#maybe the best haircut he’s had.. it’s so pretty

[suzukiblu]

AND! Tim/Not Kon! Carefully navigating a relationship with someone you created to replace your dead best friend, but fell in love with as themself!

“I think you made me kind of a slut, man,” Hunter muses, which would probably not have made Tim choke quite so hard if Hunter hadn’t been speculatively dragging his eyes up his body while he said it.

The part where the other’s draped over the nearest weight bench in this Titans Tower training room and wearing literally nothing but running shorts and sneakers isn’t helping either.

Also Hunter definitely needs a haircut because his hair grew down past his shoulders in development and he didn’t want to cut it after, but Tim is just not emotionally capable of dealing with the barely-restrained curly ponytails and half-ponytails and man-buns he’s been wearing. Just–not even slightly, no. Not even a little bit. 

“You are literally a virgin,” Tim says inanely, trying very hard not to drop either his bo or his literal entire brain on the mats. “I–what? What?” 

Hunter shrugs; rolls onto his back on top of the bench. It leaves him bent backwards over it, back arched and head upside-down as he skims a hand up his bare stomach. Hunter is, somehow, even more tactile and hedonistic than Kon ever was, which Tim is very suddenly being reminded of. 

He debates the merits of panicking. Or maybe, like, running for his life. 

“I said, I think you made me kind of a slut, man,” Hunter repeats, like that’s the part that Tim was trying not to drop his brain over. “Like, either libido-wise or uploads-wise, I dunno.” 

“Wh–I didn’t put anything like–I didn’t–” Tim half-sputters, and the crushing depression that’s taken over most of his life since everyone died on him and Bruce disappeared and Dick gave Robin to Damian is possibly actually just too baffled to be crushing him right now. Hunter gives him a lazy, half-lidded look, tipping his head back a little farther on his neck. His throat is . . . his throat is very, very exposed. And thick. And long and strong and stubbled and– 

Nrgnk, Tim thinks, very faintly.

He did not ever look at Kon’s throat and think things like that. 

He is definitely, definitely thinking those things about Hunter’s, though. 

“Oh my god, you fuckin’ sad-ass wet canary, I don’t mean I think you did it on purpose,” Hunter snorts in exasperation, rolling his eyes like Tim’s an idiot or something. Tim is not an idiot. Tim is actually, like, reasonably intelligent and–he made Hunter. That required being pretty damn smart, actually! Really damn smart, actually! 

. . . and also unfathomably, unfathomably stupid, admittedly. 

“Then what do you mean?” he asks warily, because Hunter is about a month and a half “old”, except also more like nineteen, and has already decided that he does not give a single telekinetically-flying fuck about things like social graces or social filters and it’s frankly a miracle that nobody’s killed him for that yet. Or, uh. Tim. Or killed Tim for that. 

Cassie definitely thought about it, he knows. 

Seriously, though, just–as bad as Kon ever was about anything, Hunter has definitely actively decided to be worse. Which is admittedly a very “Kon” kind of decision to make, except also just . . . absolutely nothing like Kon, at the same time. Hunter literally does not even care that Superman exists, for one thing, and has about as much interest in wearing the “S” as Lex Luthor does, but also does not care Luthor exists either. Like–impressively does not care about either of their existences, in fact. 

Tim might have, uh, overcompensated a little while trying to make sure the “Kon” he was making wouldn’t have as many issues about his gene donors as the real one had, but also Hunter might just be that goddamn contrary. It’s unclear, at this point. 

“Oh, like I keep thinking about fucking climbing somebody,” Hunter says. “Like, literally? I’m pretty sure I could do it literally. You know, could float a bit if I had to, whatever.” 

“I mean, you’re very, uh–tactile,” Tim attempts awkwardly, really not knowing how to approach this conversation. “And still only have about five minutes of experience with actual human contact, but also teenage hormones? So wanting to, uh–be tactile with a lot of people isn’t necessarily, you know . . . uh.” 

“I meant I wanna climb somebody specific, Wet Canary,” Hunter corrects dryly, rolling his eyes again. “Not like, literally everyone I know. Well–okay, also Starfire and Nightwing. But like, Starfire and Nightwing, so can you blame me?” 

“I plead the fifth,” Tim says, since that is his sort-of-brother and his sort-of-brother’s situationship that Hunter is talking about right now and he just . . . he just needs the plausible deniability there at least, okay? And also does not have the time to have a sexuality crisis right now either. Like, that’s just not going to fit in his schedule, despite all Hunter’s–Hunter-ness being a thing. 

“Maybe also Red Hood,” Hunter muses speculatively, drumming his fingers on his stomach. Tim . . . does not know how he feels about that. At all. Either the fact that Hunter is talking like he’s actually attracted to guys, or the fact that one of the guys he apparently finds attractive is Jason.

“You know he literally beat me half to death once, right?” he reminds him. Hunter smirks at him. 

“Yeah, and I bet he looked hot as fuck doing it,” he says. 

“. . . . . . I plead the fifth,” Tim mutters. Hunter drops his head back even further on his neck and cackles. Tim does not think anything about his throat. Like–definitely he does not. 

“Also I would definitely sit in your Bat-daddy’s lap, if you guys ever figure out if he’s dead or not,” Hunter decides, nodding to himself as he says it. 

Tim falls off the mats. Or like–the floor, maybe? Like–that’s just what happens, yeah. Hunter laughs at him again. 

“I hate you,” Tim mutters extremely feelingly, attempting to just . . . just attempting, maybe. Literally he does not even know what he’s “attempting”, except maybe to not to have a heart attack at eighteen and a half. 

“Aw, too bad, ‘cuz you literally made me so therefore you did this to yourself,” Hunter replies with a broad grin. Tim definitely hates him. “Maybe you should work on all that self-punishing shit, man, you coulda made a way nicer guy than me.” 

“I was trying to make Kon, that really would not have happened,” Tim retorts dryly, and then wonders when exactly his dark humor got this dark. Well–logically, it would’ve been somewhere around all the dead people and all, he guesses, but still. 

“Really, because literally no one has described that dude to me as anything but, like, a socially-awkward marshmallow who was just constantly fronting whatever overbearing ‘please like me’ behavior he thought would work,” Hunter says, giving him a wry look. “Literally. Literally no one. I think the dog thinks he was a marshmallow, in fact.” 

“Right, and you’re so hardcore and edgy over there,” Tim says, eyeing him briefly. 

“I mean I’m capable of, like, things like saying ‘no’ to people who aren’t active supervillains actively trying to murder somebody not me,” Hunter replies reasonably. “So I’d like to think I’m at least, like, nougat or something. Maybe a caramel.” 

“You are not even Nutella, Hunter,” Tim says, and Hunter laughs again and then rolls back over and shifts up to straddle the weight bench, his thighs very . . . thighs about it. Tim tries not to be a weird little freak about said thighs, but in no way is he not a weird little freak about said thighs. 

Jesus, why are they so thighs. 

Hunter leans forward, bracing his hands on the end of the weight bench. Tim pretends to be oblivious to the existence of the other’s pecs and that big broad grin he’s back to wearing. It’s not like he’s not used to seeing totally different people wearing that face, between Kon and Match and literal Superman, and also like . . . Superboy Prime, fuck that guy forever, but Hunter still manages to look just a little bit more different than that, somehow. 

Tim literally does not even understand his own brain sometimes. Or at all, maybe. 

“I just keep thinking about doing the climbing, is all,” Hunter says. Tim forces his incomprehensible excuse for a brain back on track. “Like, the specific climbing of a specific somebody, mostly, but still a lot of climbing in general. And also how to convince said somebody to teach me how to have sex, like, in a way that is not the high school-level sex ed course somebody uploaded into my brain. Though like, that’s also a thing I keep thinking about.” 

“That doesn’t sound like you’re a slut, that sounds like you have a crush on someone,” Tim says, a little perplexed. “Or, uh, a psychosexual obsession with. But let’s hope for ‘crush’.” 

“Oh,” Hunter says, looking pretty perplexed himself. “Huh.” 

“The part where you’re perving on Nightwing, Red Hood, and Batman might be a little much, though,” Tim says dryly, mostly to move the conversation along before Hunter says anything that–

“Well, yeah,” Hunter replies with a shrug, leaning forward a little heavier on his hands. “”Cuz they’ve all got that same Bat-vibe somebody’s got.” 

“. . . what,” Tim says. 

“I really did not think I was being subtle here, dude,” Hunter says, raising an eyebrow at him. “Like, at any point.” 

“I literally made you,” Tim says, staring at him in disbelief. 

“Yeah, do you wanna maybe try some daddy kink and see how that goes?” Hunter asks, cocking his head with a thoughtful expression. “I feel like maybe we could do something with that.” 

“Asdfghjk,” Tim says, and falls off the floor again. 

“Like, no pressure, just asking,” Hunter says with another shrug. 

Okay, Tim thinks. Maybe Hunter’s right, and he did kind of make him kind of a slut, one way or the other. Like–maybe. Possibly. 

And maybe Hunter is also right about him having done this to himself, considering.

[jesuistrestriste]

mike faist has such an old hollywood face. he’s so handsome ugh

[tonycries]

The Way You Kiss Me - G.S.

Synopsis. The four times Satoru tries really hard not to kiss you - his best friend’s pretty younger sister. And the one time he doesn’t.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! Suguru’s sister! reader, childhood enemies to lovers, PINING Satoru, like really really disgustingly down bad, creampíe, oral (fem receiving), pússytalking, needy JEALOUS! Satoru, running away from it, spítting, punching is Suguru’s love language, mentions of aIcohol, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 7.4k (That’s wild)

A/N. BOO! Surprise upload. This was so fun to write omg.

“You sure this is how the grown-ups get married?”

“Duh, I know everything.”

“Nuh uh, Toru.”

“Yuh uh!”

The first time Gojo Satoru kissed you was underneath that dingy playground slide that the two of you always raced to after elementary school. 

Usually, your older brother, Suguru, would walk home alongside you two - but this time, he’d just so happened to have been held back for throwing paper planes at the teacher that day.

A sign from the universe, Satoru internally celebrated, something he’d learned from those sappy romance novels his mother left lying around the house. No matter that he was the one that made those planes.

You were six back then, standing in front of a determined Satoru - reaching up on his tip-toes, face pink, smelling of those cheap strawberry lollipops he’d sneak into class and taunt you with. At the much older and wiser age of seven, he’d insisted on being the first one to lean in.

Just barely even grazing your dramatically puckered lips before-

Satoru learned two things that fateful afternoon:

Even as a seven-year-old, Suguru’s punches really hurt. 

Never mess with you. Anyone but you. 

Life only seemed to go downhill from there - because that last lesson was proving to be hard along the years. Really. Fucking. Hard.

Little did Satoru know that this would be the start of some strange, unpredictable little dance of push and pull. No, you definitely weren’t his wife. Nor were you exactly best friends - not really, that spot was reserved for your brother. But you didn’t think you could ever be just that either.

And the punch that’d knocked his wobbly tooth out onto the playground floor that day was a painful reminder that whatever that was - whatever weird thoughts he had later in middle school about how you’d tasted like candy - didn’t matter. No matter how part some tucked-away little part of him wanted it to.

Hell, eleven years later and Satoru still can’t walk around that familiar block without feeling slightly queasy. Which is why, after that failed first kiss, he knew there wouldn’t be a second. 

Instead, he settles back to teasing your pouty self, pushing all your buttons, tugging on those cute dresses you wore. Face burning so strangely with- humiliation? when you bickered right back, calling his haircut a “tragic attempt at modern art.”

“So you’re saying I look like art?” A gangly, now-seventeen Satoru blocks the bustling high school hallway, ignoring the bell. Grin only growing at your frustrated huff, he half-jokes, “Aww, if you’re that soft on me, sweetheart, maybe we should go to prom tog-”

You slam your locker, effectively shutting both it and Satoru at the same time. “I’d rather go with Yaga.”

“...you would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would not.”

“Would to.”

“Would- Sugu–!”

And all Suguru can do is wrap two hands around his neck, mock-choking himself, wondering if it was really too late to embrace a quiet life as a monk. “You’ll both be MLA cited in my farewell note.”

He was used to it, though, forced to watch all this chaos since quickly mending his friendship with Satoru over ice cream the day after the punch. Convinced that this was some punishment for a past life’s misdeed.

With a squawk of protest, Satoru’s turning back to you, eyes crinkling with a hint of mischief you knew too well, “Would not.”

Your face burns, “Would to, Toru.”

You didn’t go with Yaga. but Satoru didn’t exactly count that as a win in his books, either, because you did show up that night hanging off the arm of some jerk from the football team. 

And there you were, all dolled up - which he very objectively noted - way too prettily for some bastard like him. Stars in your eyes, and everything he couldn’t have in that smile. 

Everything. 

Way too gorgeous, even when he finds you sitting outside the gymnasium later on in the night. Too busy bawling your mascara off to even throw out your usual greeting insult his way. Murmuring out wetly about “that asshole” and how he humiliated you by stranding you in the middle of the dance floor for someone else. 

“Well, he was a jerk anyway. Even Yaga would’ve been better, hell, I-” Satoru stops short to his horror at the way you only cry harder.

Way too irresistible, especially as his body moves before his mind - holding out an open hand before he knows it. “I’m a much better dancer than him and you.” And oh Satoru will forever remember the way his heart lurches as you blink your teary eyes up in confusion, “Well, aren’t ya gonna take up the challenge?”

Weirdly, it wasn’t weird at all. 

If anything, you had to hold back your laughter the entire time at the way the great “campus sweetheart” Gojo Satoru was so on edge.

Just a friend comforting a friend, right?

So why was he avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, summer blue eyes pointedly trained right over your head. That pretty pink blush dusting his cheeks reflecting the hands hovering in midair over your waist. So close - and yet, fear in each and every turn and swirl.

Yours were searing into his broad shoulders as you tried to guide him to the muffled music from inside. And shit.

That night ended with a second kiss. 

You don’t know who leaned in first, just that Satoru’s soft lips were just fleeting on your glossy ones - barely even a touch. And that shit shit shit- this was Satoru. This was you. 

Everything. 

But it seems that every time Satoru was about to kiss you dangerously close to the way some tiny, forbidden part of his heart wanted to - the universe throws an obstacle at him. An obstacle that was six feet and named “Suguru”, currently running at break-neck speed out of the gym.

“MOVE YOUR ASSES!” he cackles, “THE FOOTBALL TEAM ISN’T TOO HAPPY ABOUT ME BREAKING THEIR STAR PLAYER’S NOSE.”

And not a word is uttered about the kiss as the three of you speed out of the school parking lot in Suguru’s busted-up black hellcat, the wind mussing up the hairstyle that took Satoru over two hours to perfect. Sneaking in glances at the sight of you singing along at the top of your lungs to some overplayed pop song on the radio. 

He learns another two things that night:

Apparently, Suguru’s right hook still really fucking hurt. And thank god for tonight’s casualties of noses, because it was a wonder that he didn’t look too hard at how close Satoru was with you. 

He didn’t…dislike the feeling of your lips on his. And judging by the way you meet his eyes in the rearview mirror - you didn’t either.

It’s mainly that last one that makes him gulp.

Neither of you remember the third kiss - though, Satoru’s sure that at least 80% of Shoko’s instagram followers did.

According to a very hungover Shoko, and the many, many forms of documentation, it had happened on the New Year’s eve during your third year in university. In which you were much more used to the raging parties that would be hosted at Suguru’s apartment, and only slightly less intimidated by them.

“And you’re a lightweight too, dumbass. You were gone.” Shoko sighs from across the café table, eye bags deeper than the last time he’d seen her. “Like gone gone.”

God, what a way to start the year.

Satoru bites back a remark about how “gone” Shoko herself had been. Sitting up straight in his seat, regret immediately hitting his senses faster than the guilty throbbing at his temples. He winces, managing out a semi-disbelieving groan of, “Gone gone?”

And she’s only nodding wearily, subconsciously tapping out the rest of her cigarette ashes onto his untouched plate of sweet pastries. 

“I’m talking dancing on expensive coffee tables and fighting to stop you from giving everyone there a strip show.” She cracks a smirk through a waft of smoke, “Though, she would’ve loved that I’m sure.”

“Har har har, you’d make even Nanami laugh with that one.”

“Eugh, gross.” Shoko taps through her phone briefly, swirling it around to show Satoru a few pictures that definitely gave him a mini-heart attack at 8:57 in the morning. “You look like you’re about to pen really bad poetry.”

And perhaps this was Shoko’s plan all along - to shock Satoru to the core hard enough that she can note it down as one of her sketchy psychological experiments. 

But he knew. Could feel it in the hazy fragments of memories - or, at the very least, in that entire highlight that Nanamin had oh-so-conveniently put up on Instagram titled, “Blackmail.”

You knew. 

You’d kissed him back. 

“I don’t have a-.” you slur, stumbling ever-so-slightly as you try to meet Satoru’s glassy eyes. Because shit the years have had him shooting up faster than you could look up. “-a New Year’s kiss, y’know.”

You were older - more gorgeous, if that was even possible now. That tight dress hugging your body so unfairly in a way that had him forgetting you were his best friend’s sister. 

The one person in this whole world that he couldn’t have.

But Satoru leans in closer, more because he wants to than anything - he could pick out your voice anywhere let alone over the thumping music currently filling his crowded living room. Lips loose as he tries to play up the cool-guy facade he’s been dubbed with since freshman year, “Hah, loser. Because I do.”

“Where?”

At this, Satoru is stumped - damn, you were good. 

“Not- uh here?” If he was in any clearer state of mind, he’d have been embarrassed at the way his voice cracks so traitorously as your unsteady hands pull him in closer by his overpriced button-up. 

Your body was flush against his now, so addictive. Gaze half-lidded and flickering between the sliver of milky skin exposed on his chest - from that impromptu striptease he’d almost started earlier - and the blue eyes that were currently locked you. You whisper a strained, “Liar.”

Close - too close. So dangerously close.

He breathes out against your lips, the smell of booze and you so heady in his mind. And the heavy words falling from his lips sound like lies, even to him. “Not.”

“Toru?” you hum, a sound that has him gasping. “Shut up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there went your New Year’s kisses. At exactly 11:37PM, if the photos were anything to go by. 

And holy shit were there many. All of which showed your arms looped around Satoru’s neck, crashing his lips to yours. His own, resting against your waist, a scandalously red blush - whether from the alcohol or you - adorning his cheeks. Looking more blissed out than he ever remembers feeling. 

“I’m a dead man, Shoko.” 

There’s a lengthy silence, leaving Satoru stewing in thoughts of how Suguru would react once he finds out. And whether or not he’d be able to rise from the dead just to see how pretty you’d look at his funeral.

Morbid thoughts broken only by Shoko’s cough, “Hey, can I keep your eyes for experimentation if he actually catches you?”

Subtly, he sends himself those photos from last night.  

Luckily for Satoru’s eyes, they never ended up being donated towards Shoko’s questionable contributions to the world of medicine. 

And by some grace of the gods above, Suguru never mentioned a word about the kiss that would’ve inevitably made its way to him. Or maybe it was because Satoru stole his phone until he managed to pester Nanami just enough to take down that highlight. But, semantics. 

His heart, however, might as well have been part of some experiment.

Because it’s been working overdrive since that night - mind reliving that moment over and over and over and- shit, he’s fucked. So, so fucked. 

Fucked enough that it took Satoru months just to muster up to even look in your pretty eyes once more, unless he wanted to get lost in them forever. Fucked enough that he dared to wonder again and again when there might be a fourth kiss - if there would be a fourth kiss. 

He just never thought it would happen the way it did - with you, standing outside his front door. 

“I’m sorry, Toru.” you mumble, “It’s just- I think we both need to grow up.”

You’ve freshly graduated now, looking more and more irresistible each time he sees you - even when you’re looking at him like that. 

Rolling his eyes, “Ha, is this another way of saying you want my secret to getting taller? Because the first thing is to-”

“I’m serious, Satoru.”

And oh how he wished you’d say something - anything - else right now. Call him anything but that. Maybe even throw an insult his way, tell him those new sunglasses look ugly, or about how you got that internship he would’ve died for. 

Satoru manages to choke out a heavy, “I don’t understand.” But that uncomfortable coil of something curling at the pit of his stomach said otherwise. And it causes him to finally breathe out a hesitant, “Maybe you’re right.”

As if that was all the answer you needed, you’re stepping out of the front door. Slow, and deliberate like you were giving him another chance - a thousand more. Sighing out a defeated, “It’s been years.” It has. “And we’re just running in circles.” You have. “I’m starting to think this is just some game to you.” It wasn’t.

“Wait!” he grasps your hand - soft. The look in your eyes even softer as you turn around to face his desperate face. “Please, sweetheart.”

Satoru doesn’t even know what words he wants to say - let alone whether they’d come out of his heavy mouth. 

So, instead, he’s crashing them into yours. 

Brief. Fleeting. Like each one before this. Too addictive, too short, that he thinks he’s almost imagining it as you pull away gently, until he sees that look in your eyes. 

“Toru, I have a date.”

The fourth kiss.

Satoru’s letting go of you like it burned - and, truly, it felt like some deep, dark part of him was burning down right now. “Great.” That should be hm that should be him that should be- “I’m…happy for you.”

And the last.

He fucked up.

He really, really fucked up.

That first date turned into a second. The second into a third. And unfortunately for Gojo, eventually, you were nearing your one-year anniversary with that asshat you’d met during the early days of your internship. 

He’d seen the man himself once, briefly at another one of Suguru’s famous parties. Ducking out of sight before he could be introduced, yet long enough to know that he wasn’t as tall, or as handsome, or as absolutely fucking hilarious. 

What did he have that Satoru didn’t? 

The answer to that, Satoru’s reminded of every time he’s causing ruckus over at Suguru’s apartment, and sees you walking out of your room, tittering on the phone to none other than your boyfriend. So gorgeous. So not his. 

You, that loser had you.

“If you sigh again I swear I’m shoving this popcorn up your a-”

“It’s a sad movie, Suguru!” he defends, draped across your couch at another one of those movie nights you loved to organize. As usual, there was the popcorn, the god-awful movie (if Satoru picks it), and the arguments. The only thing missing, however, was you. Ugh, something about an “anniversary” and a “seafood date”. Seriously, it’s not like you even enjoyed that new seafood restaurant in town, and he’s sure that bastard didn’t know-

“Satoru.” his best friend’s deadpan voice cuts through his little reverie. “We’re watching Mean Girls.”

And he’s barely even opening his mouth to snark back before-

SLAM!

Suguru pauses the movie almost immediately, turning to the direction of the front door. “Uh oh.” 

And lo and behold - there was you in all your pissed off, beautiful glory. Throwing your keys on the table, your fiery glare passes over the two men as you stomp to your bedroom. 

“Seafood wasn’t that good, sweetheart?” Satoru calls out behind you, eyes sweeping down your figure. Heart stuttering in his chest when you turn around with your fists clenched, lower lip wobbling in a way that Satoru would both kill whoever made you feel this way and die to be on the other side of those daggers in your eye. 

Sniffing out an icy, “Fuck off, loser and loserette.”

Then in a whirlwind of rage, you’re gone - your bedroom door slamming only slightly more gently than you’d done with the front door. Leaving a deafening silence, and Satoru whining, “Why am I the loserette?”

“Deserved.” Suguru shrugs. Warily eyeing your door, as if it was about to pounce at any given second, “Let her cool down before you give her an aneurysm at least.” Unpausing the television, propping his feet back up, “S’enough having to deal with you on top of a boyfriend like that.”

And that has Satoru perking up in interest - both figuratively, and literally as he snatches the remote and pauses the movie. “Wait wait wait what-” Holding it way out of Suguru’s reach, “What do you mean a ‘boyfriend like that’?”

Scoffing, “Funny. Now give me back the remote.”

A beat of silence passes. One. Two.

Only then does it dawn on Suguru that this might just not be some strange prank to stroke Satoru’s ego, and he was actually  more serious than he’d ever seen him. Damn. 

“Bro, have you really never met the guy or something? He’s a complete tool. I don’t know what happened, but this breakup was a long time coming.”

Satoru blinks, feeling a red hot surge of anger. “What? Seriously? Why didn’t you do anything about it?”

“You think I didn’t try?” he sighs, running a hand through his hair at the other’s uncharacteristic silence. “Hah, and just imagine, the man was talking about marriage, too. As if.”

And suddenly, Satoru’s hit with an image of you walking down the aisle. Not something he was a stranger to, but it still takes him aback. The sway of the fabric beneath his fingers, your lips against his. Hell, in that split-second he even dreams up how Nanamin would be crying very reluctant tears of joy. 

Everything. Everything that wasn’t his.

His fist tightens around the remote, until he could hear the cracking of plastic. Mind whirling with the thought of you and him and you. How he wished it was him and you. “I would’ve been better.”

Oh. 

Shit. 

“I- fuck this. Suguru, since elementary school I…”

And, well, Satoru’s so busy putting that extra physics seminar he took in university to work - trying to calculate the odds of surviving a jump out of this seven-storey window - that he almost misses Suguru’s low hum, a distant, almost barely-audible little interruption, “Well duh.”

“Hold on.” he’s snatching away the remote that had somehow slithered its way into the other’s hands once again. Ignoring his best friend’s croak of protests to pause in the middle of Regina George being hit by the bus - which, he felt was strangely enviable right now. “That was- what? YOU KNOW?”

“Huh? Even my parents know, the only one that doesn’t is her.”

“...”

Satoru didn’t know how Suguru seemed so calm, but he felt like he was about to spontaneously combust. Heart stuttering in his chest as he sideglances at your firmly shut door - like he was just waiting for you to jump out and tell him this was some elaborate prank. 

Begging for you to come - it would’ve hurt less.

But you don’t.

Fuck. 

And the only response he gets is a low whistle, before a phone is being shoved in his face - flashlight illuminating that crimson blush. “Damn, the great Gojo Satoru speechless? The groupchat is gonna love this, might even send it to my sister, y’know.” 

He didn’t care - didn’t give a shit if this video made rounds to Gakuganji himself. Only one thought racing through his mind right now. 

“But why aren’t you punching me like in elementary school?” 

And Satoru knows he’s smart - intelligent even. Hell, he was the valedictorian, the youngest employee to claw their way up to being on the board of directors. But he’s never felt more stupid when Suguru breathes out a bewildered, “Dude. That was for blaming me for the paper planes.” 

“Oh.”

Then the movie is unpaused. 

---

The last time you kissed Gojo Satoru was at the doorstep to that overpriced penthouse of his, exactly a year ago today. 

The last time you saw Gojo Satoru was just a few hours ago, lounging around your living room like he owned it. Honestly, he might as well have been part of the furniture at this point - like some expensive, fluffy couch. One that prattled on about your “dumbass boyfriend” and god-knows-what else to rile you up just for the fun of it.

Which is why it was odd to step out of your bedroom - eyes just a bit puffy, throat still tight - to a suspiciously quiet hallway. 

The lights were turned off, nothing but the pouring rain sounding from outside, television paused on some rerun of The Princess Diaries. Damn, you told those idiots not to start that one without you.

“Sugu?” you call, finding his bedroom empty. “Thought tonight was movie night?” Padding across the empty apartment, contemplating whether or not to get your phone and call him when-

Ding!

Ah, there. 

You roll your eyes as you head towards the front door, ready to give Suguru a piece of his mind for going out at this ungodly hour and forgetting his key. Seriously, what if you opened the door and he was hurt, or worse, or…

Satoru. 

Speaking a mile a minute.

Satoru.

“-florist was closed and the store clerk looked at me like I was crazy but I got this for-” he pauses abruptly, as if realizing something with a jolt. “-you.”

“You- what-” you don’t know where to look - at the drenched, disheveled Satoru filling your doorframe - rain in his hair, curtaining his frantic eyes, drenching his snug t-shirt. Or at the obscenely large bouquet of cheap strawberry lollipops being placed gently into your arms. 

What follows was an electric silence - and you have half the mind to tease Satoru for finally shutting the fuck up for once in his life. 

But, no. Instead, you eye the way he stands stubbornly at the doorway, fists clenched, blue eyes locked so intensely on yours that it was like they burned. 

Face flushed a familiar pretty pink that makes you realize that shit, he might be taller, voice deeper, broad shoulders tight against his t-shirt - but this was still the same boy that cried when you stole his favorite Digimon card in middle school. The same one that kissed you underneath a dingy slide, smelling of strawberry lollipops.

It’s the steady tap! tap! tap! of the water droplets from his hair that have you tearing your traitorous eyes from his see-through white t-shirt.

Guess you’ve both done some growing up since then.

“You loser.”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

The pink wrapping of the bouquet rustles as your grip tightens. “He proposed to me today, y’know.” and yet, your quiet, even voice was the only thing ringing in Satoru’s ears. He jolts, as if some visceral, primal part of himself had been poked awake. Breathing heavy, fists clenching until he could feel the neat indents of his fingernails on his palm. Of course. He’s late. He’s late he’s late he’s late-

That is, until you’re plowing on, “I said no.”

“Huh?”

You think back to the stuffy restaurant, the man sitting from across from you - how wrong it felt. And all it took were those four words for you to realize that. “I said no.” 

Satoru snaps his head up, stepping close - so close. Voice strained like he wasn’t asking - begging. Praying, “Why?”

“We…” you raise a brow at the way Satoru flinches as you trail off. So desperate. A smirk makes its way onto your face, “...we haven’t divorced yet, right?”

And then you’re kissing him - or maybe he’s kissing you. 

Fuck, you don’t know - nor do you really care right now. Not when Satoru’s got his lips crashing against yours for the fifth time in your life, kissing you like it would be the last. Big arms dipping down to your waist, pulling you so tight against his muscled frame that he had half the mind to wonder whether it hurt. 

“Love this. Love the way you kiss me- fuck-” he’s spitting against your lips, kicking the door shut behind him. “Oh- would ya get mad if I-” he tries to get out through kisses. Only to suck on your pretty lips with a pained grunt. “If I-” Again and again, like it killed him to part. “-hah- celebrated right now?”

“Yes.” You’re letting the bouquet fall to the foor, white-knuckling that useless, drenched excuse of a shirt. “Now kiss me properly, Toru.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Such a sloppy mix of teeth and hands and him. Shoving a knee between your legs, making up for years and years of late nights with nothing but his fist and the pretty thought of you. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart.” Satoru breathes out, as your urgent fingers that dispose of his shirt, feeling the gorgeous dips and curves of years of hard work to impress you. “Suck on m’tongue pretty- fuck-” His own fisting your shirt, pulling. Ripping.

“Toru!”

“I want you.” He’s letting the poor, tattered pieces drop in a pile on the floor, trailing a hand between your damp thighs before he can stop himself. “Oh how I’ve wanted you. And I don’t care if I have to buy fifty new outfits to make up for it.”

And it’s the feeling of his long index stroking up your sopping slit through your shorts that has you pulling away with a gasp. Delicate little strings of saliva snapping from Satoru’s kiss-bitten lips. “If we continue like this…” your voice wavers as he presses hot kisses along your collarbone. “-my brother’s gonna walk in.”

“...wouldn’t wanna relive that playground kiss, huh?”

It’s all he says before picking you up so easily, hands resting on your ass. Giving a playful spank ass you wrap your legs around his toned waist. 

And it’s sloppy.

Both his lips still hotly on yours and the way he’s stumbling urgently to your room through pure muscle memory. Pulling away only when you’re all splayed out so prettily for him on your mattress.

“Blue?” he breathes, pulling your shorts off. And it comes out strained - like the very sight of your panties - all soaked and flimsy with your slick - has whatever’s remaining of Satoru’s sanity flying out the window. “Blue? Oh, you’ve gotta have planned this, you little minx.” his hot breath hits your cunt as he shifts down the bed, tongue drawing languid, wet little circles on your inner thigh. “Because don’t tell me this was all for him?”

It was coincidence - or maybe fate - but that doesn’t stop you from giving Satoru a slow, teasing nod. Muttering out, “So what if it was?”

The only answer you get is thumb hooked around your shorts, pulling it just enough so that your brother’s best friend can spy your pretty pussy.

“Well then.” he chuckles at the way you jump when his fingertip just barely grazes your clit. “Guess I jus’ hafta prove m’better.”

A low groan is falling from his lips as soon as they meet your puffy ones, giving your pretty clit a chaste peck. Lingering long enough that he’s sure your sweet sweet juices cover his mouth.

And oh Satoru’s sure he’ll never forget the way your jaw falls slack, glassy eyes following his every move as he runs his tongue along his glossy lips. Savoring your candied taste, “Never kissed you like this before, huh?” 

Fuck, you’re sweeter than he’s imagined.

You whine desperately, something that has him smirking smugly, “Hah, what? Cat got your tongue?”

“You’re better when you shut up.” It’s all you can do to buck your hips into Satoru’s pretty face - not that you had to, because one taste of your dripping cunt and he was addicted. Surging forwards until he was nose-deep, locking your ankles around his head with a firm yank.

And you can’t lie - maybe you’ve imagined this exact scene a few times before on those lonely nights. But you just never expected Satoru to be so depraved. Desperate.

“Ngh- fuck, Toru-” you reach a hand down to thread your fingers through his hair, tugging his face up. But Satoru doesn’t stop - not even for a second. Tongue still dipping to spread your swollen folds with his tongue, looking you right in the eyes as he murmurs a strangled, “Mhm?” 

“Thought you were gonna prove you’re better, hm?”

So goading. So like you. 

At this, Satoru pulls back ever-so-slightly to laugh - laugh. His plump, glistening lips curling into a humorless little grin, “Oh I will.” Thumb circling your throbbing clit. Just dragging your twitching body across the silky sheets close to his, one hand pinning your hips down. Hard. “I will.”

Loving his new favorite place between your legs one hand toys with your clit, quick, messy little patterns. Tongue even more so. 

“Not just better.” he grunts, “Gonna make you cum so much harder, too.” Having your thighs shake with each word hissed out into your cunt, each turn of his deft fingers. “Till I’m the only thing on your mind. Me.”

And it’s all you can do to let out choked up groans of his name, back arching off the plush mattress to let him make out with your cunt deeper. Sloppier. So, so starved with the way he’s speeding up, tongue dragging across your walls. In and out in and out in and-

“Fuck! Hngh-” you angle his head - and he lets you. “There- Toru-”

Honestly, you didn’t even have to tell Satoru - he could feel it. Could feel it in the way your plushy walls are squeezing his hot tongue so harsh, until it was almost difficult to fuck your pussy so sloppily. In the way you’re letting out such delicious whines each time he grazes against those sweet spots. 

“There? Hah- I know.” he pulls away to muse, and your cute, disappointed whine goes straight to his already rock-hard cock. “Did he?”

He didn’t. And you’re shaking your head so pathetically - in a way you’d be embarrassed about usually. 

But that’s the last thing you’re thinking bout because you feel it - the cold, sinful feeling of Satoru spitting on your filthy cunt. Once. Twice. Blue eyes widening in delight at the way the mess of spit and slick drip down your slit. 

“Cute.” his tongue smoothes over the slutty pool, and the only thing your delirious brain can make out now is a low moan of, “So? Who’s better?”

It’s all you can do to choke out a broken little, “T-T-” Face burning at the way he was so clearly enjoying your struggle. And, well, no matter painfully hard it made his dick - he had to go just a bit easy on his girl, right?

“Shhhh, s’alright.” you flinch as he shoves two absolutely drenched fingers into your mouth, making so much more of a mess of it than necessary. Drinking in your cute gags, “I was asking her.” He’s making your head spin with the way he’s speeding up. “N’ she’s hah- very talkative.” Words muffled, and slurring together - like he was drunk off of you and your cunt. “Let’s hear what she has to ngh- say, huh?”

And with that, he’s alternating between lapping at your clit and squeezing into your sloppy entrance - like he couldn’t - didn’t - want to make up his mind. Oh, with your teary mewls strangled, the sound of Satoru making out with cunt is so loud. The squelches so obscene. 

“Fuuuuck.” he drawls. “Louder than I thought. I think she says I’m better, don’t you think?” 

You angle your head just right to catch the way his jaw grinds deeper into you, eating you out like his last meal. Your slick drooling down his chin so sinfully. 

“Ngh- fuck fuck fuck- ngh-” your yelps are dreamy, feeling like you were losing your mind with the way he was stretching you out. 

Like you were about to snap. Any second now. 

But Satoru’s only increasing his movements, drawing out your little moans. “And I think she’s saying…”  Getting sloppier. More erratic - and it didn’t matter if his fingers were cramping up now, cock aching with the need to be inside you. “-that she’s about to cum.”

You do - so hard and loud - both you and your cunt. 

You’re shaking, all but gushing all over Satoru’s mouth, tight pussy squeezing his tongue so hard. Barely even realizing the searing grip you’ve got on his hair as you drag your sloppy pussy all over his mouth.

But Satoru doesn’t mind - he gladly welcomes it, in fact. Tonguefucking your snug cunt senselessly, letting you chase your high as roughly as you wanted. Over and over.

Even when you’re vision isn’t as spotty as before, even when nothing’s coming out of your mouth but little whimpers. Your breathing dying down until all that rings in your barely-lucid mind were those obscene noises of Satoru’s lips all on yours. 

“T-Toru-” you whine, big fat tears pricking at your hazy eyes. “M’so sensitive.”

And of course this is Satoru, the same boy who’s been pushing your buttons for years just to giggle at your adorable reactions. Which is why he grins against your twitching cunt, “So?”

It takes everything in you to raise your head off the pillow that just seemed to be swallowing you whole, and even more to shoot Satoru a half-hearted glare. “So m’gonna ngh- assume you’re jus’ a pussy with a s-smaller dick than-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence - he doesn’t let you. Because Satoru’s fumbling with his belt, peeling off those still-drenched pants just enough for you to admire his clothed erection. 

And, shit, admittedly you expected him to have a big dick - having been subjected to way too much locker room talk with your brother - but this was ridiculous. 

“What? Too big?” He flashes you that infuriating grin. Palming his rock-hard cock through his boxers at the way your beautiful eyes trace the outline of his cock, all swollen and big. So intimidatingly big. “Damn, sweetheart, if I knew that this was how I’d get that feisty lil’ mouth of yours to shut up then I’d have done it a lot sooner.” 

And you don’t even know if you’re breathing, the pads of your fingers dancing along his bulge. Tracing those prominent veins. Thumbing that little damp spot at his fat head. “You wouldn’t have.” 

He hisses as your soft hands dip into the hem of his underwear. Voice cracking slightly, “I wouldn’t.”

Then you’re gasping - in sync with Satoru’s low moan - as you finally let him spring free. Thick cock hitting his sculpted abs, red tip smearing precum in a lewd little pool. Weeping and so so angry at the sight of you.

At the heavenly feeling of your thumb teasing under his sensitive slit, “Oh, shit.” 

He’s throwing his head back when you give an experimental pump, all the way from his pretty tip to the tufts fo white at his hilt. Fist gliding all over the thumping veins. Bucking his hips up like such a slut into your touch. 

“O-oh fuck.” he cracks an eye open at the way your hand looked so small compared to his dick, how well you were taking care of him. “Been ngh- dreaming of this since I learned what handjobs were, y’know? Hah- shit- ya gotta stop before I fuckin’ pass out.”

And Satoru thinks he could cum right then and there at the way you’re bringing your soaked index up to your mouth. Batting your lashes as you suck on them with a lewd pop! “From jus’ that?”

“You have no idea.”

That’s all it takes for Satoru to throw your still-quivering thighs over his shoulders, effectively shutting up whatever tease is on the tip of your sharp tongue by kissing your swollen folds with his fat head. Giving it one, long drag. 

Your mouth is sagging open at the slow, torturous teasing. The sheer anticipation that had your mouth running, “S-so much for ah- jus’ being ‘friends’, huh?”

“Oh, sweetheart.” And you’re flinching from Satoru’s deep, dark tone. The way he’s bracing his fingers so bruisingly on your hips, reeling all the way back till his tip was just kissing your hole. “We stopped being friends the day you married me on that playground.” 

And then he’s slamming in - pushing past that first, feeble ring of resistance, gummy walls stretching out so perfectly for him. As if he fit right in - and he tells you that. Pants it into your open mouth a little over fifteen times, in fact. 

“Shiiiit, look at you.” he can’t tear his eyes away from the side of your lips stretching so wide to try and milk him. Sloppy entrance stretching out like magic. “S’like you’re made for me, huh? This pussy is made f’me?”

“Ngh- fuck, Toru! S’too big-” you keen, feet flattening on the mattress. As if to escape. To maybe fucking breathe.  

Not even half-way in yet, but aleady torn between pushing away and sinking yourself down on his swollen cock for more more more-

“Don’t you dare run away.” he warns, looking up at you through his long lashes. “I’ve waited too long for this. N’ you’re not taking this pretty pussy away any time soon.” Inch by fucking inch. Grinding in short, sharps jabs - no rhythm of rhyme, like they were genuinely out of control. “Way too f-fuckin’-” All the way until your puffy folds was meeting his hilt. Finally. All the way in. “-long.”

And once Satoru had you split apart on his dick - had those tears rolling down your cheeks, cunt swallowing him so sluttily - it’s like something snaps. 

Because he doesn’t waste a second - he’s already wasted almost two decades, anyway - filling you up with his mean hips. Not fucking easing you into it because you always did bring out that part of him, the part that him looping two strong arms around your waist. Pulling. 

“Oh- f-fuck c’mere.” Satoru gasps, pressing your body so crushingly against his. Kissing your shaky shoulers, your sweaty forehead, the gentleness so contrasting to his hips.“God I’ve missed out- fuck fuck fuck-” 

You’ve never seen the great Gojo Satoru - campus sex symbol - so uncomposed. Eyes half-lidded, just boring into yours, mouth slack in a soft oh! as he drags his cock all over inside your gummy walls. And the sight is so heavenly that you make the mistake the mistake of cracking a minute smile.

Just barely curling your lips before - “Don’t smile at me like that.” He’s dipping down a hand to roll your ravaged clit between two bullying fingers. “Fuck, she’s gonna be the death of me. Right?”

You keen at the- stimulation? The strech? The sheer embarrassment as you realize that Satou’s still talking to your sloppy pussy? Nodding so mockingly up at you as he plows on, “Mhm, she says you needa be ngh- knocked down a god, you’re tight- peg or two. So- get- ready-” 

He’s using this as an excuse to sit up on his knees, dragging you onto his lap so easily like some ragdoll. 

“That’s more like it.”

You’re sliding deeper down his painfully hard cock - all the way till his heavy balls rest beneath your ass, clit rubbing against his pelvis every time he bounces you like some slut.  

Deep. Ruthless.

“Keep your eyes open, sweetheart.” He chuckles, and you’re screwing open your eyes that you don’t even remember shutting. Trying so hard to stop crying out at the feeling of the curve of his dick massaging your walls. “Ya gotta hngh- see the o-only one who’d fuckin’ you properly, right?”

You squeal when he’s taking your clit captive once more. Finger quick, deft. “Y-yes.”

But that wasn’t enough for Satoru - it might as well never be. Because he’s only ramming his hips up further. Like he’s pushing into your stomach, your lungs, all the way into your cockdrunk brain. Fat head alternating between kissing your poor, abused cervix and all those sweet spots he’d mapped out with his tongue.

“Sounded unsure to me.” he’s pouty against your hardened nipples bouncing enticingly in his face. Fingers quirking faster on your clit, “Maybe I should ngh- stop then?”

“No!” Your hips stutter against Satoru’s. Nails clawing down the sculpted panes of his shoulders, leaving red angry marks for him to take as a sign tomorrow morning that no, it wasn’t just one of his dreams this time. “No no no- m’sure. You’re the only one makin’ me feel this way.”

You can feel the way he’s twitching wildly at your words, dick thumping harder inside your sensitive cunt. 

He punctures each word with a heavy, calculated thrust. Hand stretching and squeezing open your cunt from behind to let him slide impossibly deeper. “Hmmm, I’m not convinced.” 

Your stupid mouth is only capable of letting out broken, choked-up little moans of his name, ankles locking around those dimples at the end of his spine. “S’you–”

“Still not convinced.”

But he’s still speeding up his movements, just dragging you up and down his cock. “Who else made you hah- feel this good?” Sure to claim you from the inside out - to leave marks everywhere. Heavy balls on your ass, weeping tip on your cervix, lips bruised as you whimper at his murmured, “That ex of yours?” Biting down your neck, “That barista that always flirts with you?” Pulling away only to breathe into your lips, “Who?”

“ I- fuck it’s only you, Toru.”

“Sound convincing to you?” Satoru hums down at your cunt, biting his lower lip at the way you were milking him so good. Your slick soaking him all the way down to his balls - so needy in a way he never thought he’d see. “Yeah-” be breathes, nosing at your neck. “She agrees- fuck does this tight lil’ pussy of yours agree.” A few tears, a few gorgeous marks down his back, and he was finally convinced. “You’re mine.”

You don’t even realize it when you’re cumming, and Satoru doesn’t either.

Both of you too caught up in each other to recognize that familiar, white-hot pleasure running down your spine - all the way down to where he was so mercilessly buried in your cunt.  

And you’re well into the blood roaring deafeningly in your ears, the sight of Satoru - all wrecked - blurring as he fucks his hips up. Harsh. Eyes rolling to the back of his head as he paints your quivering walls white. 

Cumming and cumming so hard that you can feel his seed dribbling down your thighs, making such a mess all over Satoru’s lap. Your poor, overfilled cunt soon bloated and unable to keep up with it.

“Toru–” you whine, like a prayer. Milking the fucking soul out of him while he gently paws at your messy hair.

“Shhh, I know I know, sweetheart.” Such a stark contrast to the way he was filling you up like his favorite sex toy. Not even bothering to move anymore, one hand on your hip, moving your limp body up and down his sensitive cock to fuck it deeper. The other still playing with your clit, “S’alright, my girl”

Satoru’s hands never leave you, and he prays that now that he got a taste - well, you better be alright with them not leaving you for as long as he lives.

“As long as you live, huh?” you chuckle groggily, a noise so dreamy that Satoru can’t even be mad that he said it out loud. “And all that riling me up these years. Do you have a degradation kink or something?”

“Well, only one way to find out~”

“Oh shut up you-”

SLAM!

“Yooo, I bought dinner from that- WHAT THE FUCK?”

There were only two more lessons to be learned:

Always lock the door. Always. And in case you don’t, a bouquet of lollipops will do the trick to a Suguru reeling from the newest addition to the family. 

Cheap takeout tastes better with an apologetic Suguru, and an ice pack to his cheek - and you to kiss it better.

A/N. Can you tell I kept listening to that one Artemas song while writing this?

Plagiarism not authorized.

[reiderwriter]

If your requests are open could I get a fic where Spencer lost his virginity to bau!reader the night before and when he comes into work the next day Morgan is like ‘you look different’ (you know that stereotype that people you know well can tell when you lose your virginity) and bau!reader is like yeah you do why is that Spencer🤨 lmaoo

A/N: This was a really fun request to write! Nice, short and sweet! I hope you enjoy it~♡

Warnings: implied sexual encounter, some suggestive talk, mentions of virginity.

Masterlist || Song Fic Challenge

“Wait, kid, hold up, something’s different. You get a haircut or what?” 

You tried your best not to giggle profusely as the blush crept up Spencer’s neck to sit prettily across his cheeks. It had only been an hour since you'd left him sleeping soundly in your bed after a night of well… ravaging him. 

Spencer Reid, your beautiful, awkward, nerdy, and charming coworker was no longer a virgin. Nor was he single. And surprisingly, he wasn't all that bad at sex either, a little cautious, but for all intents and purposes, quite the natural. 

He certainly hadn't turned into a sex god over night, but you did plan to accost him rather regularly from that point onwards, so you very much were enjoying the abject look of horror passing over his features at that moment. 

“I was running late this morning. My alarm didn't go off.” 

You stifled a giggle, knowing that his alarm probably had gone off. He'd just been in a completely different apartment and hadn't heard it. Maybe it was still going off now. 

When his eye caught yours, he froze still in a flush. It was impossible not to run tour gaze along the length of his body, showing him enough quiet appreciation you thought he'd drop to his knees. 

Instead, his hands that were wrestling with his tie fidgeted more, finding it impossible to tie the damn thing like he had every morning for the last five years. 

“Having some trouble, Spencer? Maybe I could help you out?” You winked at him to punctuate your question, and all he could do was stand and gulp down a breath, nodding in agreement. 

“You do look pretty tired, kid? Long night?” Derek asked, a quiet bemused look hanging on his face. He'd had this same conversation with Reid at least four times in the last year, assuming that every time he came in looking slightly dishevelled, he'd enjoyed a night of pleasure. 

It had certainly been pleasing to you, and you were absolutely going to help teasing Reid if you got the chance. You certainly enjoyed doing just that last night. 

Grabbing the two ends of his tie and pulling him a step closer to Reid - maybe a bit too close for two people in their place of work - you began righting all of his clothes. 

“You didn't wake me up,” he whispered with a pout into your ear, his pout audible even as he tried to keep his face neutral. 

“I tried,” you whispered back. “But every time I got close, you lunged for me in your sleep and started grinding your morning wood into my ass.” 

The flush that you enjoyed so much was now a fully glowing face. He was so red you expected steam to pour from his ears any minute. 

You finish knotting his tie and brush his shirt a little, just as Derek clears his throat again. 

“Kid, did you hear me? I asked if you had a long night.” 

Spencer's gaze didn't leave yours, though. Even in his embarrassment, he was so intently focused on you that it nearly set your entire body on edge. 

“Yeah, you could say that,” he replied, his gaze dropping to your lips. You wished they hadn't, because now you had to stop yourself from jumping him right there in the bull pen. 

“Oh shit,” Derek couldn't hold back the laugh that bubbled up in his chest as he stood looking from you to Spencer and then back to you. 

“Oh shit. Spencer, I didn't know you had game like that.” His words were wheezed out between fits of laughter, and you were irritated when the focus in Spencer's gaze shattered, settling into a look of discontent. 

“Derek, come on…” he groaned, and you put your hand gently on his chest to get him to look at you again. 

“Next time, I'll work my hardest to wake you up, Spencer.” 

With his jaw hanging open in shock, you pushed up onto your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving him stood like a statue as Derek bent over in laughter, trying to catch his breath. 

You smiled in your final triumph just as Emily walked over to greet the two men and opened with a question. 

“Weren't you wearing that outfit yesterday, Reid?”  

[lovebugism]

I have an idea for and eddie x reader fic where f!reader really wants to get into dnd but had no idea where to start, and is afraid of getting further teased by family and bullies at school. Tsym, your writing is the best! 🖤🖤

i can't stop writing part twos to stuff apparently, so please enjoy the unofficial second part of this fic! — the new girl learns about the hellfire rumors (shy!r, hurt/comfort, cw for brief mentions of bullying | 1.5k)

A familiar face waits for you outside Mr. Kaminsky’s chemistry lab. Eddie Munson, anticipating your arrival around the corner, grins with all his teeth when his unexpected presence takes you by surprise. 

You stumble back on unsure feet — a little like you had when you first met (though you don’t fall on your ass this time, thankfully) — then smile before you mean to.

“I’ve been going here for two weeks, you know?” you tell the boy towering over you, peering at him beneath your lashes. “I think I know my way around by now.”

Eddie bounces a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Well, better to be safe, don’t ya think?” 

He flashes you a crooked smirk and tosses a leather-clad arm over your shoulder. You notice quickly that he’s got nothing in his ringed hands, not even a backpack, while you carry a mountain of textbooks in your aching arms. 

With Eddie’s help, you weave through the bustling hall of Hawkins High, which would otherwise trample you completely. The crowd seems to part for him instinctively — whether it’s intentional or not, you can’t tell. You don’t think Eddie notices it, either. He guides you to the west end of the school like doing so is muscle memory. You’re starting to think he knows your schedule better than his own.

“A lot of people would pay good money to have me as their personal escort, you know?” he jokes and tilts his wild head to his shoulder. A few untamed curls tickle the apples of your cheek in the process. He scrunches his nose down at you. “So you should be thanking me, really.”

Your face warms for a reason you can’t name. From the close proximity, maybe, or from the weight of your gratitude. Equal parts of both, perhaps. “Thank you,” you murmur shyly.

Eddie falters, sneakers scuffing against the tile. He’s still getting used to how kind you are; and how softly you look at him. “I was— I was being sarcastic. Don’t actually thank me,” he stammers, cheeks flaring pink. “Jeez. You’re too sweet for your own good, you know that?”

You giggle when he sweeps you around the corner. The sound is pretty enough to make him smile, though it ebbs much quicker than he’d like. It takes Eddie a moment too long to realize why, ‘cause he’s too busy ogling at how pretty you are. Which makes the sight before him borderline gagworthy.

“Well,” an infuriatingly familiar voice huffs. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

Jason Carver, clad in his bright green letterman, stands at the center of a bunch of guys, also wearing bright green lettermans. 

You recognize a couple of their faces. Andy is the one with the sandy curls who spends all of biology cracking sex jokes. Patrick is the tall one with the Bobby Brown haircut who helped you with your locker once when the combination wouldn’t budge. 

The rest are nameless and unfamiliar. Save for the blonde boy in the middle of them, with the hundred-dollar haircut and the bright white smile. Everything you’ve learned about him has been entirely against your will.

Eddie blinks slowly at the crowd of muscled teens, not nearly as startled by the sight of them as you are. His dark eyes flit to the side, where they crowd at the entrance of the Hellfire room, and then back to Jason. “Well, are you gonna let us through, or do we need a password?” he deadpans.

Jason’s thin lips quirk at the edges. “Where are you guys off to?” 

“You’re a smart guy, Carver. I’m sure you can figure it out.”

The boy’s stone blue eyes dart between the two of you for a moment, before settling finally on you. “He’s not trying to recruit you into his cult, is he?” Jason squints.

Eddie tenses beside you. His warm arm slips from your shoulders and leaves you fighting back a shiver. An agonizing second passes before you get the courage to speak. “C-Cult?” you echo, noticeably unsure.

“Yeah,” Jason nods with wide eyes and a voice that borders on sympathetic. “They’re Satanists— him and all his Hellfire buddies. The five of ‘em? They’re bad news, sweetheart.”

Eddie’s chest tightens. Not because of Jason’s stupid melodramatics (he’s used to those now) but because he’s calling you sweetheart. And you’re not his fucking sweetheart. Eddie knows you’re not his either, exactly, but the principle still stands anyway. 

“Oh! You can count!” Eddie muses with an emotionless laugh. “I bet you know your ABC’s too!”

Jason’s face cracks only slightly. His sharp jaw clenches enough to make his temples shift. His suffocating gaze never wavers from yours. 

“I’m just trying to look out for you. That’s all,” he murmurs like he’s telling a secret, but obviously wanting Eddie to hear all of it. “Don’t get wrapped up in Munson’s shit, alright? He’s dangerous. He’ll swallow someone as sweet as you whole before you can blink.”

When Jason passes you, he caresses your elbow with a touch you assume is meant to be comforting. You tense like he’s burned you instead. He walks on by and takes his friends and too-strong cologne with him.

Eddie grits his teeth and stares daggers down the emptying hallway. He doesn’t want to cause a scene like he typically would — for your sake — but staying silent leaves him with no real place to put his anger. His rage simmers like a fire behind his ribcage, and he keeps it all to himself. Just like Jason wanted.

“Fucking douchebag,” Eddie grumbles as he storms into the Hellfire room. You follow cautiously behind him, watching silently while he paces around the empty classroom. The boy talks wildly with his hands. “I can’t stand him— He’s like a fucking goblin with an intelligence score of zero—”

“What… What was he talking about?” you wonder in a mousy voice, clammy hands wringing. “Back there? About the… the cult?”

“Nothing,” Eddie groans. He huffs and tilts his head back, revealing the tendons of his milky white neck. “He just thinks a couple of nerds playing D&D are worshipping satan, which is just… I mean, he throws balls into hoops in his spare time, but you don’t see me calling him a goddamn neanderthal, do you?”

He turns to face you, wide-eyed, like he’s expecting an answer. Then he sighs, bringing his chin to his chest and hiding behind his hair. “Nevermind. I actually do call him that, so… I guess it’s fair…”

“Does he always bother you like that?” you question, chest sparking with an emotion stronger than you used to. Strangely protective and very foreignly angry.

“Me? God, no— He’s not that big of an idiot,” Eddie scoffs, then turns suddenly serious. His dark eyes narrow across the room at you. “Has he been bothering you?”

You shift your weight under his smothering gaze. “No… Not like that, anyway. I’m usually with you, so… He mostly leaves me alone.”

Eddie sighs. His chest deflates with the heavy breath. He grows quickly shy as he closes the distance between you, arms crossed over his chest like a shield. He averts his gaze and swallows hard. “I’m— I’m sorry, by the way.”

Your brows pinch. “For what?”

He shrugs sheepishly, scratching at the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I just… I feel like I should’ve done more—”

“You did enough.”

“—I should’ve stuck up for you.”

“It’s not your job to stop assholes from being assholes, Ed.”

He doesn’t want to smile, but you make it distressingly hard not to. Especially when you’re grinning up at him like you are now. Especially when such vulgar words are spilling from such a pristine mouth.

“Well, I did kinda promise to keep you safe.”

“You have been, Eds,” you tell him with a pretty laugh, smiling so hard you’re squinting. “There’s no one else I’d rather be around, so… That’s gotta count for something, right?”

“That’s just because you’re crazier than I am, sweetheart.”

Your face flares, warmed by the term of endearment — far more when it’s spilling from his mouth than Jason’s. “Well, Hellfire’s for crazy people, I’ve heard. So I guess I’ll fit right in.”

Eddie’s button eyes go wide. His chin falls to his chest as he flashes you a solemn look. “You… You still wanna join?” he wonders, half shocked.

You take his surprise for distaste and cower all over again. “I mean… If you— If you’ll have me, I guess—”

“Of course!” the boy assures, far quicker and far louder than he intended. His voice rings through the empty classroom and he clears his throat, trying to play it cool. “I just thought that after Jason, you’d—”

“Screw Jason,” you blurt, foreignly harsh in a way that makes his heart skip. “I don’t care what he thinks. I like spending time with you.”

A smirk flickers at the very corner of Eddie’s mouth. “Really?”

“Really,” you echo. When you feel yourself start to drown in his chocolate eyes, you turn to the wooden figurines sitting on top of the table beside you. “You’ll have to teach me how to play, though. I have exactly zero clue where to start.”

“That’s okay,” Eddie shrugs, taking a daring step closer. He smirks and fights the urge to hold you — to caress your arm like Jason had, and to erase any remnants of his unwanted touch. His ringed hands tremble with yearning. He balls them into fists at his side. 

He smiles through the aching. “Just means we get to spend more time together, right?”

[ikigaisvt]

quiet love

in which your boyfriend vernon likes showing his love for you in a quiet way.

pairing: vernon x f!reader words count: 2k content: childhood bestfriends to lovers, fluff, domestic warnings: so soft but very corny, contains pretty common prompts imo, vernon's love language is not words of affirmation lol, implied that kids are mean to vernon, mention of driving, drinking, loss and exes, reader is sick at one point (the flu), a lot of food/eating talk, they are so healthy youre gonna throw up, soooo much physical affection they make me SICK (holding hands, kissing, playing with each other's hairs, hugging etc), babe/baby petnames note: omg im alive?!?!? hiii!! it's been so long since i posted a fic! this one is a birthday gift for the loml @vcrnons <3 happy birthday, u know it all already but don't forget i love u sm!!! i hope you enjoy this childhoodbff!vernon (it's ur thing) who's very very in love but very very shy to say it. hope anyone else who sees this fic enjoy too! don't forget to interact with this if u liked it, rbs are very very very appreciated! thank u<3 (also this was proofread by tired me so if there is any mistakes, ignore it pls thanks <3)

Vernon has always been a man of a few words; when you first met him in elementary school, he was the quiet boy and nothing could get him to speak apart from spinning tops and his favorite cartoons. Still, you decided to befriend that calm boy – at the time, people used to think you were only being nice but deep down you knew: you were making a friend for life.

Going through all of the different steps of childhood and teenage hood with Vernon by your side was an experience – you raised hell together, driving your parents crazy. But it was also having a best friend to experience each other’s every first times: first partners, first time driving, first time getting drunk but also first breakup, first bad haircut and first loss. You have seen each other through everything. No, you have watched over each other through everything; wherever you were, Vernon was standing two steps back, making sure you were always safe. And wherever he was, you were always standing two steps back, making sure he was always loved.

And that’s how you both fell in love. It was slow and secure; falling in love with Vernon was never complicated or painful. It was how things dropped into place and none of you ever denied it; at the time you knew you were meant to be – maybe you always did. And so, you let yourself fall into each other’s arms, a safe place, full of quiet love.

You were 24 years old when Vernon first wanted to tell you he loved you; yet, he didn’t have the courage to fess up. Having spent his whole life showing his love through actions, he had a hard time saying it out loud. After a nice date to the cinema and the restaurant, he drove you back home, small talk and look exchanged during the trip. As soon as he puts the car in park, he reaches out to hold your hand, his thumb drawing circles.

“Had a nice time tonight?” he asks.

“Of course I did,” you answer, a blush creeping on your cheeks, “You know I always do with you,” you add, reaching out to cup his cheek.

“You need to go, you have an early day tomorrow,” he tells you, kissing your palm.

“Yeah, I’m going,” you say as you reach down for your bag and open the door, “Let me know when you’re home, okay?”

“Of course,” he says as he holds your face between his hand, “You do the same,” he adds against your lips before kissing you softly.

“It’s literally two steps away, I’m already home,” you chuckle as you exit the car.

“Won’t leave until I get the text, babe,” he smiles as he leans over the center console to look at you.

You roll your eyes sarcastically at him but still, your lips go up into a smile as your cheeks reddens from the way he so apologetically loves and cares for you. This boy would do anything to make sure you see how much he adores you. So, you wave him goodbye and it’s only when you close your front door and his phone buzzes with an i’m home :) drive safe, text me xx that you hear him drive off.

The second time he almost confessed to loving you was when you were 25. You had just gotten over an awful flu that got you bed ridden for days, unable to go on with your schedule as you normally would. You were sleeping the sickness off for hours on end, only waking up when Vernon knocked on your door to check up on you. Honestly, he knew it was only the flu, but he was so scared for you; in his eyes, you always appeared as the strongest women on earth so seeing you so weak and tired pulled at his heartstrings. He thought about confessing his undying love as you were blowing your nose – maybe it will magically heal her, he thought one night. But deep down he knew you needed someone to help you out physically and so, he did. He had taken such good care of you; he kept your home clean, did the laundry and helped you out to the shower if needed. He had thought about doing the cooking but he knew his poor skills wouldn’t get you to eat at all. So, even if you couldn’t finish your plates, he had ordered your favorite meals all week, even if he didn’t really like some of those.

It's been a few days since you last had a fever, so even if you were still blowing your nose and coughing a little bit, you could still get out of bed and hang out with Vernon. You two decided to have an at-home date, ordering your favorite meals and watching the show you recently started together. Since you were less sick you could finally finish your plate and eat more than usual; even after finishing your food, your stomach was still grumbling.

“I’m still hungry,” you whisper to yourself, not thinking Vernon would hear you.

“Yeah?” he asks, still looking at the TV as he holds a spoon full of food in the air, “Want a bite?” he says as he looks at you.

“Is that okay?” you ask, not wanting to take away his favorite food. Even when you were sick, you saw how Vernon only ordered your favorite foods – he deserved to have every bite of his favorite dish.

“Of course it is!” he smiles at you, extending his spoon in front of you, “You like it?” he asks, waiting for your nods of approval.

You nod enthusiastically, giving him a thumbs up with a smile, “That’s so good!” you exclaim before Vernon reaches for your plate. You look at him, wondering what he is up to before you see him fill your empty plate with more than half of his meal, “No, no, no,” you say, trying to reach for it as Vernon puts it out of reach from you.

“You need to eat, babe,” he says as he puts the dish on your lap, “Go on,” he smiles, patting your head before turning his attention back to his almost finished meal and the tv.

You smile down, cheeks red from your boyfriend’s attention. You notice how he gave you the tastier part of his dish – meat, veggies and a lot of gravy with a good amount of rice – and he kept most of the rice and only a piece of meat for himself. You start to eat happily, re-adjusting your position on the sofa to be closer to him. It might have been a year and a half since you started dating with no I love you’s said, but you know this is how he shows he loves you. And that is enough for you – it will always be.

It's now been two years since you started dating Vernon; you’re 26 years old, living with your boyfriend, your two cats and waking up every day with the love of your life next to you. Life is beautiful and you could not ask for more. To celebrate your anniversary with Vernon, you planned a trip to your hometown - only a 1 hour-drive from home – so you can have your date where you first kissed: at the cinema. If someone told Vernon he would one day ignore a movie to give his attention to a human being, he would have laughed at their face. But here he is. Countless of movies and shows watched with you right there, next to him, and yet you always steal his gaze away from the screen. You are just so beautiful, he thinks to himself. And when he sees you, laughing at a stupid joke from a character, he smiles with you. Not because the joke is funny, no, but because he cannot watch you without his heart filling up and his feelings pouring out onto his lips. He knew since he woke up that day, on your 2 years anniversary, that he would say it. It had been on the tip of his tongue since the first time he saw you in elementary school, smiling at everyone and saving bugs, but he always held it back. He thought it would be too soon, too fast, too much – but how can love ever be those things? he realized recently. He had said I love you a thousand times already through his actions, he had said he loved you out loud to his friends, his family, his cats. He thought now was the time you should hear it. So, all day, his head was in the clouds, thinking how to bring this up, how to say I’m in love with you to his soulmate. It happens when you pull him into your apartment at 1 am, your anniversary already over. You both get rid of your shoes, the tiredness of the day finally falling on your shoulders, before you pull him into you for a hug. Your arms stay at his waist, his heart going thump, thump, thump against yours as his cheek rest on the crown of your head.

“Gonna let you go to sleep,” you mumble against his shirt before letting him go, “I’m gonna shower.”

“Hey- babe,” he says softly to get your attention, his hand wrapping around your wrist, “need to tell you something,” he tells you as you’re pulled back against his chest, hands on his front as one of his rest on your waist, the other one covering your cheek.

“Everything’s okay?” you ask, rubbing circle on the fabric of his shirt.

“Yeah, everything’s good,” he whispers, his eyes going down to look at your lips and up again, “You’re pretty,” he speaks under his breath, a blush making its way on your cheeks – and his.

“Thank you,” you smile as you reach for his neck, pulling him down for a kiss, “You’re not so bad yourself,” you whisper against his lips.

He holds onto your cheeks, your foreheads resting against each other, “I love you,” he murmurs so low you think you made it up but as you open your eyes and see tears in his own, you know this is nothing but real life.

“Oh,” you gasp softly, taken aback, “I love you too,” you say, smiling up at the love of your life.

“I know this was long overdue and I’m sorry it took me so long-“ he starts to babble, uneasiness bubbling in his chest before you cut him off with a kiss.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, playing with the hair at his nape, “To me, you’ve said it a thousand times,” you reassure him as he blushes, chuckling softly at how you always find the right words for him, “But a thousand more wouldn’t hurt,” you tease slightly, making him snort.

“I love you,” he repeats, his arms wrapping around your shoulders as yours find a resting place at his waist, rubbing his back over his shirt.

“Again,” you say with a smile in your voice before kissing his chest in an I love you too.

“I love you,” he says against your hair, his hands making its way under the straps of your dress.

“Again,” you ask him, never getting enough of these words flowing out of his lips.

“I love you,” he whispers against the shell of your ear, leaving a kiss behind, “so much.”

“I’ll never get tired of hearing this,” you whisper, your hands meeting the end of his shirt, “I love you,” you say as you touch his bare back.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he says like a mantra, “I’d unlearn any other words so all you could hear is my love for you,” he whispers, his eyes meeting yours, before your lips collide – just like your worlds did so many years ago.

You’ve always found reassurance in this quiet love you and Vernon were giving each other – but maybe you liked your love being a little louder sometimes.

thank u for reading! hope you enjoyed hehe <3

[ebony-blood]

OH MY GOODNESSS I was wondering, if you can pretty please do a lost boys X reader (poly if your comfortable with it) but she’s a wallflower? Like maybe she moved to Santa Carla and she’s bullied? Maybe a sprinkle of insecurity but ends up meeting the lost boys at the boardwalk and they just. Can’t. Leave. Her. Alone? She’s their mate and she’s so flustered cause the HOTTEST guys she’s ever seen are paying attention to her? Pretty pretty please?🥹🥹🥹 I’ll love you forever

Poly! The Lost Boys x Shy! Fem! Reader

Author's notes!: I had to look up what 'Wallflower' means lol, for those who don't know, a Wallflower is basically someone who kinda hangs back during parties because they are too shy. TW: READER IS FEM!! Bullying, mentioned violence, vampire stuff, the boys being obsessed right from the start. I tried so hard not to describe Reader in this, I try to be as inclusive as I can, but if anything is mentioned it's because I'm tired lol, I'll fix it, just bring it up in the comments and I'll track it down o7. This probably sucks, I'm sorry.

You had moved to Santa Carla looking for a fresh start a few weeks ago. You weren't used to the weird styles, the smell of weed and gas that seemed to constantly cover the streets, the loud boardwalk parties, none of it. So naturally, you kept to yourself, hanging back during parties and avoiding eye contact, unfortuantely, Santa Carla was not a place people like you, shy wallflowers, were treated right. 

Some people ignored you at best, they’d glare at you when you waved or smiled at them, they’d ignore you if you asked questions, they avoided you. But a lot of people were downright cruel to you. They mocked you at parties, some openly tried to take things from you or would push you around. People were never openly violent with you, at first, but after a few weeks they started getting more violent, pushing you around and screaming in your face. It was mostly the people who were either on drugs or drunk. It was mostly the men and their girlfriends who were openly hostile and mean to you. You wished you’d never moved to this place, it was gross, the people were indifferent at best and downright cruel at worst, and you missed people you knew in your past. You wish you weren’t like you were, so quiet and shy. Hell, it had been years since you could look in the mirror and see someone you didn’t view as hideous looking back at you, but Santa Carla made it so much worse.

It was yet another late night in Santa Carla. Another night of wandering the boardwalk while you tried to avoid the harassment you got from people. You weren’t surprised every time you were shoved aside, or shouted at by a familiar group. Honestly, you didn’t wanna deal with that tonight, you wanted to walk around, maybe go see whoever was playing a show that night and see if they were actually good, and then head back to your apartment, but it seemed whatever form of fate you believed in had a different idea, because the group just wouldn’t leave you alone, shouting random shit, from ‘Weirdo’ to one girl just straight up calling you ugly. You were fighting back tears.Why the hell were people so needlessly cruel? Whatever, it’s nothing new. 

You stopped by some area where people on the beach park their bikes. You took the biggest breath you possibly could when you realized your tormenters weren’t following you anymore, so you could finally breath. 

That was until you heard voices, four guys, you guessed. You looked in their direction and, for the first time since moving to Santa Carla, you got that butterfly feeling in your gut. That wasn’t a thing you had felt since high school. You swore the bullies you faced then laughed the feeling out of you, but these four seemed to knock the breath you had just taken out of you. Damn, they were hot. Three of the four men were blonde, one had curly hair, one had fluffy hair, and the third guy had a haircut that kind of reminded you of Billy Idol, he was smoking a cigarette. And then there was the one that seemed to be trailing behind, observing people around them while the other three, mostly the ones with curly hair and fluffy hair, laughed and joked. The fourth guy had long, dark brown hair. You stared for a minute longer before snapping yourself out of whatever daze you had been in. 

They had stopped walking, they were staring right at you, and you immediately prepared your apology in your head. Quietly standing up, and then one of the four, the fluffy-haired one, said something you assumed wasn’t meant to be said out loud.

“Holy shit, Marko, she’s hot.” 

You looked over at the four, confused, the man was immediately smacked across the back of the head by the one with the cigarette.

“Don’t say shit like that out loud, dumbass.”

You were staring at the four, your face suddenly warming up at the idea that they were talking about you. You figured it was a stupid thought, there were other hot girls around the boardwalk, why would any of these four think you were hot? Then, the one with the cigarette cleared his throat.

“Sorry about that, doll. Paul can’t seem to keep his mouth shut around pretty girls.” He said, glaring back at the one with fluffy hair, you assumed he was Paul.

The one with curly hair snickered a bit and looked over at Paul, before the one with the cigarette spoke up again, he quickly shut up then.

“I’m David, The guy behind me is Dwayne, and those two are Paul and Marko.” He said

You nodded softly, even their names were hot, what the hell? David and the other three were staring at you with a confusing amount of attention. 

Paul had an almost immediately obsessed or enamored look in his eyes, like you were just the prettiest thing he’d ever seen, Marko also looked absolutely in love with you already, both had the same look in their eyes, the other two, Dwayne and David didn’t seem in love, if they were, they were hiding it well enough. 

“So, where ya off to, sweets?” Paul said, giving you a soft grin.

“Oh, I was about to head home,” You reply, and they all suddenly seem to perk up a bit.

“Oh, really? Well, maybe, instead of that, you could come and hang out with me and the guys?” David asked, motioning to their bikes. 

Something about these four felt…supernatural. They carried themselves with such confidence, and something unseen seemed to be pulling you to them. You thought for a minute. Was it a good idea? Maybe not. It felt too good to be true, four hot boys, paying attention to you? They stared, waiting for your answer. Against your better judgment, you made your choice.

“Sure, I don’t see why I couldn’t.” 

Paul and Marko got visibly excited. Paul grabbed your hand quickly and led you over to their bikes, the other three following behind him, laughing at Paul’s excitement. You were carefully put on the back of one of their bikes and David got on in front of you, looking back at you when you wrap your arms around him.

“Hold on tight, alright?” 

You could only nod before the four sped off, David following behind the more rambunctious two, with Dwayne behind him. 

At the time you didn’t know it, but come the end of the next week, you’d be theirs, and you’d have no complaints about it.

This got so long lol.

Sorry it ended like it did, it's 4 am here and I'd dying.

more coming tomorrow <333

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Slasher Handler Interlude - Soap

Slasher Handler Masterlist

Freedom tastes like a cold beer and mince and tatties.

Johnny gives his second best roguish wink to the waitress when she comes by to clear the table. She blushes and pouts her lips in a promising way before another, older woman chases her away from the section.

“Don’t you be sniffin’ around ‘ere,” she tells him, no nonsense. “She’s a good girl, don’t need your kind of trouble.”

Johnny props his head on one hand and smiles up at her. “Aye, ma’am. Don’t want to trouble a sweet bird like tha’. But maybe you have use for a bit o’ trouble?”

She’s not at all impressed with him as she drops the bill, which reminds him that he hasn’t gotten a haircut or shave yet. The little cash he has on hand goes to his lunch, and then he’s back on the street. Breathing free air feels damn good, so he strides into the park at the end of the block to think about his next steps.

The fact that he only had cash enough for a single meal tells him that Price didn’t know he was getting released today. That or he’s punishing Johnny, but he’s not gotten in any trouble his whole incarceration, mòran taing. (Many thanks.) So probably, it’s the former. That means he needs to call the old bastard. Unless...

He nicks a phone with a bump, apology, and a smile. Knocks the man’s wallet from his hand and gives it back with an exaggerated wince. It’s not hard to guess the man’s pin and add his own fingerprint to the scanner before disabling the damn lost phone app as he strides out of the park. Two minutes later, he’s dialing a number he’s memorized back and forward.

“This is Laswell.”

“Hello, Laswell,” he purrs. “Guess who’s out on good behavior?”

She must pull the phone from her ear, but he still hears as she swears rather impressively. “MacTavish. Who knows you’re out?”

“Naebody, apparently,” Soap says, exiting the opposite end of the park. “Barely had enough cash fer a scran.”

“How long ago did you call John?”

“Now, why would ah call Price, Laswell? Pretty sure he paid to ‘ave me killed in there.”

“No, he didn’t,” she sighs.

“Nae, Price’d do the deed himself,” Johnny laughs. “Pretty sure it woulda been Castle. Anyway, you got a pretty little lock box at the bank ah’m lookin at?”

“Do not rob a bank, Soap.”

“You wound me. I got out on good behavior, remember?”

“Soap.” Her voice brooks no nonsense. “Do not rob that bank. I’ll call John to wire money over.”

“Swell,” he chuckles. “Three hours?”

“You in a rush?”

“Well, ah gotta toss the phone back in the park.”

“Wonderful. Give it four hours. And Soap?”

“Aye?”

“I paid to have you shanked. Rachel sends her best.”

“Aw, ah kent ah was yer favorite, Laswell.”

[junabuggy]

Jeff The Killer headcanons

A/n: Creepypasta hyperfixation is going craaazzyyy right now 🙏

Warnings: Talk of murder, suicide, blood and knives

🔪✮ My fav retired emo boy 😻😻

🔪✮ What I mean by that is he doesn’t exactly dress very emo as much as he used to, he’s more worried about what’s tactical when on missions and such.

🔪✮ But he does still have the infamous emo haircut 🙏

🔪✮ I don’t think Jeff’s as tall as everyone thinks he is, I think he’s around 5’9, maybe 5’10 on a good day.

🔪✮ Thrives off of energy drinks, doesn’t matter the kind. Red Bull is his favourite though

🔪✮ He’s pretty aggressive. Not just towards other people but towards himself too, he’ll self destruct and self sabotage and has likely made many attempts on his own life.

🔪✮ On a more positive note his favourite flowers are red spider lilies :3

🔪✮ Owns a knife collection. Bro has like a shit ton it’s a little bit wild (has a lot of pretty ones)

🔪✮ Blood kink. Sorry gang it had to be said

🔪✮ Carves his glasgow smile into the faces of his victims, It’s like his thing ig

🔪✮ Jeff’s room is actually a fucking nightmare holy shit

🔪✮ Smells bad, clothes everywhere, his bed rarely ever gets made and there’s just stuff all over his desk…

🔪✮ He doesn’t really give a shit though 💀💀

🔪✮ Best friends with Toby :))

🔪✮ An absolute fucking prick but he’s hot so I’ll give him that

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

ᯓ★ 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐲

[ro-written]

Bright Like Night, My Sea of Stars - V.S

Tags/Warnings: Sanji is in loveeeee (aw), Tsundere!Reader, reader had a VERY rough childhood (read: Kuro and the Black Cats), violence, angst, fluff, cussing, it is 1 am and I am not editing this rn but i will later lol

Word Count: 4.2k

Playlist:

“CIGARETTES” by Amir Obè “Just Pretend” by Bad Omens “Oceans” by Seafret “Da Selby Pt. 1” by Hozier

He’s sure he was in love. He knew it because the feeling in his chest was one he had never experienced before. Well, not like this. 

Not in the way he feels a squeeze at just a simple look you give him. A concerned look when he’s out of breath from fighting. An excited look that you tried to hide when you realized he made your favorite dish again. A peaceful look when the stars and the ocean blend to create a more infinite galaxy and you have the fortuitous chance to view it. 

Just as the waters echoed back the bright lights of the sky, he mirrored the look you cast while he realized that he, a mere human, had the absolute blessing of being in the presence of an ethereal entity such as yourself. His ocean that will always answer your stars.

He didn’t understand it, to tell you the truth. How could he be so lucky to end up in the presence of the person he knew he was destined to be with?

By chance, it was you and the crew who walked into the restaurant. And as pissed off with Zeff as he wished to be, it was Zeff’s decision to put him out on the floor that landed him in front of you. He kicks himself now for flirting with Nami first before you. Since once he heard that pretty laugh, bright enough to make even the nastiest at Baratie have their heart stutter, he could feel it in his throat. A knot. Constricting against his windpipe. The compliment he had ready to launch at you was right on the tip of his tongue, and it refused to come out. Because nothing he could possibly say could be the right thing. He could never possibly compose the right words to let you know the tidal surges you created within him. So, with a red face, he looked at you and mustered up the word: “Water.”

You stared at him with a raised eyebrow and squinted eyes, lips partly open. “Was that a statement? Or a question?” You had laughed out slightly. His staring started to unnerve you, and you cleared your throat to look around.

“Hey, waiter,” Zoro to the rescue. “You okay?”

That seemed to snap him out of the trance you had summoned Sanji in, he whipped his head to face the green-haired swordsman with a nasty look.

“I am not a waiter.”

With that simple statement, he turned to walk back to the kitchen.

Maybe you had some sort of influence over his decision to join the Straw Hats. But he didn’t admit that. Zeff did.

You seemed to have some sort of effect over him, unfortunately. This effect kept him from being able to come up with witty comments and quips to launch at you and ultimately left him stuttering and stumbling over himself while you watched him with a look asking if he was okay. He wasn’t. In the worst way.

Eventually, eventually, he found his footing and could somewhat properly talk to you. Questions about if you had any input on dinner, if you had seen his whisk, or if you knew how much longer for the next stop (that one could have been directed to Nami or Luffy, but anything to talk to you.) And you can’t forget the silly little flirtatious comments. Not at all his best work. 

“Is that a new haircut?” He asked, leaning against the countertop in the kitchen.

“No?”

“Oh well…you-uh. You look good with it.” He rushed out after that one.

He was a man in love.

And he had no clue what he was doing.

It brought him to Nami’s door one night, after cleaning up from dinner. She seemed to have the most common sense when it came to people. If anyone could help him, it had to be her. I mean, what other choice did he have? 

“Sanji, you have to understand that…for them it’s more difficult than you realize.” Nami sat on her hammock with her arms crossed, staring at Sanji as if he grew another head. He put his hands out in front of him, making exaggerated movements with his arms.

“Well, yea I know they are pretty stoic but that’s why I am he–” 

“No, Sanji, you don’t understand. This is one you might want to sit out.” She cut him off before he got too far ahead. Her words confused him. Sit it out? Why? His face contorted and he cocked his head to the side, frown pulling at his features. Nami sighed, telling him to grab the stool that sat right under her mirror, to which he pulled it out and sat in front of her.

Thus started the story of you.

Taken from your parents at such a young age by the Black Cat Pirates. All because your parents weren’t able to offer up tribute. You were raised to clean the ship, dodging Kuro as much as you could. But it could never last long. It started after you turned ten, the training. The rigorous, violent training. He taught you everything he knew, one way or another. If you didn’t learn quick enough, the punishment would land you with you being stitched together by the ship’s lackluster doctor whose training included being given a needle, thread, and some alcohol and told “good luck!” But it didn’t stop.

Kuro made you eat the Devil Fruit. Forced down your throat while the others held you down. His own little secret weapon, one that people never suspected when happened to “wash up” on their front door step, pleading for help. Or after you became of age, and could tempt people back to Kuro for their final exit from this world. Their screams were why you frequented the comfort of the night sky when everyone was back in bed. Why Sanji could regularly find you staring longingly into the sea. The ocean. Your love, and your demise.

“It’s a lost cause, Sanji. I don’t know if they will ever truly feel such peace to where they can accept such love.”

He left Nami’s cabin feeling especially heavy that night. And when he walked out on deck to see you staring down into the ocean, he held his breath. What does he say now? Sorry that you had the world’s shittiest childhood, but I can treat you right. That would be a winner for sure.

He decided to not join you that night. Or the next.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to join you. Fuck, he was chomping at the bit to go see you. And that’s why he couldn’t. Not until he figured himself out in this entire equation. He didn’t want to freak you out, scare you away. Everything you grew up with…there was a burning desire for him to protect you. But he didn’t know how.

The complete shift in attitude from the chef did startle you, though. Your interactions of awkward short conversations with his absolute failed attempts of flirting became him attempting to dodge you entirely. You would walk into the kitchen for a snack, just something simple, and he would leave out immediately. You would look at Luffy, sitting at the table with wide eyes, munching on a sandwich. He would simply shrug his shoulders, and continue to grub on his (immensely large) snack. You sighed, rolling your eyes, and headed to the cold chest to get something.

Something within you was…pissed off though. Angry. But you couldn’t put your finger on why.

If that asshole wants to ignore me, then so be it.

You were washing your clothes out on the deck, pinning them up on the wire you and Nami had set up. You had chosen this spot in particular to have the line strung so that the sun would hit the clothes, but also so that you could listen to the waves crash hit the boat while you did your chores. Hearing the water move made your brain silent, making it easier to go on when you were by yourself.

But you weren’t completely by yourself.

You could hear his steps around the corner, stopping just before he “revealed” himself to you, watching you from afar. The crew was always amazed at how sharp your hearing was, rivaling Zoro’s. But being on a boat full of pirates that dubbed themselves the “Black Cats” would do that to you. You still remember the weeks of training Kuro put you through vividly. No matter how hard you tried to put it out of your mind. 

You closed your eyes and inhaled a deep breath of the salty ocean’s smell.

“Sanji.” You called him out from his hiding spot. He hesitated, but then slowly walked from around the corner, taking a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lighting it. He stops a bit of ways from you, watching out at the water.

“So, have you finally decided to talk to me?” You opened your eyes and continued to pin your sheets on the line. His eyes jumped to you, wide with shock.

“Wh– What do you mean?”

“For almost a week now you’ve been dodging me.”

“No I haven’t!”

You stopped your chores before turning your head towards him, eyebrows raised and debating back and forth with yourself if you should knock him in the head or not. You decided on the latter, and scoff instead.

“While this boat is considerably larger than what the crew started with, it’s not that big. People notice when someone is running away from them. Especially here.” You resumed your task again as he sat there, cigarette hanging loosely from his lips, processing what you said. 

You finally finish hanging your laundry and grab the empty basket, placing it on your hip before turning away and walking back towards your room. Before you could get around the corner though, he spoke up again.

“Nami told me.” You froze. “She…she told me what happened.”

You only turned your body slightly, your right side facing him. It was enough of a sign for him to continue on.

“And I’m sorry that happened to you, (Y/N). No one should ever, ever go through even a day of what you grew up with.”

“I don’t need your fucking sympathy, Sanji.” You grit out.

“That’s not what I– I just– I’m trying to– Fucking goddamn it.” He took his cigarette out and threw it out at the water, your eyes staying trained on his face. His hand rubbed down his face, struggling to string together a coherent sentence of what he wanted to say.

“Listen, stove boy, I don’t need you or any of their goddamn pity. So if that’s what this is about, then you can sho–”

“I’m in love with you!”

It was silence. Deafening silence. He couldn’t read your face. It was just…blank.

“I’m…I’m fucking in love with you. Everything about you. Your damn smile that seems like it’s rarer than the All Blue. Your passion and care for this crew. Your bits of wisdom when we need it the most. Your smart ass comments. Just fucking all of it. I want all of it.” His voice sounded absolutely desperate, and if you were to actually stop to listen to the nagging feeling in your gut, you would have recognized it as something. 

“I guess what I’m asking is…I was hoping that maybe we could…be…closer? You and me?” With bated breath, he watches as you stare at him, taking in everything he said.

And you responded with one simple word.

“No.”

His heart pounded in his ears. Blood rushed to his head as his heart jumped to his throat, effectively choking him of his answer. You stood there watching him for a moment before you sighed, turning around to continue your walk.

“Then I will never stop.” He called out, once again, stopping your feet’s movement. You didn’t turn around again this time. He took one step closer to you, though.

“I won’t stop (Y/N). Not until you realize that you are safe. That I can keep you safe. I won’t stop until you realize that you are deserving of love. And I will show you that love.” You grit your teeth, jaw clenching.

“Until my heart has been ripped from me, and my body is tossed into this cruel ocean. And even then, not even the harshest storms or waves will keep me from you.”

You walked away.

It was a particularly difficult battle, but nevertheless, you persisted. Your kyoketsu-shoge flew through the agitators attacking your crew, blade slicing through them effortlessly. You could hear Sanji’s grunts from his fighting behind you, and you took a split second to look back, checking in on him to ensure he was okay.

You were thankful you did, as one of the “Purple Band” pirates charged at him while Sanji dealt with one aggressor already. You whipped the rope around on your weapon, turning your body and letting it launch towards the pirate. The ring wrapped perfectly around his leg, and you pulled, causing him to fall into the sand. Using your strength, you pulled him over to you, him fighting and clawing at the sand the entire time in order to get away. However, as soon as he was close enough, you jumped on him, blade sinking deep through his sternum in his chest. After one last gurgle, he finally stopped wiggling, and you took a deep breath before unsheathing your blade and wiping it off on the (now dead) pirate’s clothes. You stood up, unraveled his ankle from your rope, and looked at Sanji, who was watching you. 

It surprised you, but you tried to not show it in your face much. You could feel your heart pounding, however, ready to burst from your chest. You brush it off as coming down off the adrenaline from a fight. But you watched as his eyes scanned down your body, checking to see if any of the blood from the battle was yours. He only breathed out a sigh of relief when he decided it wasn’t.

“Are…Are you okay?” You asked him in a voice that sounded almost worried. Almost.

“I’m good. How are you? Are you hurt anywhere?” He took a gentle step forward, but stopped before he got too far. But something had caught his eye. A slight shine came from the sand.

“I’m fi–” 

“Look out!” He flings his body against you, causing you to drop to the ground. 

The next thing you hear is a shot, a yell, and his body dropping to the ground next to you.

You heard Zoro’s Wado Ichimonji slice through the gun, and, eventually, the pirate who had shot the ghastly bullet. But it all tuned out for you, as you stared at the blond man groaning through his gritted teeth next to you, rolling onto his side.

“S-Sanji?” You crawl on top of his body, seeing him open and close his eyes dazedly. “Hey, look at me now, keep those eyes open.” You pat his cheek gently.

“I must be dead…” He smiled, looking directly at your face. “Because there is no way such an angel like you is on top of me. Not in this lifetime.” His smile was cut off by a painful grunt.

“Hold on Sanji, Zoro and Luffy are coming over and we– we are gonna get you back to the ship, okay?” You sputtered out words while you tried to remember any medical training you possibly could. But Kuro never thought you would need anything like that. Sanji gurgled up some blood, with some of it splattering onto your face.

“(Y/N) we need to grab him,” Zoro’s voice came from behind you as you stared in horror at the cook’s endless coughing. Nami grabbed your shoulders and pulled you back, allowing for Luffy and Zoro to pick Sanji up and hurry him back to the ship. You sat there in the sand for a moment, Usopp to your left and Nami to your right, watching as the two men carried Sanji back. But eventually, you got up, and rushed to follow them.

Hours.

Hours of Nami and Usopp keeping you out of the room while the doctor that Luffy and Zoro found was in there to help Sanji. You could hear his grunts and yells as you paced around the deck, trying so hard to focus on the sounds of the ocean, but only able to hear him. 

He was in so much pain. And you couldn’t do anything about it except fucking wait. He took that goddamn bullet for you, and you couldn’t do shit for him.

Eventually, the yelling stopped, and before you could bolt to the door to bust it down, Luffy and Zoro walked out. Their faces looked grim and you tried to get a read on them besides that. As soon as you tried to open your mouth, the doctor walked out, apron bloodied. You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Is he gonna be okay?” You stood solidly, attempting to keep your voice as steady as possible. None of the crew members had seen you in such a state. Sure, you could keep yourself together well enough, but they could still see the look in your eyes. A frantic search for someone to tell you anything. The doctor simply sighed, adjusting his glasses.

“I’ve done what I can for now. All you can do at this point is wait. It’s up to him and how much fight he’s got in him.”

You stared at the older man. A part of you wanted to reach out and strangle him. To tell him to go in there and make Sanji better. To make him keep going until your cook woke up. But you didn’t. How could you? He did his job, and that’s all you could have asked for.

So, your shoulders fell and you took a deep sigh before you walked into his room.

“I’m worried.”

“Well, we’re all a bit worried.”

“Yea, but, Luffy…(Y/N) has been in there for the past four days. Only leaves to eat or use the bathroom. It’s not healthy.” Nami dropped her hands in exasperation. Luffy simply stared at her, a pained, tight-lipped smile as he tried to figure out what to do.

“We both know how any conversation would go. I think we need to let this play out, Nami.” Zoro stepped in to give his insight. He shared a somewhat similar personality to you the most. If anyone might have any idea on how to proceed with your (unhealthy) actions, it would have been him.

“I hear what you’re saying, but I really do think we should go–” The door to the kitchen opening cut Nami off, and you walked in. Everyone’s eyes turned to you, and you simply looked back at them. The sudden silence told you everything you needed to know about the conversation you walked in on.

“I was just going to make some soup for him. He may be hungry when he wakes up.” Was all you stated before moving to the stove to get started on your cooking.

You had taken over pretty much all of the “Sanji watch shifts.” Occasionally, they would pop in to see how both he, and you, were doing. They would come in to see you changing his bandages, or would find you reading a book to him aloud at times. More often than not, though, you would just talk. Out of the months the crew knew you, these past four days have been your most talkative. 

Usopp even swore he heard you sing once. They all brushed that one off.

You finished making the soup, putting it in a bowl and grabbing a spoon, making your leave to allow the others to keep talking about you.

You knew they were worried, and some part of you felt bad for being the cause of the worry. But an even bigger part of you could only think of Sanji and doing whatever you could to make him feel better. Your mind was set.

You sat down right back where you had been for days, soup in your lap ready and waiting for him to wake up. You stared down at it, thinking back to a few weeks ago, a bit after his declaration of love. 

He had made your favorite dish. You don’t even know how he figured it out, or if maybe one of the crewmates told him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to really mind too much. Not after taking a bite out of it. It was even better than when you had it for the first time all those years ago. When Kuro decided to “treat you” for your sixteenth birthday. At least, that was what he said. You knew the truth – that it was actually because you had scored him such a big treasure all by acting a little helpless and scared at the doors of some mansion an elderly couple owned. Right before he came in to…

“How is it?” Sanji sat in front of you, a smile on his face, eyes wide. You didn’t realize you had been staring so hard at the dish as if it was speaking to you. Your head jolted up, registering what the cook had just asked.

“This is…it’s good. Thank you.” You continued to eat, and he sat there watching as you took down another bite, and another, and another. One corner of his lips lifted up and there was some type of…adoration in his eyes.

“You know, I learned a phenomenal recipe for it when this one chef came in to Baratie,” he went into a story as you continued. “He showed me certain tricks and what the best types of ingredients were for it.”

“Yeah? What did he teach you?” You look at him with a raised eyebrow, still shoveling more food in.

“Well I can’t tell you all my secrets, now can I?” He winked at you. It felt weird, how smooth he could flirt with you now after everything that happened between you two. Maybe that was all it took for him. Putting his heart out to you as he did.

“What if you’re not here one day? How else will I be able to make it this well?”

“You don’t gotta worry about that, love. I plan to always be around to make it.” He looked down at your, almost clean, plate.

“I’ll make whatever you want. If it means your happiness, I’ll do it.”

You didn’t realize the tears were falling until one dropped onto the rim of the bowl. You looked up at Sanji’s body, still out cold, and wiped the tears off your face. You let out the littlest laugh.

“You know, you told me I didn’t have to worry about knowing those little tricks you mentioned because you’d always be around. Guess who was right?” You laughed humorlessly, still staring at his face. He was so pale, one might have mistaken him for being dead. And with his breathing so shallow…

It broke you.

“You wanted to be close? Right? Well if you wake up, we can be closer. That’s all you gotta do, stove boy. You wake up, and I will listen to all your ridiculous flirting attempts and try all your different food experiments and…” Your voice died out, once again staring at the bowl in your lap. Fuck. 

You finally decided to just put it to the side and get up to kneel right next to his bed, grabbing at his hand.

“I’m…I’m scared, Sanji. I’m terrified. I can’t get close to any of you because I could hurt you. Kuro isn’t dead and when he finds out that all of you have become something to me, he will kill you. Friends get in the way of doing a job. He will kill anyone to get me back, his fucking weapon, and I can’t–” Your voice cracked as the tears once again ran down your cheeks onto your chin.

“...I can’t lose you Sanji.” You put your forehead down on the bed. “You’ve made me safe here. Always putting me before you, always checking on me. You fucking made me my favorite food. And he can take that all away once he finds me.” You sobbed into the mattress. Reality struck you viciously, repeatedly, over your back, with a metal pipe. What happens when he doesn’t wake up?

“He won’t.”

You inhaled sharply. 

“He won’t take anything.” His voice croaked out, hoarse from having no water for days. “Kuro.”

You lifted your head up from the bed to look at the chef’s face. His eyes, while a difficult feat, opened up to look at you.

“Because I won’t let him come near you. Ever again.” He looked so deadly serious. “You’ve had to protect yourself for so long, (Y/N). Please, let me do it.” His hand squeezed yours, reminding you that you still held it.

A smile took over your face, and you laughed. A true laugh. One that you couldn’t remember when, or if, you’ve ever felt before. One that supplied your entire body with elatement. Relief filled your lungs, and you threw your body over his to give him a hug. With this, he too laughed, feeling honored to see the rare sight of you truly, thoroughly happy. 

The waves crashing outside against the boat filled the air, and your body relaxed 

If you couldn’t feel the sea, well…

He would be your ocean.

This was written by @/ro-written and is not to be plagiarized, translated, or distributed anywhere else. Copyright 2024.

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[five-rivers]

archetypical changes

@echoghost1 @ghostfox_fuyu

It started out small.  Small enough that, in retrospect, Danny was surprised he noticed at all.  But he did.  At least, he noticed enough to dismiss it as nothing important. 

It was just hair, after all.  Just hair, growing a bit too fast.  He knew that people did have different rates of hair growth naturally.  Like, beards especially could grow fast.  That’s why five o’clock shadow was a thing.  

Just hair.  

He wound a curl around finger, where it peeked out from under his left ear.  This fast…  He could probably brush it off.  Maybe it was an extension of his healing powers.  He’d just need to cut it more often, so he didn’t go to the barber too often.  Would that even be something people would notice?  

He’d noticed.  It was his body.  His hair.  

Would anyone else?

He ran a hand through it, sweeping it back, and went on with his life.  

“Hey, Jazz,” he said, a week later.  “Will you give me a haircut?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Jazz.  She turned from her desk and looked him over.  “It is getting long, but didn’t you just get a haircut?”

Danny shrugged.  “Does it matter?”

Jazz walked over to him and looked up and down the hallway.  “Is it a ghost thing?” she whispered.  

“No idea,” Danny said.  

Jazz sighed, as if it was his fault he was a freak of nature.  

Well.  It kind of was.  Still.  She didn't need to act like it.

“Come on, we'll do it in the bathroom. I'll get the broom, you find the scissors.”

They regrouped in the bathroom a few minutes later.  Jazz had picked up a chair as well. 

“Go ahead and sit down,” she said as she pulled a comb from a drawer.  She ran the comb through his hair.  

“I did brush my hair before,” said Danny, leaning back slightly and closing his eyes.  

“Sure,” said Jazz.  “Just checking.  How do you want this?”

“However it was before.  Just shorter than it is now.”

“Well… I’ll do my best.  But you know I’ve not done this before, right?”

“Yeah, but I can’t ask Mom or Dad, and I’m broke, so.  This is about it.  Unless I want to ask Sam, and I’m not ready to go goth.”

“Going ghost is enough for you, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

“Okay,” said Jazz with a sigh.  “Let’s do this.”

The scissors snipped cleanly through his hair, over and over, ticklish strands falling around his ears and shoulders.  Jazz didn’t get fancy.  She kept things relatively even and didn’t attempt fades or different lengths or anything like that.  The result was somewhat strange, but it was workable.  No one would think he had some kind of weird hair-growing… thing.  

Yeah.  He was totally killing this secret identity thing.  

Jazz ran a hand through his hair, shaking loose a few more cut strands.  “Your hair is really fluffy, you know that?”

“Thanks, Jazz,” said Danny.  

“Thank me by helping clean up.  Your hair got everywhere.”

“Guess that’s why barber shops use those weird little capes.”

“Yeah,” said Jazz.  

They cleaned up relatively quickly, and Danny spent the rest of the afternoon working on homework, secure in the knowledge that he had, once again, protected himself from discovery via stupid means, like supernaturally fast-growing hair.  He didn’t have the time for it to distract him from what was really important.  In this case, transformations of functions.  

Math.  What would he do without it?

Then, of course, he went to bed and fell asleep.  No one disturbed him that night, ghost or human, which only happened about half the time, even if it felt like he was being woken up every night, sometimes.  

He woke up and ran his hands through his hair.  It felt longer than it had yesterday when he went to bed, but not by a huge amount.  He might have to get Jazz to cut his hair once a week or more.  Maybe he’d just have to learn how to do it himself.  Ugh…

He went about his usual morning routine in his normal somnambulant state.  Clothing, shoes, on to the bathroom…  

His reflection blinked sleepily at him.  Yeah, his hair was a bit longer, but only by a few millimeters.  It wasn’t growing fast enough that anyone would notice over the course of a few days.

Dismissing the problem as one that wouldn’t truly become problematic for a few more days, he picked up his toothbrush and made a face at himself in the mirror.  

Then he froze.  

He leaned forward, over the sink, baring his teeth.  He poked at his canines with one finger.  Yep.  Yep, that was real.  That wasn’t a hallucination, even if it seemed like it should be.  

His upper canines had grown long and sharp overnight.  Their points descended until they almost touched his bottom gums.  He opened his mouth and discovered that it wasn’t just his upper canines, but his lower canines, too.  

His fingers roved over the rest of his teeth, searching for other changes.  He couldn’t find any.  That didn’t mean they weren’t there.  

He pulled off his shirt, then his pants.  He hadn’t noticed anything else while he was getting dressed, but he was so out of it in the mornings that his lack of noticing also didn’t mean anything.  

His skin… still pasty white, still lightly freckled.  His muscles seemed to move normally, but he wasn’t exactly an expert.  However…  He raised his hand to his side and slotted his fingers into the gaps between his ribs.  It hadn’t been like this before, had it?  He slid his fingers back and forth, thinking.  It felt… oddly satisfying, but also very wrong.  His hips also seemed slimmer, bonier.  

He’d never had all that much fat, he took after his mother in that way, but he was pretty sure this was over and above that.  Something strange was happening to him.  

He put his shirt and pants back on and walked through the wall into Jazz’s room.  

“Holy– Knock first,” said Jazz, throwing the first thing she could grab at him.  Which was her pajama pants.  Ew.  “What’s wrong?”

“I have fangs now,” said Danny.  

“What?”

Danny opened his mouth as wide as he could to show her. 

 “What are you doing, I don’t want to see your uvula, that’s– Oh.”

Danny let his mouth close with a click.  “What am I supposed to do?”

“I’m–”  Jazz looked lost.  “I don’t know.  You can probably hide, um, teeth for school.  It’s not as if people are going to be looking in your mouth…  Are there any other changes?  Other than that and your hair?”

“Um,” said Danny.  “I– Maybe?”

“If it’s important enough that you broke into my room–”

“I didn’t break anything.”

“--then you’d better tell me.”

Danny felt himself blushing. “It’s– I think that I’ve lost a lot of weight.  Like, overnight.  I can see my ribs now.”

Jazz hissed through her teeth.  “That’s serious, Danny.  That’s a serious health thing.”

“More than the fangs?”

“Way more than the fangs.  I’ll call us out sick, and we can go visit your doctor friend.  What was his name?  Frostfight?”

“Frostbite,” corrected Danny.  “You’re really going to help me skip school?”

“For a health thing?” asked Jazz.  “Yeah.  You basically are sick.  Or, at least, there’s something strange going on with your body that we need to figure out sooner rather than later.  Now get out of here so I can get dressed.  Is it cold where Frostbite lives?”

“Freezing,” said Danny.  “Wear long underwear and layers.  Lots of layers.”

“Ugh.  I might as well wear my hazmat.”

“Yeah, that wouldn’t be a bad idea,” said Danny.  “We are going into the Ghost Zone.”

Jazz sighed.  “Great, now, seriously, get out and get ready to go.  I’ll get you when I’m ready.”

Danny fled back through the walls and dropped himself onto his bed.  He waited, thoughts whirling.  What could possibly be making his hair grow faster, his weight drop, and his teeth turn into fangs?  Was this some kind of ghost disease?  Ghost puberty?  Some kind of weird curse?

Jazz knocked on his door not long after, and Danny leaped up, eager to get answers.  

“I called us out,” she said, then did a double take.  “Danny, your hair.”

He reached up and ran his hand over his head.  “It’s longer,” he said.  

“A lot longer,” said Jazz.  “Visibly longer.  I was only gone a few minutes.  It’s getting faster.  A lot faster.”

Danny forced a smile.  “Well, good thing we were already going to see Frostbite.”

Jazz hesitated, then nodded.  “I got Mom and Dad to run off to Elmerton.  Told them there was a ghost sighting over there.”

“So they won’t notice us being gone.  Smart.”

“I know I am,” said Jazz.  She smirked down at Danny, then winked.  “Come on, let’s go.”

Danny went ghost and floated next to her as she made her way down the stairs.  “How are you on piloting the Specter Speeder?”

“I’m, well,” she made a face.  “I haven’t gotten much of a chance.  I’ve gotten up to level three on the simulator.”

“You should be fine to fly it, then,” said Danny.  “It’s not like there’s a lot of stuff to run into– you’ll just go through it.  And there’s no time to learn like the present.”

“Don’t use my words against me,” said Jazz, scowling slightly.  Danny stuck his tongue out at her.  

They went down into the lab, and started going through the flight checks for the Specter Speeder.  

“I’ll fly ahead,” said Danny, clipping on a Fenton Fone.  “Check for danger and all.”

“Are you sure you’re up for that?”

“Yeah, I feel fine,” said Danny.  “Just… weird.”  He licked his teeth.  “Really weird.”

“Okay, go ahead.  I’ll finish up here in just a couple of minutes.”

Danny flew through the portal and did a few laps of the portal.  “Everything looks clear for you over here.”

“Okay,” said Jazz through the Fone.  “Check your Fenton Fone.  It’s skipping a lot of what you say.”

Danny grumbled but checked it.  It seemed fine.  He popped it back in.  “I think we’ll just have to deal with it,” said Danny.  

“Great,” said Jazz.  “Stand clear.”

The Specter Speeder slowly slid through the portal.  Once it was all the way through, Danny tapped his Fone again and waved at Jazz.  “Follow me,” he said.  “It’s a long way there.”

.

The Far Frozen was as cold as ever.  Danny landed in the snow, his hair falling down to the curve of his jaw, and sighed at the pleasant sensation.  Flying wasn’t difficult, per se.  It wasn’t like walking or running, it didn’t really use muscles, but it was tiring, and the Far Frozen was far.  

However… was he more tired than he normally would have been?  Or was this another symptom?

“Great One!” greeted Frostbite, jarring Danny from his spiraling introspection.  “What brings you here today?”

“Well,” said Danny, trying to get his thoughts together.  

“Health things,” said Jazz, climbing out of the Speeder.  “Oh, gosh, it really is cold out here.”

“I see,” said Frostbite, leaning closer to Danny.  “You do not appear injured.”

“It’s more like… body… changes,” explained Danny awkwardly.  He glanced sideways at the other yetis walking through the public space.  “Can we go in?”

“Of course,” said Frostbite.  He gestured Danny and Jazz onward and towards a well-lit cave.  “Medical is this way, as you might remember.”

“I… guess I don’t, really,” said Danny, following Frostbite.  “It’s sort of a blur.”

“Understandable.  You were quite unwell.”

Danny could feel Jazz glaring at the back of his head.  He decided to ignore that.  Problem for later, if she remembered.  The hair and teeth and weight loss were the problems now.

They reached the medical wing in short order, and Frostbite ushered him and Jazz into a smaller private room.  There was a counter and an examination bench and a few cabinets.  “So, what seems to be the problem?” he asked.  

Danny, with Jazz’s ‘help,’ explained.  

“Hm,” said Frostbite.  “There are a few things that could cause that, but I need to make some measurements before I could say which one is happening here.  Could you sit up here and take off your shirt?”

Danny flew up - it was a bit too high to just jump up - and pulled off his shirt.  Frostbite produced a stethoscope, and asked Danny to cough and hum.  He listened intently.  Danny listened, too.  Humming felt… odd, as if his chest were more hollow, as if the sound was brushing the very edge of his ghostly wail.

“And all this happened recently?” asked Frostbite, after a few minutes.

“Yeah.  I noticed the hair thing about a week ago?  Everything else seemed to just show up today.”

“I think I may know what is happening.”

“Is it a ghost puberty thing?” asked Danny, unsure if he should hope for that or not.  

“I suppose it could be considered analogous to puberty,” said Frostbite, bemused, “although puberty isn't something that typically happens to ghosts.  We don't age.  It's more along the lines of adapting to a role after a period of malleability.”

Jazz let out a little sigh.  “It's not something that will hurt Danny, then?”

“Unfortunately, I cannot say that for certain.  There are a great deal of potential complications, which may be made greater by your half-human status, and the archetype you seem to be settling into…”  

“What is it?” asked Danny.  

“The role you have taken upon yourself is that of a tutelary, a protective spirit.  You are developing a very thin, almost gaunt appearance, and your hair is growing rapidly.  Fangs tend to be nonspecific, common to many types of ghost, the same with minor changes to your nails and skin tone.  Your wail on the other hand…”

“I sort of felt it when I was humming, earlier,” volunteered Danny.  “That hasn't happened before.”

“There is only one group I know of that matches all those traits,” said Frostbite gravely.  “Here, in the Realms, they are called the Keeners, or the Mourners, or, on occasion, Those Who Mourn Before, for their predictive abilities.  In the human world, I believe the more famous of them became known as banshees.”

“I thought banshees were all women,” said Danny, feeling a little blank. 

“The famous ones are,” said Frostbite.

Danny wanted to know more about that, but shook his head and returned to the question at hand.  “What's dangerous about that, though?”  he certainly thought it sounded unpleasant and inconvenient to the whole ‘secret identity’ thing, but he could admit there was a difference between that and actively dangerous. 

“A banshee’s wail is supposed to kill people, isn't it?” interjected Jazz.  

“They do, on occasion,” said Frostbite.  “Especially when they are younger and have less control.”

“I've had my wail under control for ages, though,” protested Danny, shooting a glare at Jazz.  She gave him an apologetic shrug.  

“When I asked you to hum, earlier, didn’t you feel something different?  Something unusual?” asked Frostbite, kindly.  

Danny shrugged.  “Maybe.”

“This is a change,” said Frostbite.  “One that affects more than your physical appearance.  The powers associated with your archetype will change as well, including your wail, and those changes generally come with a loss of control, however temporary.  The typical precaution in these cases is to, ah, use a gag, until a community of banshees willing to train the new one can be contacted.”

“I, um.  I don’t suppose that’s something that I can do, like, overnight?”

“Not generally,” said Frostbite.  “There’s some overlap between banshees and ice-cored ghosts, more than there is for fire-cored ghosts, but it isn’t a great enough number for us to have regular contact.”

“That’s… I can’t… Great.  That’s.  What am I supposed to do with that?  I’ve got my whole town–  The ghosts– I can’t just up and leave.”

“Danny, you can’t go back if your wail could just randomly go off and, you know, ki–”

“I know that,” interrupted Danny, dropping his head into his hands.  He rubbed his face vigorously. 

“You may not have that particular addition to your wail,” said Frostbite.  “In fact, I would be rather surprised if you did.  You are, like I said, primarily a tutelary.  A protector.  Banshees from such backgrounds more typically have predictive or clairvoyant abilities.  They do not cause the deaths that follow their cry, they only are aware of them.”

“Well, I guess that’d just suck for me rather than everyone else.”  He could already feel his mental health taking a hit.  “But I’ll be good, I’ll stay here and do whatever precautions you want.  Play the silent game, sit in the middle of nowhere in the Zone, the gag thing, whatever.  You’d better come up with a good excuse for me, though.  I think Mom and Dad’ll get suspicious if they don’t see me for days or whatever.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Jazz.

“Is there anything else I should know about?” asked Danny.  “Like, am I going to spontaneously combust or grow a tail or what?”

Frostbite chuckled.  “Probably not.  But we should take some fittings for the sound-dampening gag…”

Danny sighed.  “I really don’t want to wear a gag.”

“It will be temporary,” said Frostbite, “to prevent accidents before you can have proper training.”

Danny wrinkled his nose.  “That sounds wrong.”

“How so?” asked Frostbite.  

“Don’t want to talk about it.”  He fell back to lay down on the examination table.  

Frostbite patted his shoulder.  “It will be fine, Great One,” he said.  “Almost everyone goes through this eventually.  And while you’re here, I can give you more details about what other kinds of changes you can expect going forward.  I have simplified a good deal, after all.”

“Oh my gosh, it is just like puberty,” said Danny.  

“Are you sure you’ll be okay without me?” asked Jazz.  

“I’m more worried about you flying back.”

“We can give your sister an escort,” said Frostbite.  “If Miss Jasmine is alright with that.”

Danny removed his hands from his face to stare Jazz into taking the escort. 

“Alright,” said Jazz.  “If it won’t put you out.”  She walked over to Danny.  “And if you are sure you don’t need me.”

“I’m sure.  We can’t both be gone for who knows how long.”

She sighed and patted his shoulder.  “It’s going to be okay.”

“I know,” said Danny.  “I’m just going to complain about it the whole time.”

“As is your right.  I know I wasn’t too happy when it started happening to me.  I wasn’t always as handsome as I am now, you know.”Danny sat up.  “Okay, now, I’ve got to hear that story.”

[sweetprfct]

Still Love You Anyway

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Joe just got a new haircut and you have mixed feelings about it.

Author's Note: This was requested by @readergf, so thank you for that! I miss writing Joe, so here's a little something something :)

Wordcount: 1K

Getting home on a Friday afternoon was such a relief for you. You were exhausted for the week, and you were ready to curl up with your nice warm blanket and just watch TV all weekend long. You just hoped Joe also felt the same because you honestly didn’t want to do anything or go anywhere else. The thought of you being in his arms as you exited the tube was the only thing that kept you going. Walking down the street, you watched as the sun set on the horizon, reflecting between the tall skyscrapers. You took a deep breath and pulled out your keys as soon as you arrived at the flat.

The flat was quiet, and you figured maybe Joe wasn’t home yet. Kicking off your shoes, you sighed in relief and flopped yourself on the sofa for a minute and closed your eyes. Then, a buzzing sound and a quiet clatter from down the hall made your eyes fly open.

“Joe?” You called out.

No answer.

Getting up from the sofa, you made your way down the hall and turned the doorknob of the bathroom door, only to find it locked.

“Joe, are you in here?” You asked.

“Oh, you’re home!” Joe exclaimed through the other side. “I didn’t think you would be home early.”

You furrowed your brows, wondering what was going on inside there.

“Yeah, I was tired, so I decided to leave a little early.” You replied. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

It was unusual.

Since when did you both lock the bathroom door? You were comfortable enough in this relationship where you both don’t lock doors anymore. The sound of buzzing started again, and your eyes widened when you realized what it was.

“Joe, what are you doing?” A hint of panic in your voice.

“Almost done, darling.” Joe answered.

After a minute, the buzzing stopped, and the doorknob was unlocked. A loud gasp immediately escaped from you as soon as Joe had swung the bathroom door open. You stood there with wide eyes, your jaw dropped on the floor, and your feet glued to the ground. You couldn’t move or say anything, while Joe gave you an amused smile.

“I’m guessing you don’t like it?” Joe’s smile suddenly fades when you haven’t said a word for the last minute or so.

“No.” You cleared your throat when you heard your voice croaking. “I—”

You clamped a hand over your mouth and slowly walked towards him.

His head was buzzed.

Buzzed!

The crime scene of his perfectly brown curls were scattered all over the bathroom floor. Not that he had his hair long for a while now but still!

The crime!

“Wh…Why?” You asked, blinking repeatedly, and hoping this was just a dream.

“It’s for Warfare, darling.” He shrugged. “It’s for a role. It’ll grow back.”

You watched as he ran his hand on his now buzzed head, and you couldn’t help but mourn over his beautiful brown curls. Not that he didn’t look good. Joe always looked good no matter what his hair was, but the curls! 

Oh, how much you would miss running your fingers through them.

Slowly, you reached your hand above his head, and Joe couldn’t help but chuckle. He watched as your shaky hand slowly grazed over his new haircut, and you bit your lower lip trying your best not to make a reaction. You noticed his features were more prominent with this new look of his. His chocolate button eyes looked bigger—beautiful. His cheekbones were more sharp. 

“It’s okay.” Joe laughed softly, bending down to clean all the pieces of his hair on the floor. “You can tell me the truth.”

“Not that I don’t like it.” You murmured. “It’s just that… I’m going to miss running my fingers through those curls.”

Throwing the pieces of his hair in the bin, Joe walked towards you and wrapped his arms around your waist, leaning in to give you a soft kiss on the lips.

“It’ll grow back pretty quickly.” Joe reassured you. “And you could tug on my hair as much as you want.”

You chuckled softly, running your hand over his buzzed head again.

“Hm…” You studied him for a moment.

Joe laughed softly, pressing another kiss on your lips. You let out a soft hum as you pulled him closer to your body. You deepened the kiss and let your hands immediately reach up to where his hair was only to be met by his buzzed head.

No hair to tug. No curls to run your fingers through.

This was torture for you. 

“This is so unfair.” You groaned softly, pulling away from the kiss.

Joe laughed again, shaking his head as you gave him a small pout. He reeled you in his arms and walked you back to the living room, his soft hands softly caressing your arms. 

“How was your day?” He asked.

You flopped yourself on the sofa and said, “Long. Rough. I was ready to just go home. I didn’t expect my boyfriend to be buzz cutting his hair the moment I did.” 

Joe let out a laugh as he buried his face on your neck, breathing you in. You could feel the sharp edges of his hair on the line of your jaw tickle you softly. You couldn’t help but laugh and wrapped your arms around him.

“It tickles.” You said.

Joe smiled through your skin and softly rubbed his head against your jawline, making you laugh. 

“Okay, okay. Now, you’re like a cat with sharp fur.” You teased, your hand finding his head again. “Although, I’m getting used to this.”

Joe laid his head on your lap as you smiled down at him, softly caressing the sharp edges of his newly hair. 

“Be honest, does it look bad?” Joe asked.

“No,” You chuckled softly. “It’s new for me, but you are still beautiful.”

Leaning down, you planted a soft kiss on his lips, making Joe smile through the kiss. 

“Still love me?” He asked, his chocolate button eyes soft and deep. 

“Always.” You smiled. “No matter what your hair is, I will still love you anyway.”

Sitting up on the sofa, Joe smiled and pulled you in his arms, a soft kiss planted on your hair. You sort of found it funny that he asked you that question. Although the look was new to you, he was still your Joe. 

Always.  The End.

***********

Taglist:

@palomahasenteredthechat @sunvick @eddies-acousticguitar @demonsanddemogorgons @joesquinns @mmunson86 @ghostinthebackofyourhead @corrodedcoffincumslut @figmentofquinn @tlclick73 @browneyes8288 @bylermaxmayfield @ali-r3n @ficsbypix @capricornrisingsstuff @missonlypost @ali-in-w0nderland @amberolivia666 @lalalala-melmosworld @niallersfreckles @nanas-lasagna @emma77645 @indulgence-be-thy-name @readergf @ladamari68 @1paire2vans @d4rk4ng3l86 @paleidiot @josephquinnsfreckles

[alottiegoingon]

love letters

shauna shipman x fem!reader

summary: the one where reader receives love letters from jeff

warnings: jeff mentioned for plot reasons, jealousy mentions, homoerotic friendship?, shauna is reader's best friend, no crash timeline, fluff but angsty ending, not proofread

find part II here

you thought it was weird when the first thing you saw as soon as you opened your locker was a letter. you weren't exactly the most popular girl ever but you weren't a loner. you were right in the middle.

you blinked rapidly, eyes darting back and forth to the envelope of the size of your hand and to the completely empty hallway. you were the only one in there. judging by the outside, it couldn't be a warning from school or from the book club you went to. it also didn't make sense to be someone bullying you, it was too neat.

you withdrew the paper nestled inside and carefully unfolded it. it wasnt anything professional, just words meticulously written on a notebook paper. you peer through narrowed eyes, attempting to recognize the handwriting but it wasn't like you knew everyone at school so intimately to know how they wrote.

in the small piece of paper, the words "you're always pretty but today you look as stunning and vibrant as a daisy in spring. love, jeff." are written in a sleek, rounded calligraphy, each letter carefully crafted with black pen ink. you feel your heart skip a beat as you read the name signed on the bottom, not believeing your own eyes. coincidentally or not, daisies were your favorite flowers and you couldn't stop thinking about how he knew that.

jeffrey sadecki was one of the popular boys in wiskayok high. almost every girl wanted to be with him while the boys wanted to be him. you weren't one of those girls, though. you despised how all of them would humiliate themselves and change their appearance or lie about their favorite movies or bands just to get attention from the boys. nothing too girly or the boys would laugh about it but nothing too bold or you wouldn't be delicate enough.

one detail caught your attention and brought you back to reality as you were overthinking a simple letter. the way jeff had signed his name was different from the rest of the words. more angular and noticeably larger. maybe he was in a hurry or too nervous, it didn't matter. the important thing now was to tell shauna, your best friend. you slammed the locker door and hid the letter on your pocket, rushing to the wiskayok high soccer field to let her know everything.

now, in terms of knowing someone closely, shauna was at the top of your list. shauna shipman was your best friend since you were in middle school as two twelve years old with awkward music taste, bad haircuts and an embarassing fashion sense. after school, you and shauna would spend hours locked inside your bedroom talking about your celebrity crushes, make fun of the boys after their unsuccessful try to make a move on the popular girl, and devouring an entire carton of bubblegum ice cream, that shauna would always bring to you, while watching movies. shauna wasn't a huge fan of it. it was way too sweet. but it was your favorite after all.

"i think you should pick the flavor next time." you randomly spoke while the two of you were sharing a bed and watching grease from 1978.

your leg was resting against shauna's, the back of your leg gently positioned on top of her knee. it first started as a way to annoy her when you were around fifteen but then it just became a casual thing. shauna would look all tense with a tight face until she felt your warmth.

"why? it's your favorite." shauna's entire face twists in confusion. her eyes immediately fly at you but you were focused on the small tv. inside her mind, in her own little world, nothing was more important than your sudden hate towards ice cream.

"it's too childish. i don't think any other girl on her last year would pick bubblegum ice cream as her favorite." you groan, frustrated.

"that's so stupid, it's just a flavor. and, you know, i think it matches you."

her words made you curious enough to shift your attention away from one of your favorite movies. she seemed to understand your fogginess and explained herself before you could say a word.

"i mean, it's fun and colorful and free of any judgments. it is also the favorite of a lot of kids and kids are way too honest to lie about something. so if they like it, it's because it's really good.. it's unique, i think."

"wow, shauna..." you subtly nod your head in agreement, feeling touched by her words. "you can really compliment an ice cream flavour that much? "you smile as you tease her.

"just shut up and eat your ice cream. you're so annoying."

now, in senior year, pretty much nothing had changed. you would still spend the afternoons after practice with shauna as well as the weekends. shauna was also really smart and would eventually help you with math, literature or english during finals. she was pretty good at it but it didn't surprise you at all; she was always carrying a book around or that super secret journal that you swore she would write on after you fell asleep during sleepovers.

"jeff? wow... are you sure?" shauna immediately looked away from you and made herself busy, forcing her uniform into her bag, at the second she heard his name. shauna wasn't exactly very fond of him as well but she never sounded so lifeless.

"yeah, he signed his name! i guess it could be one of his friends messing around with me but the handwriting is way too pretty for someone who did it as a joke." you sigh. "and he also mentioned a daisy in the letter. that's my favorite flower, shauna!"

shauna was avoiding your eyes at all costs but, for a split second, you saw her eyebrows knit.

"wait, so you're happy with that? i thought you didn't like him." shauna sounds unbothered but you notice how she rub her hands together to brush the sweat off or how she was incessantly adjusting her shirt.

"i don't. boys are stupid." you give her a determined nod to dispel the thought away. "it's just... it feels nice to know that someone cares about me. we've never had a conversation before but somehow he knows about my favorite flower so, i mean..." your voice trails off.

you never thought of yourself as someone who was excited to date boys. the idea of going out on a friday night with a guy never made you burst with joy. you'd rather spend the night with your best friend and have your typical sleepovers or going out for movies. even watching shauna write on her out of reach journal in silence was more interesting. despite shopping together when needed, playing around with clothes by putting them on and running a fashion show, dressing up for a boy and putting makeup on wasn't your thing, whatsoever. it wasn't fun cause shauna wouldn't be there to make you laugh or roll her eyes to hide how her eyes would affectionately get lost on your figure. "i guess he must be really interested on you, then. right?" shauna looks at you for the first time that afternoon but she looks different than usual, offering a strained smile.

[💌]

the next days slipped away from your hands in a blink of an eye. surprisingly, jeff wasn't actually that bad or at least he tried to be a normal nice guy around you.

you remembered how he was actually nervous when you two exchanged a few words and he made sure to let you know that he was responsible for the letter when he asked if you had liked it with a huge cocky smile. at first, you couldn't care less, he was trying too hard. but then the letters kept coming and you finally accepted to go on a date with him.

you went out for the movies and when you felt him pulling that classic move on you by sliding his arm on top of your shoulders, you had to fight against a giggle. shauna would love to laugh at that with you later. then, you stopped by your favorite place; a small family-run dinner that had a great milkshake of your favorite flavour.

"you don't think it's way too childish to be someone's favorite?" you hear jeff's voice fill your ears while you were focused on getting the last drop of the ice cream. you look up at him with a baffled look, not paying attention to whatever he had just said.

"the ice cream. i never dated someone who liked bubblegum."

"oh. yeah..." you feel heat rise to your cheeks and out of nowhere, you began to trip over your words. "it's not my favorite. it's stupid. i was... just trying something different!"

the days turned to weeks and the weeks became months. just like that, you were walking through the hallways of wiskayok high with jeff's arm over your shoulder. you weren't sure if you liked being seen as his property or something silly like that, but a lot of girls would die to be in your place.

you weren't sure if you actually liked him. the most excited part of your date nights was to eat for free and memorize all the idiotic things he had said to gossip about it with shauna later. besides, you could rarely pick the movie or talk about your day. the name "randy walsh" was stuck on your brain thanks to how often jeff would mention him and his funny stories that would actually make you sleepy.

but, again, maybe you just had to try harder.

the letters kept coming almost everyday. and if not everyday, then at least once a week. somehow, always pretty and perfectly rounded letters with his sloppy signed name on the bottom.

[💌]

"i can't wait to read it! people are saying that it's sad but i think it's gonna be great." you were telling shauna about the new stephen king's book that had came out that week; the green mile.

"i think sad is good. people underestimate how great tragedy can be." she casually mumbles, grabbing the carton of ice cream from your desk that you would share before walking to you.

you were about to agree with her when her words cut you at the moment her eyes met the packaging.

"what's that?" she said with a deflated tone.

"ice cream?" you chuckle at her obvious question. usually she would tease you back or give you a snort. but now she decided to ignore your lighthearted words.

"no, i mean the flavor. since when do you like vanilla?" she reads the words vanilla over and over again before looking up at you.

"oh, yeah. i changed. i'm too old for bubblegum now."

"how?"

"just eat it, alright? jeff said vanilla is too boring but i think it's better than being a kid flavor, right?" you giggle, oblivious to her clear annoyance.

shauna's hands close into fists as soon as she practically smashed the carton against the desk. the loud noise made you look at her almost instantly with widen eyes.

"are you okay?" your voice sounded so low-pitched and whispered that shauna almost couldn't hear it.

"are you? we used to laugh about stupid boys and now you are suddenly changing yourself because of jeff? he barely knows how to spell the world embarrass." you notice her voice slowly getting louder.

"this is insane. it's just ice cream, shauna! you are just jealous cause he writes pretty letters for me while you stay home to your pathetic journal." you feel your blood boil as she accuses you of changing because of a fucking boy. you would never.

shauna doesn't say a word and the silence made you realize that, deep down, she was right. her eyes are staring past your soul as she feels your words hit her and it made you regret them after a second.

"i didn't mean tha-" you tried to apologize but she was faster.

"no, you know what? you're right. i spend my friday nights with my pathetic journal but at least i don't pretend to be someone i'm not just to make a boy like me." she takes a step closer and this time her voice is low and tamed. "at least i'm not weak and don't attach myself to the first person who offers just a hint of interest on me cause i'm desperate for attention."

her sharp words sink in, eating you from the inside out. she doesn't seem sorry and you don't feel bad anymore. you feel your jaw clenching and tears were welling up on your eyes while you stand up from your bed, face to face with your best friend.

"fuck you." you struggled to speak through the lump in your throat.

the room got quiet and the sorrow was almost palpable. shauna's pupils were teary, fully dilated and unusually darker, regarded with disappointment. she didn't say a word before leaving your room and shutting the door behind her.

you couldn’t think of anything while collapsing into your bed, sobbing against the pillow, other than how badly you hated vanilla ice cream.

[💌]

barely able to sleep last night, you were distracted by shauna’s words and the fact that this was the first serious fight that you two had ever shared. shauna didn’t talk much about her feelings and would let everything merge together until she was bursting out with anger or a bunch of passive aggressive comments but she was never too harsh on you.

you knew you had to apologize and fix things with her. even though her words weren’t exactly the kindest, she was just worried about you, you thought. you wondered if she liked jeff in secret and was jealous of him even if she had never mentioned him before.

you weren’t sure if she had feelings for jeff but you weren’t sure if you did. he could be a jerk sometimes and definitely too self centered but he made you feel important. he liked you enough to know your favorite food, even though he called it childish, and your favorite movies, that he thought it were too weird for a girl, and your favorite books, that he mentioned how boring they were.

yes, he was decent and overall, compared to the others, he was a nice person. but then, as you were in the bathroom getting ready this morning, you remembered that he wasn’t the first person to ever care

you remembered when shauna showed up at your door once at 3am when you couldn’t sleep, way too worried about finals, with your favorite treats and a book of hers that reminded her of you. or when she spent an entire month learning how to draw daisies because you loved them and she wanted to give you a special handmade gift. a week later, your room was filled with drawings of different sizes of your favorite flower. there was even a small piece taped to the wall of your bathroom right next to the mirror.

then, it occurred to you that, once while watching romeo and juliet late at night, you mentioned how much you loved romantic gestures like receiving letters from the person you loved and shauna mocked you but then, two weeks later, you received one. it was a weird coincidence but it was there, right in front of your eyes.

you were feeling like complete shit when you stopped by your locker, already regretting leaving your bed this morning. you flinch as you see jeff magically appearing behind the small metal door with a huge creepy smile and a small bag in hands.

“i got something for you.” were the words he said before handing you the content from inside the paper bag. you weren’t expecting anything and definitely not after the shitty night you had. you were determined to break up with him but the idea of it vanished as you took a first glance at what your new gift was.

the new stephen king’s book, the green mile, right under your nose. your jaw was almost hitting the floor thanks to the beautiful cover.

“jeff… this is amazing! i’ve been wanting to read this since last week and i couldn’t find it anywhere. thank you!” you had to force your words out, too stunned to speak properly. looking away from the book, you saw how he looked genuinely happy with your reaction.

“it was nothing. i just like paying attention to my girl.” you ignored the smug tone and focused on the book.

jeff didn’t wait any longer for you to finish your appreciation moment and pulled in for a kiss, tightly holding onto your waist. he hugged you right after and while you were resting your head on his shoulder, he was looking at shauna right behind you two.

greeting her from a distance with a satisfied and arrogant grin was his way of saying thank you. shauna resentfully nodded and ignored the feeling of drowning in her own emotions as she watched you leave with his arm around your waist.

quickly, she placed the receipt from the bookstore in her backpack along with her notebook and favorite writing pen before disappearing into the crowded hallway.

[hotchfiles]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ❝ lay down with me ❞ ─ a darling, in any life blurb

pairing: aaron hotchner x reader. summary: the red thread between two people destined to be together may stretch and tangle, but those ties will never break. or: they find out maybe bars aren't all the same. content warnings: alcohol, suggestive talk. not proof read. word count: 2.1k

"Were you... Brushing your teeth?" Yeah he was. And yeah they were still on the jet, but as soon as they got back to HQ he would be on his car for the 45min ride to Arlington to see you. He couldn't risk bad breath on your first date.

Before Aaron could even answer Emily's inconvenient question, Derek came in with another one "Hair freshly cut too, anyone noticed it?" Well he cut his own hair, it would be simply rude not to look his best when he so easily could.

He knew JJ was coming in with something too when she passed by him, so he had to cut it out before "Hey, enough. I’m meeting an old friend after work, just trying to use my time wisely here." His eyes scanned the room for the reactions and even though no one replied, he could see all the little smirking around and whispering between Emily and Derek mostly.

So much for a private life.

He's not the hiding type, if he's in a relationship he has no problem letting people know it, as long as that is it, he enjoys keeping the details to himself. And right now that's all he can really say about you, you're an old friend, just an old friend.

For now.

He was running late now, and very stressed about it. Of course it wasn't the greatest of ideas to go from Quantico to Arlington by driving instead of taking the train, but he wanted to have the choice to take you somewhere else if you wanted to and to get you home safe when the date ended. He was also aware that trains didn't run as late as he might be staying.

He planned the haircut, the hotel shower right before leaving, brushing his teeth while in the jet, having his car ready, but God, did he not plan for the traffic he would have to deal with after 6PM.

But he's a gentleman, so he calls from the car system to warn you about it and he's nervous and anxious because not being present enough and being late or not there at all ruined his marriage and he wants to do better, he really really wants to.

"Oh don't worry babe, I’m still enjoying my wine in my living room. Thought it would be better to wait 'til you were in town to leave, yeah?" Aaron hopes the loud sigh of relief he let out isn't so obvious to you, but it is. You find it endearing. You were reading essays still just minutes ago, you understood him.

You weren't very sure how well would you two work considering that. But you sure as hell wasn't going to give up without at least trying it. And definitely not without a fight.

"Send me your location then, I'll pick you up in... Twenty."

"Uuuh, picking me up? Look at us, it's a real date date now, curfew's at 10PM then, don't forget it." You make him laugh easily with that, your father was a strict man, sometimes you both went to the movies or the park nearby and if you got home at 10:03 was enough for him to sit Aaron down in your living room and tell him all about responsibilities and how he was the boy and so he was supposed to protect you and ensure you were home in time.

"I am curious about what the consequences of not following the curfew will be this time though." Oh he's teasing you now, as if this wasn't your first date and the implications of consequences weren't so... Suggestive, to say the least. But he feels comfortable enough for that.

"Guess you'll have to wait and see then, agent Hotchner." Your voice drips like honey and he's pretty sure he just figured out some sort of deep ingrained fetish he didn't know he had until now. "See you soon, airhead!" You laugh innocently before finishing the call and it drives him mad in the most delicious way.

He thinks those are the most torturous 27 minutes he's ever had to go through his life, but the feeling is completely overrun with almost childish glee as he parks in front of your house. He could fit the choice for a house instead of an apartment easily on your own profile but he didn't need too, you liked your space. Apartments have no space. No privacy. He remembers vividly of a conversation you both had after your cousins were forced into an apartment because of your aunt's divorce.

He dries his palms on his pants quickly not sure if he should go to your door, stay where he is or what. He hasn't done this, the whole date ordeal in a while and it just got to him that he has no idea how people do it these days. What's too much or too little?

Aaron finally decides on leaving the car and waiting near by, after sending you a quick text to inform you he was there. It was a middle ground of sorts, he felt confident in it. Kinda.

It doesn't take you long to leave and lock your door and the sight of you immediately takes his breath away, your smile takes him back some years but your thighs remind him quickly that you are both definitely not fifteen anymore. He shakes his head softly, directing his eyes to a more suitable place for a first date: Your hands. You were holding a flower bouquet.

Flowers.

"Fuck." He mutters to himself in frustration, "I forgot to bring you flowers." You don't seem bothered about it, in fact it makes you smile more as you hand him the bouquet in your hands. "You got these... For me?" Aaron grabs the gift softly with both hands, afraid he's going to break it somehow.

"Yeah, wanted to test my theory that you're still a sap." The way his eyes were shining and his lips turned into the sweetest of smiles were enough proof to you. Aaron was always loving, caring, soft. It was interesting seeing him on the news nowdays, stoic, serious, unbothered. You wanted to see how easy it was to break him.

Turns out very easy. At least to you.

"A sap! I’m surprised I got flowers from a beautiful woman, sue me." He opens the passenger door so you can get in, which you quickly do with a cheeky smile on your face, the gift is carefully placed on the backseat before he's back to your side, seat belt on. Nosy as you are, you're already typing some address on the GPS.

"I heard people talking really good things about this place." You muse while he turns the car on, already following the instructions. "Apparently the beer is great and it stays open til late." He doesn't ask for any clarifications, if that's where you want to go, that's where he'll take you.

The food you've both ordered hasn't arrived at your table yet but Aaron has already gulped down two large beers and is trying so very hard to not show how annoyed he is, it makes you laugh, hard. He follows, laughing along and shaking his head.

"Who told you about this place?" He asks accusingly, you take a sip of your own drink and pretend you didn't hear it. "Who?"

"I don't want to tell you."

"Your students then. You trusted a bunch of twenty somethings with our date. Pitiful." You don't reply, instead you just keep laughing to yourself while you drink. The place is loud. Loud music. Loud college students. Loud busy street. You tell him that's exactly the type of place you would hang out with your girl friends to hook up back in London, his experience isn't the same, the lover boy committed since high school.

"How do they even get to know each other over this nooooise?" Laughing at his annoyance only lasts so long and now you're the one not being able to sort through your thoughts, the food is good though, you both agree while munching on the appetizers that accompany the beer.

In retrospect you should've imagined it would be this time of place by the countless mentions of beer whenever a student recommended it.

"Look around, I don't think they're actually trying to." You follow his gaze and notice that as the hours passed, the more couples formed and the less they were actually talking. Exactly as it was in your own college days. "I'm a bit tipsy so I'll let my curiosity win, you never told me why you divorced the second time." It was out of the blue, you told him the first one wasn't that bad, conflicting views on family and you both married too early in the relationship. The second one was... Harsher.

"Bastard cheated on me." You shrugged, but it was obvious it still got to you, Aaron could see it in your eyes, in your voice tone, and that had nothing to do with being a behavior analyst, and everything to do about how he just... Knew you. "His whore also pressed charges against me when I wasn't even trying to hit her, she just got in the way." He chocked on his beer and almost had to spit it out after that tiny little piece of information you hadn't mentioned before.

"You have a record?"

"He made her drop the charges when I left the apartment to him without a fight. That's why I moved back to the states." He blinks once, twice. Maybe he should be worried, but he also knew that could get a bit aggressive when losing control. Just it always happened to terrible people. "I'm obviously joking, airhead." The relief he feels is followed by an annoyed face for believing such a lie, you touch his forehead softy, smoothing the lines so he doesn't look mad anymore. He takes it as a sign, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles, then your hand, and pulls you to him, letting go to touch your chin.

If he wasn't drinking the proximity would inebriate him alone, the way your eyes closed and your cheeks blushed in anticipation, he's sweet, lips touching yours with tender patience, much more patient than you, you who lifted your body just a bit from the chair and pulled him by his collar to deepen the kiss, almost causing a disaster if any of you fell over the table with all the glass cups.

You let him go just after hearing some snickering from the table behind yours, not blaming them for it, it probably looked like an awkward kiss from the outside. But it wasn't.

"That was certainly better than our first one..." You smile sheepishly at him, putting your hands on your lap, nervous.

"You blushed and gripped my shirt." He says looking deep into your eyes, making you tilt your head slightly, showing him your confusion. "It's been thirty years, you did the same thing... You blushed and gripped my shirt."

"So you're telling me you make me feel like a school girl."

"I'm telling you you've just acted like one." You take the comment as a challenge, getting up and taking your chair with you to sit closer to him, brushing your lips to his before going to his ear.

"You're drunk and staying over, so why don't we get a taxi and I'll show you the school girl." You can see the way his neck shivers at your little teasing, but he takes advantage of the new found closeness to kiss you again, with much more hunger but also much faster than the first because he's ready to pay the tab and get out of there.

It wasn't really that hard to find a taxi, being a night time neighborhood, they knew to stay around. Aaron had your bag on one of his hands and the other on your thigh. Your arms went around his and your head laid on his shoulder. None of you talked the whole way there, just feeling each other's presence and the alcohol twirling around your minds and your stomachs.

And you did show him you were not a school girl anymore when you both got to your house: You got him your largest t-shirt and pajama pants, your coziest blanket and after you both changed and took aspirins to try and prevent the headache that would inevitably come, you got your pillows and went to the living room and laid on your big couch with Aaron, cuddling with him as some TV show re-run lured you both to sleep.

It was almost 2AM, and while you could take him to your bedroom and take his clothes off like you wanted to, you both knew it was the middle of the week, he had to wake up early to get his car, you would probably pass out under him anyway.

Cuddling was more than enough for a first date. And at least for Aaron, he was sure he wouldn't let go of your embrace anytime soon.

[beansricejc]

Returning the Favor - John Wick x F!Reader

⚠️warnings: DUBCON, smut, piv, facial, pressured intimacy, implied abuse (not John), graphic depictions of violence, cursing, alcohol, blackmail, noncon pictures, no use of y/n!, 3716 words.

a/n: it’s me again, back with something I’ve been cooking for a few days. life is wild rn but I hope u all enjoy!

summary: John does a hit for you, at no cost, and now he wants something in return. it’s only fair, right?

John remembers your little face. The way your eyebrows furrowed at his insistence of doing this job free of charge. The split skin on your lip and the bruising on your cheek and wrists, he can picture it clearly.

He pictured you walking up to him in the alley outside of the Continental, where a friend of yours told you he would be.

He recalled the way you asked about his services.

“Who do you need gone?” he had asked, as you handed him a manilla envelope. That’s when he noticed the blue and yellow pattern that littered your skin when you reached your hand out to him to give him the paperwork.

“My fiancé.” you stammered out of those damaged lips of yours. “He’s the chief of police, and I’ve tried getting away, getting protection orders, but he’s able to just get rid of anything I do.” you elaborated.

John’s eyebrows raised at the sound of that. He added the context clues together and immediately understood, especially after seeing your bruises. John assumed you weren’t a kickboxer in your spare time.

He’s still able to admire your delicate features, despite the fact you’re not trying exactly to look pretty. He can still tell that you have gorgeous eyes and long lashes, a nice haircut that frames your well shaped face to perfection. Your skin is smooth and clear, and your body? Even though you’re in a cropped hoodie, you do have leggings on.

Oh leggings. Truly underrated in all aspects. The way the cloth clings to your body, shaping around your hips, thighs, and ass.

Truly beautiful. He can tell.

Maybe he could use this to his advantage? Not necessarily the most morally correct way to get a woman, but it could do the trick.

And use he did. He would use it to his advantage, in a simple and innocent move.

“I’ll do it. No charge.” John replied to you, you’re taken aback by the sudden generosity from him, you’re so shaken by the entire situation you don’t even notice his eyes trailing your entire figure and checking you out.

“Really? No, I can’t let you,” you insist, handing him a duffel bag full of 5 figures of cold hard cash, but he simply refuses it.

“We can discuss it later…” John says, shaking his head and outright not taking the bag. “Keep your money. Please.”

-

He’s thinking of this encounter as his blade thrusts into your fiance’s throat, finally getting the winning blow after their quite large altercation. As a police captain, your fiancé knew how to hold his own in a fight quite well.

Not well enough apparently.

Your fiancé gurgles as John shoves him against his bed, the blade destroying his vocal chords and windpipe. John makes one swift movement with his wrist, and the blade rips out of his flesh, separating several tendons. The severed arteries cause blood to squirt onto John’s neck and face.

“No one likes a woman beater.” John clicked his tongue at the dying police officer, who crumpled to the floor, blood pooling from his lethal wound and onto the carpet. A bubbling sound echoes from his mouth, the red liquid dribbling from his lips, and in a few more moments, his eyes are drained of any life that was left in them.

John rolled his own eyes and quickly did his best to destroy the good condition of the condo, making it seem like a robbery gone wrong. He grabbed a few things that looked of value, including a few expensive watches and some impressive Japanese chef knives, and went on his way.

-

You had stayed at your friend’s house in the meantime. Anxiety spiked through your chest, hoping everything was going to plan. You honestly weren’t able to take it anymore, your fiancé had really outdid himself this time. You had gone out with your girlfriends for some drinks on Saturday night, he didn’t appreciate you not sharing your location with him. So the obvious reaction? To beat the absolute piss out of you. You were wearing a sweater in 70 degree weather because of the purple and blue marks that littered your skin, including on your arms, abdomen, and back.

You had enough. Clearly enough to save up money doing side gigs without him knowing and saving enough to pay for a hitman that a friend of a friend told you about. You’re playing something with your friend on her Nintendo Switch as you feel your phone buzz in your pocket.

You frantically grab the device, opening it to find a text from an unknown number.

It’s done. Meet me at the Continental’s bar.

Your heart dropped to your stomach. That could only mean one thing. The job was finished.

He was finally dead.

Sighing in relief, your friend raised her eyebrows and turned to you.

“You good?” she asked.

“Huh?” You say out of the blue, shaking yourself out of your solace. “Yeah. Never better.” you force a smile.

-

John waited for you at the bar, he had changed and showered, washing the blood that had gotten on him from his little altercation with your now ex. The atmosphere is the typical Continental’s vibe, comfortable, upscale. He’s waiting for you at a small table with an open bottle of champagne. John hadn’t been able to get your cute face and nice figure off of his mind since he met you the other day. The day when he said to not worry about paying him.

Well, today he’d discuss another form of payment he was interested in. A favor for a favor one would say. A body for a body.

He wanted you.

His eyes trail up towards you who just arrived, wearing a simple yet oh so flattering outfit, your eyes are glued to your cell phone while you walk in.

John cleared his throat and shot you a little wave of his hand, catching your attention. Your beautiful eyes widen, and you smile at him, slipping your phone into the purse slung over your shoulder as you make your way over to his table. John couldn’t help but check your entire body out. Your face, legs, tits, even the way your hips swayed a bit while you walked made him just want to take a bite out of them.

God, you looked delicious.

Sitting down, you smiled at John.

“Hey, how are you?” you asked him, attempting to disguise the fact that you’re freaking out. Several emotions have been pumping in and out of your brain, you don’t know how to exactly feel. Grief? Safe? Relief? Distress?

Especially in front of the man that solved your biggest issue in your life within a manner of minutes. How do you present yourself in front of him? More importantly, how are you going to possibly defend yourself to the police?

Only time will tell.

John sighs, you sit down. He begins to speak as he pours your light, bubbly glass of alcohol.

“Not too bad, actually.” John answered your initial greeting. “More importantly, how are you, my dear?” John boomerangs your question. Your heartbeat accelerated and you set your purse in your lap.

“Complicated. I’ll figure it out later.” is what you manage to come up with, biting the inside flesh of your mouth, your delicate fingers are silently tinkering with the zipper pull of your purse that sits just under the table. Of course he asked that. This is what he does for a living, he doesn’t think twice about the act.

The two of you engage in small talk, and it’s surprisingly refreshing. John has a lovely smile for a killer, with his nicely maintained dark scruff outlining his cheeks and jaw whenever he chuckles at a quip of yours. His brown eyes are always in a narrowed position but they seem to always glow towards you, never taking them off of your face for a moment.

You don’t know it at first, of course you don't. John’s a professional. He's deliberate in every breath, every shift of his body, in such a way that could only be described as masterful.

You don’t notice him until he has taken forty-five minutes to inch closer to you in his chair, shifting every so often to eventually, be brushing up against your delicate frame, arm to arm.

By now you’re on your third glass of champagne, you simply didn’t want to think about any of your problems, to just enjoy your time with this man that simply did you a favor.

Right?

“I’d like to request something of you.” John suddenly says in the middle of a conversation about your hometown. He’s been awfully interested in different topics about your life, you haven’t even thought twice about it. “I can’t tarnish my reputation with the fact that I did a job, free of charge.” John states, his head tilted directly down at little ol’ you, who’s currently sipping your drink.

Your heart drops to your gut while you swallow.

“…that’s fine. I still have the mon-“

“I don’t want the money. It’s not important to me.” John interjected, with his hand suddenly resting on your soft upper thigh, the feeling of his long fingers squeezing the limb almost making you jump from your seat.

The way his thin brown eyes are gazing over you and your figure, it would have sent most people into cardiac arrest. You put two and two together, holding your breath as you maintain eye contact.

“I see.” were the words you whispered while he gave you a soft and endearing smile.

But those eyes? Those eyes were cold. The pair of his told you things you couldn’t imagine repeating.

Before you can say anything else, John’s lips travel to your ear, his hot breath tickling your skin as he speaks. The hairs on the back of your pretty neck stand straight up at the knowledge of how close he was to you.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I took the job.” John informs you, his voice low and sultry, only meant for you to hear at that moment in time. “I made sure he suffered. And you owe me for that. Least you could do is… well,” John’s eyes trail down your figure, especially eying your cleavage.

Your heart is breaking. There was a twinge of hope in the back of your mind, aching for this man to be the one. The one to swoop you off of your feet and come save you like the damsel in distress that you were. But men are so disappointing.

“So, are you going to give me what I want? Or do I need to take it?” John sharply asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. Your blood turns cold at the thought of this killer having his way with you, touching you, fucking you. You were stuck. The anger churned in your gut as you clenched your jaw.

“Fine.”

Several minutes pass, and he has led you to his hotel room on the 8th floor, unlocking it and allowing you to enter first. You can only tell the luxuries this man has at his disposal, just from the glamorous hotel room he has brought you to.

The room is dimly lit, with a few candles he begins to light and the moon shining through the curtained windows. You furrow your eyebrows, biting your tongue, as you never imagined John, the killer, to be the romantic ambience type. You suddenly snap out of your head when he calls you by your name.

“Hm?” you ask, eyes wide as he’s turned towards you next to the bed.

“I asked, is there anything you’re uncomfortable doing? And what’s your preferred pace?” John repeated himself, apparently you had been stuck in your own thoughts and didn’t catch it the first time.

Of course there are things you’re not comfortable with in bed. Hell, you’re not even comfortable doing this with a man you hardly know!

You tell him the few things that are completely off limits with you, he ponders this and nodded his head, agreeing to your terms, even though this was a favor you were returning. The man, perhaps 20 years your senior, hasn’t broken eyesight with your figure for the past hour.

You almost feel like a meal that’s been prepared, just for him. Served on a silver platter and sent directly to his room, waiting to be ravaged upon. You wouldn’t be surprised if he began drooling soon.

He wasn’t kidding when he told you he’s been thinking about this since he met you a few days ago. It’s like you’ve tattooed yourself into his fleshy and morbid brain, refusing to let go, tormenting him with every small action you did, unintentionally or not.

But your curiosity is killing you.

“What pace do you prefer?” you shoot the question back at him instead of answering it yourself. You were experienced, sure. You were a grown woman. The past several months were filled with abuse and subpar sex with your (now dead) fiancé. Not that this owed favor would be any better, you’re expecting something that lasts maybe a few minutes just so John can get his stress out.

Of course you’re not expecting John to be generous, especially if this is simply a debt to be paid by your body.

John tilted his head to the side, clicking his tongue in thought while he sauntered over to you, who was on the opposing side of the bed. His eyes linger on you, not blinking even once as he soaks in your features. His rough hands began to undo his black silk tie, unbuttoning his white dress shirt that had already been stripped of its suit jacket. His knuckles are bruised and scabbed, John’s been a busy boy this week.

“It seems I may have grown a bit, fond, of you, this week.” John says, clearing his throat. “Can I show you how I want you?”

Your heart rate goes up, you bit the inside of your cheek, blinking up at the tall and intimidating creature that is John. It’s not like you can say no. You owe him. You owe him your life, he practically saved yours, no matter how unethical this was.

So you nod your head.

Moments pass but it doesn’t take John long to practically rip off your cute outfit, revealing the soft and sexy figure underneath. His bruised hands immediately grab you, he’s completely overtaken by the reminder of how small and delicate you look. Your sheer size difference between you and him, in height and weight, makes him so fucking erect. John shoved you against the fancy hotel wall, attaching his lips to yours, initiating a dance of tongues and teeth, taking your bottom pink lip and nibbling a bit. The move earns a squeak from your throat. John takes a moment to take his hands off of your soft flesh, disconnecting his lips from yours. John unzips his pants, letting them and his heavy belt fall to the floor.

It doesn’t take a second thought for him to reattach his hands to your thighs, grunting as he easily lifted your body up and to his level, with easier access to your lips and… well, your other pair of lips.

In the few minutes that you’ve been kissing, your cunt began to glisten with your arousal, especially now with John’s bare and rock hard cock pressing up to your small entrance.

“Shit, I just know you’re a tight little thing, huh?” John growled, using his innate strength to only hold you up by one arm, spitting into his hand and rubbing the slick between the tiny folds between your thighs. You moan as he delicately rubbed your clit, then giving himself a few pumps to wet his length.

“You gonna give up your pretty little pussy to pay me back? Huh? Gonna be a good hole for me to fuck?” John asked in a gruff and low tone into your ear, while you felt his thick tip push inside. Your breath hitched at the burn of his unexpectedly large dick, your cunt can only adjust so much in so little time.

“Agh! Y-y-yeah, just like that, please,” you stammered, gripping hard onto his muscular and wide back while he began to thrust. John gave you little to no time to get used to his length. You’re quickly able to adjust to his pace while he grabs your hips and thighs, moving you up and down on his cock that he was simultaneously thrusting into. Tonight, you’d be his good little fuck toy.

“Fuck, need to be deeper in you.” John growled, manhandling you and tossing you onto the hotel mattress. Within seconds, he had flipped your body, stomach side down and pulled your ass straight up in the air, giving you a few hard smacks.

You cry out in pain but before you can say anything, he’s already jammed his cock back into your tight cunt, with you squeezing yourself around him, earning yourself a few tender moans from John.

John took his large hand to grab the roots of your hair, pulling your head and neck back while John pounded into you, causing you to go dizzy. He’s fucking you almost like a rabid animal, and for some reason, you love it. The two of you resemble dogs in heat, while he relentlessly thrusted into your already sore pussy, moving his hand from your hair to around your throat. You can even feel his balls smack the cusp of your ass, informing you that he’s been fucking you with his full length for a bit now. You swore you could feel John’s cock in your stomach, moaning and begging out loud for him.

John’s hand tightens around your throat, restricting as much oxygen as possible, quieting your moans and cries for more.

He brings his other hand and spanks your red ass again, it’s gonna hurt to sit down for the next few days, but the sensation along with him fucking you from behind was a delicious combination.

“Good little slut, who’s my whore? Huh?” John asked, spanking you again. The sting of your ass is almost too much to bear.

You struggle to answer, but you do it.

“M-me! I’m your little whore.” Your scratchy voice strains. He flips over your pretty body again, his hands and eyes glazing over the front of you. You’re going to hurt tomorrow. You can only imagine all of the bruises and scratches you’ll be finding over the next few days.

“I’m the luckiest man in the world right now.” John mumbled, spreading your legs all the way to your chest and putting himself into you, thrusting over and over again. The tip of his cock keeps brushing against your cervix, making you whimper and cry out, your nails dig into his biceps, and he couldn’t care less. “So fuckin’ beautiful, just for me…” John grunts under his breath. He lets out an intense groan from the bottom of his throat, pulling out of your sopping wet hole. You almost frown.

Unfortunately, you ended up beginning to like this favor you owed a bit too much. So much so that you begin to whine and pout the second that John pulled himself from you.

The older man bit his lip and raised his eyebrows, forcing himself to stifle his wicked smirk as he peers down at a desperate and needy little thing from below.

That thing being you, of course.

“Oh?” John asked innocently, despite the filthy sin you two were committing at the moment. “What do we have here?”

Remember when I mentioned that you were a meal in waiting?

Well, John was about to devour you.

He’s starving for you, attaching his lips and tongue to the folds he’s been unforgivably pumping into for the past half an hour. The sensation of his calloused fingers gripping and spreading your fleshy thighs apart, with malicious intent, mixed with the gentle and needy laps his tongue is giving your pussy is nearly too much to handle. He even gives your clit a few soft motions with his lips, your vision is blacking out from the carnal ecstasy John is so humbly gifting you at the moment.

Your ears can pick up a soft grunting from him, he’s taking his free hand and twisting it up and down on his shaft, touching himself to the act of him savoring your cunt.

John pushes two of his long fingers into you while he quickens the pace on your sensitive core, earning a sudden scream from you, jolting up and arching your back. John opens his eyes, not stopping, rather just looking at the way your tits bounced when you arch your back.

You were close. Way too close. John’s fingers were skillfully working you up, and you began to unconsciously clench around them.

“J-John, I’m gonna-“

“Cum for me.” John interrupted, his mouth still in your pussy as he kept his movements steady. He let out a few masculine whimpers into your clit while you lost control of your senses.

Your orgasm nearly brings you to the brink of tears, your vision blacks out, this is a completely new way to experience a climax. Your small hands grip the hell out of the hotel bed sheets, John allows you to ride out your orgasm, while you’re still recovering with your eyes closed, he quickly moves up towards you, and you feel a hot sticky substance splash onto your lips and cheeks.

“Fuck.” John catches his breath, panting and trembling along with you as he came on your face.

And there was a ton of it. Your eyes fluttered open, but you immediately shut them again, noticing that he wasn’t done, with more thick white ropes of his seed spurting now onto your nose and brow, painting a licentious portrait onto your delicate features.

You hear a click, and can see the outline of a bright flash through your closed eyes, but with your cock drunk state, you wouldn’t even think to mention it to John.

Besides, now he has a pretty little Polaroid picture of the facial he gave you, just the right size to keep in his wallet for safe keeping.

Now he has a bit of leverage on you, just in case he'd like another favor like this again. You wouldn’t want him to spread such a lewd picture of yourself around the internet, now would you?

He’ll enjoy every last bit of you for every single session you two share together. He’ll take advantage of your vulnerability and willingness to cave at any slight disadvantage you had.

You were his, and you didn’t even know it.

[lvndrptchwrk]

hq boys react to: reader coloring their hair the color of their uniform part one

♯ hq boys x gn! reader

kunimi, iwaizumi, daichi, akaashi, kenma, yamaguchi, shirabu, kuroo

akira kunimi

♪ he's very reserved about his emotions, looking to only react and use up energy when absolutely necessary

♪ this is one of those times.

♪ he saw you walk into the gym with with seijoh blue hair and white highlights, a very stark contrast from your hair the day before

♪ can't even form words, he's completely bluescreened (haha get it)

♪ it takes him a good day or two to get over the change, and a good week to get used to it

♪ absolutely loves it though, is smitten with how you support him and the team enough to dye your hair the uniform colors

hajime iwaizumi

♪ he sees the white hair with blue tint and is floored

♪ i mean literally speechless

♪ as in, there are no words, no thoughts, just you and your new hair color

♪ is totally off his game for the next week

♪ i mean how can he even focus when now EVERYTHING reminds him of you?

daichi sawamura

♪ this man is a stickler for the rules, so he's very surprised to see you come in with dark hair and orange highlights

♪ he was already pretty surprised at nishinoya's blonde streak, but your look was bolder and eye catching

♪ he definitely won't be mad at you! he's too busy stuttering over his words and thoughts to try and be mad

♪ proudly shows you off to the others (and definitely gloats a little)

keiji akaashi

♪ as a man who is convinced bokuto was born to be on fukurodani (it's the hair), seeing you walk in with white hair with black and gold highlights had him shell shocked

♪ he just so happen to be in his volleyball uniform and instantly made the connection

♪ and by connection, it was bokuto yelling "OH MY GOSH YOUR HAIR IS OUR UNIFORM"

♪ he was one of the last people to compliment you because he was just so star struck by your new look

♪ definitely ranted to bokuto a few times when you weren't around about how gorgeous your hair looked and how it made you a million times more perfect

♪ he is caught staring several times a day and is convinced to get white and gold highlights in his hair to match you

♪ is very giddy and happy, but of course keeps his cool around others (expect you and bokuto)

kenma kozume

♪ having seen kenma's trademark pudding hair, you decided to match it and have dark roots and red tips

♪ he was definitely taken aback, especially since you two were now matching, but he very much enjoys it

♪ he's definitely the type to mess with your hair so he does it a lot more after you color your hair

♪ hes the type to be reluctant to admit he's part of the team, but is more fond of the idea after you colored your hair.

♪ still wont admit he likes being part of the team though, but the others know with how much he talks about your hair

tadashi yamaguchi

♪ he has his jaw on the floor once he sees you with black hair and orange lowlights

♪ thinks you are the new embodiment of halloween

♪ was definitely shy about touching your hair before, but now he is terrified to because its just too pretty

♪ he is astounded that he landed you, and your new haircut just reaffirmed that

♪ is super shy and bashful when people ask about you and your hair

kenjiro shirabu

im gonna do my absolute best to get through this without roasting his bangs, pray for me

♪ seeing you walk in with purple hair fading to white, he nearly dropped to the floor

♪ he didn't realize you did it to support him and his team, but when he did, he ACTUALLY fell to the floor

♪ he's not one to gloat or show off, but seeing you made him want to start

♪ if he hears one more "wow, his partner has such pretty hair, maybe they should fix his bangs?" one more time, he will spike someone's face

♪ he may or may not have dyed a streak of his hair purple to match with you (he does not fix his bangs, he never will but we love him for it)

tetsuro kuroo

♪ our resident rooster head felt so happy when you walked in with dark hair and red highlights

♪ at first he was speechless, then loudly said "well look guys! we may not have a manager but we got a cheerleader!"

♪ may or may not use this to one up yaku

♪ "yeah, well did YOUR partner dye their hair our uniform colors? i dont think so"

♪ he will boast about it even after you all graduate

♪ may or may not have cried a little when you changed the color/style (he denies it but he definitely did a little)