was truly serious.

Lan Xichen was considering breaking down the door when he finally heard movement from the other side.

“Thank you for your concern, Lan-gongzi,” Nie Huaisang said through the door. He sounded mournful, but not especially unwell. “I’m just having a bit of an embarrassing personal issue that will pass in a few days. No need to worry yourself.”

Lan Xichen raised his eyebrows. He lowered his voice conspiratorially the way he knew Nie Huaisang liked. “If I promise not to tell anyone, will you tell me what the issue is?”

“…I’m shedding.”

4

Everyone at the Wen indoctrination camp tried to keep a low profile, even people like Wei Wuxian who weren’t very successful at it. They all knew why they were there, serving as hostages against their clans, and no one wanted to give the Wens an excuse – but that didn’t meant they weren’t angry in their hearts, wishing quietly that someone would do something to show some backbone.

Wei Wuxian did the most, but he was brave and reckless that way.

No one was expecting anything like that from Nie Huaisang, which was probably why they were all so stunned when the matter with the teacups happened.

It had started innocently: Nie Huaisang had moved his hand too quickly, and his teacup had fallen off the table. Wen Chao had scoffed and rolled his eyes, waving his hand to have a servant replace it.

It’d fallen off the table a second time not long after.

“How incompetent can you be?” Wen Chao sneered, waving his hand again. “I’d heard you were good-for-nothing, the disgrace of the Nie sect, but really –”

As he was talking, Nie Huaisang met his eyes calmly and reached out to place his finger on the edge of the newly provided teacup.

He pushed it right to the edge of the table.

Wen Chao stared. “You had better not –”

Another push, and the teacup was on the floor again.

“Oops,” Nie Huaisang said.

Wen Chao looked as though he was considering strangling him, but then someone (Wei Wuxian, probably) started applauding before it was quickly muffled, and Wen Chao’s rage quickly got redirected.

5

“I’m afraid the sect leader is occupied today,” the guard at the door said.

Jin Guangyao rolled his eyes. “You do remember I used to live here, right? A sunny day like this – he’s on the roof, isn’t he?”

The guard looked amused, which was all the confirmation he needed. “Do I have to fly up, or will you let me use the stairs?”

Jin Guangyao didn’t bother rushing up the stairs. It was a little after noon, when the rays of the sun were the hottest: the Nie clansmen could invariably be found draped over something, basking in the light.

Sure enough, Nie Mingjue was on the roof, sprawled out on his back with his eyes half-closed with pleasure, and Nie Huaisang lolled around on his belly nearby, painting something. A handful of cousins were there too, although not too close to the main family’s chosen territory towards the west corner – Jin Guangyao had never figured out if there was a reason they picked this corner rather than the center that would be more fitting to their status, or if they were just being contrary. Again.

There wasn’t any point in trying to get Nie Mingjue’s attention for business purposes right now.

Luckily, for once, that wasn’t his goal – he’d just had a sudden overwhelming need to get out of Lanling, and Jin Guangshan was easily fooled into thinking Nie Mingjue had imperiously demanded his sworn brother’s presence on virtually no notice.

“Da-ge,” he started, selecting one of his pre-fabricated rationales, “I –”

Before he could finish, Nie Mingjue tugged him down to the ground. “Excuses later,” he growled, eyes still mostly closed. “Nap now.”

Yes, Meng Yao thought. This was fine.

[keilemlucent]

the sex party: i

 (r18+)

shinsou hitoshi x reader

ao3

part 1 (you’re here!)   ||    part 2

word count: ~7.1k

You and Hitoshi definitely have a thing for each other, but who would've thought that a 'sex party' would produce a confession?

warnings: 

COLLEGE AU! characters are explicitly aged up to college students as early 20 year olds!

not really a sex party, mutual pining, friends to lovers, confessions, reader is canonically bi, brief momo x reader, light dom/sub, spanking, references to drug use, smoking (cigarettes, salem trademarked fic thing), drinking, and smut

there is a scene where there is attempted sexual assault. it is marked with ***** before and after. 

---------

this.... this piece is a monster. i’ve been wrestling with it for a month and now its here for y’all. the second part is already out ;^)) thank you to @keiqos for being an absolute king and beta reader this monster. enjoy y’all!!

||||||||||||||||| 

You never imagined that you would be where you were. It was under weird circumstances, but god if you weren’t going to try and enjoy it. 

The party you found yourself attending was lit with flashing lights and rainbow projections. There were two different DJs on various floors of the suburban mansion. They bumped out remixed club music, making the walls hum and thrum and bodies writhe and sweat. One of the kitchen counters was loaded with bottles and bottles of hard liquor and mixers. 

You were quickly making a third mixie. Just a vodka soda, boringly. There were certainly more fun options, but you weren’t exactly sure how to feel about this party just yet. You were having trouble discerning whether this was a ‘gin and tonic millennial’ party or a ‘jungle juice in an old cooler’ party. 

Denki and Jiro had convinced nearly two car-fulls of your friends to roll up. It sounded so fun, so wild!

  “Yo! Our friends from the EDM scene are throwing a SEX party! You all should come! It’s at a mansion across town!”

 Their ‘friends’ were two middle-aged, white hippies who did a lot of molly for their age. 

Nonetheless, you found yourself in a massive, odd house and managed to lose your friends fairly quickly (and accidentally). All the rooms stayed dimly lit and loud. You could hardly keep track of your own two feet. 

Someone pressed you into the counter, a hand grazing against your barely covered ass. 

You whipped around, watching as a couple walked away, one of them giving incredibly loud bedroom eyes.

Oh yeah, the ‘sex party’ part.

It wasn’t a kink party, or really a sex party at all. Sex was encouraged and provided for, but not necessary. The mansion’s massive attic was where most of the sex acts were happening with its five beds, three bondage rigs, a wall of toys of all types, condoms, lube, whippits, and even Viagra in decorative bowls. You had yet to venture up, but Denki had already spammed the group chat about it.

(It had been the first place he went upon arriving.)

You took your drink down the stairs (the place had three fucking basements) and turned into a small hallway that led outside.

It was cold, but your somewhat drunk body hardly minded. The sobering bite of wind gave a nice reprieve from the thrumming heat inside. 

You immediately spotted Hitoshi leaning on a retaining wall, half a cigarette hanging from his lips. His face lit up, when he saw you, waving you over.

 You smiled back at him, glad to find a friend and best of all Hitoshi. 

You two were quite close. 

In addition to both being sociology majors and having a lot of overlap when it came to classes, you’d known each other since freshman year and only grew closer with time. You’d spent many nights at his house off-campus, sipping cup after cup of black coffee in the midst of a paper writing and studying. You also definitely didn’t ever have close calls of affection though, no. 

No. 

Never.

You and Hitoshi were obviously just friends.

...

“Wild party, huh?” Hitoshi quirked an eyebrow, nodding to the house. He offered you a cigarette that you took greedily. 

You placed it between your lips, Hitoshi ever so casually leaning forward to light it with his signature clipper. He’d nabbed it off some ‘milf’ at the casino which he and Denki had gone to for bingo ‘for the meme’ freshmen year. 

You let out a puff, “Thank you! And yes, very wild. I’m on drink three and I still feel overwhelmed.”

Hitoshi sipped his own, nodding in agreement, “I know Jiro and Denki know some wild people from the scene, but this seems over the top.”

“It is kind of fun? But definitely an ‘I need to be a little more fucked up’ kind of fun,” You remarked.

You set down your cigarette on the cement wall, attempting to boost yourself up onto it. You nearly had it, except you really didn’t and slipped back down. You anxiously turned around, checking your dress over for any sort of tears. 

Hitoshi set down his own cigarette, standing in front of you. You looked up at him and felt very small and very horny all of a sudden. It certainly wasn’t an abnormal set of feelings, given how the two of you teased each other relentlessly. 

“Need some help there?” He chuckled at your struggle as you frowned up at him.

“If you insist.” You expected him to offer a hand to stabilize yourself on but no, Hitoshi’s big hands were suddenly grabbing at your waist, lifting you on the walls with little effort.

You swore you almost felt him squeeze you before letting go.

“You’re welcome,” Hitoshi just smirked as he returned to his spot, taking a deep drag to look at you through lowered lids.

You glared, but in good fun. 

At that moment, a few other of your friends poured from the door to the patio. They were all shouting, jarring and drunk, and very happy to see the two of you.

You unconsciously shifted a bit closer to Hitoshi on the wall, bare leg just barely touching his shoulder.

You didn’t notice it, but Hitoshi definitely leaned into you too. 

“(Y/N)! Hitoshi!” Momo addressed you firmly as Denki and Hanta snickered behind her. “You both are smarter than to smoke, aren’t you?”

“Nope,” You popped the word from your mouth to take another drag.

“We’re drunk, give it a rest,” Hitoshi waved his hand dismissively. You were both her friends, but she did have a pole up her ass sometimes. 

Almost to emphasize the point, Jiro withdrew her own pack and started offering to other people. 

As the ever-important smoking ritual continued, you couldn’t help but shiver from the now-painful gusts of wind. You abruptly hopped off of the wall, only wobbling a little on your heels as you hit the ground. Hitoshi moved to steady you, a firm hand on your shoulder.

(God, you wanted to melt into him.)

See, Hitoshi had been smart enough to wear a warm outfit. A pair of black jeans, a form-fitting, well-cut sweater, and a jacket which was slung over his arm. 

He offered it to you, eyebrow raised, “If you’re cold, you’re welcome to this. I’m gonna stash it when I get inside anyways.”

You shook your head, pushing back on his arm, feeling the hard muscle beneath. You almost shivered. “No, no it’s okay. I’m gonna head back in.”

“Mind if I tag along then?” Hitoshi asked, eyes scanning around you. He seemed well aware that there were some creeps at this party.

Most of the time, you wouldn’t feel great about needing some tall, beefy dude to casually stand around as a deterrent. But, honestly? You appreciated it immensely. 

“Right this way, smokestack,” You just had to give him shit, it was part of your cute dynamic right?

(It made the incessant flirting easier to hide.)

...

You couldn’t help but continually notice how Hitoshi had bulked up. He had been hitting the gym a lot and working on himself physically. 

God, did it show. 

His body had been a bit lanky and wiry before, but he’d filled out so well. With his cute sweater on, you could see how the fabric stretched tight around his biceps and his chest. You couldn’t look at his forearms in any setting or risk drooling all over yourself.

Not that you would mind drooling for Hitoshi, but you’d prefer it to be in a different context. 

(But, you’d never admit that.)

 The two of you wordlessly winded through the house, finding a somewhat less feral living room in one of the basements to relax in. Most everyone occupying the space was just mingling, save for a few couples making out. It seemed manageable. You settled for a spot on the carpet against a wall.

Hitoshi raised an eyebrow, “Really?”

“I feel way safer sitting on a floor than a couch here,” You couldn’t help smiling when you saw him snuff out his own amusement. 

You both watched as a couple was grinding and audibly moaning on one of the aforementioned couches. Hitoshi relented, “Point taken.”

He slid down the wall next to you, shoulder to shoulder, drinks in hand.

You both sat in silence for a minute, just taking the sounds and sights of the party. People-watching could have been an olympic sport at this shindig. 

“Hey,” Hitoshi broke the mild tension, tapping your upper thigh over your dress. “I’m not saying this to be a creep, really, I promise. But, I really like your dress.”

You turned your body slightly, towards him. Oh, now you needed to give him shit— “Oh, how complementary. Not creepy at all. Just my very sweet, male friend telling me how I look pretty in my party dress.”

Hitoshi leaned closer to you, mirroring you by lying half on his side. His breath and heat curled over your face and neck, “Oh, (Y/N), now you’re putting words in my mouth. I said that I like your dress. Because it’s one of Mei’s designs, right?”

You looked down, heat filling your cheeks. 

Fuck your drunk mouth.

“Though,” Oh, Hitoshi was closer. He had leaned to your ear, steadying a hand on your shoulder. “I do think you’re pretty in this dress. I’d use a different word instead of pretty though.”

“Like?” 

“Mmmm, gorgeous,” He hummed too casually. “As strong of a word as I can use without being a creep, right?”

“‘Toshi,” You groan, swatting his hand away. “You’re a bastard, you know that?”

He just beamed at you, “I’ve been told.”

Hitoshi drew back and met your eyes.

Once more, you mirrored each other. Both of you bore comically dilated pupils, wet lips, flushed faces and slight tremors in your hands.

“You know, I think I referred to you as ‘sweet’ too...” You raised an eyebrow at him. You couldn’t help the way your gaze flickered down to his lips. It flitted back up, “But, that’s nothing, right?”

Hitoshi bit his lip, taking a big breath. 

Suddenly, he was standing up. 

“Hey, wait—” You stammered, standing as well. “I’m sorry, that was a lot. I only meant to tease.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” Hitoshi put his hands in front of himself, creating distance between the two of you. “Same. You know I can’t help giving you trouble, (Y/N).”

Ouch.

You cracked a smile, rubbing your arms, “Of course, yeah. Silly friend shit.”

Hitoshi was quick to redirect, pointing a thumb out of the room, “I’ve gotta hang this somewhere. See you in a bit, or you can come with me if you like?”

“Nah, I’ll wander,” You patted his shoulder, waltzing off your churning gut by cutting in front of him. “Take it easy, smokestack.”

You couldn’t hear if he replied.

 ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||

 You did, in fact, wander. With meandering feet, you moved through room after room. You poured yourself another drink, but it’s not nearly as strong. Your run-in with Hitoshi soured your mood. While not fully ruined, you were definitely feeling weirder than you wanted to be.

Hitoshi and you obviously had energy, yeah. But the most either of you had acted on it was ‘seemingly meaningless’ flirting. It was always followed up with a ‘no homo’ or ‘aha, got ‘ya!’, yet it always felt real in the moment. You weren’t a dumbass. You had caught Hitoshi eyeing you a few (read: many) different times. There were so many close calls and contacts between the two of you.

 There was one time while you were making a box of mac and cheese in Hitoshi’s kitchen circa 2 AM. You had borrowed one of his shirts and a pair of joggers to sleep in, a common act of yours. He walked past you for a glass of water, keeping the cup under the tap until it ran over just to look you up and down. 

His gaze wasn’t prying or predatory, not even close. You trusted Hitoshi with your life and you knew that he wouldn’t ever breach boundaries like that. Rather, he regarded you in a way that made him lose time, something soft and gooey in his eyes. That time, it wasn’t lustful attention. It just felt-

(Like the way lovers look at one and other, enamored.)

 Another time was during one of his performances. The house venue had been dimly lit and musty as fuck, but that didn’t distract Hitoshi. As Jiro’s vocals shook the basement, you met eyes with Hitoshi as he slammed on guitar. His gaze always returned to you throughout the whole set. When you had teased him about it, he claimed that looking at you helped keep his stage fright in check.

The reasoning didn’t calm the butterflies in your stomach. 

 There was another particularly telling occurrence where you had fallen asleep on Hitoshi’s floor in the middle of working on your final paper for your theory class the semester prior. He returned from his smoke break to find you curled up under the first piece of cloth you could find (which, in that case, was one of his hoodies). You weren’t fully asleep, and you certainly weren’t when Hitoshi hefted you into his arms, laying you so gently down on his bed and covering you with a throw blanket. 

Oh, god, the sweetness, like something you’d never known when you felt his hand on your face, smoothing over your cheekbones, your nose, and then your lips. His gentle voice, deep with the late-night, “You work too hard, you know.”

He nestled next on the floor next to the bed, leaving you to sleep undisturbed the rest of the night. 

There were, of course, many more instances of Hitoshi’s way-too-kind kindness, and a pile of your own moments as well. 

It was all damning, but relatively ignored. Your friendship was more important than any stupid feelings the two of you had right? You refused to acknowledge your own feelings beyond semi-sexual remarks, jabs, and jests. You couldn’t jeopardize your friendship, right?

...

 You eventually found yourself at the foot of the stairs that led to the attic. Even from the landing, you could hear various rhythmic slaps, moans, and laughter. 

You ascended the stairs and took in the sight greeting you.

There were various bondage rigs that were free-standing, all occupied at the moment you entered. Loops for ropes and chains to be tied to drilled into the ceiling. Flogs, whips, canes, and other implements hung heavy on one of the walls.

The room was lit dimly, yet nothing seemed obscured. A few rainbow lights illuminated the sweaty bodies about the room. Not everyone was having full-on sex. Most people were actually clothed. A lot of folks it seemed were just there spectating. 

Speaking of most people, your party peers were all lounging on the beds. Sans, Hitoshi, of course, standing and laughing with Kaminari. 

The lot saw you enter and flagged you down. You walked past a heavily-tattooed man getting pegged by a woman in a tutu and a crowd of costumed partygoers doing whippits which were being handed out by a man in an elaborate steampunk top hat. A cute girl with silver hair was strung up in a nearby rig, moaning as a leather-clad man fingerfucked her. 

You stood next to Hitoshi, bumping into his arm with your own, “Didn’t take you for a voyeur.” 

He snorted, joshing you back, “I have my moments.”

“I didn’t take you for a prude, (Y/N)!” Denki snickered, bringing attention to you. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost when you walked in here.”

“Denki, please,” You rolled your eyes. “I walked into a room made for very wild sex acts. That’s a very different expression than the one you’re describing.”

That made him snort and fall back onto the bed, along with Hanta and Mina. 

(How high were they? That wasn’t even a good joke.)

Hitoshi chuckled himself, something low and lumbering.

(Don’t think about how hot that is.)

“This makes me think back to that night, in sophomore year,” Hanta spoke as he sat up. “You know, kink night.”

“Oh, yeah! I forget about that,” Denki turned towards you and Hitoshi and raised his eyebrows.

You flushed.

Momo, innocently, asked, “Kink night?”

Hitoshi cleared his throat, looking anywhere but you.

“Oh yeah!” Mina piped up, hugging Momo’s shoulders from behind. Jiro was sitting in Momo’s lap, head on her tits. “We made a drinking game of exposing our weird sex acts and kinks to each other.”

You laughed uncomfortably at the memory, avoiding the very embarrassing and horny part that involved you, “That was the day that we found Mineta was into scat.”

“Oh wow,” Jiro gawked. “That was before Mineta got canceled?”

“Oh, yeah. He got wasted and ran off after that. Thank god.” Denki snickered. “You know what else happened that night?”

“Denki, please, stop talking.” It was Hitoshi placing a firm hand on the other’s shoulder. 

Denki just looked at the two of you like he was some old god of mischievous, turning back to the girls, “That’s when we all found out about Hitoshi and (Y/N)’s suuuuuuuuuper compatible kinks. Like, scary compatible.”

“They got sooooo awkward about it too!” Mina snickered, looking at your and Hitoshi with matchmaker in her eyes. 

You would kick her ass for it later. In that moment, you tried to keep a somewhat neutral expression as you recalled the night in question.

Sure, it was a year or two back and you and Hitoshi weren’t half as close back then. 

The lot of you had been sitting on the floor of Denki and Hitoshi’s dorm, passing around a bottle of cheap, flavored vodka in a fucked up, horny game of truth or dare.

...

  “You’re next (Y/N)!” Mina passed the bottle to you and fell back against the carpet. You swallowed thickly, swishing the content liquor inside. “Dare or sex act?”

The rules of the game were simple. Choosing ‘dare’ meant that someone else chose a sexually-charged dare for you and ‘sex act’ meant exposing either a kink or a sex act you’d done. It was a roulette either way, but one option gave you far more control than the other. 

After the last dare consisting of Denki giving a very messy lap dance to Eijiro, and you weren’t really in the mindset to repeat anything even close to that.

“Sex act,” You sighed in defeat.

Denki snickered in the corner, “Spill it!”

Hanta cheered you on as you bit your lip in thought.

The liquor swirling in your stomach was affecting your inhibitions, and with one shy, half-glance to Hitoshi, you spoke up. 

“I have a spanking kink, what of it.”

You drowned out Hitoshi’s red cheeks and the cheers of your friends with a deep chug from the bottle.

The bottle was passed to Hitoshi as you asked the question, “Dare or sex act?”

Jiro giggled from the bed, sipping at her own drink as well. 

“Sex act,” Hitoshi groaned, rolling his eyes at Denki, but you all knew he loved what was going on.

“Reveal yourself, Hitoshi! What gets your rocks off!?” Mina shouted drunkenly as she rolled on the floor. You made a mental note to cut her off from having any more of the trashy vodka.  

Hitoshi gave you a fleeting, but very horny look before regarding the group.

There was a twitch in your lip that made you think his smirk was all for you.

“I love pulling a cute girl over my lap and turning her ass purple while she’s begging for more.”

As everyone around you jeered and cheered, you gulped. 

And so did Hitoshi.

...

 “Yeah!” Hanta fell back. “That was so fucking funny. Like, all night it was all (Y/N) being like ‘I’m a filthy masochist!’ and Hitoshi being like ‘I’m a filthy sadist!’”

“Hanta, for the love of god,” You interrupted him, face burning with a fucked up mix of shame and lust. Hitoshi was mirroring you. “Why do you have to bring that up?”

“Oh, dude, because whenever we talk about it, you and Hitoshi get so embarrassed, it’s hilarious!” Hanta fucking giggled and reached for his drink. 

“Are we gonna talk about how you and Denki both like fisting—” You give them a taste of their own medicine, watching the two of them choke and gawk. To the side, Momo whispered to Jiro, eyeing you. 

Hitoshi barked out a laugh, losing some tension in his shoulders. You met his eye for a moment, only to see the jewelish purple taken up by his blackened pupils.

Fuck.

Momo spoke up, brow furrowed, “Can I request something a bit odd of you, (Y/N)? It’s perfectly okay if you say no.”

“Shoot,” You reply, sipping your beverage. 

Momo bit her lip, eyes going to Jiro, then you, “Can I try spanking you?”

Everyone collectively choked. You especially.

You took another nervous sip of your drink, avoiding eye contact with the group.

You regained composure, refusing to look at Hitoshi, but letting the fucked up idea brew and brew in your mind, “Uh, I mean, is Jiro okay with it?”

“Oh yeah, totally,” Jiro nodded, kissing her girlfriend’s jaw. “Pain isn't my thing, at all, and she’s always wanted to try it. And hey, if you’re a ‘filthy masochist’, be my guest.”

But, would you be her guest?

Your drunken mind considered.

It was the most acceptable setting for it to happen in public. You really did like getting spanked and were a raging masochist, so it would, at the very least, be fun for you. A little humiliating, but that was also a turn on. You’d also get to indulge Momo, who was dating Jiro, but they both seemed perfectly okay with a bit of platonic pain play, so what was the real harm? 

Your gaze flickered to Hitoshi.

Oh, fuck.

His face was lit up with a deep blush even in the irisian hues of the sex attic. His eyes were pointed distinctively opposite of you, a hand literally over his mouth as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Your mind lit up with ideas.

Terrible, sinful ideas that you would be the peak of you and Hitoshi’s teasing.

Fuck it.

“Sure, I’m down,” You smirked and Momo lit up. Immediately, she was up and scouting out the area for a spot to go to town. Momo even seemed to be eyeing up a wall of toys. 

“Hey,” Jiro whispered to you as you truly realized what you got yourself into. “Thanks for this. She’s really into this kind of stuff, and I like indulging her, but I can’t handle too much.”

“Oh, of course!” You spoke so brightly. “I have a high pain tolerance, so I’m sure I can take what she dishes out, too.”

You heard Hitoshi clear his throat behind you.

You let yourself take another glance at Hitoshi and it made you want to die on the spot. His eyes glared in anger with the sinful intensity that was entirely directed at you. You could tell by the awkward way he was leaning that he was trying to hide the bulge in his jeans.

Is... Is he that turned on by just the thought of me getting spanked?

Oh, this truly was your best teasing yet.

(Were you taking this too far?)

Kaminari was gripping the sleeve of Hitoshi’s sweater, not allowing him to leave. Judging by how the latter was looking and staring, he wasn’t going to either way.

Momo walked back over, tugging you by the hair to a bed that was a lot higher than the others. It was the perfect height for you to bend over.

“What’s your safeword?” She asked, running her hand down your back to push you against the comforter like she’d done this hundreds of times before. Your chest fell against the bed, forearms giving you a bit of leverage. 

You hummed, “Just ‘red’ should be good.”

“Perfect,” Momo smiled before pressing the back of your neck, forcing your face into the sheets. “I’m gonna give you ten with my hand, okay?”

“I trust you, Momo, do your worst,” You spoke so confidently, but truly you didn’t know what was coming.

Momo smoothed a hand over your ass, hardly covered due to the angle you were bent over. The pretty fabric of your dress, pulled over your curves, was hiding less and less. Momo hummed, running a firm hand down the zipper of the dress, “Do you have a preference as to if I pull your dress up or not?”

Oh, holy fuck. 

That was beyond teasing.

Fuck it.

“You can pull it up, but keep my panties on. I need some dignity,” You winked back at her. 

Momo blushed. She delicately pulled the fabric back, resulting in a round of wolf whistles from your friend. Sober you was going to hate the fact you did this, but drunk you? Thriving.

(Though you wished it was Hitoshi delivering, but you digress.)

Without warning, Momo brought her hand down on your ass, a loud smack resounding around the room, causing a slight hush.

Oh fuck. 

You were already drawing some attention.

Despite the pleasant haze of painful pleasure that was beginning to swirl in your mind and gut, you couldn’t help but notice the looks and stares. 

Particularly, you got a nasty feeling from the figure in the far corner eyeing you up from ass to toes. He looked fairly nondescript, but the aura he was giving off felt like poison. Something sticky and unpleasant formed in your gut when you looked at him. Your drunken mind chased it away by turning your head the other way. 

And then all you could see was Hitoshi’s gaze on you.

It was damn near feral.

His cheeks flushed and dewy. A bit of sweat was dripping down his temple, reflecting the party lighting like some sort of sick joke. One of his hands was raking through his violet locks. His teeth dug into his full lips as he stared you down. 

Your eyes met and you refused to look away.

So did he. 

Another hit, harder, made you bite your lip to suppress a cry.

Three more and you couldn’t help the bubbling sounds that were spilling from you. Soft cries and moans, maybe a whimper or two leaked from your bitten lips. Momo wasn’t holding back, and you were sure your ass would ache tomorrow.

Good.

Two more and tears leaked from your eyes. You were sure your friends were just waiting to give both you and Momo so much shit, but you couldn’t care less. All you could do was drink in the hungry way Hitoshi eyed you. 

It was definitely not the way people who were ‘just friends’ looked at each other. 

“Last two, make ‘em count!” Mina shouted from behind you with a cheer. Some of the others in the room were clamoring to watch.

Momo ran a soothing hand down your back, “You doing okay?”

“I’m peachy,” You push out, voice clearly tear-stricken. “Finish me off, Momo. Bruise me.”

That apparently set her off. Momo smacked your ass with such a force that your face pressed harshly into the bed, obscuring your view of Hitoshi. 

The last slap was, by far, the worst. Momo decided to tease you, torturing the raw skin of your ass. She would wind up only to pet your lower back or stroke the tops of your thighs. When she finally gave you the hit you deserved (for torturing Hitoshi and yourself), it sounded across the room just as loud as your sob that followed it. Tears leaked from your eyes as your breath came out in shudders. You loved the feeling of numbness and pain that emanated from your abused cheeks. You relished it.

You turned your head upright, vision blurry. Momo pulled your dress down, helping you sit up. 

You didn’t get much of a chance to catch your breath as Hitoshi dashed away and out of the sex room, very tense and very distressed judging by how Denki was shouting after him.

Oh fuck.

You kicked yourself mentally, cursing your stupid fucking hubris.

You took it too far.

He’s either turned on, uncomfortable as fuck, or both.

Probably both.

 You start to sit up, ignoring the sobering pain heating up your ass. Quickly, Momo pressed you back down to the bed. A solo cup of clear liquid was offered to you. 

“Aftercare, obligatory. Drink this, it’s just water,” Momo stated curtly, watching you down the water. You rubbed the tears from your eyes. 

“How’s my makeup?” You asked, ignoring the rising panic in your chest. 

Momo inspected you for a moment as the others came over, jeering. She quickly rubbed away smears of mascara, running a hand over the side of your face, “Do you feel okay?”

“Yeah, totally. Shit was fun,” You prayed you were disguising the turning of your gut well enough with your nonchalant tone. “I’m gonna find Hitoshi and make sure he has an extra pair of pants.”

Momo frowned, pressing you down and squeezing your shoulders, “Somehow, I don’t believe that. Please rest for a moment, (Y/N).”

You faltered, following Momo’s command without much thought. Your mind was still in a somewhat of a fog as you sipped at the water she gave you. Her hand rubbed at your shoulders and back, dropping praise every few moments. 

The rest of your peers filed over, cheering, flopping on the bed around you. 

“Holy fuck, (Y/N),” Hanta whistled, clapping your shoulder.

“That was so hot,” Denki sighed, red-faced and wide-eyed. 

Momo ran an affectionate hand through your hair as Jiro fell into her lap, winking at you, “She’s so good, right?”

“Yeah, holy fuck. If y’all ever need a third, you have my number.” You breathed, shaking out a laugh. “I think I need to find Hitoshi, though.”

 You stood up, wobbling for a moment, comically aware of sets of eyes on you as you dashed away. Your friends shouted encouragement from behind you as you descended the stairs.

Truthfully, your intent was to smooth things over and make the routine, ‘but we’re bros!’ comment. You knew that this wouldn’t be enough, considering how far you pushed it.

You fucked up.

Took it too far. 

What does Hitoshi even think of you now?

...

Your mind was sobering with the help of the water and pain. 

You had to find Hitoshi.

So, you quickly moved about the house.

You scanned room after room, checked the front and back yard, but couldn’t find him anywhere.

  Where the fuck was he?

 You passed by a room upstairs, door shut, and you swore you heard his voice inside.

The panic that had been brewing in you was spilling over. Your ass ached and walking hurt like hell with the bruises that were forming. All you wanted was a cigarette and to apologize to your best friend for taking things way too fucking far—

You swung the door open and was met with a scene that did not include Hitoshi Shinsou.

A mess of four very cute, very high girls, mostly but not entirely clothed, were writhing on the bed, all popping up to look at you. 

You flushed, body tensing as you tried to laugh it off, “Oh, wow, sorry about this! I thought my friend was in here. I’ll let you all get back to it.”

The girls hardly seemed perturbed by the sudden intrusion, rather they seemed quite complimentary. 

“Aw, you don’t wanna join?” One of the girls pouted, giving you puppy dog eyes. “You’re so pretty!”

“T-thank you,” You shook your head, “You are all very sweet, but I have to find my friend.”

“The one behind you?” A different girl asked. 

Your hazed mind hadn’t even picked up that was anyone behind you. 

You couldn’t help lighting up. Hitoshi had to be behind you, of course, this silly anxiety attack would come to an end—

You turned.

Your face fell.

***********

It was the creep from the sex room, grinning down at you. There was a nasty glint in his eye.

Your heart started going faster. Your gut soured with a feeling far off from drunkenness.

“Actually, uh, no, I’ll be going, thanks.” You tried to sidestep the man, but he quickly blocked the doorway, boxing you in.

“No, I think we’ll stay,” Oh, the man’s voice was sick in your ears. 

You were too shocked to move at first.

His reached for your shoulder, but you managed to stumble back from him. 

“No, hey, dude, don’t touch me,” You barked back, pass your growing fear. 

He scoffed, muttering something about you being a  ‘cheap whore’ and stalked you down. 

Your back hit a wall. You froze.

You felt trapped. 

His cheap cologne was choking you.

He was just inches away. 

You looked helplessly to the girls on the bed, but they had dissolved back into each other. Their hands were grabbing at each other's writhing bodies, clothes being torn away with light moans filling the air. They were far too fucked to be bothered with what was happening to you. The deafening music of the party drowned out your senses beyond the small room. 

You tried to slip away from him, out of the door, but his arm slammed beside you.

He caged you. 

His hand shot to grab your wrap, squeezing hard and shooting pain into your shoulder as you tried to rip yourself away. 

“Get the fuck away from me!” You snarled, trying to wrench out of his grip, away from him. You fell deeper into panic. 

You could feel his breath on your ear, and your heart dropped in your chest. With the thrum of the party, it felt far too loud for anyone to hear you. Even if you shouted for help, would anyone come? No one even knew that anything was wrong—

A voice cracked like a roll of thunder through the man’s actions and the drone of the party.

“Get the fuck off of them before I break your fucking fingers.” A familiar, blessed voice cut the air from behind you.

Thank fucking god.

Hitoshi stood in the doorway. 

You almost sobbed in relief.

His broad form took up most of the door frame, chest puffed out in his anger. His brow was lowered, mouth twisted in revulsion and fury, all directed at the man who had you caged. Only rage colored Hitoshi’s features. Until he caught your gaze, anyways. 

Then, it all dissolved to fear. 

“We’re busy, she’s fine, fuck off.” The guy said, digging his hand into your side. 

You kicked at his shoe, relishing the way he hissed in pain. 

The man glared at you, then looked to Hitoshi. The man scoffed, looking him up and down to assess whether putting up a fight was worth it.

Apparently not, as the man shoved you roughly towards Hitoshi.

*********

You tripped into the latter’s chest as he caught you easily. 

Without missing a beat, he steadied you and crushed you to him. One of his broad hands moved up to almost shield the side of your face. You were surprised to find that his body was shaking just as hard as your own. You both mirrored each other in rage and panic. 

You pressed your face into his sweater as tears remained dangerously close to falling from your eyes. Fear still tore through you and everything about Hitoshi made you feel a hell of a lot safer.

Hitoshi’s arm tightened as he continued his stare-down.

The man grumbled, exiting the room in a huff and harshly pushing back Hitoshi (and you). You flinched, wincing. A low, rumbling growl rumbled in Hitoshi’s chest as he stared death at the man. 

You knew that this was probably all too much. There were details of intimacy and boundaries that were being broken without thought from both of you and that was very bad, probably. 

But, you also were drunk on fear as opposed to vodka, and having someone safe to hold you felt better than any hit you could’ve found at the party. 

You surrendered to your very obvious reality. 

 When the man was gone, filtered back into the party, Hitoshi looked down at you, his mood entirely changing. 

His anger dissolved. His face softened as he tenderly (and quickly) assessed you. Concerned, but earnest eyes searched your face and body for visible signs of harm. When he was satisfied, Hitoshi linked your hands and pulled you from the room. 

He walked you through the party, quickly but gingerly. Your mind buzzed, still panicked and anxious, but the thought of cold air and a less stimulating environment was like aloe on a burn. 

Finally, you reached the front door, walking onto an empty front landing. 

You fell into Hitoshi. 

Your sweaty, shaking hands clung to the back of his sweater as you buried your face into his neck. The familiar scent of his woodsy cologne and natural sweat was more of a sedative than any drug you could find at the party and you fucking needed it.

Hitoshi wrapped his arms around you from the small of your back to your shoulders, squeezing as he buried his face in your hair. 

You stiffened but relaxed a moment later. You couldn’t keep pretending. You didn’t have it in you. 

You were surrounded by him and the cold air, and nothing felt more comforting. 

You decided to forget the semantics of your relationship for a little. 

(You hoped, prayed, that he would too).

Hitoshi suddenly tensed, “Is it okay that I’m touching you?”

You could only nod, voice weak and small in the back of your throat, “Y-yeah, it's cool. It’s been cool.” 

Hitoshi grounded you, turning the two of you so you were protected from any potential prying eyes. He moved you just right so that his cheek rested on top of your head. 

You allowed yourself to close your eyes and focus on the calming beat of Hitoshi’s heart. 

He soothed you by existing; he always did. But, in that moment, after such an uncomfortably close brush with something fucking disgusting, his presence was almost cleansing. It purged you of the incessant clawing in the back of your mind.

You’re safe. 

You pulled away just enough to look up at Hitoshi’s face. You felt him give you a squeeze which made the smallest, unlikely smile form on your lips. 

Slowly, like he was trying not to spook a wild animal, Hitoshi cupped the side of your face. The hold was firm, like it had power to it. You sank into his palm. 

(Fuck that feels nice—)

“How are you feeling?” Hitoshi asked softly, gaze warm and honey-like.

You laughed weakly, leaning into his palm, “Like shit. Holy fuck.”

The hand cradling your lower back stroked a thumb idly, “I can only imagine. What happened back there? That guy had been in the ‘sex room’ with us, right?”

“Uh, excuse you, ‘sex attic’, I think you mean?” You still managed to joke. “And yes. Must’ve been following me or something, fucking creep.”

“If you want, I’ll go back in there and kick the shit outta him. I’m sure the others will help. It’d be so worth getting him thrown out for,” Hitoshi snickered, turning his head towards the door as he did.  

As he turned back, his eyes widened as your fearful expression returned.

“P-please don’t leave,” You knew it was too much, right? Obviously. But, you didn’t care. 

You felt fairly certain Hitoshi didn’t either by that point. 

You pressed yourself back close to him and buried your face in the crook of his neck, clutching at his front. “Please don’t go.”

You weren’t sure if he’d return any affections (obviously earlier gestures were just to comfort you, right?). 

He did. Immediately, he squeezed as much of you as he could reach, nuzzling his face into the side of your head. 

“I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here.” Hitoshi reassured you with his voice as well as his touch. You shuddered, feeling his lips and breath so close. 

The two of you stayed like that for a while.

You retained your death grip on Hitoshi, contemplating it all. Perhaps it was the setting or the way your body was thrumming, but something was forcing you to come to terms with how you really felt about him.

You enjoyed teasing Hitoshi too much for it to just be platonic. You knew this.

You wondered how Hitoshi felt considering all of those heated looks and smirks he loved dishing out.

(An insecure thought or two crept about only being a fuck to him. You tried to repress it, though it certainly didn’t calm you.) 

 Despite these thoughts, you held Hitoshi with everything you had, fearing that whatever long-cultivated connection the two of you would slip away by the end of the night.

After a few minutes of slow silence, Hitoshi offered you a cigarette, which you took graciously. He leaned forward to light it, silently regarding you with warm eyes. 

You took a fat inhale, breathing out with shaky lungs. 

“I’m sorry.” You spoke abruptly. 

His eyes widened and he shook his head, gently grabbing your shoulders, “No, (Y/N), there is literally nothing for you to be sorry about.”

“No, there is. The thing with Momo,” You shook your head. “That was bad. I’m sorry, I was teasing you and I took it too far. Way too far.”

Hitoshi went still, averting his eyes and biting his lip. 

“I appreciate the apology,” Hitoshi's face erupted in red. “B-but, you don’t need to be sorry.”

He’s... embarrassed?

Oh.

(You truly were a dumbass, but god love ‘ya.)

You took another puff, nodding. 

Hitoshi pulled you to him again, this time wrapping an arm around your shoulders. His thumb rubbed idly at the bare skin of your arm as he whipped out his phone.

“What do you want to do?” The air was cold as Hitoshi spoke. It nipped at your skin and made you crinkle your nose.

With a moment's hesitation, you replied in a hoarse voice, “Can we go home?”

Hitoshi visibly softened for you, “Of course. I can call us an Uber. To your dorm...?” There’s a question in his voice that you both already knew the answer to.

You shook your head, “Your place?”

He nodded, “Of course, (Y/N).” 

You leaned into his shoulder, letting yourself relax. 

[mourntheantagonist]

was thinkin about gnc billy & like. what about trans gnc billy? 👀

when he was hitting puberty things started to feel weird and wrong so he went hard with the masculinity thing, trying to make up for it. when he was like 14 he buzzed his hair and only wore baggy clothes, got angry and aggressive and was always trying to prove himself. but then as he gets older, starts hrt, gets more comfy in his own body, he realizes that he misses some stuff he used to let himself like. having long hair. wearing jewelry. it starts small, with growing his hair out, "masculine" rings and his mom's old st christopher pendant.

but eventually, when he's happy, living with his boyfriend and in a good place, he takes that next step, worried what steve will think, what max will think. but two days after he casually saunters over to the women's section while he and steve are clothes shopping (his palms sweating, and feeling like he was gonna vomit, but he managed it, and steve didnt say a word about it, he wasnt sure if that was good or bad) he finds the skirt he was eyeing, in his dresser all folded up like it'd always been there. and three days after that max asks if she can braid his hair.

turns out she's terrible at braiding, and he teaches her a thing or two instead. but the skirt works out good. it ends up being his favourite thing to wear, cuz not only do his legs look amazing in it, but it makes for easier access when him and steve have a quickie in public

(hope ur migraine clears up soon 💕)

I’ve thought about this too!!!

billy knew something was wrong as soon as they all started puberty. suddenly all the boys at school started turning their backs on him because “boys and girls can’t be friends” and that felt wrong for two reasons. a.) of course they can what? and b.) billy suddenly felt like he was stuck on the side of a wall that he didn’t belong on. the girls his age leaned heavily into their femininity ditching their jeans and t shirts and instead wearing skirts and dresses and billy figured if he wanted to break through that barrier, he couldn’t look like the other side. so he refused the skirts and dresses and stuck to baggy jeans and oversized t shirts. he took his dads clippers to his hair and gave himself a buzz cut so he would look more like phillip or danny or the rest of the guys he watched play basketball from the sidelines, changing himself little by little just waiting for the day that he looked the part enough that they would finally let him join in.

the day they finally did was the day he leaned into the masculinity hard. he started to mimic the aggression of his dad because to him that was how men were supposed to be. he picked fights and tried to prove himself every day. at home and at school he was still just a tomboy, but to random strangers in public he was “young man” and each time someone used a male identifier for him, it made it just a little bit easier to shake off the feeling that the long dress sitting in the back of his closet gave to him.

because the thing was, he didn’t dress the way he dressed or wear his hair the way he did because it made him feel right, he did it because it had him be perceived the way he wanted to be perceived.

when he finally put a name to everything at the age of eighteen, he went in full force. he left his home and started a new life with his new name and he threw out all the dresses and skirts because he was told by another trans man that it was very therapeutic.

but it wasn’t like that for him.

he sobbed when he set fire to the clothes.

but he brushed it off. he brushed it all off because he was a man.

he started hrt and slowly became very comfortable in his body and comfortable in the fact that he was really a man. every step in the process was an “I can do that?” kind of thing.

the day he learned he could still wear dresses and skirts and makeup and his hair long and still be a man was one of the most enlightening moments of his life since he first heard the word transgender. and he was finally in a position where he felt like he could because his voice was deep and he was more muscular and he had facial hair and him having long hair wouldn’t make someone automatically assume incorrectly anymore.

so little by little he changed things. he let his short cut grow out into long curly locks, he wore jewelry on his fingers and had his ears pierced. he doesn’t do much. he wears the hair in a mullet and keeps the rings more “masculine” and has only one ear pierced because “having both would be too feminine”.

but when steve comes into his life he becomes a dampener for all that noise in his head telling him to push away all those urges to buy that skirt he saw on display at the mall. and one day, despite everything telling him not to, despite worries over how steve might react, he does just that. while steve is searching for his size in a pair of jeans he casually moves over to the other side of the store where the short flowy black skirt was hanging prominently.

and steve doesn’t say one word about it. he doesn’t even make a face when billy adds it into the pile of clothes for purchase. he just hands over the cash and they continue on with their day.

what billy didn’t know, what billy wouldn’t find out until two days later when he finally got the courage to put the skirt on and show it off, was that steve was only trying to hide every bit of excitement while they were in that store.

because the skirt looked fantastic on him. not just in the way it showed off his legs and his ass, but he just looked ten times more confident and ten times more himself. billy was finally able to look in the mirror and not see a stranger looking back at himself.

showing max was almost more terrifying because unlike steve, she’d known him before. it was a lot harder for her to grasp onto the concept of having a brother and it was an unfortunately slow process of getting her to finally see him as a man, and he was worried that this addition might destroy all that progress.

but it doesn’t. she doesn’t ask him the questions he expects to hear.

instead she asks him if she can braid his hair.

and of course he says yes.

and she’s shit at it but still, he likes it. it might be messy and have pieces flying everywhere but it’s still a braid and the purpose of the act wasn’t superficial like that, it was her way of showing her that she supported him.

so he kept wearing the skirt. and they slowly added more and more to his closet and the denim and leather didn’t take over as much anymore.

and the best part. of course. was that especially easy access.