#some people will be nerdy enough to want to read it

[libraryspectre]

I wanted to talk about the Black Parade uniforms and it kind of turned into an entire essay. My ideas on the intention behind each costume and their cohesion as a group really evolved over the course of writing this, and I think it brought into focus a lot of things I knew subconsciously but hadn't articulated. I also noticed a lot of details I had never seen before. This has futher convinced me that 1) costume design and what you can say with it is really fascinating and 2) this is S-tier costume design of all time. And it's really long so I'm putting the rest under the cut.

What I would have loved is a Weezer-style picture of the five of them standing side by side, full bodies visible, but unfortunately that doesn't seem to exist. They're either covering each other up, or posed in such a way that details aren't visible or cut is hard to compare, so I'll have to provide a variety of visuals. This weirdly blurry poster is the closest thing I could find to a Weezer picture, so take them in as a group and refer back as necessary. I want to start by saying, obviously, that they look amazing both individually and as a set. "Dark marching band of death" is a really fun concept that is very well executed. But this isn't their first time doing a look as a group - think back to Revenge for a minute, when they really started to think about their costuming as a band. Gerard has talked about how then, they were kind of closing ranks against the vitriol coming their way. They needed to feel like a team, a gang, and dressed like one. I think some of this mentality has carried over into the Black Parade uniforms - they're less defensive, (there's no bulletproof vests), but in taking on new, nameless identities they have removed themselves as individuals from the equation, which is protective in its own way. What's left are stage personas, and the more you look the more you see that these were designed by someone who is very familiar with the history of the band and how each member presents themselves on stage. It's absolutely genius costume design, because when everyone is in uniform, the little differences are more noticable and tell you so much about the intention behind each variation.

Before we really start, I have to confess that I have no history in costuming or even a lot of familiarity with marching or military bands. I can only say I find costuming interesting, so I've read a little about it, and I went to high school in America and almost all my friends were in marching band. Someone who is more educated in these things could probably give more specific insights and have a better vocabulary to talk about it, but do not underestimate me. I am deeply obsessed with MCR and got A's in English, so let's find some meaning in symbolism! But please remember that with all art, there is no one interpretation. And remember going forward that these costumes were designed by Colleen Atwood, based on sketches she was given by Gerard, so there's no telling what elements were brought in by her and what elements Gerard had planned originally. If anyone has sources on that, PLEASE let me know because I'm very curious about the design process.

Also, I'll be using the uniforms as they appear in the WTTBP video as the standard, with acknowledgements toward variations seen in posters and the FLW video. It's worth noting that in many live performances they wore different, less unique jackets, and often forewent the pants for black jeans. This is almost certainly because they were easier to perform in and they didn't want to subject the originals to the sweat and rowdiness of regular shows. Ok, here we go! Here are some pics to refer back to throughout.

Starting with the band as a whole, I want to point out two things: first, marching bands evolved from military bands. The individual costumes vary in how "military" they look, but you can definitely see the influence when you look at them as a set. I imagine they leaned into that a bit because of the military elements on the record - the suggestion in Mama that the patient was a soldier, maybe even a war criminal. We also know they've done military aesthetics before, in The Ghost of You music video, and that the band was formed in response to 9/11. Suffice to say, the military is on the mind, and this is a continuation of that.

They also look a bit like skeletons. Obviously they would occasionally do the face paint, but the uniforms themselves suggest a ribcage with the horizontal silver lines, and at some angles the stripes on the pants also really contribute to the image. I know most people have already realized this, but I wanted to point it out explicitly because it took me an embarassingly long time to see it.

Alright, I'm gonna talk about them individually now, going from my personal least to most favorite. Taste aside, they're all individually really interesting.

5. Bob

(I can't find another good Bob picture, just scroll up to the blurry one)

It's not just because I don't like Bob, I genuinely like this one much less than all the others. It might be because it's less tailored - the others look much sharper, he looks almost rumpled in comparison. The lose fit might be because as a drummer, he needed better range of movement, but I'm not a drummer so I don't know. The cut of his jacket looks kind of naval to me, which is interesting. His stripes are also very minimal compared to the others. Overall, his looks the least like it's part of a set. I don't necessarily think they meant to set him apart, but maybe they did, considering he's the only non-original member (I'm counting Frank as an original member) and the only one not from New Jersey (which, I only point out because they ALWAYS point that out to people who mention they're a Jersey band. We're from Jersey, Bob is from Chicago.) Maybe it was a subconscious thing, or maybe as the drummer his costume was designed to make the most of what would be visible sitting and partially obscured by the drum kit. It does have a very dramatic collar. That's probably also part of the reason they gave him a more distinctive haircut for this - I'm not gonna talk about hair much, but it's worth mentioning. Overall, I don't have a ton to say about Bob because I don't think of him much (sorry, but not really).

4. Frank

Frank's is really interesting. His is the least traditional-looking, which is why it's here in the ranking, but I like it and I think there's a good reason for that. Those stripes on the sleeve are a really strong look, and the material of the silver has kind of a tarnished/dappled look you can see better in other photos. I've seen people say it's a subtle camo pattern, but I'm honestly not sure - I think he's supposed to look a little less new and shiny. The blockiness of it widens him and gives him a lot of presence that might be lost if he was dressed more like the others, and it compliments his performance style well. That's particularly important in the WTTBP video - on that float, he simply doesn't have room to be as wild and energetic as his standard performance was at the time, so this uniform helps him stand out and draw attention to what thrashing he is able to do. As far as bucking tradition, he also is the only one without shoulder tabs (those little loops). There's something funny about that - those tabs are meant to hold loops and eupalletes that would signify rank, placement, or achievement, which apparently you could not give to Frank if you tried. I think this lack of traditionality is reflective of Frank's more punk sensibilities, having come up in the Jersey scene. His playing style evolved over time as he and Ray influenced each other, but at the start he was very much their punk guitarist and coming up in that scene continued to influence how he conducted himself as a musician. I think this uniform marks him as a non-conformist even within the group.

He also has that patch with a red cross on the sleeve, the only bit of color on any of them. I don't know what to make of that, maybe it's just for the Catholic vibes.

Honestly, Frank's feels the most like what people would expect from an "emo" marching band uniform. Especially considering the poster, where he's found a hole to stick his thumb through. I don't think he's wearing it in the video, but in that poster he has this belt with some kind of weapon?? Maybe?? We get it, he's a dangerous little man.

3. Mikey

Mikey's uniform is by far the most military - it's not just the medal, it's also the cut of the jacket. And he's the only one with a fun little belt, which helps keep the silhouette look nice and tailored even though the jacket flares a little at the waist. We all know the medal is a reference to his death in The Ghost of You video (there's no way they didn't know we would make that connection) and it wouldn't surprise me if the rest of his uniform looks more military because it was built around that idea. But also consider Mikey's stage presence at the time - due to his discomfort on stage, he used to be really stoic, standing in the back, getting the job done with little showmanship. I think that presentation lends itself well to a classic military figure. Mikey is also pretty thin, and the long jacket and it's strong, solid construction keeps him from looking too Victorian-orphan waifish (especially with how pale they all are), and more like a dead soldier boy.

Additionally, Mikey's costume leaning so hard into the military side helps them look more military as a group. It keeps the association in your mind when you look at the others. Also, he's wearing a little necklace here, which I've never noticed before, is he wearing that in the videos?? I think it's an anchor, which is fun considering he died on a beach.

2. Gerard

Yes, Gerard's is #2 in my ranking. I'm sorry, I might have a slight bias knocking it down from #1. But maybe not, let me defend myself when I get there. Anyway, Gerard's is the most classically marching band, which makes sense considering he's the frontperson. In fact, he has one of those braided loops on his shoulder we talked about earlier, demonstrating.....something, it seems to vary a lot, but we're probably meant to think leadership. He's not wearing it the WTTBP video, but it's there in Famous Last Words. He also has that fancy little star thing on the shoulder, which definitely seems to suggest rank. Otherwise, his uniform is very basic. He's the template that the others' uniforms are variations of. And it's a great look! He's also got nice big buttons compared to the others, three whole rows of them, which is a nice touch to make it look a liiiiittle more feminine. Because, of course, the back of the jacket is corseted, in a genious stroke of gender that puts the entire outfit in a new context. I think this is a good example of how Gerard likes to play with androgony by balancing masc and femme elements. The cut of his jacket makes his shoulders look wide and his waist narrow, but not so narrow it looks terribly feminine (just a little, taken on its own). A lot of this is achieved by the piping - notice how on Bob, Mikey, and Frank, the top row of piping (I might be using that word wrong but let's go with it. I'm talking about the silver stuff across the chest) is pretty much the same length as the bottom row? On Gerard, they start out wide way up on his shoulders and get progressively narrower at the waist. It's still a mostly masculine silhouette, but then you have the counter balance of the big buttons and his little white pixie cut, both of which lean just a little further toward femme than masc. It's an androgynous look that leans toward masc as a whole, until he turns around and, boom, corseted back. Showstopping. He also had those black leather gloves that give some nice formality, and maybe a touch of impersonality. They make it so that when he's in full uniform, the only skin you can see is that of his face. They're like an edgier version of the usual plain white marching band gloves.

1. Ray

Going purely by aesthetics, Ray's is my favorite. It's the fancy one, most obviously distinct by the flourishes around the buttons on his jacket. He Mikey are the only ones with pure silver shoulder loops, and Ray has more silver piping on his jacket than the others. In some pictures he's wearing this really ornate knotted tassle thing? You can see it in one of the group pictures above. He isn't wearing it in any of the videos, which makes sense as it could be really annoying while playing. The cut of his jacket at the bottom also looks formal to me, but I'm not sure why. Overall, the ornanamentation could be a reflection of his playing style - the same caveat here applies to Frank, in that they influenced each other through their parnership as guitarists, (and Ray has a lot of influences from different genres), but at the start he was their metal guitarist, and the guitars in metal are often complicated and showy. And he's their soloist, they need to show him off a little.

Additionally, the construction here is giving him an absolutely wild silohette. Like Gerard, the piping on his jacket gets progressively narrower to suggest a smaller waist, but without the really long stripes at the top to make the shoulders look broader. Those vertical lines across the front add to the effect because they're curved inward - which is interesting, because everyone else's uniforms are composed of entirely straight lines and sharp angles. And his jacket is cut REALLY high on the side. I can't tell if Ray's pants are more high-waisted than the others, or if it just looks that way because of the cut of the jacket. You see the stripe of the pants go all the way up his hip, and since he's already tall with long legs, it really accentuates that. It's hard to tell, but I think his pants are even a little more form-fitting than the others. The other day I saw people commenting on a gif of Ray in the WTTBP video about how they never noticed how long his legs are - this is why!

We talk about how part of what makes Ray such a compelling performer is how he moves, and I think this costume was designed to compliment fluid motion. The tailoring and curves of the piping avoid making him look too rigid or blocky, as a marching band uniform could easily do, and the high cut of the jacket lets the line of his legs continue uninterrupted. Honestly, this is a favorite look for Raygirls (gender neutral) for a reason - I think they knew exactly what they were doing putting him in a pretty, well-tailored uniform that accentuates his movement. (Caveat here that I'm a Raygirl (gn) so I'm definitely biased, and they all look great in their uniforms, but I do think Ray's is.....uniquely flattering, and I don't think it was an accident).

Conclusions

So now that we've talked about all of them, I think we have some interesting contrasts to make. Gerard and Mikey both have very classic looks, but Gerard's is more marching band and Mikey's is more military. Mikey and Bob both have very military looks, but Mikey's has a much more solid construction. Gerard and Ray are both on the marching band side of the spectrum, but Gerard's is classic while Ray's is ornate. My favorite contrast is between the guitarists - Frank's is blocky and rigid and tarnished, Ray's is curved and fluid and shiny.

The interplay between similarity and contrast is what makes this so compelling as a group costume - just by looking you can tell who's the leader, who's the tragic figure, who's the outcast, who's the rebel, who's being spotlit.

In closing, thank you Colleen Atwood and Gerard Way for designing these and the rest of the band for wearing them, I will never get tired of looking at them.

[anghimalaaynasapuso]

DISCORD BOYFRIEND KÖNIG

sfw + nsfw. this is just an amalgamation of all my ideas

könig has never been one for putting his face on social media. even before the scars that pull at the skin of his cheek, reshaping his expression in ways he’s never fully grown used to, the idea of being seen, really seen, has never sat right with him. there’s a certain comfort in anonymity, in keeping the world at arm’s length. easier that way. safer.

that unease, paired with what some might consider his more nerdy interests, means he gravitates toward spaces like discord rather than the highly curated feeds of instagram or facebook. there, he doesn’t have to worry about photos or videos— just a username, and a presence in text.

his handle is simple: king 👑. a nod to the name he’s carried for so long, stripped of rank, stripped of weight.

even in the server where he’s most active, he keeps things vague, blending into discussions about games, military history, or whatever niche interest has caught his attention that week.

every now and then, he’ll let something slip— a mention of deployment, an offhand comment, disappearing for months at a time, only to return with a sudden burst of activity. some put the pieces together. most don’t. and könig prefers it that way. it’s easier to let them think he’s just another guy with spotty internet.

your first interaction is rather simple in retrospect.

he’s back after weeks of recon, shaking off the mission like dirt from his boots, easing into the familiarity of a gaming server he’s called home for years.

it’s not a small server, so new people come and go. he does his usual routine— an automated, slightly impersonal welcome but what he doesn’t expect is the sheer enthusiasm in return.

“hi!!!!”

he stares at the message for a second, counting the exclamation marks. three. four. five? a small smile tugs at his lips before he even realizes it.

it doesn’t take long before you’re at his metaphorical side, sending a friend request before the conversation even shifts from your college courses.

the older members tease him. something about his last deployment scrambling his head enough to take a newbie under his wing. he lets them talk. he doesn’t mind.

soon enough, you’re in his private messages, dramatically lamenting your latest loss in a game he’s only vaguely familiar with. könig listens— well, reads— as you rant, words spilling out at a rapid-fire pace, interspersed with keyboard smashing and increasingly incoherent frustration.

he’s not much for new releases, preferring to sink his teeth into a single game for months on end, grinding away until mastery is muscle memory. still-

one evening, without preamble, he sends you a link. his profile. in your game.

the response is immediate. ‘king!!! 🥺’ you type, followed by an onslaught of keyboard mashing that takes up half his screen.

he exhales a short laugh, shaking his head. he wonders if you know how easy it is to make him grin like an idiot.

the calls are… an unexpected development.

könig doesn’t make a habit to join server calls. ever. it’s not even about anxiety, not really, just preference. too many voices, too much noise. he never expected to be comfortable enough with anyone to want to be in a call, let alone initiate one.

but when you start gaming together, it becomes a necessity. typing mid-match isn’t exactly efficient, and you’re the first to point that out.

“okay, listen, king, i am not about to lose another ranked match just because you take five years to type ‘behind you.’” he huffs, amused, but relents.

soon enough, calls become second nature— no longer tied to gaming, no longer requiring an excuse. you always ask first, polite thing that you are, and könig always agrees. sometimes it’s an unspoken invitation, a simple “call?” sent in the quiet hours of the night. sometimes he beats you to it, pressing the button before he can think too hard about it.

one time, it’s you who calls. he answers on the first ring.

“are you- wait.” you pause, listening. there’s a distinct, rhythmic thud-thud-thud in the background. not footsteps, but something heavier, more controlled. “are you on a treadmill?”

“mm.” his voice is steady, unaffected. a quiet confirmation.

you gasp, and he can practically hear the amusement brewing in your tone. “oh my god! you actually work out? i thought you were lying.”

he snorts, breath hitching slightly as he adjusts his pace. “why would i lie about that?”

“i don’t know! you just- i mean, you sit at your desk all day, playing the same game for hours, and you’re always online at weird times-”

“you are describing yourself,” he points out.

“shut up.”

there’s a pause, and then, with the kind of mischief that only comes from knowing exactly how to push his buttons, you add, “prove it.”

he slows to a walk, swiping open his phone. a moment later, you receive a picture. him, flexing. the lighting is dim, but you can still make out the cut of his forearm, the solid shape of his bicep. just to humor you, he throws up a peace sign.

“not stolen from pinterest.”

you burst into laughter so sudden and bright that he finds himself smiling before he can stop it.

you learn what it means to miss könig pretty early on.

it happens suddenly. one day, he’s there, active as usual, sending the occasional meme, idling in voice chat even if he’s not talking. the next? radio silence. not even a ‘typing…’ indicator.

at first, you don’t think much of it. maybe he’s sleeping in. maybe he’s busy. time zones are weird. it’s fine.

but then a whole day passes. then another. you check his status— nothing. not offline, not do not disturb, just… gone.

curiosity turns into concern, and before you can think better of it, you ask in the server.

“hey, anyone heard from king?”

the response is casual. unbothered. “oh, dude’s probably deployed again.”

you blink. reread the message. “deployed?”

“yeah, king’s military.”

there’s no warning for the way that statement knocks the air from your lungs.

military? as in, real-life combat? as in, war zones and danger and actual life-or-death situations?

you stare at the screen, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure what to even say to that.

he doesn’t resurface for weeks.

you don’t realize how much you’ve come to rely on his presence until it’s gone. his absence is loud in the quiet moments of your day, in the spaces where a message from him would normally be.

you check the server out of habit, catching yourself before you can search his username. it’s stupid, you think. you barely know him. he’s just some guy from a discord server.

but the worry lingers.

and then, one day, just like that— he’s back.

his return is as unceremonious as his disappearance.

no dramatic entrance, no fanfare. just a simple “hello.”

you see it the moment he sends it. your stomach flips.

before you can stop yourself, you send a private message. “you’re alive.”

a moment passes. then— “yes.”

you frown. “you were gone for weeks.”

“i know.”

frustration bubbles up. “you could’ve said something.”

“i couldn’t.”

you hesitate, fingers tightening around your phone. you don’t know what you were expecting. an explanation? reassurance? but it’s clear you’re not getting one.

but then, a follow-up message. one that feels heavier, more careful. “i’m sorry.”

and just like that, the irritation dissolves.

it’s strange, the way things slip back into place after that.

he doesn’t talk about it, and you don’t ask. but something shifts. after that deployment, könig starts telling you when he’ll be gone. nothing in detail, really. just a simple, “i’ll be away for a bit.”

(it means everything.)

slowly, you get used to it. the rhythm of his presence and absence, the way your conversations pick up right where they left off, as if no time has passed at all.

it goes on for months. this… thing between the two of you. könig doesn’t hesitate to call it friendship, though he knows, knows, it’s something else entirely.

something with edges softer than companionship, something that lingers in the pauses between conversation, in the way you had whispered his real name under your breath when he revealed it to you.

he doesn’t rush to name it. doesn’t push. he lets it simmer until it feels inevitable.

in the end, it’s you who breaks first. technically. not that he’s keeping score. not that he would ever rub it in your face, especially when he was a mere day away from asking the very same thing.

it starts with a message. no preamble, no buildup. just a simple: hey, what are we?

könig sees it and reacts before thinking. presses the call button so fast his thumb practically smashes the screen. it rings once, twice—

“you didn’t even ask.” your voice comes through, half exasperated, half amused.

“didn’t want to give you time to unsend.” his own voice is steady, but his heart is anything but.

you huff. “bold assumption.”

“not really.”

a pause. he hears you shift, fabric rustling, the sound of you settling in. something warm and slow uncoils in his chest at the familiarity of it.

“so,” you start, hesitant. “what’s your answer?”

könig exhales, tipping his head back against his pillow. “do you want the truth?”

“obviously.”

he hums, considering. in reality, he’s known the truth for a while now. probably before you even realized it yourself.

“i like you,” he says, simple, sure. then, because he knows you, because he knows your deflections, your habit of teasing when you get nervous, he adds, “and i’m very aware you like me back.”

you sputter. “that’s a bold assumption-”

“not really,” he repeats, smug this time.

you groan, but you’re laughing, and it sends something bright flickering through him.

könig doesn’t ask for nudes. not once. he flirts, he teases, but never pushes. he knows your boundaries, respects them, never even hints at wanting more. if anything, he’s careful. too careful, sometimes. like he’s afraid of crossing a line you haven’t even drawn.

so when you finally send something, it’s your choice.

the first picture is tame. barely anything. it's a shot of your thighs, soft and warm in the low light of your room. nothing scandalous. nothing too revealing. but the second you hit send, your stomach twists with nerves.

könig sees it immediately. you watch the typing bubble appear, disappear, then appear again. and then— “fuck.”

you grin. “good?”

“you have no idea.”

it only escalates from there.

könig never requests more. but when you send it, when you want to send it, his reaction is worth it. he worships you through the screen, tells you how beautiful you are, how much he wishes he could touch you.

“pretty,” he texts once, attached to a voice message.

you press play. his breath is ragged, like he’s just run a mile. “pretty thing,” he repeats, voice tinged with something almost reverent. “you’re going to ruin me, love.”

the first time he sends you something, it takes him forever to work up to it.

you don’t ask for it. wouldn’t dream of pushing him into something he’s not comfortable with. könig isn’t shy, necessarily, but he’s private. you know that by now.

so when, out of nowhere, a picture pops up on your screen, your brain short-circuits.

it’s cropped carefully, but there’s no mistaking what you’re looking at— bare skin, broad shoulders, his stomach flexed just slightly.

“you like?” he texts after a minute.

you swallow hard. “yes.”

“good.” and then— “more?”

you bite your lip. “please.”

könig gets bolder after that.

he sends more. never too much, always teasing, always just enough to leave you wanting. sometimes it’s his hands, sometimes it’s his abs, the sharp cut of his hip bones, the waistband of his sweatpants hanging just low enough to make your mouth water.

one night, he sends a voice message instead. you press play.

at first, all you hear is his breathing. then, slowly, softly— your name, whispered through a noise that makes heat bloom low in your stomach.

“wish you were here,” he murmurs. “wish you could see what you do to me.”

the actual nudes don’t take long. not ar all. you’re both desperate. buzzing. könig’s the one who caves first.

it starts with your text. 10 p.m., the hour where inhibitions slip through grasping fingers like sand.

“wanna see your cock so bad, könig…” you murmur to your propped phone, cheek pressed to your pillow, another one stuffed against your chest like it might replace the hollow ache between your ribs. a distraction. a poor substitute.

on the other side of the screen, he exhales, dragging a hand down his face. fingers tensing, then flexing, like he needs something to hold onto. “love-” your whine cuts through before he can even think. instinctive. needy. his stomach clenches. “okay, okay. as long as you're sure.”

his heart pounds as he opens his photos. he doesn’t exactly collect dick pics, but there are a few kept locked away, private albums, a passcode he suddenly fumbles to enter.

three minutes. that’s how long it takes to choose the best one. the right angle. the right lighting. enough to make your breath hitch when you see it.

he hits send before he can overthink it, then leans back, phone balanced on his thigh, bottom lip caught between his teeth.

your phone buzzes. the photo pops up. you blink, breath hitching sharp in your throat.

“oh my god.” the words spill out of you before you can even think to stop them. “könig…” you stare at the screen, gaze locked on the thick, heavy length of him. the way it curves slightly, resting against his thigh like it’s weighed down by its own sheer mass. your breath stutters.

“you're so fucking big.” it barely registers that you've said it aloud.

“yeah? you like it?

“like it?” you shoot back. “i want it inside me.”

his breath leaves him in one harsh exhale. he shifts, hips rolling involuntarily like he can feel your words on his skin.

“can i see you too?” he sounds so polite. and then, as if that wasn’t enough to twist the knife deeper— “please?”

your stomach flips. you bite your lip, already reaching for your phone camera, the need to show him everything burning through you like wildfire.

your breath comes shallow as you slip your hand lower, phone steady in the other. the need is a pulse under your skin, throbbing, insistent. you pull the covers back just enough, the cool air prickling against the heat between your thighs.

the camera catches everything. your slightly parted thighs, your swollen clit, the wetness gushing out of your hole. it feels like baring a secret you’ve never told anyone. you hesitate for half a second, heart racing, then hit send.

the second the message disappears from your screen, it hits you— you just sent that to him.

on his end, könig freezes. the photo loads slow, torturous, and when it finally pops up, he feels his whole body tense, blood rushing south so fast it’s dizzying. “f-fuck, i need to be inside of you-”

sex with könig, if you can even call it that, at first, sneaks up on you. you never thought you’d be the kind of person who got into this. sending texts that made your face burn, leaving voice messages you could barely listen back to without cringing. but with him, it’s different. easier. less embarrassing because it’s him.

still, going from nudes to actual phone sex takes some time.

“gonna sleep,” könig texts you once, attached to a blurry photo of his bed.

“alone?” you send back, teasing.

the typing bubble appears. then disappears. then— “obviously.”

you grin at your phone, satisfied. but then— “but i could use some company.”

you stare at the message longer than you’d like to admit.

in the past, you hadn't told him how many times you’d dreamt of him because you thought you'd scare him off, kept your mouth shut about the images that haunted you at night, of his hands pinning you down, his mouth at your throat.

didn't tell him that you had woken up panting, arousal between your thighs, könig’s name on your lips too many times. didn't tell him that you had pressed your hand against your clit during your calls, to the sound of his voice, to his laugh, to the quiet, wrecked groans he sometimes lets out when he stretches after a workout.

but you wanted to.

and tonight, you would.

the conversation turns slow. lazy. heavy with something unspoken.

“you sound tired,” könig murmurs, voice warm. he’s always like this late at night. soft, unhurried, like he’s sinking into the sound of you.

you swallow hard. your skin feels too hot, too tight. “i’m not.”

a pause. then, lower— “what is it, love?”

you hesitate, pressing your lips together. it’s too much. too embarrassing. but he knows something is different.

“talk to me. tell me what you’re thinking.”

you let out a shaky breath. “i had a dream about you.”

the silence stretches.

you can hear him inhale. you bite your lip. force yourself to continue. “i think about you. when i-” you stop. you can’t say it. can’t admit it.

könig exhales through his nose, like he’s trying to steady himself. “when you what?”

your stomach is a knot of nerves. but you want this. want him. so you take a breath, close your eyes. “when i touch myself.”

his breath stutters.

“fuck.” the word is almost a groan. your pulse hammers, blood rushing through your ear as heat pools in your stomach.

“könig,” you whisper.

he exhales, whispers his next words like a beg, “say it again.”

you swallow. “i touch myself to you.”

“i do too.”

your stomach flips. “what?”

“i-” he cuts himself off with a quiet curse, like he's frustrated with himself for hesitating. “i touch myself to you too.”

your breath catches. heat blooms in your chest, spreading down your spine. “könig-”

“all the time.” his voice is lower now, raw, like he's aching with it. “when i can't sleep. when you're on call with me, laughing, teasing me. when i wake up hard in the middle of the night and can’t stop thinking about stuffing you full.”

your body is burning again, despite the aftershocks still rolling through you. you're about to choke out a reply when you hear it— the rustle of fabric, the faint creak of bedsprings, the wet slide of skin on skin.

“are you-”

a sharp inhale. “yes.”

“let me hear you,” you whisper, thinking about his pretty, pretty cock. uncut, soft skin stretched over the flushed head, the way it would slide back when he’s fully hard, revealing the deep pink of his leaking tip. the veins that wind down the length, standing out against the pale skin

there's a pause, a hitch in his breath. then, slowly— “okay.”

there's a small rustle, könig adjusting himself on the bed. the faint sound of him pumping lotion on his hand. a quiet sigh. and then, a low grunt as the warmth of his palm wraps around his cock.

könig looks down at his hand, eyes half-lidded, hips bucking up in small thrusts. he imagines your pussy instead of his fist, hot and tight and so fucking warm, fluttering around his length as he pushes in, spearing you open with a cock too big for your little cunny.

he knows you’d cry for him, little gasps and hiccupped moans, squirming beneath him as he bullies his cock deeper, past that tight ring of muscle into the slick, warm clutch of your cunt.

“a-ah- fuck, ah-”

your breath stutters at the sounds, hips grinding against your palm. “wish i could see you.”

“on cam?”

you groan, squeezing your thighs around the pillow in-between your legs, grinding your clit against the material softly. “yes, please..”

fuck, you're so polite.

[yuujispinkhair]

Modern!Sukuna x Reader (female). Fluff. College AU. 1k words. Minors don't interact.

I wrote this drabble for New Year's Eve but forgot to post it lol. I just found it again and decided to share it now. I hope you can still feel the magic of a New Year's Eve kiss with Kuna even when it's already April ;) Divider @/.chilumitos

Sukuna kisses you for the first time on the rooftop of his dorm on New Year's Eve.

He's had his eyes on you for a while but never acted on it because you are his little brother's friend, and Sukuna knew he would get into trouble with the brat if he fucked you. So he kept his hands to himself.

Yeah, sure, Sukuna flirted with you anytime he ran into you during the last few months when you were over at his dorm to visit his brother. But that's just the way Sukuna is: always smirking and always saying something suggestive. Most of the time, he doesn't even mean it. But with you, it's different.

Sukuna likes how you laugh about the shit he says and how you flirt back, just as playful as he is. And damn, he likes how you ask him seemingly genuine questions about his nerdy little hobbies, like reading history books and collecting Heian-era documentaries, something that most other people never seem to ask him about.

And somehow, at some point during the last few months, Sukuna actually started to look forward to seeing you. And somehow, he lost interest in fucking someone new every other night. It even got to a point where his brother asked him if he was sick because there were no new hickeys on Sukuna's neck. And somehow, Sukuna didn't even flirt with others anymore, but saved all his charm only for you.

Two months ago, Sukuna finally realized he had a problem because all he could think about was you.

It's crazy. He never intended to like you that much. And it's not just crazy, but also scary because Sukuna isn't used to feeling these kinds of things. It makes him feel so... vulnerable. As if he could lose something he doesn't even have yet. As if he could truly get hurt.

Plus, you are such a good girl, so kind and sweet, and Sukuna is that troublemaking bad boy, and he low-key feared he wouldn't be good for you. So he held himself back all this time.

But now it's a few seconds before midnight on New Year's Eve, and you are standing before Sukuna, looking so pretty in your red glittery dress as you look at the night sky, excited for the fireworks. And fuck it, Sukuna doesn't want to hold back anymore.

Especially not when he sees that white-haired Gojo brat standing next to you, watching you over the rim of those stupid sunglasses that he even wears at night while slowly leaning closer, apparently trying to get lucky and steal a kiss when the clock strikes midnight.

Sukuna has to do something. He takes a step closer to you, bumping into your back, and you look over your shoulder, eyes becoming big when you see who it is, and for a moment, Sukuna feels a strange fluttery feeling in his stomach that almost makes him turn around again and run.

But then you smile warmly at him and say his name, or at least that's what Sukuna can read off your lips because the crowd around you starts to cheer loudly at that moment, starting the countdown to the New Year, swallowing your words.

But it's enough for Sukuna, and he smirks at you, reaching out to wrap his muscular arms around you from behind and lean down to murmur into your ear, "Happy New Year, princess. I bet you've been wishing for me to be your New Year's kiss, huh?"

He sounds playful and confident, but his pulse is racing and his chest feels too tight. Sukuna realizes he is nervous. Big bad Sukuna, who is never nervous, but somehow standing behind you a few seconds before the clock strikes midnight on New Year's Eve, with his arms loosely wrapped around you and his low voice saying things he wishes were actually true, is making him feel outright scared.

Sukuna doesn't even know, though, if he is scared that you will push him away, or if he is more scared that you will let him kiss you and make him fall even more for you.

You laugh, turning around in Sukuna's arms, tilting your head to look up at him, wishing him a Happy New Year, too, looking a bit sheepish and shy as you tentatively wrap your arms around Sukuna, too.

You gaze deeply into his eyes, your lips parted slightly, your breath coming out in little puffs in the chilly air as you look at Sukuna, a bit nervous but also hopeful. As if you are starting to believe in New Year's wishes coming true.

Sukuna is the one who brushes his lips over yours first. It's a tentative and gentle kiss, something that surprises him because he usually isn't like that. But it feels right to be this gentle with you.

You don't push him away, but instead sigh and kiss him back, your hands clinging tightly to Sukuna's hoodie, as if you are scared he will leave again. But Sukuna doesn't plan on leaving anytime soon. Not when your lips feel so good against his. Not when he has been thinking about this for months.

The kiss is much too long for a Happy New Year kiss. You miss the whole fireworks, but neither of you cares, and you just keep kissing as if you are drunk on each other's lips.

Sukuna groans softly when he pushes his tongue into your warm mouth, and you lick it slowly, playing with his tongue piercing while your smaller body presses tightly against him. Sukuna cups your jaw with one of his large tattooed hands, his thumb absentmindedly caressing your cheek, lost in your kiss, in your sweetness, much better than any drug he ever tried.

And you are on your tiptoes, leaning against Sukuna, kissing him back eagerly, clearly as lost in him as he is in you. Your hands slip under Sukuna's hoodie, maybe just to warm your cold hands, or maybe because you need him even closer, just like he needs you.

You caress his skin right where his tattoos are, making Sukuna grin into the kiss because he knows all those times he decided to walk shirtless into the living room while you were over visiting Yuuji paid off. You seem to know exactly where his tats are. You probably have been craving to trace them with your fingers for months. Just like Sukuna has been craving to wrap you in his arms and trace your soft lips with his tongue.

Well, how lucky you are because Sukuna plans to let you explore every single one of his tattoos in the New Year. And how lucky Sukuna is because he is kissing the only girl he ever wanted to make his girlfriend.

Sukuna smiles against your lips. He knows exactly what his New Year's resolution is.

I NEED HIM 😭😭 Writing this made me swoon and sigh and YEARN like crazy. I am happy I found this drabble again! I hope you enjoyed it even though New Year's Eve is far away.

Reblogs and comments would be very sweet 💗

[boricuasirena25]

loser, nerdy 2000s ellie x popular, bimbo, mean girl fem!reader headcanons

authors note : just wanted to say thank uu sm for the support i’ve seen on my last post abt nerdy ellie, i fr posted it without thinking and i can tell a lot of yall like it! im taking requests for her so lmk what uu want. :)

cw : some nsfw (some of the things i put in the nsfw might be like pg13 but i still put them there anyways idk 😭), lotta jokes abt boobies, ellie’s PAINFULLY nerdy like oh my goodness. takes place in the late 2000s to be oddly specific.

— SFW

• she has fantasies of you and her in the medieval times, you being the glamorous princess and her being your daring, knight in shinning armor. she literally draws it in her sketchbook, pages filled with doodles of you in corsets or big and gorgeous low cut gowns, her holding up a sword towards your “boyfriend” adrian, who in her medieval universe is “lord adrian of valebrume”, a totally made-up kingdom name that sounds dark and full of lies. she made sure it rhymed with gloom, doom, and consume—because duh, he’s the villain.

• and her favorite medieval scenarios? saving you. you’re chained in a tower. a dragon’s outside. adrian is there, trying to “rescue” you but being a fool. ellie shows up on horseback, sword drawn, cloak flapping dramatically. she slays the dragon, pushes adrian off a cliff, and drops to one knee like: “my lady. i have come for you.” you run into her arms, kiss her hard, and whisper, “you’re all I ever wanted, sir williams…”

• she can solve a rubik’s cube in under a minute. but she will not do it in front of people because she’s been bullied enough. only her stuffed triceratops knows how smart she really is.

• she’s so soft for you it’s pathetic. you could insult her in front of the entire class and she’d still smile and go “you’re so funny…” like a kicked puppy. you could say “shut up, ellie” and she’d respond with “yes ma’am” and a full-body shiver.

• 100% draws on her converse “E + (your initial)” with a heart inside of it.

• she’s, OF COURSE, obsessed with dinosaurs. she’ll say corny pick up lines like “i think if i was a dinosaur, i’d be a simp-o-saurus. because… y’know… for you. i’m simpin’ real hard.” and then she’d probably smack herself in the head after like “what the f*ck was i thinking…”.

• even though she’s HEAVILY bullied (specifically for being a lesbian who’s obsessed with you) shes blessed enough to constantly third wheel with dina and jesse.

• quite literally owns a rubber “i heart boobies” bracelet that she insists is for breast cancer awareness, but really she just thinks boobs are awesome and it’s the only time she’s allowed to say it out loud.

• she’s knows how to skate and does it quite frequently as a source of transportation (until joel gives her his rusted up, old, monster truck that ellie isn’t allowed to get till she passes spanish).

• death note is her favorite manga. she bought the first volume from a crusty used bookstore with joel, and it unlocked something feral inside her. the intensity? the drama? the moral conflict? she ate it up. once accidentally moaned when reading a panel of misa sitting on light’s lap. would never admit that.

• she owns a fake death note she made and writes adrian’s name in it “adrian luis davis – punched in the nuts by a ghost and then falls in a porta-potty in front of the whole school. dies of embarrassment.” then she drew a tiny doodle of him slipping on a banana peel. and if another boy makes you laugh? she flips open her ‘death note’, glares over her glasses, and mutters “he’s done for.”.

• she’d be a marching band lesbian idc, she’d play percussion and have the most wrinkled up band uniform ever. and she literally never wears the hat right. it’s always tilted or falling off her head. one time it flew off during a performance and she had to kick it off the field. she was mad until she looked over and saw you laughing at her in the stands.

• still plays the guitar, (she does in every universe), and she practices every single day. after school, while watching invader zim. she zones out completely when she’s playing. it’s the only time her brain shuts up—unless she’s thinking about your boobs. then it’s just chaos. one night she was home alone and played “the only exception” by paramore after smoking weed and cried because it reminded her of you.

• she didn’t tell anyone. just laid on the floor of her living room like a snow angel in her spider-man boxers whimpering.

• she owns a jennifer’s body DVD and keeps it hidden under her bed. watches it on mute when joel isn’t home. she has the kiss scene with needy memorized (she sometimes even rewatches it and imagines it as u and her).

• she owns a chunky PS3 and plays GTA IV when she’s had a bad day, or is just like super angry as her own therapy. she’ll storm into her room, throw her backpack down, and boots up her fat, fingerprint-covered PS3. the fan’s loud, the controller’s kinda sticky from soda, and the GTA IV disc is always already in. she plays like a menace—steals a car, blasts the liberty rock radio station, and causes chaos in liberty city.

• but if she’s super mad?! like adrian calling her out in front of the whole class once again?! his arms around your waist while you just sit there?! she types cheat codes into her cracked notebook and gives niko bellic rocket launchers and infinite health. she’s full on blowing up traffic jams, launching grenades into alleyways, and driving into the water just for the hell of it.

• when joel checks on her like, “you alright, kiddo?” she just grunts “yeah,” while casually tossing molotovs at cop cars with dead eyes. but she plays minecraft when she’s just chilling. she builds the ugliest dirt houses with torches everywhere and lives like a little swamp gremlin. has one big chest labeled “STUFF” and refuses to organize it. she wears full iron armor and still falls in lava. blames lag.

• OBSESSED WITH SPIDER-MAN. she literally has spider-man bedsheets and posters in her room; one above her bed, one crooked on the celling holding on by a thread (when her fan is on too long it almost blows off), and one behind her door.

• when she writes about you in her journal she puts “my MJ <3”. she even draws it. little comic panels where she’s spidey saving MJ (you) from some made-up villain that originates from adrian. ellie gives herself abs and a six-pack. no shame.

• she also owns a knock off spider-man costume. it’s from walmart and a little too tight, with faded colors and one busted web-shooter strap. she wears it with her dirty converse and grey sweatpants and thinks she’s the coolest thing ever. wears it to the store when joel isn’t paying attention. she once got it stuck in the dryer and cried.

• only wears boxers. various different pairs that r always peaking out of her sweatpants, cargos, or jeans. her favorite pair? her prized possession? a pair of faded-ass spider-man boxers. they’re red and blue with tiny spidey logos all over. she’s had them since middle school and refuses to let them go—even though they’re worn thin, have a little hole on the thigh, and the elastic’s basically screaming for mercy.

• she calls them her “lucky boxers” and lowkey wears them on days she knows she might see you. she also owns black boxers with little green dinosaurs on them and classic plaid ones that r oversized and practically fall off her hips. the waistband’s always showing. always. at this point, it’s part of the fit. she doesn’t even care if they get bunched under her jeans—just tugs at them in the hallway like “gotta air it out.”

• if she’s nervous around you, she adjusts her boxers way too much and acts like it’s not because she’s turned on.

• and for some reason, this loser is like freakishly good at soccer? beastly good. jaw-dropping good. weirdly good. but then again it’s probably because she’s a lesbian. she’s fast, aggressive, strategic—she plays forward like she isn’t afraid to slide tackle some 6’0 dude to the ground. she gets called for fouls all the time because she plays like she’s ready to fight. her coach yells at her all the time; “williams! dial it down!”, “williams, it’s not that deep—GET OFF HER!”.

• she wears the same cleats from middle school. they’re black, duct-taped, and smell like her garage. her shin guards are always crooked, and her socks never match.

• she once tried to hit you up by calling you mamacita with the worst accent you’ve ever heard. thought it was smooth. just for you to hit her with the dirtiest look ever. let’s just say she never said that out loud again.

• her all time favorite soda is dr pepper. she drinks it a little too much… her bedroom is a crime scene of empty cans. they’re stacked into little pyramids on her windowsill, crammed into her backpack, one might even be under her pillow. joel once tripped over a can pyramid and she screamed like he destroyed a sacred monument. BUT she swears it “makes her smarter.” she’ll sip it during math tests like it’s brain juice. “it’s got 23 flavors, joel. i’m running on 23 IQ boosts right now.”.

• literally owns a faded, crusty dr pepper graphic tee. it’s oversized and has holes in the collar, but she thinks it’s high fashion. it was $3 at goodwill and she treats it like a designer item. if she’s wearing it under her flannel, it’s a special day. she also 100% has a dr pepper can tab on a necklace chain. she popped it off her “lucky can” and wears it under her shirt. when you find it one day and asks about it, ellie stutters, “it’s—it’s like, uh, for good luck. and stuff…”

• dina notices ellie in class going through her sketchbook, finds one page where your name is written next to a sketch of you in a princess outfit. next to it? ellie’s self-insert knight version—sword drawn, hearts floating around them. dina looks up slowly and goes, “ellie… have you spoken to her yet?”

• “she said ‘thanks’ when I let her borrow a pencil. we’re basically married.”

— NSFW

• she gets turned on by the stupidest things about you. the way you chew gum, the way you fix your hair, the sound of your laugh, the way you tie your shoes, the way you stretch in class and your shirt rides up a little. she’ll cross her legs in AP biology like “be cool. don’t squirm. don’t look at her boobs again.” just to take another quick glance down.

• ellie found out what a strap was from the L word. she saw shane pull it out of a drawer once and nearly passed out. didn’t even know what it was called at first—just googled “lesbian harness thing from l word” on ask jeeves. then, when scrolling online she saw this neon green strap-on with a ugly, cheap, fake leather, hideous colored harness—and for some reason, she bought it. i mean the harness was only $29.99, dildo $14.99 and with a shipping of $8 dollars, it’s not like she could afford those $90 ones. now it’s growing dust under her bed.

• her cute, hideous glasses always slide off her nose when she catches you near her in a mini skirt (or she pushes them up to get a better look at my tits) and because of this, she can quite literally draw your tits from pure memory. no reference. no glances. just pure gay brain storage. she knows the exact curve, how they rest when you’re sitting vs standing, how they look in that one white top with the scoop neckline that makes her borderline pass out.

• but even though she knows them like the back of her hand, she still sneaks glances when she thinks you’re not looking. sometimes you’re bent over the locker room bathroom mirror, adjusting your necklace or putting on lip gloss, and she’s across the room—pretending to tie her converse back on but she’s staring dead at your tits in the mirror reflection like she’s about to start drooling.

• and she’s memorized every single bra you own. color, fabric, lace pattern, where it cuts on your back, how the straps sit on your shoulders, whether the padding lifts your tits or not. she knows which ones you wear when you want to feel cute and which ones are for laundry day.

• when she’s high? forget about it. she starts rambling about the “artistic gravity” of your tits, how the curve reminds her of renaissance sculptures, and how she wants to sculpt them from memory using clay she found behind the garage. dina and jesse once walked in on this monologue and left in silence.

• she doesn’t even smoke that often—maybe once every couple weeks if someone else has it. but every time she does? she turns into a flushed, squirmy, glassy-eyed mess who gets insanely horny within ten minutes. like clockwork. doesn’t matter if it’s a chill high or a head high—ellie’s already halfway down bad the moment it hits her bloodstream.

• one time she smoked weed in dina’s garage with her and jesse. the three of them snuck out to her garage—lights off, old couch, lava lamp glowing. they pass it around like total amateurs, coughing and giggling and pretending to be cool. ten minutes in, ellie is absolutely done for.

• her knees are pulled up to her chest, hoodie sleeves over her hands, eyes half-lidded, cheeks flushed bright pink. she’s quiet, too quiet, until dina looks over and goes: “ellie… you good?” and ellie just mumbles, “mhm… i’m chillin’…” while clearly not chillin’.

• she’s thinking about you in a miniskirt. she’s thinking about your glossed-up lips. she’s thinking about your thighs on either side of her head. jesse’s rambling about alien conspiracies meanwhile ellie’s gripping the edge of the blanket, vibrating with how badly she needs to excuse herself. she finally blurts out “i’m gonna go… uh… bathroom. real quick.”

• she bolts toward the house, slamming the bathroom door shut. she barely locks it before her hand’s down her boxers—moaning softly into her arm, her mind spiraling with nothing but you. how pretty you are, how good you smell, how soft your thighs would feel wrapped around her flushed face.

• and her sketchbook is a problem. deep in her sketchbook, the parts she refuses to let anyone else see, are filthy. you sitting on her face, moaning. you spread open with your fingers, juice dripping down your thighs, her name scratched onto your skin. you with hickeys on your chest, teary eyes, flushed cheeks, and the exact position your mouth makes when you’re cumming.

• she’s drawn close-ups of your tits in her sketchbook more times than she can count. like full-studies. the shading, the softness, how the nipples perk when you’re cold. she knows which way they tilt when you’re laying on your side. she draws them squished under her hands. she draws them from memory and gets mad when it’s not perfect.

• and some of her sketches are drawn from scenarios she wishes happened. you sitting in her lap in just your mini skirt with your hand around her neck, you pulling her by the collar into bed with a kiss, you in the school bathroom kissing her against a stall door.

• in which ellie draws herself completely cornered against the stall door. her cheeks are flushed bright red, glasses fogged up, and her lips are shiny from your lip gloss—because you kissed it off her. in the corner of the page, ellie scribbled: “she wore juicy perfume. i could smell it all over me after.”

• remember ellie’s medieval fantasies? well let’s just say they’re not all innocent… a specific one is where she drew you pressed to the castle wall, dress lifted, bent over. ellie’s behind you, armor still on, her gauntlet clamped around your mouth while she takes you with a thick medieval strap—drawn with detailed curve and shimmer of neon green (yes, she draws the neon green strap even in fantasy).

• you’re moaning through her hand, crown slipping, legs shaking while your heels dig into the stone. she adds notes like: “told her to be quiet. she couldn’t.”, “her moans echoed through the halls.”

[mariasont]

maria's fic recs

i have realized how most of these are smut & idk what that says about me but alas this are some super super amazing talented people who write crazy cool stories!!!! check them out!!!!! make sure to follow, reblog & comment on these fics if you like them!!! these incredible fic writers deserve it! i will also probably be adding more as i read follow my fic rec page for more @mariasficrecs if anyone mentioned in this post wants to be removed let me know <3

spencer reid

cedar - @parfaitblogs summary: in which compatible bodies does not always mean compatible minds, but spencer reid is all too kind when you're like this, so perhaps you're allowed to forget that for a night. 

this is the fic for the girlies who have loved someone more than they should, more than they loved you back and more than was every healthy. this is the kind of fic that makes you reread certain lines just to punch yourself in the chest a second time. masterpiece in pining, delusion, and tragic devotion. the most gorgeous piece of writing truthfully

in my dream im fixing your crutch - @notlongtolove summary: most nights, spencer wakes to the sound of your sniffles—unlike most nights, he doesn’t have to ask why. the reason is visceral, tangible—staining the sheets when the wound dressing wasn’t tight enough, seeping and pooling right between the both of you where an ocean of your guilt already lies.

this and everythingggg p writes is so incredibly SHATTERING in the best way possible. i truly need everyone to follow rn! and reader everything written by them! but this one specifically wasn't just a fic it was an experience. it's so painful and beautiful and so unfairly written. the duality of intimacy and violence is insaneeeeee like shakespearean level.

into the rose garden; for evermore - @notlongtolove summary: months of hope, weeks of ache. you’ve stayed. you’ve waited. you’ve stayed in the waiting. more pathetic than poetic if you’re being honest. but now, with him standing here with his heart in his hands, it doesn’t feel simple.

might be my favorite fic ive ever read if im being honest. everything about it had me sobbing like a baby. it's not even angst at this point it's a biblical reckoning. p has made heartbreak into a single character, personified pain and i felt every freaking piece of it actually! every single line was freaking perfection & you get to choose your ending!!!!!!! because user notlongtolove is so cool and so creative.

i can do a lot with fifteen minutes - @reidrum summary: in which you and spencer don't make it out the door on date night

i love a sabrina reference (clearly) and this was just the perfect smut fic literally like poetry disguised as desire. i have read a lot of smut (u got me). but nothing compares to a good intimate zipper scene. i will eat it up everytime!!!!!!! and a mirror scene!!!!! double whammy. fantastic 10000/10

hypothalamus - @reidrum summary: in which spencer gets creative on helping you study for your exam

godddddds to have spencer reid talk nerdy to me in bed. so in character. essentially the anatomy lesson of the gods actually. so amazing

sobriquet - @siriuslylantsov summary: spencer reacts to you calling him a nickname for the first time.

so sweet, so fluffy, a love letter to everything good in the world, essentially love seeping into mundane which is my favorite genre!!!! waking up with spencer!! being in love!! angel!!!! i love spencer calling the reader angel girl!!!!! <3

sweeter - @siriuslylantsov summary: in which, you and spencer try out foodplay, through use of whipped cream.

whipped cream!!!!!!!!! i dont have many words other than that! must read

white noise - @brattyspence summary: spencer x reader -- a situationship defined by white noise; a metaphor for how we pacify ourselves and make stupid decisions to experience comfort, even when it hurts

visceral, soul-shattering, gut wrenching agony. that's about it. slow burn destruction that will have you crying. no doubt. this fic literally lulls you into a false sense of security and then u realize that spencer is white noise and that you'd rather have whatever this is than nothing at all. LOL! definitely did not almost kill me while reading. most accurate portrayal of a situationship

chateau lobby #4 - @burymagdalene summary: Whilst trying to navigate romantic relationships after prison, Spencer finds himself in love and caught in an all-too-serious non-relationship with reader. Wanting to break this streak, he asks to spend Valentine's Day properly with a real date. Afterward, they find themselves desperate with trying to express their love for each other.

so as you might be able to tell i have a pattern of reading situationship spence! call me a masochist! but this one had a happy ending okay!!!!!!!! and a reference to father john misty? yes. immediately. i also just love post prison reid because he's so complicated and different but still him and he doesnt think he deserves soft things and soft love and it's so devastating. reading the date literally felt like falling in love in real time. so good.

a closed mouth doesn't get fed - @burymagdalene summary: When reader notices Spencers dark circles and glossy eyes, they store away their pressing need for him in bed. This desire locked away forms into a wet dream that escalates their prior expectations substantially.

one of the best portrayals of sleep-deprived, love-drunk, desperate sex. that's it. that's the tweet. also when he switches the reader's straw like why was that so sweet to me im crying

xoxo - @pathologicalreid summary: in which your daughter goes to the BAU to hand out her extra Valentines

peak domesticity. i love girl dad spence so much it's not even funny. it's everything he deserves. like i can only hope in some alternate au this is the ending reid got <3

to talk is to bare - @esote-rika summary: three times you've never felt enough for Spencer Reid—and the three times he rectified it immediately

one of the most painfully real depiction of navigating self worth in a relationship with spencer. like exactly what i feel like it would be like to be with someone so brilliant and like so unattainable-seeming, while feeling ordinary and yet spencer makes the reader feel so special ugh

in infinite universes - @nereidprinc3ss summary: in which spencer reid picks up uni!reader from a party. you're drunk, and he's in love with you

there is not a single thing (cannot emphasize this enough) that i won't read from nereidprinc3ss okay? everything she writes is actually literary gold. but this one was so beautiful it almost hurts to reid because it's literally a love letter to inevitability!!!!! and the dialogue is so funny and flirty and so spencer and ugh it's so raw and real.

spencer reid & aaron hotchner

unknown territory - @minswriting Spencer walks in on Aaron going down on you. So he watches the two of you have sex.

had to take multiple breathers after reading this! everyone knows i love hotch and reid and even more so i loveeeee a why choose. also everything min writes is so hot, 10/10 recommend checking out her account. "reid, if you're going to stand there and watch, you can at least come in and close the door" hello????????? immediately yes.

aaron hotchner

crazy - @kimstills summary: after one heated and spontaneous night together, aaron can’t seem to get his pretty subordinate (or her pussy) out of his head.

i did in fact read this bad boy like three times because it's that good. it perfectly mirrors hotch's mental state which i love love love. and i just love a smutty fic that has the best escalation of tension, like it builds until hotch physically cannot take it anymore and shewwwww so hot. exactly what i want in a hotch smut fic

savor - @kimstills summary: after being compromised to working a case the next day, aaron decides on savoring your current moment together for when he’s gone.

maddie is just always going to make the hottest aaron hotchner smut. the fact that this idea comes to aaron mid fuck is wild and i love it LOL.

morphine - @luveline summary: you get a good dose, confess your affections, and leave poor, oblivious hotch to fix things up neatly. 

so if you follow my fic rec blog you know i literally reblog absolutely everything jade writes because it is just that fantastic. and this one is just soooo tender and so perfectly in character with hotch. if you are looking for truly amazing characterizations of hotch and reid !!!!! right here besties !!!!

filthy flat-pack thoughts - @alinathinkstoomuch summary: you had taken the day off to get yourself settled into your new apartment, not expecting hotch to show up at your door and offer a hand.

hey so firstly im just obsessed with the title, idk why it scratches something in my brain. and i feel like this fic should be illegal because it's not just smut-adjacent, it's foreplay with no touching, sexual frustration in furniture assembly and poor decisions lolol and again everyone who knows me knows i eat upppppp sexual tension and this fic was just that. there is literally no kisses no sex nothing and it's still one of the hottest fics i've ever read (there is also a smutty part two so go check that out as well)

can't lose when i'm with you - @aureatelys summary: You work as a beverage cart girl at your local country club and your dad ropes you in to make him look good during a business meeting with his new best friend.

dbf hotch is my weakness. the slow burn!!!!!! possessive hotch!!! daddy hotch!!!! this is the gold standard for dbf hotch truly. felt like i needed a cigarette after and i don't even smoke

red light kiss - @aureatelys summary: You haven't had sex in a week, you're stuck in the car with your new boyfriend/boss, and he's wearing that damn Kevlar vest. How could you resist?

hey yeah so i was positively feral after reading this actually. that damn kevlar vest is right. idk how you managed to make a blowjob in a government vehicle feel romantic but you did so bravo

tyrant - @solardrop summary: Hotch lets you take some anger out on him after he disrespects you on a case.

my favorite genre !!!!!!! making hotch shut up by sitting on his face! mhm mhm mhm. absolutely amazing use of free will was you writing this because i've read it at least 5 times minimum. i was forever changed after this

salt & pepper - @dudeitiskarev summary: dad bod and insecure Hotch. That’s it.

everything cat writes is just so crazy good but everyone knows i have such a weakness for dad bod hotch & this is the absolute perfect fic for it.

we can't be friends (wait for your love) - @cerisereids summary: down on your luck after a huge betrayal, you return to live at your father's house with your tail between your legs. you're humiliated, thoroughly convinced nothing good could come from returning home. then you meet aaron hotchner.

there are three parts to this masterpiece and i need everyone to read them all okay? because it's just so good. hotch flustered is my roman empire and grrrrrr this man was literally on his knees for the reader internally through out the whole thing & once again dbf!hotch!!!!! arghhh obsessed

[itneverendshere]

played me like a clarinet - rafe cameron (three) - finale

request: "Desperately-on my knees-begging for a ''She's all that'' from 1999, with Popular Rafe x Reader. Ooouff, and you want that soul crushing heartbreak when she finds out about the bet he had made" pairing: rafe x smart!nerdy!reader. warnings: more angst <3; part one here; part two

Staying away from Rafe was hard.

It was hard before you two tried to be friends and it’s even harder now that you gave him the no-contact ultimatum. Everywhere you went, it felt like he was there, even if he wasn’t. It was in the songs that played on the radio, in the way the sun set over the patio near your dorm, in the way his, now yours, shirts still smelled like him. 

You missed the late-night conversations, the way he’d laugh at your jokes, and how he could read you better than anyone else. But more than anything, you missed the way he made you feel—even if it wasn’t real at first. 

Every time your phone buzzed, you stupidly hoped it was him, even though you knew it wouldn’t be. You’d told him to stop, to leave you alone, and he had respected your boundaries even when it seemed like the last thing he wanted to do. And you’re proud of him for it—for once, he’s doing something right. But you’re mostly proud of yourself too, for sticking to your decision, for not letting him back in so easily.

Still, it doesn’t make it any easier.

You thought giving yourself space would help you move on, help you figure out if you could ever really trust him again. But instead, it just left this space where he used to be. You kept wondering how much of it was real for him—if any of it was. Maybe that’s why staying away felt impossible because a part of you wanted to believe he meant some of it, that his feelings weren’t just part of some game. 

You had to draw the line, to protect yourself from getting hurt all over again. And even though it hurt to keep him out, you knew it was the only way you’d figure out what you really wanted, without him clouding your judgment.

You tried to move on.

Slowly, cautiously, you started going on dates—nothing serious, just enough to remind yourself that there were other people out there, that Rafe wasn’t the only guy who could make you laugh or feel special. Every few weeks, you’d let yourself get dressed up, put on a smile, and meet someone new.

The first date was awkward, more like a practice run than anything else. You spent most of it comparing the guy to Rafe, noticing all the little things that didn’t measure up. It wasn’t fair to the guy, but you couldn’t help it. He wasn’t Rafe, and that’s all you could focus on. You ended the night with a polite hug and a promise to text, but you knew you wouldn’t.

The second date was better, but not by much. The guy was nice, made you laugh a few times, but there was no spark, no connection that made you want to see him again. You tried to be present, to give him a chance, but your mind kept drifting back to Rafe, to what he would say or how he would react to something. By the end of the night, you felt more exhausted than excited.

After that, you took a break. It was too soon, you told yourself. You weren’t ready to move on yet, and that was okay. 

Some days, you almost reached out to him. You’d pick up your phone, scroll through your messages, and your finger would hover over his name. It would be so easy to send a quick text, something casual, just to see how he was doing. But you never did. You knew that one message could ruinl everything you’d worked so hard to build—the distance, the boundaries, the fragile sense of self you were trying to protect.

Instead, you threw yourself into other things. Classes, the cheer squad, hobbies, anything to keep your mind occupied. You spent more time with friends, even though it was hard not to talk about him. You kept the conversations light, steering away from anything that would bring his name up. You didn’t want to be that person who couldn’t stop talking about their ex, who couldn’t let go, even if that’s exactly how you felt inside.

It helped, sometimes.

For brief moments, you’d find yourself genuinely laughing at a joke or losing yourself in a book or a project. But then something small would happen—a song on the radio, a glimpse of someone who looked like him, or the sound of his name in passing—and it would all come rushing back. It wasn’t fair. 

You’d think you’d be used to it by now, but each time it felt like a fresh wound. The memory of his laughter, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he always knew just what to say—it was as if he left a ghost behind, haunting every corner of your life. And in those moments when you’d catch yourself smiling or feeling light, it was like a betrayal. How could you allow yourself to feel joy when he wasn’t there to share it?

It was like trying to run from a shadow that moved with you, always there, no matter how fast you tried to go.

Every time you thought about him, about how he had hurt you and how you were struggling to move on, it felt like stabbing at an old wound, hoping it would heal faster if you just made it worse. The reality was that you missed him in ways you weren’t ready to admit.

Running into him was inevitable. Despite your best efforts to avoid the places he might be, your college was too small, too intertwined with memories of him.

The first time you saw him after the ultimatum was at a party you had reluctantly agreed to attend. You spotted him across the room, laughing with his friends, looking just as carefree as ever. Your heart twisted painfully in your chest, and for a moment, you felt stuck to the ground. But then he looked up, his eyes meeting yours, and the smile slipped from his face.

It was a small moment, one that no one else seemed to notice, but it felt like the all the air in your lungs had been sucked out. You forced yourself to look away, to focus on the conversation happening around you, but it was impossible to ignore the feeling of his eyes on you.

The second time was worse.

You were at the grocery store, just trying to get through your day when you turned a corner and nearly collided with him. The shock of seeing him so close, so unexpectedly, made you want to disappear on the spot.

You both mumbled awkward apologies, neither of you really saying anything of substance, just trying to avoid the awkwardness. But then he asked how you were.

“I’m fine,” you replied, too quickly, too sharply. The lie tasted bitter on your tongue.

He nodded, and for a moment, it looked like he wanted to say more, to reach out and touch you, but he didn’t. You both stood there, trapped in a painful silence, before you finally made an excuse and walked away, leaving him standing there in the aisle.

After that, the encounters became more frequent. You saw him at the beach, in coffee shops, passing by on the street. Each time, it was the same—an awkward exchange, a few forced pleasantries, and then a quick retreat. It was like the universe was conspiring against you, refusing to give you the space you so desperately needed.

And each time, it hurt just a little bit more. Seeing him in these mundane, everyday moments, like nothing had changed, made it harder to keep up the distance you’d built. It reminded you of all the times when being around him had felt natural, easy, like he was just supposed to be there.

But the worst part was the way he looked at you. Jessica had told you before. He’d never looked at any girl like that. And you stupidly held onto that tiny hope even if you shouldn’t. 

You’d been trying to keep it together all night, but the sight of Jessica and Tyler laughing together, so effortlessly in love, was making you bleed inside. The drinks kept coming, one after another, until the room started to blur around you. You didn’t even notice how much you were drinking—only that it was easier to keep swallowing than to think about Rafe. 

But the alcohol wasn’t enough to quiet your thoughts.

Instead, it seemed to amplify them, making everything feel sharper, more painful. Jessica and Tyler’s whispered words of affection, the way his hand rested on her thigh, the way she looked at him with pure adoration—You couldn’t stop thinking about how that should have been you and Rafe.  

By the time you realized you were too far gone, it was late. You stumbled as you stood up, the room spinning wildly around you. Someone—Jessica, maybe—asked if you were okay, but their voice was muffled, distant. You tried to nod, to say something reassuring, but your legs buckled beneath you, sending you crashing back into your chair.

"Whoa, easy there," Jessica’s voice was sharper now, filled with concern. She crouched down in front of you, her hands steadying you. “You’re not okay. We need to get you out of here.”

You tried to shake your head, to insist that you were fine, but the words wouldn’t come. The room was tilting, spinning, and you couldn’t focus on anything. Your vision was blurry, your limbs heavy, and you realized, with a sinking feeling, that you were too drunk to take care of yourself. You couldn’t even stand up, let alone make it home.

Panic started to set in. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to lose control like this. You weren’t supposed to need help.

“Jess… I’m fine…” The words slurred out of your mouth, but even you didn’t believe them.

“No, you’re not.” Jessica’s voice was firm now, almost authoritative. She glanced around, clearly trying to figure out what to do. The other girls were watching, their laughter fading into worried murmurs, “Baby, can you go and get her some water and sugar, please?”

She gently guided you to lean back, her hand on your shoulder to steady you. You tried to focus, tried to push through the fog in your mind, but everything was slipping away, your thoughts swirling together in a jumbled mess.

“Hey, stay with me, okay?” Her voice was softer now, almost pleading. She wasn’t just a concerned friend at this moment; she was scared. You’d never seen her like this before. 

“I—” You started, but the words tangled in your throat. You wanted to tell her that you were sorry, that you didn’t mean to ruin the night, that you just wanted to stop thinking about him for a couple of hours, but all that came out was a garbled sound that barely resembled a word.

“Shh, it’s okay,” she soothed, her thumb brushing lightly against your arm. “We’ll get you out of here. It’s gonna be okay.”

Tyler returned with the water and sugar, and Jessica took the glass, trying to get you to drink. The water felt cool against your lips, but swallowing was harder than it should’ve been. You could feel yourself teetering on the edge of consciousness.

“Come on, just a little more,” Jessica urged. You managed a few more sips before the glass slipped from your grasp, water sloshing onto your lap.

“Jess, I—” You tried again, but before you could finish, you heard another voice, one that sent a jolt through your foggy mind.

He was there, right in front of you, and you knew it was him without needing to open your eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” you heard him mutter. He crouched down, gently lifting your chin so you were forced to meet his eyes. “What the hell happened?”

“She had too much to drink,” Jessica explained quickly, her tone defensive, as if she expected him to start blaming her. “We were just about to get her out of here.”

You tried to smile, to play it off like it was no big deal, but all that came out was a shaky breath. “Too much… too much, Rafe…”

“I can see that,” he said, his tone softening as he brushed a strand of hair from your face. He turned to Jessica, his voice all business now. 

You didn’t know how long he had been standing there. Was your brain torturing you? Making you believe he was there?

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he knelt down beside you, his hands grabbing your trembling ones. “Hey,” he said, his voice softer now, as if he was afraid you might break into pieces if he spoke too loudly. “I’m gonna get you home, okay?”

You wanted to say no, to tell him that you didn’t need him, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you just nodded, too tired and too dizzy to fight it.

He exchanged a look with Jessica and she sighed, her worry morphing into something closer to relief. “I’ll help you get her to the car.”

Your legs were useless, and you sagged heavily against his chest. He didn’t hesitate, scooping you up in his arms like you weighed nothing, cradling you against him. His scent surrounded you, familiar and comforting, and despite everything, you found yourself leaning into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his breath warm against your temple. “I’m gonna get you out of here, okay?”

You nodded weakly, too exhausted to argue. Your eyes fluttered shut as he carried you out, the sounds of the party fading away behind you.

The ride to your dorm was a blur. 

You were vaguely aware of Rafe’s arm around you, of Jessica sitting on your other side, rubbing your back in small circles. The motion of the car made your stomach churn, and you had to close your eyes to keep from getting sick. Uber or not, you weren’t about to ruin someone else’s car. 

When you finally arrived, he practically carried you inside while Jess fumbled with your keys before pushing the door open.

He led you to your bed, easing you down onto the mattress.

“I’ll stay with her,” he muttered, his voice leaving no room for argument. Jessica hesitated, looking between the two of you, before nodding slowly.

“Call me if you need anything,” she said to Rafe, squeezing his arm before she left.

You were barely aware of her leaving, still too drunk to process much of anything. He knelt down beside your bed, brushing a stray hair from your face. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” he murmured, his voice a soothing lullaby.

You wanted to say something, to tell him that you didn’t need him, that you were fine on your own.

You felt your bottom lip tremble. 

He noticed the change immediately, his blue eyes softening as he continued to gently brush the hair from your face. “Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, his thumb lightly tracing the curve of your jaw. “Just breathe.”

But that only made it worse. You could feel the tears welling up as you realized just how much you’d missed this—missed him. The safety of his presence, the way he always seemed to know what you needed before you did.

Your stomach churned, the nausea that had been building since you first sat in the car finally reaching a breaking point.

“Rafe,” you mumbled, your voice weak and shaky, “I think I’m gonna—”

He reacted instantly, his arms tightening around you as he quickly looked the room. “Okay, okay, just breathe,” he said, “You’re gonn be fine.”

But breathing was the last thing on your mind as the room started spinning faster. You tried to push away from him, your hand gripping his shirt as you fought to keep it down.

“Rafe, I need to throw up,” you managed to gasp, panic rising in your chest.

He didn’t hesitate, scooping you up from the bed and hurrying toward the bathroom. You barely registered the fact he was touching you again after so long, your mind solely focused on the nausea.

He got you to the bathroom just in time, guiding you to the toilet as you collapsed in front of it. He held your hair back with one hand, the other rubbing soothing circles on your back as you retched, the sound of it echoing harshly in the small space.

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” he murmured, grounding you as you emptied your stomach. You could feel the heat of his hand on your back, the gentle way he kept your hair out of the way.

When it was over, you slumped against the cool porcelain, too exhausted to care about anything other than the relief of having the nausea finally subside. Rafe handed you a damp washcloth, and you pressed it against your face, the coolness soothing against your overheated skin.

“Better?” he asked softly, crouching down beside you. 

You nodded weakly, unable to meet his eyes. “Yeah,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “Thanks.”

He didn’t say anything, just stayed close, while you avoided his gaze entirely. The room was quiet now, the only sound the slow, steady rhythm of your breathing as you tried to regain some control.

“I’m sorry.”

You felt embarrassed, and vulnerable in a way you hadn’t expected, and you hated every second of it.

“Stop apologizing,” Rafe said gently, his hand still resting on your back. 

“Can you… can you stay over?” 

You didn’t want to be alone, not tonight, not with the way your heart was aching.

Rafe’s eyes softened, the way they did only for you, and for a moment, you thought he might agree, that he might stay and help you forget, even just for a little while. 

But then he shook his head, his expression pained.

“I can’t,” he said, his voice strained, like it hurt him to say it. “You know I can’t, sweets.”

You tried to hold it together, but it was no use. Before you could stop yourself, you were crying—quiet, heartbreaking sobs that you couldn’t control.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he reached out, brushing the tears from your cheeks, but it only made you cry harder. “I’m so sorry.”

You couldn’t even respond, the words tangled up in your throat. It wasn’t just that he wouldn’t stay; it was everything—the confusion, the heartbreak, the way you felt like you were losing him all over again, even though he was right there in front of you.

“Please don’t cry,” Rafe pleaded, his voice breaking. He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. “I hate seeing you like this.”

You buried your face in his chest, the sobs shaking your entire body. The warmth of his touch, the familiar scent of him—it was too much, too close to everything you’d been trying to avoid. But you couldn’t pull away. You didn’t want to.

“I just… I just miss you,” you choked out, the words spilling from you in a broken whisper. “I miss you so much, Rafe.”

“I know,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “I miss you too.”

You clung to him, your fingers gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping him from disappearing. The tears wouldn’t stop, and neither would the ache in your chest, the one that had been there ever since you’d forced yourself to let him go.

“I wish things were different,” his usually bright eyes were dimmed, his brows drew together as if he was in pain. He looked at you like he was memorizing every detail, like he was afraid this might be the last time, “I keep hurting you.”

His hands trembled slightly as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his touch gentle as his fingers cradled your face. His thumbs brushed away the tears again, but they kept coming, fresh and spilling over. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something, but all that came out was a ragged breath.

“Please don’t hate me more for this,” he whispered, his voice rough, barely holding back. His eyes searched yours, desperate for reassurance, for something to cling to in this moment that felt like it was tearing you both apart.

“I could never hate you,” you whispered back, the words catching in your throat as the tears continued to fall. It hurt to say it, to admit it out loud.

He left that night.

You had almost convinced yourself that it was better this way, that moving on, that he did you a favor that night by leaving, that keeping him out of your life was the only solution. 

Staying away from you was killing him. 

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Rafe spent his days trying to distract himself, throwing himself into his studies for the first time in his life, into parties, into anything that would take his mind off you. 

But nothing worked. Every time he saw something that reminded him of you, it was like a punch to the gut—a song you liked, a place you used to go together, even the smell of the ocean would bring memories crashing back. He missed you so much it hurt.

And when he saw you, it was even worse. The first time he ran into you after the break, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. He was at a party, trying to forget, trying to lose himself in the noise and the crowd, when he saw you across the room. For a moment, he thought he was imagining it, that his mind was playing tricks on him. But then your eyes met his, and his heart almost stopped.

You were as beautiful as ever, maybe even more so, but there was something different about you—something guarded, distant. But before he could even think about crossing the room to talk to you, you looked away, your expression closing off, leaving him standing there like an idiot, staring after you. 

He’d told you he’d wait for you and he intended on keeping that promise. He couldn’t stop imagining what it would be like to have you back, to hold you, to tell you how much he loved you, how sorry he was. He’d never felt this way about anyone before, never been this wrecked over a girl, but you weren’t just any girl. 

Rafe had never been good at groveling, at admitting he was wrong, but for you, he’d do anything. He’d get on his knees and beg if that’s what it took. He didn’t care about his pride anymore, not when it meant losing you. He was willing to do whatever it took to make things right, to prove to you that he was serious, that he loved you more than he ever thought possible.

But every time he saw you, he felt that hope slipping further away. The look in your eyes, the way you avoided him, it all felt like a final nail in the coffin. And yet, he couldn’t let go, couldn’t stop himself from yearning for you, from wanting you back in his life. He was going out of his mind, torn between respecting your wishes and fighting for you with everything he had.

Rafe knew he had to do something different, something that would show you just how much he had changed. The problem was, he didn't know what that was. He needed to find a way to prove to you that he was serious, that he was willing to put in the work to make things right.

So he started small.

He stopped going to parties, and stopped trying to drown out his feelings in distractions. Instead, he focused on becoming the person he thought you deserved—the person he knew he could be if he just tried. He started paying more attention in class, showing up on time, and actually studying. He even started volunteering, something he’d never done before, just to keep his mind occupied with something productive, something that wasn’t about him for once.

But the real change came when he began working on himself. He started seeing a therapist, something he’d always scoffed at before. He had a lot of baggage, a lot of unresolved issues that had driven him to hurt you in the first place, and he knew he needed to work through them if he ever wanted to be good enough for you.

It wasn’t easy. Therapy forced him to confront things he’d buried deep, things he’d avoided dealing with for years. Family trauma and all. But he stuck with it, because he knew it was the only way to get better, to be the kind of man you could trust again.

Slowly, he started to see changes in himself. He was more patient, more understanding, and more aware of how his actions affected others. He didn’t expect you to notice any of it—he was doing it for himself as much as for you—but he hoped that maybe, just maybe, you’d see that he was trying.

And then he had to pick you up that night.

He had never seen you drunk before, you’d always preferred your fruity punch over any other alcoholic drink. He’d always known you as strong, independent, someone who could hold your own. Seeing you like that—broken, hurting—made something in him snap. Was this his fault? Had he done this to you? 

He knew he couldn’t stay that night. As much as it killed him to leave, he understood that this was part of growing too—the part where he learned to respect your boundaries, to give you space even when all he wanted was to hold you and never let go. You’d hate yourself the next day. He was doing you both a favor. 

The next morning, Rafe didn’t text or call. He wanted to give you time, to process everything without the pressure of him hovering. Instead, he threw himself back into his routine, keeping himself busy but always with you at the back of his mind. He wondered if you remembered anything from the night before—how close he’d come to breaking down when you asked him to stay, how it had taken every ounce of self-control to walk away from you again.

Days passed, and he didn’t hear from you. It felt like a new kind of torture, but he stayed strong, if this was part of the process then so be it, he needed to be patient. 

He didn’t want to push you, didn’t want to make you feel like you owed him anything. But he couldn’t stop hoping that maybe, just maybe, you were thinking about him too.

So when the call came that you were in the hospital, his heart nearly fell through his ass. He didn’t think, didn’t hesitate—he just went.

The thought of you being hurt, of something happening to you, was enough to make him speed over the legal limit. He needed to see you, to make sure you were okay, even if it was the last thing he did.

When he got there, his heart clenched tightly in his chest as he pushed through the doors of the hospital. He hated hospitals, hated everything about them—the smell, the sterile white walls. But none of that mattered now. All he could think about was you.

The nurse at the front desk directed him to your room, and he practically sprinted down the hallway, his mind racing with a thousand worst-case scenarios. He’d been too fucking anxious to ask if you were okay, as soon as your name and the word hospital registered, he was rushing over. When he finally reached your door, he paused, his hand hovering over the doorknob. What if you didn’t want to see him? What if you told him to leave?

But then he heard your pretty voice, soft and familiar. He pushed open the door and there you were, sitting up in the hospital bed with a sprained ankle, looking more frustrated than hurt. He breathed out in relief, so intensely it made his knees weak.

“Rafe?” you blurted out, your eyes widening in surprise as you saw him standing there. “What are you doing here?”

He took a step closer, “They called me. I’m still your emergency contact.”

“Oh,” you muttered, looking down at your hands. “I didn’t realize.”

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, but he could see the tension in your shoulders, the way you were trying to hold it together. “It’s just a sprained ankle. Nothing serious. Did a little too much during practice."

Rafe nodded, but he didn’t move, didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. The sight of you in that hospital bed, even for something as minor as a sprained ankle killed him. 

“Hey,” you said softly, your voice pulling him out of his thoughts. “You don’t have to stay. I’m fine. Really.”

But he couldn’t leave. Not now, not when you were right in front of him, looking so small and vulnerable. He shook his head, his voice coming out rougher than before, “I’m not leaving.”

You blinked up at him, “But you don’t have to—”

“I’m not leaving,” he repeated, his voice firm. “I know you can handle yourself, but I’m staying.”

Surprisingly, you didn’t kick him out.  “Okay.”

He pulled up a chair beside your bed, settling in like he had no intention of going anywhere. The room was quiet, the only sound the faint beeping of the machines and the murmur of voices from the hallway outside. For a moment, neither of you said anything.  It was strange, being this close yet so far away from you. He glanced at you from the corner of his eye, taking in the way yours had softened, the way the lines of worry on your face were starting to smooth out. You looked tired like you’d been lacking sleep. He wished he could help, even if just for a little while.

“You know,” he said quietly, breaking the silence, “I used to think I was pretty good at taking care of myself. But then I met you, and I realized I’d never really let anyone take care of me before. Not like you did.”

“Rafe—”

“No, let me finish,” he interrupted gently, “I’m still here. I’ll always be here, even if all I can do is sit in a hospital room with you and make sure you’re okay.”

You looked down at your hands, a small, sad smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“I missed you,” you whispered, the words so quiet he almost didn’t hear them.

His breath caught in his throat, his heart squeezing painfully at the admission. “I missed you too,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion.

“Thank you for that night.”

He shifted slightly in his chair, leaning a little closer, careful not to overwhelm you but needing to be nearer all the same.

“I didn’t do anything special,” he murmured, though his mind replayed the events of that night. The helplessness he’d felt seeing you in that state, knowing there was little he could do to make it better. He hadn’t been sure then if you’d even wanted him there, but he’d helped you anyway. He couldn’t leave you, not when you needed someone—when you needed him.

“You were there,” a tear slipped down your cheek, and he instinctively reached out, his thumb gently wiping it away. The touch was soft, almost reverent, and it made your breath get stuck in your throat.  “That’s more than enough.”

You leaned into his touch for a moment, savoring the comfort it brought, even though it hurt to let yourself feel it, “Just glad you’re safe.”

“Why did you come?”

“Because I love you,” he admitted, tired of carrying the truth inside him, “I know I screwed up—God, I know that. But I’ve spent every day since trying to be better, trying to be the kind of man you deserve. And I know I have a long way to go, but I’m not giving up. Not on you. Not unless you ask me to.”

“You love me?”

Your voice sounded so meek, so unsure it made him want to punch himself in the face. This was entirely his doing. 

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. He looked nervous, and vulnerable, “Yeah,” he said, “I do. I’m in love with you, I just—” He hesitated, searching for the right words. “I didn’t know how to say it, or maybe I was too scared to. Didn’t want to make you think I was saying it to save my ass, y’know?”

You’d always wondered what it would be like to hear those words from him, to have him admit that he cared for you in the same way you cared for him. 

“I didn’t want to push you,” he continued, fingers intertwined, “But I couldn’t keep it in anymore. I couldn’t let you think that I didn’t care, that I didn’t want this, want you.”

You blinked, trying to process everything he was saying. This was the Rafe you’d always hoped for—the one who was honest and unafraid to show his emotions. But it was also the Rafe who had hurt you, who had made mistakes that left scars you weren’t sure had fully healed.

“Rafe, I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat.

“You don’t have to say it, sweets. It’s okay.”

“I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice shaking. “I’m scared of getting hurt again, of going back to that place where everything fell apart.”

He had changed—you could see it in the way he carried himself, in the way he spoke to you. He wasn’t the same Rafe who had hurt you.

"I’m not asking you to trust me right away," he continued, though there was a hint of desperation in it. "I know I need to earn that. But please, give me a chance to prove it. I don’t want to lose you again."

"You can’t wait for me forever.”

“I’d wait for you a lifetime. I told you,” His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tensing when he spoke, as if he was trying not to cry, “If you ever want me, I’m yours.”

His hands, usually so restless, were still now, resting on his knees as he leaned slightly forward in his chair. You saw the man he was trying to be—the man he wanted to be for you. He wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but he was trying. And that had to count for something.

“Even if I made you wait until we’re eighty and grey?”

Rafe let out a breathless laugh, the sound strained but genuine, “Even then,” he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. “You’re it for me.”

It scared you how much you wanted to believe him, how much you wanted to pull him into your arms and tell him that he was it for you too. He reached out, his hand hovering near yours, waiting for you to close the distance. You hesitated for only a moment before your fingers intertwined with his.  It felt right, like coming home after being lost for so long.

He squeezed your hand gently, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you were thinking, feeling. He looked like he was holding his breath.

“I love you too.”

It was still scary, still uncertain, but you realized that nothing worth having ever came easy. And Rafe, with all his flaws and all his efforts to be better, was worth it.

He exhaled, his shoulders sagging in relief, “I don’t deserve you,” he said whispered, lips pressed against your fingers, “But I’m going to spend every day trying to. I swear, I’ll never stop trying.”

You closed your eyes, “You’re gonna make me cry.”

Rafe’s grip on your hand tightened, as if he could physically hold you together through sheer will alone. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” he started, his voice panicked, but you shook your head, cutting him off.

“No, it’s okay,” you whispered, opening your eyes to meet his. “I just… it’s been a long time since I let myself feel this way.”

He nodded, his thumb gently brushing against the back of your hand in slow, soothing circles. “You don’t have to hold back with me. Not anymore. Whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay.”

The tears you’d been holding back spilled over, running down your cheeks. Rafe was there instantly, his other hand reaching up to gently cup your face, his thumb brushing away the tears with a tenderness that made your heart hurt.

“I’m so sorry,” his voice cracked, “For everything I put you through.”

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand grounding you, giving you the strength to keep going. “I was so miserable Rafe,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “Scared that if I let you back in, I’d get hurt again. Scared that I’d lose you all over again.”

“I know,” he said, his forehead resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the small space between you. “And I promise you, I’m not going anywhere this time. I’m here, and I’m not going to let you down.”

“I want to try.”

Rafe’s breath hitched, and he pulled back slightly to look at you, his eyes searching yours as if he couldn’t  believe what he was hearing. “You do?”

You nodded, a small, tentative smile forming on your lips. “I do. But we need to take it slow, okay? I need time.”

“Of course,” he said quickly, his eyes bright with hope. “We’ll go as slow as you need. I don’t fucking care sweets, I’m not leaving.”

You weren’t just giving him another chance—you were giving yourself one too. A chance to heal, to forgive, and to find your way back to each other.

Rafe pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment as if sealing the promise between you. “We’ve got this,” he murmured against your skin. “It’s you and me, okay?”

“You and me.”

Rafe’s eyes softened, and a genuine smile tugged at his lips, one that reached his eyes and made them crinkle at the corners. It was a smile you hadn’t seen in a long time, and seeing it made you want to bawl all over again. His hand cradled your cheek, his fingers tracing delicate circles on your jaw as his eyes locked onto yours, silently asking for permission, for forgiveness, for a chance to be close to you again. And when his lips finally brushed against yours, whatever pain you were feeling on your ankle disappeared. 

The kiss was soft, tentative at first, like he was afraid you might pull away, afraid to push too far too soon. But the moment your lips pressed back against his, that tentative touch deepened. Rafe’s hand slid to the back of your neck, pulling you closer as if he couldn’t stand to be apart from you even for a second. You could feel the desperation in the way his lips moved against yours, the way his breath hitched when you parted your lips to let him in.

Just as you were about to lose yourself in him, the door to your room swung open with a creak. You both froze, lips still touching, as someone cleared their throat.

You pulled away from each other reluctantly, your cheeks flushed, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Your eyes met Rafe’s and you saw the same blush of color on his face, the same love-sick expression that you were sure mirrored your own.

The doctor stood in the doorway, a clipboard in hand, a bemused smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Well, I see you’re feeling better.”

Rafe cleared his throat, stepping back slightly, his hand still lingering on your arm as if he couldn’t bring himself to let go just yet. “Uh, yeah, she’s doing great,” he mumbled.

“You must be the boyfriend.”

You couldn’t help the grin that took over, “Yeah. He is.”

[ilovepaigebueckerss]

mystery roommate

pairing: p.b x fem! reader

word count: 481

summary: While Paige and KK were live you made an appearance not knowing what it would lead to.

HI GUYSSSS!! i do still write dw🥰 i whipped this up rq so yall wouldn’t fg abt me so its not proofread at all🙏🙏 also i feel like smut would be soo good in this story but i have never wrote smut and i dont think i would be good at it sooo🌚 OKAY ENOUGH YAPPING ENJOY THE STORY

-love gab 💋

_______________________________

KK and Paiges laughter filled the room as they were on live interacting with their fans. You were sitting on the couch right beside them watching a movie on your laptop. You and Paige were roommates, but the fans didn’t really know who you were. You made an appearance on one of their lives before and everyone went crazy.

“Y/N they wanna know where you are” Paige says smirking playfully. You laugh, “Im right here.” You wave awkwardly at the camera.

@paigebueckersiswife: shes glowinggg

@kkarnoldfan: PAIGES MYSTERYY ROOMMATEE

“Y/N the fans love youu, come chat!” KK says waving her hands in a ‘come here’ motion. You shrug your shoulders “Why not” You exclaim walking over to sit next to Paige on the couch.

You and Paige were sitting kind of close to eachother but you didn’t even notice. Paige on the other hand was going crazy. She had a crush on you ever since you first moved in with her. She was too scared to admit her feelings for you so she just stayed quiet.

As you were talking to the chat you noticed Paige staring at you in the corner of your eye. Of course this didn’t go unnoticed by the fans and the chat started going crazy.

@uconnwbbfann: did i miss a chapter?..

@ilovemyman: i dont even blame paige

“Okay live we finna hop off! Thanks for tuning in.” KK says in a nerdy voice. She clicks off the live, “Bye P boogers! Bye Y/N!” She says grabbing her things and walking towards the door. “Bye KK” You and Paige say in unison.

“Im gonna get back to my movie now” You announce walking back to your designated spot on the couch. “Can I join you?” You look up at her and smile excited she wanted to spend time with you. You nod and make your way next to Paige. Paige takes notice of you squirming trying to get comfy. “Uh.. if you want you can lay on me.” She suggests. You happily oblige and lay on her lap, “You can pick the movie.”

TIME SKIP

An hour into the movie and Paige could hear your light snores and heavy breathing. She turned off the movie and carefully picked you up and carried you to your bed.

THE NEXT MORNING

The sun peaking from your curtains shone on your face causing you to wake up. You opened your phone to see hundreds of notifications. You unlock your phone and open TikTok to see you were tagged in a video.

The caption on the video read, “are we not gonna talk about paige and y/n on live??” You chuckle lightly at the comment. You continued to scroll on tiktok and see people were already making ship edits of you and Paige. You even found yourself liking and favoriting some.

‘What did I get myself into’ You think to yourself laughing.

[allpiesforourown]

I have such intense feelings for your bingyuan roommate au, it’s unreal. Binghe would be the BIGGEST green tea bitch/pick me girl but only towards sy, no one else. encountering lbh in the wild first and then experiencing him next to sy would be a fever dream of epic proportions. actual dozens of women would want to behead him and rip out his guts. bc lbh would ditch them on their birthday, an actual medical emergency, or anything critical at all just bc sy vaguely implied he was hungry (lbh now HAS to cook for him, it is not a want, it is a NEED)

And sy would be worse then evvvver, lol. “That’s my little didi binghe, he’s so sweet and sensitive, girls are always breaking his heart :((( If I were his girlfriend I’d get married to him next week and bounce on him silly style. Too bad no one will ever appreciate binghe like I do :(((((” and it is only after MANY of those thoughts that he realizes that he might not feel all that brotherly towards lbh

on a hornier note, I’m at a toss up between thinking that lbh would bring his hookups/girlfriends back to his and sy’s home and fucking them there (bc in lbh’s mind he can’t cum right without the reminder of his gege… and what if gege walked in 🤤… maybe lbh can get him to join…) or him absolutely refusing to let any of them so much as glance at his gege (no one should look at sy except him)

EXACTLY EXACTLY EXACTLY you get it anon.

It's literally like

Woman: let's have a threesome with your friend

Binghe: the idea sounds so appealing but I don't want some stranger getting his hands on him! I don't want to share him with someone who doesn't show him the love he needs. I'm the only one who knows him well enough to be in a threesome with shen yuan

Woman: thats sex. You're just describing regular two people sex. You want to fuck your best friend.

In my head for this au I imagine them as long time friends.. shen yuan found binghe getting bullied at a park or something when they were kids and told his bullies to fuck off. Then he listened to binghe cry about how he's so worried about his sick mom being overworked and begged his parents to hire binghes mom. With way better pay, hours, and work environment, her health improved a lot and she's good friends with shen yuans parents.

Binghe tells himself he acts like shen yuans guard dog because he'll always be grateful for what he's done for his family, but really, he fell in love with his Yuan ge at first sight the second he saw a boy standing up for him instead of ignoring his bullying.

Someone: say something nice about your best friend

Binghe: oh I have so much to say! He's so sweet and intelligent and adorably nerdy ! He saved me and my mom and-

Someone: say something nice about your girlfriend

Binghe: um..... uh ...... well.... sometimes she... hmm......

The poor women he dates. They'd go through SO much suffering trying to "fix" him and then when they finally give up after going through hell itself, they see bingge and shen yuan get together and suddenly the most negligent terrible boyfriend in the world is buying flowers and posting corny pictures on Instagram and proposing a few months into the relationship.

Shen yuan: I can't believe I managed to bag someone as handsome beautiful and loving as binghe. He wakes up at 6am every morning to get started on breakfast so he can feed me in bed. He's so attentive I worry I'm taking advantage of him. How did he get broken up with so often? No one appreciates people like binghe

Everyone else binghe has ever dated: I told him I got stabbed and he left me on read

[hotyanderedaddies]

Yandere Jock wants Nerdy You... Badly

🦦: Hi, it's my first time requesting without anon, so please excuse any awkwardness.

Can I request maybe yandere jock/bully x  extremely anxious male reader with an oral fixation? Only if you want, though.

A/N: I decided to go with jock since I haven’t written that yet. Hope you like it!

[Yandere! Jock x Anxious! GN! Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

Chase is the captain of the baseball team, and he’s helped lead the team to several victories. He’s an all-star athlete and has scores of girls (and some guys) throwing themselves at his feet. As if his position at the top of the school sports hierarchy wasn’t enough, the young man was also blessed with a pretty impressive body too— muscles for days and coming in well over six feet tall.

And he loves you so much!

But you don’t pay too much attention to Chase because you’re too busy hiding away from everyone due to your extreme social anxiety.

It feels like a curse, really. The mere thought of being trapped in a building (a.k.a. school, *shudder) with a whole bunch of other people who all stare at you and talk about you behind your back is torture!

Hence, you try your best to blend into the crowd and not stand out.

After reading a tip in a mental health article, you resulted to sucking on hard candy when you get stressed out. Your nerves start to climb? You pop a little mint into your mouth and suck on it.

It helps.

And it also garnered the attention of a certain jock.

The mere millisecond that Chase had first seen you popping a piece of candy into your mouth and sucking on it as if your life depended on it, he swore his heart had skipped a beat.

“So cute,” he’d whispered to himself as his eyes honed in on you— focusing on his cute little darling.

He has something else for you to suck on.

And from that moment on, Chase knew you are his.

You just didn’t know it yet. He just had to court you.

Unfortunately, with your social anxiety, that proved to be a little challenge to the lovesick jock.

Chase would frequently wait by your locker for you, trying to strike up a simple conversation that would lead to him asking you out. However, every time you’d see the big guy, you would turn bright red and pop a candy into your mouth, turning around and heading straight for your class instead.

Chase tried to offer you a ride home so that you wouldn’t have to ride the bus— but the idea of one-on-one time in a cramped car with a guy sent shivers down you spine, and you’d barely had time to blurt out, “No thanks!” before sprinting to the bus.

Chase even “surprisingly” transferred into some of your classes. And with one glare at the students sitting next to you, they’d fled, allowing him to take any seat that was closest to yours… but you would refuse to look up from your textbooks, your jaw clenched as you sucked on some hard candy.

But Chase is persistent.

One day, as you’re leaving English class, Chase utilizes his impressive bulk to block the classroom exit from you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said in his deep voice, trying to act all nonchalant, yet his Adam’s apple quivered when he noticed you sucking on something.

“Oh,” you muttered, your face already growing cherry red, “h-hi Chase.” The exaggerated size difference between you and the jock was striking. He completely towered over you and was at least twice as wide with solid muscle. It really made your heart beat faster, both from fear and a little because you thought it was hot.

You sucked on your candy even harder.

Chase casually leaned against the door jam, crossing his big arms in front of his beefy chest. “So, I was wonderin’ if you’d come see me play tonight?” he asked, playfully flexing his massive biceps, the muscle curling out of his short sleeves with the action.

Your eyes widened, but still, the idea of being in the crowded bleachers with a bunch of screaming, rowdy people wasn’t something you looked forward to.

“Um…” you began, trying to think up an excuse to turn Chase down.

Chase could sense your hesitation, and before you could put two and two together, the large jock reached out and snatched you up. He easily tossed you over his broad shoulder, as if you weighed absolutely nothing.

Chase felt on top of the world carrying you, like this was where you belonged: in his arms.

You were stunned silent, unable to move a muscle while in the strong grip of the large jock, who carried you off towards where you assumed would be the gym…

But Chase passed the gym, and even exited the school, heading towards the parking lot.

“Um, wh-where are we going?” you asked. “I thought you had a game?”

Chase puffed out his chest with pride.

He has you! He finally has you! And he’s not going to let go.

Chase stopped in front of his car, practically tossing you inside.

He quickly ran to the driver’s side, starting up the car and speeding off, taking you, his Darling, home with him so that he can really see your sucking skills in action!

[alexthebordercollie]

it's nice to see mystery trio aus that aren't fiddlestan tbh. The amount of times I'll see one, think it looks interesting, and then it just turns into "wow Stan, you're so much nicer and cooler than your lame brother! Lets date!" And act like it's some kind of karma for Ford or something.

I definitely agree with your take that so often fiddlestan is just used as a way to express dislike of Ford, while ignoring any of Stan's canonical flaws

As a side note, since this is more of personal headcanon territory, but i think Stan would find Fiddleford too reminiscent of Ford when he was young to actually be interested.

Anyway, i always love to see Stan in his natural habitat (being a chaotic uncle)

I love the idea of the Mystery Trio. I think these three would play off each other really well. They're cute and funny together, but you don't need Fiddlestan. It feels like people treat it as a given that if offered the choice between Stan and Ford Fidds would choose Stan. Which is kind of shitty. (Low key it kind of reads to me like Ford is assumed the worse partner because he's autistic :/ even if people aren't consciously treating him that way.)

I think it's kind of presumptuous to assume Fidds would be into Stan anyway. Like physically attracted to him? Sure, obviously. If he finds Ford attractive odds are good Stan would also be nice to look at, but relationships aren't just physical attraction and it's obvious from the journals and BOB that Fidds had a very strong connection to Ford. If he's in love with an autistic nerd enough to throw his life away for him why would people assume Stans's wildly contrasting personality would somehow be more appealing?

I've actually had this comic kicking around in my mind for a while and this ask gave me a good excuse to draw it. (Though it took longer than expected)

While I don't think Fidds would ever choose Stan over Ford, I do think Ford would be a bit of a jealous and insecure partner. He's used to a lot of social rejection and struggles to maintain connections with people. Not to mention trust issues, especially after Bill who tried to sabotage his faith in Fiddleford in particular.

I wouldn't put it past Ford to get antsy seeing Fidds get along with his brother even if there's absolutely nothing going on there.

Also, I hadn't considered the suggestion that Stan might find Fidds nerdiness a turn-off because it reminds him too much of his brother, but yeah I could see it. Still, I'd buy Stan being interested in Fidds before I could really see the other way around happening. I think Stanley's tastes are bit broader but Fiddleford I imagine to have a bit more of a type. At least where romantic attraction is concerned. That said I don't think Fiddleford's actual tastes are really considered, I think he gets shipped with Stanley by people who want to see Stanley get that kind of overbearing love that Fidds showed to Ford. I do understand wanting to give him that kind of partner but Ford deserves love too, we don't need to be taking his healthy romantic option away from him and leave him with Bill. (His abuser.)

[yearsbecomingcool]

Boys of Summer | Jason Hochberg

donate to gaza here | masterlist

pairing | jason hochberg x f!reader

synopsis | the last thing you expected when you signed up to be a counselor at camp pineway was to end up wrapped in just a towel staring in horror at the empty spot where you had placed your clothes right before your shower. luckily for you jason was ready to come to your aid…sort of…

warnings | 18+, drug usage, underage drinking/drug usage, bullying, sexual dialogue, bullying, loser x loser, cringe behavior, sexual content, making out, fingering, edging, jason and reader are hr's worst nightmare.

word count | 7.6k

a/n | i know hell of a summer isn't out till april but i'm already obsessed with jason and had to write a loser x loser scenario for him. i hate how long it took me to write this but hopefully it was worth it. @blueberrypancakesworld has some great jason fics y'all should check out as well!!! big thank you to my bestie @joeloverture for reading through this and helping me out/being super supportive while i worked on it. if y'all read for joel miller or just want some good fics pls go check out her stuff, she's my favorite person on the whole site.

taglist | @mvnqvinn @snazzynacho @imyprice @circuslxcysplace

A summer spent with spoiled rich kids who only got a job because their parents forced them sounds like your worst nightmare, and yet here you are living it. You’d grown up going to Camp Pineway, with mostly shitty memories of asshole kids and counselors who felt they weren’t paid enough to stop some bullies. You wanted to make a difference, you wanted to give those kids someone who would stand up for them, so you decided you’d come back and be a counselor for the summer. It was your summer break from college and you truly had nothing better to do in your shitty little town so it seemed like your best bet at having a social life. 

When you’d arrived you knew you were fucked. A cherry red convertible with Chris Tian in the front seat was nothing but trouble, you’d heard from your younger sibling about how much of a dickhead he and his friends were and it seemed like they’d be your fellow counselors. You felt weirdly ashamed when you hopped out of your beat up old junker, one of the back handles had fallen off last winter and you never had enough money to fix it. You prayed silently that no one would notice how shitty your car was. Something about being around people like this made you feel like you were a self conscious high schooler again. 

You felt relieved when you’d walked into the mess hall to be greeted by Jason Hochberg, he was two years older than you and had gone to school with you. He had been nerdy and awkward and somehow after all these years he still was. You bit your lip at the sight of him in his dorky outfit, his too long shorts and nerdy vest made you want to kiss him hard and stuff him in a locker all at the same time. You had always had a particular type, you could never verbalize it properly so you’d always told your friends your type was guys that would pop a boner if you shoved them too hard in the hallway. You’d softly cyber stalked his Instagram from time to time, mostly nature shots and movie reviews that got maybe 10 likes on a good day. The only photos he really had up of himself were in photo dumps from his years at Camp Pineway, he’d been a counselor there since he was eighteen and had been going for his whole childhood. He was clearly holding onto this place but you found it sort of endearing. You eyed the small bracelet stack on his arm, a couple of his favorites he’d received from campers over the years. You thought it was sweet that he held onto them. 

You’d seen him at camp when you were a kid and that sort of kickstarted your little crush. He’d gotten bullied just like you but despite that he’d always stuck up for you whenever he’d see it happening. He didn’t mind taking a few blows or insults if it kept you out of harm's way. There was one incident you’d remembered for years.

 It was your third year at camp and you were ten years old, Jason was twelve. You’d been cornered by a couple older girls, laughing at you, insulting your looks and your outfit. You had no idea what you did to provoke them, in reality you hadn’t done shit besides look like what they considered to be an easy target. They’d been harassing you for the entire week, making you scared to separate from your cabin mates. You’d been good about staying in a group but when you broke off to go to the bathroom you’d been cornered. They poked and prodded at you, making you feel smaller than you were. Tears brimmed your eyes, threatening to spill when Jason came in to save the day.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” He yelled, stomping over to the girls. He wasn’t very intimidating, he hadn’t hit his growth spurt and was standing at about 5 feet on a good day. He was dressed in cargo shorts and a Zelda t-shirt, if you looked up ‘nerd’ in the dictionary a picture of him would come up. You felt grateful to see him, no one had ever stuck up for you before.

“Fuck off, Jason,” one of the girls, Jessica, said aggressively. She turns to glare at him. She was a bit taller than him which didn’t help make him look anymore intimidating.

“She’s just a kid, she’s not bothering anyone. Go pick on someone else, Jess.” He stood there with his arms crossed, his brows furrowed in anger. 

“Who? You, you’re an even easier target than pipsqueak over here,” Jess laughs. 

“Yeah,” he nods, “Pick on me instead. Leave her alone.” 

“Fine, we will.” Jess and the other girls turn around, closing in on Jason. 

You look at him and mouth a quick ‘thank you’ before running off to find your cabin mates. 

He’d saved your ass a couple more times that summer and towards the end of camp you’d used your arts and crafts time to make him a bracelet as a thank you. A perler bead bracelet made out of the camp's colors, white and green. You’d added a little tree shaped bead and a white heart as well. You gifted it to him shyly on the last day as everyone waited for their parents to arrive to pick them up. You shyly approached him, your little hands trembling as you tapped him on the shoulder. He stood alone, lost in his own thoughts.

“Jason?” You tapped him on the shoulder softly.

He turned around and smiled when he saw you, “Hey! 

You push the bracelet towards him, “I uh…I made this for you…as a thank you for protecting me this summer.” 

He smiles softly at you, taking the bracelet and slipping it onto his wrist where a few others sit. “Thank you, this is so nice. I’m glad I could help, you didn’t deserve to be bullied like that.”

Your ride pulls up, honking the horn. “Thank you for everything, Jason. I’ll see you next summer!” You hug him quickly before running off to your moms car.

Jason gives his spiel to everyone about expectations for the summer and for the weekend, you notice a few of the others on their phones and try to not roll your eyes. Once his speech is over he makes everyone turn their phones into a basket, you’re last in line and decide you’ll take your opportunity to speak to him. His face lights up when he sees you, “I thought I recognized your name. How’ve you been?” His toothy grin makes you melt. 

You stand shyly with your hands behind your back, “I’ve been good…how about you? I mean you’re head counselor so clearly you’ve been doing pretty good.” You mentally facepalm at your own awkwardness. 

“I’ve been good, yeah…lots of responsibility now. That’s just part of getting older I guess.” 

You chew nervously at the dead skin on your lower lip, “You still looking out for the kids like me?” 

“Always,” He smiles, “I still have that bracelet you made me y’know.” He holds up his wrist for you to see and you grab him, pulling it closer to get a good look at it.

“No shit…it’s sweet that you still have it.”

“How could I ever get rid of it? It’s a good reminder to look out for other people. You were really the first person to show me that kind of appreciation so it’s special to me,” he explains, his cheeks turning pink. He always blushed so easily. 

“Hopefully you get more appreciation now, you really saved my ass that summer…and the next. Goddamn did camp suck without you there. I never really got that same courage you did to stand up for myself…” 

He reaches out, placing a hand on your shoulder comfortingly. “I only ended up with that courage after standing up for you, y’know. Who picked on you after Jessica left? She aged out of it when I did.” 

“Some rich girl in my grade, you know how things go. When one Jessica leaves another one takes her place,” you joke. 

He chuckles, moving his hand off your shoulder to push his hair back. “That’s always how it goes huh…”

Before you can respond Miley pokes her head back into the mess hall, “Why does she still have her phone? Don’t play favorites already!” Her whiny voice makes your eyes go wide in annoyance. You power down your phone and place it in the small basket Jason is holding. She scoffs and heads back out with the other counselors.

“Wow…there’s our Jessica I guess…” 

“Looks like it…why don’t you get changed? I think everyone wants to swim,” Jason suggests.

“A swim sounds perfect right now, god. I’ll see you out there.” You give him a soft smile before heading to your car to grab your bags.

You lug them to the cabin you’ve been assigned to share with Demi and Miley, as soon as you open the door they go silent and look you up and down. “So someone’s the teacher's pet already…” Miley scoffs. 

“Um…sorry if I made a bad impression already. We just knew each other as kids so we were catching up a bit, and got distracted. I’m not getting any special privileges if that's what you’re worried about.” You try to explain yourself but feel like you’re sinking into quicksand with every word that leaves your mouth. It feels like your childhood all over again. 

“It’s not a big deal, just…interesting. Were you two like…science partners or something?” The way she says it sounds so condescending it makes you want to scream.

“Oh no, he’s older than me. We just went to camp together here.” You haul your suitcase onto the bed and start to unpack your clothes into the small dresser at the end of your bed. You lay out a black bikini top and a black boyshort style pair of bottoms. The two girls eye your choice of swimwear judgingly but keep their mouths shut about it…for now.

 You all get changed into your swimsuits, Demi and Miley opting for straight bikinis over your slightly more modest attire, before heading out to the lake with everyone else. Jason had specifically told everyone no drinking or drugs but naturally no one cared enough to follow his orders. There’s a big cooler of assorted drinks sitting on the dock. Jason is seething with rage, sitting on his towel, nervously messing with the bracelets on his wrist. He’s dressed in a pair of dark green swim trunks and a Camp Pineway t-shirt. You drop your towel next to his, a pair of square shaped oversized sunglasses sitting atop your head. “Are you not going in?” You ask, sitting down next to him. You nab his sunscreen off his towel and start to apply it where you’re able to reach. 

“Not yet. I told them to not bring alcohol and here they are with an entire cooler, are you fucking kidding me?” He rants. You eye the cooler of beer and liquor they brought with them, the pineapple White Claw calls out to you like the green goblin mask but you fight the urge to pop it open. 

“They’re kids, they’re gonna be assholes. What’s more interesting to me is exactly how they got all that, none of ‘em are 21,” you say as you lather the sunscreen onto your arms and legs. 

“They’re rich, probably paid a sibling or stranger for it…who knows…” 

You hand the bottle of sunscreen to him, “Can you get my back? I can’t reach it.”

He stares down at the sunscreen bottle, reluctantly taking it from your hands. A shiver runs down your spine as he starts to apply the cold cream, rubbing it into your skin. A few of the other counselors look over, one of them wolf whistling, “Nice, Jason. Getting some action already huh?” It’s mocking and makes your cheeks start to heat up with embarrassment, Jason’s face turning bright red.

“You could only be so lucky, Bobby!” You call back. 

“My first time touching a woman was a long time ago, I think this is Jason’s first,” Bobby teases.

Jason seethes, his touch becoming a bit rougher. You turn your head back to face him, “Don’t let it get to you, they’re just assholes. Their opinions don’t mean shit.”

“If this is what I have to hear all summer I might become Jason Voorhees,” he grumbles.

“Would I be your final girl?” You tease.

“Well if I had to die by someone’s hand here I guess I’d prefer it to be yours.”

You bite your lip and smile, “He never really dies y’know, you’d come back.”

He rolls his eyes playfully, “I’d just look grosser everytime.”

“But at least you’d get to go to space and fight Freddy Krueger, that doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

He laughs and shakes his head, “You’re very familiar with Friday the 13th huh?”

“That franchise is a guilty pleasure of mine, I can’t help it.”

“It’s cool that you know so much about it, I bet you’d kill at horror trivia.”

You smile shyly, “You have no idea.”

You get up and go over to the cooler, grabbing the White Claw you had wanted earlier. “Will you kill me if I have one drink?” You turn back to Jason with a pout.

“Is my final girl breaking her pure streak already?” He teases.

You lean down to whisper in his ear, feeling a bit bold. “As long as my virginity is still intact that’s what really matters, right?” 

His face goes bright red and his body goes tense, he gulps. You want to kiss him so bad. He simply nods, “R-Right…”

You smirk and pop open the can, taking a seat next to him. His eyes flicker down to your exposed skin, it’s a view he’s looking forward to admiring for the rest of the summer. When he looks away you press the can to his exposed forearm and laughs when he jumps back. “Sorry…you’re kind of fun to mess with.” You had never really aged out of teasing and annoyance as a form of flirting, you’d spent years flicking people’s ears and throwing things at them to get their attention, it had mostly worked out for you. 

“So I’ve been told…” He mutters.

You finish your drink and stand to go into the water, “You coming or what, Voorhees?”

His cheeks turn pink at the nickname, “In a minute, promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it.” You run off the dock and jump in with a smile. You shriek at the coldness of the water and smile as the other counselors laugh along with you. You start to swim around and get yourself used to the temperature of the water. You mostly keep to yourself as the other counselors play around, it’s definitely a weird feeling to be older than the rest of them. You’re enjoying yourself as you see Jason approaching the end of the dock. You swim over to him, resting your arms on the dock as you prop yourself up.

“Coming in?”

“Maybe…is it cold?” He asks. He takes a seat at the end of the dock, dipping his feet into the water. He hisses at the cold. “How are you swimming this?”

“My body got used to it, c’mon join me. I’m lonely…” You pout playfully. 

“You don’t want to mingle with them?” He motions to the other counselors. 

“I’m scared they’re gonna ask if I have sigma rizz.”

His brows furrowed in confusion, “What the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know but I heard my sibling say it the other day and felt so very old.”

“I’ll come in and save you, hold on,” He groans. He slowly lowers himself into the water, the t-shirt still on. He grits his teeth at the cold as he sinks in.

The two of you stay near the docks, observing the other counselors. Bobby sits comfortably on an inflatable with a joint perched between his fingers, taking a drag every now and then. Jason shakes his head in anger, “They brought weed too? Are you fucking kidding me?” For a minute part of you wonders if you’ve somehow snuck into a purgatory designed to torture Jason for eternity. 

You do your best to calm him, “There’s what like…ten of them? It’ll be gone before the weekend is even over, it’ll be fine. This first night is supposed to be for everyone to hang out and get to know each other right? Just let them all…chill and maybe they won’t be so rude the rest of the summer.”

“If I don’t enforce it now they won’t respect me for the rest of the summer. Trust me, I’ve been doing this for years,” Jason replies, sounding annoyed.

“I’m shocked you’re against smoking, I mean you kind of give off stoner vibes…at least your Instagram did.” As soon as you say it you realize you slipped up.

“You’ve seen my Instagram?”

You feel your face heat up, “I-It came up on my explore page after I applied here. You know how Instagram and Facebook are, I could say the word ‘cookie’ and get like a million Crumbl ads after. I-I saw you and got curious…I remembered you from camp and High School. It wasn’t like I was stalking your page or anything.” The word vomit does nothing to help your case, you’ve been caught red handed. 

“You looked through all my posts though? Didn’t you?” He cocks an eyebrow at you.

“Don’t make it weird! I was curious…I do it with everyone from my past if their stuff comes up, hell I go through my own account sometimes!”

“I think you’re the one making it weird.”

“Be nice or I’ll get the teenagers to bully you again,” you threaten. 

He rolls his eyes and splashes you with a laugh. You gasp and recoil, you wipe the water from your face and splash him back. It devolves quite quickly into a childish splash fight, the both of you laughing hard. “Truce! Truce!” He yells, holding his hands up in surrender. 

“Fineeeeee.” 

The other counselors look at the two of you in slight annoyance, it’s so clear to everyone that you’re already his favorite and it pisses them off.

“Is that like…appropriate for him to be so close to them like that?” Miley nudges Demi.

“I don’t know but it’s annoying, they’re gonna get special treatment the whole summer for sucking up to that loser. What kind of guy still works as a counselor when he’s like 30?” 

“He’s only like 24, don’t be dramatic,” Shannon says.

“Are you defending him?” Miley asks in disgust.

“The only thing I’m defending him against is the elderly allegations,” Shannon jokes.

Miley rolls her eyes and turns back to Demi, “We should teach them a lesson. Let them know what everyone else thinks of suck ups like them.”

“Yeah? What are you thinking?” Demi asks, leaning her head down for Miley to whisper to her. 

The two girls look over at you and Jason and nod.

“Hey, put that out! The rules very clearly said no drugs or alcohol, what the hell were you thinking bringing weed to a summer camp?” Jason yells at Bobby.

Bobby rolls his eyes, “You want me to put it out? Where? On the inflatable?” He scoffs.

“J-Just get rid of it and whatever other contraband you got, okay! We don’t need some kid getting into your stash and greening out!”

You bite back a smile as Jason rants. “Just make sure it’s gone before the kids show up. I’m sure you can manage that right, Bobby?”

Jason looks back at you like you’ve betrayed him, “What the hell are you doing? I’m in charge.”

“Jason, just trust me on this one, okay? They’ll get rid of it before the kids get here, I’ll make sure of it.”

Jason groans and pinches the bridge of his nose, “If it’s not I’ll have your ass for it.”

You smirk at the accidental innuendo, “It’ll be gone,” you turn to look back at Bobby as he takes another hit, “Right, Bobby?”

He salutes you, “Yes ma’am!”

You turn back to face Jason, giggling slightly. “See, it’ll be gone. Promise.”

As the sun starts to go down everyone heads back to their cabins to grab some clothes to change into, before heading to the showers. You’re one of the last to make it to the showers and you leave your clothes in a pile on the bench to change into after. You step into a stall and pull off your swimsuit, hanging it over the door to dry as you turn on the water. Your face scrunches up in annoyance as the cold water hits your skin. You step as far away from the water as you can while still staying in the stall until the water heats up. Once it heats up you take your time scrubbing yourself down, massassing your shampoo into your scalp. You turn off the water and wrap your towel around yourself, stepping out of the stall. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you look down at the bench, your clothes are gone. You look around the locker room, it’s empty except for you. You open the lockers, searching each and every locker for your clothes. You go back to your stall to see if your swimsuit is there but it’s missing as well. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me…” You mutter. Your cheeks heat up with embarrassment, you can’t believe it. You’re a grown ass adult getting bullied by teenagers…

While you were in the shower Miley and Demi put their plan into motion, they’d waited for the rest of the girls to leave and stole your swimsuit from the top of your stall door, yanking it down while you were distracted. They’d swiped up your clothes and ran off with them as well, right back to your cabin. They had been oh so kind as to leave your towel untouched however. Once they stashed your clothes Demi had gone off to Jason's cabin. 

He opened the door while towel drying his hair, “Oh, Demi. What’s up?”

She explains that you’re having some issues with something in the showers and need his help.

His pale cheeks turn pink as she explains, “What does she need help with?”

“She didn’t say, but she said she really needed you to come help her so…”

“Uh, okay. I-I’ll be up there in a few.” He shuts the door and throws his towel down, quickly brushing his hair and slipping his crocs on. 

You’re pacing in the locker room, chewing nervously at your thumbnail when there’s a knock on the door. “Uh, hey. Demi said you needed some help, is everything alright?” 

You walk towards the door, groaning with your head in your hands. “My clothes…” you sigh, “my clothes are fucking gone. I-I think Demi took ‘em.” 

His eyes go wide, “Can I come in?”

“I mean…I’m in just a towel so…”

He pinches the bridge of his nose trying to think, “Fuck, okay. Um, I’ll go grab your clothes. Stay here.”

“Wasn’t planning on going anywhere…” You mumble as you hear his footsteps getting quieter. 

Jason runs off to the nurses office, it takes him a few minutes to figure out what key on his key ring fits but he gets it eventually. He grabs a camp t-shirt and black shorts they keep as extras just in case and heads back to the locker room. His mind is racing the whole jog back, he’s never had to deal with something like this before. Bullying and pranks between campers was normal, he was used to handling it, but between counselors? He felt pretty out of his depth. He stops his hand when he reaches for the door handle that leads to the locker room, he makes a fist and knocks instead. “I uh…I got you some clothes. There wasn’t any underwear I could get but-”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” You reach a hand out and take the clothes from him, dropping your towel and slipping the clothes on. The shorts hang low on your hips and the t-shirt hangs slightly off your shoulder. You pick your towel back up to dry your hair and open the door for Jason. “You can come in now.”

He cautiously steps into the locker room, he’s chewing nervously at his lower lip. “So you think Demi took your clothes?” 

You nod, placing your hands on your hips. “Her and Miley have been acting really weird since we met. Miley already accused you of playing favorites with me…in the cabin she called me ‘teacher’s pet.’ Do you think she got Demi in on some plan to prank me?” 

“It’s definitely possible,” he nervously plays with the bracelets on his wrist. “It just seems a little extreme considering all you’ve done is get on their nerves.”

“Girls are more cutthroat than you’d think, trust me,” you say bluntly.

Jason nods, “Why don’t I walk you back to your cabin and I’ll make sure you get your clothes back, okay?”

“Thanks, Voorhees,” you use his nickname again. You slip on your slides, grateful that they had at least left those for you.

He shakes his head as he holds the door open for you, “Are you gonna call me that all summer?”

You beam up at him, clasping your hands behind your back, “Maybe.”

“Well I guess it’s not the worst thing I’ve been called…” He clicks on his flash light and the two of you start the walk to the cabins.

“Did you get hazed when you started as a counselor?” You ask as you walk next to him.

“Yeah, kind of. It’s different for guys I guess, not as calculated. The worst I got was a wedgie every now and then,” he grimaces at the memory, “I didn’t have my clothes stolen or anything like that.”

You giggle and nod, “Guess I really pissed them off then.”

“Or they’re just really mean.”

You chuckle, “That is definitely a possibility.” 

As you walk Jason can’t help but admire you. He loves how the shirt hangs off your shoulder, it falls nicely over the slope of your breasts, your nipples visible through the thin fabric. You use one hand to keep the shorts held up, they hang dangerously low on your hips and your lack of underwear does nothing to help you feel secure. You smell nice, slightly like lavender. 

“What’s kept you coming back to camp every year?”

Your question is one Jason has gotten countless times, it’s one that opens up a bottomless pit in his stomach. “I just like it here. I love being in nature and being able to mentor the kids…Pineway just feels like a second home to me.” He’s also terrified of having to move on and grow up but he’d never say that out loud. 

“Y’know I think you’d make a good park ranger. I could see you at one of the national parks, maybe doing classes for the kids, helping run day camps. It's perfect for you.”

He looks down and blushes, “You think so?”

You move a little closer to him, your arms brushing against one another. “Yeah, it’d be a good fit for you. You should really think about it.”

“Maybe I will…thank you.”

You reach the cabin, stepping carefully onto the porch. You can hear Demi and Miley talking inside. You slowly open the door, Jason following you inside. You stay close to him, a bit cautious of the two girls now. They turn to look at the two of you and Miley can’t help but laugh, “Cute clothes.”

You open your mouth to retort but Jason places a hand on your shoulder and shakes his head.

“This isn’t funny, I could report you two for harassment and stealing. Where’d you put her clothes?” Jason asks, putting on a serious tone. He stands there angrily, glaring at the girls.

“Why would we have her clothes?” Demi snarks.

“I’m not kidding Demi, this is wildly inappropriate. Hazing, bullying, harassment, whatever you want to call this shit won’t be tolerated.” Jason's hands curl into fists.

The two girls look at each other and burst into laughter, “S-Sorry, it’s so hard to take you seriously when your hands are so…y’know!” Miley laughs through tears.

Jason scowls, “Hey! I’m not fucking around! Give her back her goddamn clothes.” His anger is slightly more intimidating this time. 

Miley groans and pulls your clothes out from under her bed. She tosses them to you and you frantically check to make sure all of it is there. “There. Happy now? Take a fucking joke.”

Your brows furrow, “Where the hell is my underwear?”

The two girls erupt into laughter once again, there’s tears streaming down their cheeks as they hold their stomachs in laughter. You and Jason stand there uncomfortably until they calm down. “I’d check the flag pole if I was you,” sneers Demi.

Your face falls and it feels like your stomach has dropped out of your body, you can’t pick your eyes up from the floor. You can feel your breathing begin to grow ragged as you realize what they’ve done. Your whole body feels warm with embarrassment. You’ve been humiliated plenty of times in your life but this takes the cake for the worst. You drop your clothes and run out of the cabin.

Jason points at the girls, “You’re both in a lot of fucking trouble when I get back.” He runs outside after you, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. He pulls you into his chest as you begin to cry. He rubs your back and whispers softly to try and calm you down. “It’s gonna be okay, you won’t have to spend another second alone with them for the rest of the summer and they’re on probation for the rest of the summer, okay? Seriously, one more incident and they’re out. I’m calling the camp director in the morning.” As he holds you he looks over at the nearby flag pole that sits in the middle of the cabins. Where the flag once was now waves a smaller white piece of cloth. He immediately knows what it is. He’s quite possibly the angriest he’s ever been in his life, but for your sake he calms himself. “I’m gonna get your underwear down. I’ll be right back.” He runs over to the flagpole, hoisting your underwear down as quickly as possible so no one will see. He stuffs your underwear into his pocket and puts the flag back up.

“Come on, you’re going to my cabin. I’ll go get your stuff in a bit,” Jason wraps his arm around you and starts to lead you to his cabin. One of the perks of being head counselor is that he doesn’t have to share with everyone else. He leads you to the small cabin and you get comfortable on one of the bunks, curling into yourself and crying softly. He sits on the bed, rubbing your back comfortingly. “They’re just a bunch of assholes, you don’t deserve this. They went way too far.” 

“I didn’t even do anything,” You whine. You feel like a kid again, you want to quit and go home but you know you can’t. 

“I know. It’s stupid, they’re stupid. I’ve got you, okay? I’ll switch your cabin assignment, get you away from them. But at least for tonight you’re with me. I’m gonna go get your stuff.” He pats your back and stands, heading for the door. 

On the short walk to your cabin he tries to calm himself, he knows better than to blow up at Miley and Demi but goddammit would he love to. He slips in the door, making his way to your bunk, gathering your things quickly. “What are you doing with her shit?” Miley asks, sitting up on her bunk.

“Taking it to my cabin. You two can’t be trusted near her.”

“I thought male and female counselors weren’t allowed to-”

Jason cuts Demi off, “This is an exception. It’s just for tonight. You’ll room with someone else starting tomorrow, probably Shannon.” He tries to keep the conversation short, if he gets a chance to blow up he will.

“You just wanna get in her pants…” Miley mumbles.

“Shut the fuck up. I could call your parents and tell them what you’ve done, I promise you no amount of money will stop me from making sure you’re both punished for what you did. Grow the fuck up. You both go to college this fall right?”

They nod.

“Then act like it. You do this shit in college and you don’t just get suspended. You get kicked out. I’m sure mommy and daddy will offer a generous donation to save your ass but it can only happen so many times before they decide to stop paying up. I don’t want another problem from either one of you this whole summer, got it?” Jason has never had to yell at anyone like this the entire time he’s worked at the camp, he’s seething. If he could find replacements for the two on such short notice he’d have them packing by midnight.

The two girls nod shamefully, “G-Got it…”

“Good.” He gathers the rest of your things and carries them back to his cabin. You help him bring them inside and open up your suitcase to change. You don’t want to put on the clothes you’d originally picked out, they feel tainted now. You decide on an old band t-shirt and some old flannel pajama shorts you’d bought years ago. 

“Can you uh…turn around? I really don’t want to walk all the way back to the showers to change.” You ask shyly, holding up your clothes.

Jason turns around quickly, even going as far as covering his eyes, “Just let me know when you’re decent.”

You strip off the clothes he’d given you earlier and trade them for your own. “You can turn around now.”

He turns back around with his eyes still covered and you roll your eyes. You stroll up to him and pull his hands off his eyes, “You’re such a dork.” He smiles down at you, for a second he feels like he’s in one of those cheesy rom coms he secretly watches. 

“It doesn’t sound so mean when you say it,” he chuckles. 

“Good. It should sound like a compliment, I like dorks. You’re so yourself without being ashamed of it, I like it.” For a moment you both stare at one another, admiring the features of your faces up close. You notice his beauty marks that litter his cheeks, you admire the gaps in his teeth. He’s so beautiful as he is. 

He moves his hands to your waist experimentally. His touches, as innocent as they are, make your body feel as if it’s been set ablaze. You want him bad. 

“You were my hero again today, maybe instead of a park ranger you could consider superhero as your career,” you joke. He runs his thumb up and down your side, smiling softly.

“Maybe you should stop getting yourself into trouble and I won’t have to come save you.”

“Isn’t that what a final girl is supposed to do?” You tease, referencing your earlier conversation.

“I suppose. But, I still haven’t seen you trip over nothing while running. You broke the rules a little earlier by having that drink y’know.” His grip on your waist tightens, he pulls you a bit closer to him. 

“Are you gonna punish me for it, Mr. Voorhees?” You internally cringe at yourself and pray to the universe that he will somehow find that sexy.

“Maybe I will.” 

He leans in and kisses you softly, pulling your body flush against his as he does. What starts off innocent pretty quickly picks up steam. It’s been a long time since you’ve so much as even kissed someone, you’re pretty pent up. Your hands find their way into his hair as you pull him closer to you, you want him as close as humanly possible. When his hand starts to slide up your shirt you know you want to be even closer. He squeezes your breast and rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. He laughs when you pull away from the kiss to whine pathetically. You didn’t know he had this in him. You tug at his hair and smirk when he whimpers. You can see what this is turning into, tit for tat. He makes you whine, you make him whimper. You do whatever you can to elicit a sweet sound from one another. Eventually you’re able to shove him down onto the couch. He sits with his head against the back of the couch, his legs spread. You bite your lip and move to stand between his legs. He leans forward and lifts your shirt, starting to kiss your stomach and hips.

“Y’know, I might’ve lied about some of my final girl qualifications,” you laugh, looking down at him.

“Yeah? Like what?”

“I’m not a virgin…”

He scoffs, “Really? Could’ve fooled me.”

You roll your eyes and playfully whack the top of his head, “Don’t be a dick.”

He pulls you into his lap and pulls off your shirt, starting to kiss your neck. He turns you around in his lap so that your back is against his chest. He spreads your legs apart and starts to tease you over your shorts. You melt into his touch, whining and moaning softly. You’re practically putty in his hands. You can feel him pressed against your back, he’s painfully hard. You wanna touch him but you’re too caught up in what he’s doing to you.  “We shouldn’t be doing this, think about how much trouble I’d get in if anyone found out,” Jason mutters as he shoves his hand down your panties. He starts to massage your clit and you’re practically melting.

“N-No one’ll find out…promise…please just…” You can barely form a sentence, this is the last thing you would’ve expected from him. You had imagined a messy makeout session, a few minutes of grinding before he loses control and comes in his pants. 

“Please what? What do you need?” He sounds completely calm and collected, it’s like he’s maintaining his composure just to fuck with you. 

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! You know what I need! Goddammit, just-”

He cuts you off by tugging down your shorts and underwear, your cunt exposed to the cool air of the cabin. He hooks his ankles around yours, keeping your legs spread for him. He looks down at your cunt and smiles, resting his head on your shoulder. He runs his finger up your slit, spreading your lips in the process. You whine, your hips bucking up. “Is this what you want?” He raises his fingers to your mouth, tapping your bottom lip for you to open up. You slowly open your mouth and he slides his fingers in. He doesn’t even tell you what to do, you start to suck on his fingers. He pulls them away once he’s satisfied and moves his hand back down to your cunt. He spreads you open against, watching your head tilt back as he sinks two fingers into your depth. He smirks when he hears your soft whimpers. He starts to slowly pump his fingers inside of you, “If you keep making these pretty little noises I might have to keep you in here with me all summer.”

“Please…fuck…just have me look pretty and play with me, better than the actual job,” you mumble, turning to look at him. You lean down to capture his lips in a bruising kiss, enjoying the way your noses knock against one another. You’ve been admiring his nose all day, fighting the urge to run a finger down the slope. You wonder how it would feel against your clit, his tongue buried deep inside of you. 

“It’d be nice to have a pretty little stress toy like you in my cabin to come back to after a long day, these motherfuckers are gonna give me greys before I turn 30.” You get a look on your face like you’re about to make a snide comment and Jason shuts it down by massaging your clit. A moan spills out of your lips instead. 

“You figured out how to handle me that quick?”

He rolls his eyes and starts to kiss your neck, he takes his time finding all the spots that make you whine extra loud. He nibbles here and there but knows better than to leave marks, at least in such visible places. He picks up the pace as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. He loves how you whimper his name, pleading for more, pleading for his cock. “I didn’t pack condoms, but maybe if you’re good you can have my tongue later.”

You move your head to the side, giving him more access to your neck. “And if I’m bad?”

“Then you can try to get yourself off on my thigh while you jack me off.”

“Oh fuck me…” you mumble, your head rolling back. 

He moves his mouth to your breasts, starting to bite and suck at the sensitive flesh of your nipples. “Already told you I can’t do that yet. Gotta be patient, gotta be good, ‘kay?”

You jut out your bottom lip, pouting, and nod. “‘Kay…”

He nips at your nipple and you yelp, “Good.” He leans down and spits on your clit, massaging it into your clit with his thumb. He speeds up his motions, trying harder and harder to get you what you want. “You wanna make a mess for me, don’t you? If you get it on the couch you’re licking it up. Better pray none of it even hits the floor…” This morning you could’ve never imagined he had it in him to speak to you like this, his coy attitude was just a red herring for what was to come. He’s working his fingers inside of you, curling them just right to hit the spot. Your eyes screw shut as you mumble pathetically, “Oh fuck Jason…g-god…fuck please make me come, please…wanna make a mess for you…”

Just as he’s about to take you over the edge there’s a knock at the door. You both freeze and he slaps a hand over your mouth. Never in his life has he been so grateful for the window coverings in the cabin. 

“Hey! Jason, is she in there? I heard what happened, I just want to make sure y’all are gonna eat.” It’s Chris. God you want to kill him right now. 

Jason smirks, “I’ll be out in a minute. Just making sure she’s okay.”

“Well…uh, see you in the mess hall then!” You hear his footsteps quiet down.

You and Jason look at each other and erupt into giggles. “You wanna play a game with me, final girl?”

“Are you impersonating Jigsaw now too? I think you’re getting your franchises mixed up.”

He rolls his eyes, “God you’re more of a nerd than me. You should feel lucky you weren’t wearing that underwear when they hoisted them up the flagpole.”

You slap his chest, “Hey! Asshole! I’m not like that bitch Cindy in Sleepaway Camp III, you wouldn’t let them do that to me.”

He laughs, kissing you again, “Nerd.”

“You can’t call me a nerd when your fingers are inside me.”

He pulls his fingers out of you and flicks your clit, causing you to yelp. “Is that better nerd?”

You roll your eyes and he brings his fingers to your lips, “Go on, clean me up.” You suck your slick off his fingers. He pulls them out of your mouth once he’s satisfied and wipes your saliva on your cheek. You narrow your eyes at him playfully.

“You’re not gonna finish me off? I was so close…” You pout.

“That’s the game. Sit through dinner without being a whiny little brat and I’ll give you whatever you want. I’ll make sure you come as many times as you want tonight, just behave during dinner. Think you can do that?” He explains.

You groan, “Fineeeee. But you owe me a lot of orgasms, and I mean a lot. It’s fucked up to leave a girl hanging like that.”

“I’m blue balling myself too.” He grabs your hand and presses it against his shorts, you can feel just how hard he is through his shorts. “We both have to behave during dinner, it’s an even playing field.”

You smirk, “Deal. How do you plan to hide that though?”

“I’ll think of awful things until it goes away.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Does that really work.”

“Sometimes.”

You squeeze him through his shorts before standing to get redressed, “You better pray it does tonight because I’ll be across the table thinking about how your nose would feel against my clit after dinner.”

“You’re HR’s worst nightmare…” He mumbles, watching as you redress.

“You’re the one who kissed me, I don’t wanna hear it. I’ll keep my mouth shut as long as you do the same,” you say as you pull your shirt over your head,

“Deal.” He gets up from the couch and readjusts himself through his shorts. 

You both share a mirror, trying to fix your hair and doing everything possible to make it less obvious that you two were just going at it. Once you’re satisfied you head for the door. As soon as you step out of the door he slaps your ass, causing you to yelp and jump. “Prick!”

“You love it.” 

[ryewwww]

Bully gojo and shy oc !! Who always torments you and humiliates you. Makes you do all his works and you do out of fear. You don't question him and feels smug . He tells how he hates you( but actually he likes her a lot but he doesn't confess because ypu keep rejecting every guy so he thinks you don't accept him either) and tells you that you are just a burden on this earth but then you get into an accident and don't come to scl for a week. Gojo doesn't know what happened to you and can't find out cuz you don't have frnds either. After a week you come to schl with a bandage to your head and a fracture sling on your arm. He gets worried and clings onto you and tou lash out for the first time telling him that he got what he wanted and he could be happy now. He gets angry and kidnaps you and fucks you🙃

-> omfg YES! gojo is such a bully

-> sorry for any mistakes!

⚠️: NON CON, Kidnapping, Mean!Gojo, physically, mental and emotional abuse, manhandling, bullying, biting, groping, size difference

-> THIS IS REALLY DARK AND FUCKED UP PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK !

All you’ve ever done is mind your own business

Sure, you don’t have many friends but that doesn’t really bother you

You enjoy being independent. Your grades are high in the air, your part time job in your school is more than enough for you to live comfortably. (In this universe, inflation doesn’t exist)

You don’t really talk to anyone, not even family. Whole bunch of drama happened, and they were toxic so you ended up leaving them for university.

Everything seemed to be going as planned until a 6’4 menace walked into your life.

Gojo Satoru was your typical frat boy and the star of the university’s basketball team.

Some may even say the Golden Boy of your university. He was smart, athletic, had a good reputation among the professors and just with people in general. Not to mention, he was ridiculously handsome. Man literally had girls fighting over him.

You’ve seen him in the hallways but never actually interacted with him. He was in a few of your classes but luckily, you guys never were put together in a group.

Until today. Your prof is running a lab and gathered the smartest students he knows to do it for him. It’s kind of a two in one for him, the lab gets complete and you guys gain some experience.

Anyways, the group consists of you, Satoru and his friend Suguru and some other nerdy people

Now unlike Gojo, you already sorta knew Geto. He was really friendly and kind towards you so you were kind of excited to be working with him.

A few days into the lab and Gojo has a sudden fixation with you. Well he always had, but this lab is letting him work closely with you and it’s making his obsession worse.

You’re stupid if you think that Gojo Satoru hasn’t kept on eye out for you. Every time you walk by him in the halls, he gets a hard on just by catching a whiff of you. The cute skirts and the pastel closet you have drives him over the fucking edge.

It takes every cell in his body to resist the urge of grabbing ur wrist, pulling u into the janitors closet and fucking you absolutely dumb and stupid.

You look so cute and innocent, like a little bunny. And god, you are just an easy target to corrupt.

So, Gojo plans a party. A party on the following Saturday after your lab is complete because he knows that you’ll be free.

His plan is to get you to come, keep you company, get you a little hammered, then get a feel of your pussy. Simple plan.

It’s now up to Geto to get you to come to this party. And of course, for his best friend, he’s 100% on board with his plan.

All goes well in the lab and in your final days of completing the report, Geto asked the big question.

“Satoru and I are throwing a party tomorrow. If you’re free, we’d love for you to come. You can bring anyone you want.”

You blush. Party? Your first party? Your brain breaks out in celebration because as much as you liked to spend your weekend relaxing, you also have a severe case of fomo. (Fear of missing out)

Your eyes lit up, saying yes on the spot in excitement. The following day, you went back to your dorm and tore your closet apart, looking for a nice dress. You settled for a blue, body con, summer dress. (despite it not being a party dress but who gives af bc it’s summer)

The next night, you got all dolled up for the party. You made arrangements with Geto to pick you up. He made it on time, looking handsome in his all black fit with his hair in a bun.

You were excited… for nothing.

There was a party (a lit one), but you realized a little too late that your social skills were next to non existent. The whole time, you felt out of place. So you stood in the corner, drink in hand and watched others dance and interact with each other.

“You don’t look like you’re having fun.”

You turn your head only to be faced with a bright blue eyed man, the one and only Gojo Satoru.

“I guess partying is not my thing.”

“Oh come on, come with me.”

He grabbed your hand and headed towards the beer pong table

You and Gojo were a team and surprisingly you two worked perfectly together

The alcohol in your system made you flush, and you found yourself loosening up a bit and having a bit of fun.

Gojo’s plan seemingly was rolling out perfectly. You were a bit drunk, so he took you back to his room to “sober up” (but it was just an excuse to get u alone so he can fuck u but u don’t know that)

Now listen, Gojo got rizz alright. So imagine the look on his face when he went in to kiss you and you slapped him so hard, his face turned the other way.

“I’m not some whore you can use for tonight. I was genuinely having a good time with you, I don’t know why you had to make it sexual.”

You felt like crying. Is this what all guys think about?? Sex?

You get off the bed and head towards the door before you’re pulled back and thrown on the bed

“Satoru, stop! I want to go home.”

And just like how you did with him, he slapped you. Much, much harder.

He didn’t say anything, he just had this look in his eyes that could honestly kill. He took a hold of your wrist with one hand and let his other roam and touch your body.

He pulled your dress up, revealing the lacy, white, underwear you wore. You were a teensy bit wet, not because of him but maybe the alcohol? Or his best friend?

You don’t know, but Gojo thought the wet spot was because of him.

“Tch, saying you don’t wanna hook up but you’re fucking wet f’me.”

He pulled you closer to the head board, reaching out to his night stand and pulling out,,,, cuffs?

“Wait wait wait wait!” You say in a panic. You squirm to get your wrist free but once you feel the metal snake around your wrists and the click afterwards, you were doomed.

Your dress was ripped off by him. Your panty was somewhere on the ground and he easily took off your bra by doing the same thing he did with your dress. You laid nude under him, against your will.

As you can imagine, the night went terribly for you. You weren’t a virgin but it had been a while since you had sex (all the way back in high school) and really it was your first time with someone so experienced.

The next morning, you woke up with him cuddling you from behind while his lanky legs were intertwined with yours

You somehow managed to escape his grip and sneak out of the house before anyone could notice. You did have work, but decided to call in because of… well for obvious reasons.

On Monday, you dreaded to go to school. But with midterms coming around the corner, you couldn’t afford to miss a lecture. You dressed in baggy clothes and took a different route to class to avoid Satoru.

The day was going alright until you had to go to the library to pick out a few books to help you on an assignment.

While you were reaching on your tippy toes, someone behind you grabbed the book which made you quickly turn around. Your eyes meet his bright, blue eyes.

“You’re avoiding me now?”

The anger that overcame you in that moment was indescribable. You wanted to scream at him, hit him, threaten him or somehow bring him down, but you couldn’t.

“Did I fuck you mute? Answer me.”

You took a deep breath in and said, “leave me alone”

“Why? What, you think you’re too good for me? That I don’t have enough worth to fuck you? Is that what it is?”

He grabbed your cheeks with one hand and squished them together, pushing you back against the bookshelf in the process. He was holding you so hard, you couldn’t move.

“Listen to me, you slut. Don’t get our roles mixed here. You’re literally a piece of shit next to me. You hold no value in this world. If you died, no one would even think twice about it because no one gives a flying fuck about you. You think you’re soooo fucking special or something. You think you’re too good for everyone. Well you’re not. You’re just a broke whore, with no friends, no family, no hobby— nothing.”

He roughly let’s go of your face that you nearly fall to the floor. You tried your best but couldn’t help but cry at his words. Gojo swings off his backpack, grabs a note package and hands it to you.

“This assignment is due tomorrow at noon. I haven’t gotten the chance to start it because of basketball. So you’re going to do it for me cause you’re a worthless, bunny that has nothing else to do after school hours. And before you think about handing in something stupid, take a look at this.”

He pulls out his phone and in a matter of 10 seconds, you felt your heart drop to the pit of your stomach.

A video. Of you. Getting fucked by the Gojo Satoru. It’s evident that you’re crying but it’s easy to cover it up with an “excuse”. Your face held a horrified expression.

“P-please, delete that! Please, I’ll do it but please just- just delete the video please!”

“No, not until that assignment is handed in and I have to get 100% on it. If it isn’t handed in or I don’t receive 100%, this will be leaked to everyone in a matter of minutes. I’ll post this shit everywhere with your full name on it, got it?”

You felt like crying and throwing up at the same time. This felt worse than a nightmare. This felt worse than dying even. “Okay, I’ll try my best but I don’t know if I can get-”

“If you don’t get 100 on this assignment, I’m leaking it. I don’t give a shit. I already showed Suguru— sick bastard got off to it, and I’m sure many more will too if you don’t score 100.”

He picks up his backpack and leaves while you stood in distraught. The following night, after work, you immediately started on his assignment. You saw the assignment date and it was assigned 3 weeks ago. He wants you to do 3 weeks of work in 15 hours.

Somehow, you pulled through the night. Researching the best you can on the internet and trying to make it as best as you possibly could. You were able to send him the file at 11:30am so he could skim through it and hand it in.

You ended up leaving early for the day so you could go home and get some sleep. When you woke up the next morning, your nearly dead phone kept ringing over and over.

You pick it up and see hundreds of notifications on various social media’s and a few iMessages

Your thumb clicked on one of the iMessage notifications and there was Satoru’s name with the following message:

“I told you, only 100%”

Below the message was an image of his mark

A 98%

You swipe off of iMessage and open Instagram and boom

Hundreds of new follower requests, numerous dms and clicking of Gojo Satoru’s story, was the video of him blowing your back.

You checked Snapchat and there it was on his story too. You wanted to die. You wanted to dig a hole and bury yourself alive than live another day in this situation.

Later that day, you had received an email from the dean’s office regarding a “very sensitive and confidential” meeting that would be taking place tomorrow.

You had an idea of what it might be about but hope and prayed to god that it wasn’t what you were thinking.

But to your luck, this meeting was regarding your sex tape and how there is no longer a spot for you on the dean’s list or team.

Your whole world was crumbling apart. You spent your whole life to get to where you are today, only for him to ruin it in a matter of 12 hours.

You left the building slowly, still deeply thinking about what you could’ve done to prevent this. How stupid you are to go to that party and slap the Gojo Satoru.

“Why is this happening to me?”

All of a sudden, everything goes black.

You wake up in a hospital. Your head felt heavy and your arms was twitching. You look around and see… no one. The nurse catches a glimpse of your eyes and quickly walks in to check on you.

She explains that you were in an accident and that they tried to get in contact with an emergency contact but you hadn’t stated anyone. You stayed at the hospital overnight so they can monitor your brain activity and fortunately they were able to discharge you the next morning.

You took the rest of the week off from school and Gojo Satoru was losing his mind. He had spammed called you from various numbers but you weren’t answering your phone at all. He went from his usual mean insults to angry insults to pleading for a response back.

He doesn’t see you until Monday, with a bandage around your head and your arm in a cast which is also in a sling. He nearly runs to you, wanting nothing but to embrace you.

And he does. Holds onto you tightly, inhaling your shampoo until you knee his in the balls.

He immediately drops down and you completely lose your cool. “Don’t fucking touch me! I hate you! You ruined my life! You’re not allowed to touch me after you forced me to have sex with you and shared the video with the entire campus! You got what you wanted Satoru! You stole everything from me! Broke my entire world, burned my hard work down! Made me feel worthless! And now you want to act all concerned?! I hope you rot in hell!”

You ended up going home for the day, otherwise another headache would’ve set in. You took a quick lap before getting up and getting ready for work because those hospital bills weren’t going to pay themselves.

You had the closing shift and although working with one hand was quite the challenge, you desperately needed the money.

After closing up, the walk to your apartment is about 10 minutes away. Everything was going fine until a car quickly pulled up next to you, two men sprung out and shoved you into the car before you even had the chance to react.

One of them had his hand over your mouth while the other held your legs together.

You were blindfolded and tied in the car and after a while the car came to a stop and you were carried out.

You were thrown on the floor and when the blindfold was removed, you were met with his eyes again.

You immediately started crying. You were afraid and quite frankly exhausted of everything that’s happened over the last week.

“Please. I’m sorry. Just let me go. I’ll never ever bother you again. I’m sorry.”

You plead and beg but you hear his belt unbuckling. “Please! Please, I beg you Satoru! I’m sorry! I can’t- I can’t do it again please!”

You were left unheard. He threw you on the bed and tied your limbs to the bed. One of your arms was already in extreme pain and the other arm was starting to hurt too because of how tightly he tied you.

Every ounce of hope drained from your body when you felt his cock push into you. He pushed your head into the mattress and fucked you hard, like there was no tomorrow. Your tears soaked the mattress. Sweat, tears and snot covering your puffing face.

Satoru went on for hours. Abs glistening in sweat, his arm veins popping out because of how hard he was holding you. Not to mention his cock was coated with loads of cum.

You were passed out by the time he finished with you. Your body shaking on its on, cum dripping out your cunt and marks/bruises left all over your soft skin.

Hopefully his bunny learned her lesson.

[natalievoncatte]

It took four calls before Lena answered. It crawled across her side table, vibrating angrily like some persnickety insect until she gave it the attention she wanted.

You could just turn it off.

“What do you want, Danvers?”

Alex’s voice was thick.

“We can’t find Kara.”

Lena let out a slow, long, theatrical sigh. “So now you’re accusing me of crimes over the phone. At least your ex had the courtesy to cuff me in person.”

Alex’s patience was clearly short enough, and wearing thinner.

“I’m not calling you to accuse you. I’m calling you to ask for help.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because she’s burned out her powers and we can’t find her, Luthor. Supergirl is missing and she’s powerless.”

Lena licked her lips.

“Is this some kind of weird test to see if I’ll try to kill her? An entrapment scheme or something?”

“First of all,” said Alex, “fuck you.”

“Mutual,” said Lena. “What was the second part?”

“The second part is that I know you. I know you’re pissed off at her. I also know that you don’t react the way you’ve acted because your BFF lied to you, Lena. Just like I know that buying a $875 million company isn’t what friends are fucking for.”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you mean,” Lena snapped.

“Right. Help us find her.”

“No,” Lena said, coolly. “Goodnight, Director.”

Lena stabbed the end call key with her finger, resolving to herself that L-Corp was going to release a smart phone that made it more satisfying to hang up on people.

Then she very pointedly did not go out looking for Kara. Instead, she boiled water for tea, and spread open a technical journal on her lap.

After ten minutes, she had not drunk the tea, and her attention was sliding off the abstract like the wrong end of two magnets jammed together. Rubbing at her eyes, she decided she’d had too long a day for even light reading, and decided to enjoy a news broadcast with her tea.

Of *course* the lead story was Supergirl. She tried putting on the Lakehawks game, but that had been preempted for Supergirl coverage.

She turned to the science channel. Oh, of course they’d decided that tonight was the night to premier some ridiculous companion documentary for the World of Krypton exhibit running downtown at the convention center, and of course Lena works tune in right as Kara appeared on screen, grinning ear to ear as she charitably gave some literal kid reporter the interview of her lifetime, fielding softball questions about her dead planet.

“What do you miss most?” the kid asked.

Lena saw it, saw it the way only someone who knew Supergirl was just Kara Danvers, the nerdy, dorky, kinda basic goof in a pompous costume, could. The flash of real pain in the hero’s eyes, the softness in her voice, like she was apologizing for the honest of her answer.

“Red sunrises,” said Kara.

Lena threw the teacup across the room, and it shattered across the screen, leaving the dregs tricking down the surface. Lena wished the TV had been knocked out, but the screen was shielded by a transparent aluminum she’d invented herself.

So she changed the channel, just in time to get a face full of The Princess Bride, just as Buttercup was shoving a then-disguised Westley down the hill as he shouted the line the revealed his identity.

“Oh fuck you all,” Lena muttered, as she scooped her keys from the kitchen counter.

Lena decided it was a night for subtlety, so she took the BMW, driving with the top down and and her phone in her jacket pocket, so she could feel it if someone called.

Lena drove for the better part of an hour, reflecting on the absurdity of simply looking for Kara in a sprawling city; National City had about two thirds the population of Metropolis, but it covered nearly four times the land area and was surrounded by sprawling suburbs that extended the entire metro area to the size of a small state.

This was hopeless, unless Lena knew where to go.

You know what you have to do. You know what you’ve always had to do.

Kara answered on the third ring.

“Hi.”

Her voice was tiny and small, and Lena felt like she was clutching some small fragile thing to her cheek.

“Hey,” she said, with all the softness she could muster with the top down. She pulled to a stop on the side of Ocean Avenue so she could soften it further. “I heard what happened.”

“I beat the monster.”

“I know,” said Lena. “You always do. Where are you, Kara?”

There was a beat of silence.

“I don’t know who out you up to this, but you don’t have to do it, Lena. I know how you feel about me now.”

No, you fucking don’t, Lena thought, before she could silence her own frantic mind. If you knew you wouldn’t have lied to me.

“Tell me where you are.”

“I’m where I belong,” Kara sighed, the hint of slurring in her words hinting that she’d been drinking.

Then she hung up.

A wave of anger welled in Lena’s chest, and she clenched her teeth, seizing the shift lever to throw the car in drive and head home; Kara and her sister could handle their own bullshit.

She didn’t drive home.

Lena arrived at the convention center in a frantic five minutes, parking crazily in a towing zone. Finding a way in took another few minutes, and soon the flat soles of her tennis shoes were squeaking as they echoed across the polished granite floors of the lobby.

She found Kara in the exhibit, surrounded by quiet, dark displays as she stood in front of a bannered exhibit proclaiming “RAO, THE SUN OF KRYPTON”.

Kara ignored Lena as she approached, tipping back a sloshing, mostly empty bottle of Jack Daniels to take a hearty gulp.

“Kara?” said Lena.

Kara swayed slightly on her feet. She’d gotten a raincoat somewhere and put it on over her suit, cape and all, and even from a distance she stank of whiskey. She was staring at the display in front of her, an expansive orrery surrounding a lit model of Rao. Lena had never seen her so haggard, even her lustrous hair limp sallow.

“Hi,” Kara said, taking another drink.

“What are you doing?”

“Chasing a red sunrise.”

Lena approached slowly, until they stood side by side.

She stole a quick glance. Kara had a black eye and she was swaying slightly, and Lena wasn’t sure if it was from the booze or the fight. She started to take another drink.

Grasping the bottle by the neck, Lena took it from her. Kara didn’t resist as Lena tipped back a long pull on the bottle herself. It offended her palate in every possible way but one, but it was a good way to numb herself.

“Alex send you?”

“No,” said Lena. “She just had to tell me. She knew I’d send myself.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s a lot more observant than you are.”

Kara studied her for a moment, then reached for the bottle back.

Lena looked at it. “How much of this have you had?”

“Not enough,” said Kara, taking another drink.”

“If you insist on destroying your liver, at least let me give you something that actually tastes good.”

“It all tastes like paint thinner,” said Kara.

Lena sighed. “Get in the car.”

Kara shrugged and followed Lena out, flopping extravagantly in the passenger’s seat. Lena drove in silence, using the excuse that the wind noise made it too hard to talk.

When they arrived at Lena’s apartment, she practically shoved Kara inside, and poured the rest of the swill down the drain.

“Hey,” Kara muttered.

“There’s still some of your clothes in the guest bedroom. Take that damned suit off and put on something else.”

Kara complied, trudging into the bedroom. She emerged a moment later, looking small and sad with her hands tucked up inside an oversized hoodie, wobbling giving Lena a glassy look.

As she sat down, Lena handed her a glass of wine and perched on the edge of the couch cushion beside her, gently pressing an ice pack to her eye. Kara leaned into it and let out a soft, unsteady sigh.

“Pain hurts,” she observed.

“It’ll do that.”

Then she went quiet, sinking into Lena’s couch with Lena’s ice pack pressed to her face. Lena stepped into the kitchen and pulled out her phone. Alex answered immediately.

“I have her.”

“Thank God. I’ll be over to get her in a few minutes.”

“No you won’t,” Lena sighed.

Alex didn’t answer her for a too-long pause.

“Yeah. Call me in the morning.”

“Will do.”

Kara had found the wine bottle when Lena came back, and was taking a drink form it. Lena sat down next to her and took it, drawing on it hard before passing it back.”

“What now?” said Kara.

“Is the ice still cold?”

“Yeah.”

Kara curled up next to Lena, bringing her legs up, her toes wiggling in empty air. Lena sighed and found her a blanket, spreading it over her too carefully.

As soon as Lena sat down, Kara spread the blanket over her, too, and Lena noticed that her absurd body heat hadn’t abated from the loss of her powers.

“You have tea on your TV,” Kara observed.

“Yeah,” said Lena.

It took her a few minutes to find something on television that wasn’t Supergirl or The Fox and the Hound.

(Fucking seriously?)

Nature documentaries were Kara’s kryptonite, to turn a phrase, and soon she was sleeping on Lena’s shoulder, the ice bag fallen into her lap. Lena stared down at the soft features of the surpassingly lovely little goddess snoozing against her and couldn’t help it anymore.

She started to weep softly, her shoulders hitching as she struggled to stop it, knowing the attempt was hopeless.

It got worse when Kara began to purr, a deep and soothing rumble in her chest that seemed to seep into Lena’s bones. After a moment she realized that Kara was crying too; she’d woken up.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I’m so fucking sorry, Lena. I can’t… I can’t breathe I’m so sorry. I lost my red sunrise. I can’t lose you too. I’ll do anything. Please let me make it up to you I promise I will, please.”

Lena shifted to a more comfortable position, known this was it for the night, that something had shifted. No, shattered. She was tired of being angry, of being afraid, if thinking of could-have-beens and come-what-mays. Yes, Kara had lied. Lena had lied. They’d kept secrets and been stupid and and they’d hurt each other, but nothing in the world, no principles or closely held rules or petty anger would justify watching her suffer like this.

She was careful as she cupped Kara’s jaw, avoiding the injury, feeling a flash of rage at whoever had done this to her. (That his ass had been throughly kicked by an angry Kryptonian was irrelevant; her vengeance would not be forestalled.)

The kiss was quiet and gentle, at once too soft and quick, more request than declaration, and Kara swiftly answered with one so fierce and honest and hopeful that Lena didn’t care that Kara’s mouth tasted like whiskey and wine.

When it was over, Lena found herself whispering, “As you wish.”

[illubean]

Nerd!Gojo x Goth!Reader

Characters: Satoru Gojo Type: College!AU, Oneshot, Gn!Reader

part of a mini series of oneshots :3 lmk if you want a p2

Warnings: none? reader wears makeup/dresses but is still gn

For someone with the hobbies and interests of the likes of Satoru Gojo, he was pretty popular around campus. Men and women alike often talked about his looks, or the fact his family owned a large corporation, but what they didn't care to talk about was that Satoru Gojo was a complete loser.

Despite how popular or known he is, he only has about four friends and is the captain of the varsity E sports team for crying out loud. Not only that, but he was a computer science major..

Let's just say they're not really...known for good things.

Despite how nerdy and awkward he is, he still managed to draw attention to himself, whereas you preferred to separate from the masses. There was no doubt your dark, elaborate outfits and heavy makeup turned some heads while you roamed the corridors and quads, but other than that you've kept a relatively low profile. Though most people never really paid much mind to you aside from an initial glance, you managed to catch the eye of the aforementioned varsity E sports player.

He thought you were stunning.

From your flowing black dress and large boots to your eyeliner sharp enough to cut a bitch, the white haired boy was completely and utterly enamored with you. And when a dopey smile forms on Gojo's face and his head gets all spacey, that's when Geto and Shoko realize he's spotted you somewhere across the field. Despite almost everyone preferring the weekend, Gojo's favourite days were Mondays and Wednesdays.

The days you sat in front of him in creative writing.

He spent most of the class periods staring at the back of your head, leaning against his palm with hearts in his eyes as he fantasized about what it would be like to be yours. He would watch as you scribbled away in your notebook, perfecting your story for next week, which he always looked foreword to reading during critique. Gojo has never once had the courage to approach you directly, though. Your ethereal beauty scared him; there was no way someone as perfect as you would even spare him a passing glance.

So, his friends got to listen to him sigh and daydream about you with no end.

"Did you see their outfit today? That lacey corset compliments them so well. And that dark lipstick. I wonder if it's flavored-"

"Holy shit can you shut up? We get it, you like the goth kid," Shoko complained, taking a drag from her cigarette.

Geto chuckled at her annoyance before making a remark of his own.

"Instead of spending all this time wondering, why don't you actually go talk to them."

'You know I can't do that! They're just...they're just so cool," Gojo whined, shrinking into himself and resting his head against the table they were sat at.

"Tough luck then," Shoko said, putting her cigarette out before gathering her belongings and standing from her spot.

"I have to get to my bio lab."

"I should head off too. I have civics in 10 minutes. See ya, Satoru."

And with that, Gojo was left alone having already finished the last of his classes for the day.

Damn it. What do I do now?

Gojo pouted while he continued to sulk for a moment, pondering what he could do with the rest of his day. After a while of sifting through his options, the snowy haired male picked up his bag and made his way to the library.

Maybe I can check out the new VR center.

Gojo's mind began to wander as he thought about all the things he could try on VR. He was lost in thought, feet taking him down the halls of the library before stumbling into someone, the sound of books thudding against the floor snapping him from his thoughts.

"Oh, sorry about that," a soft voice spoke.

Upon raising his head, his eyes came in contact with a pair of (color) ones, his cheeks heating up slightly upon realizing who he just bumped into.

After a beat of silence, his eyes widened as he scrambled to help pick up all of the books you dropped, noticing one in particular that he recognized.

“...'Mythology of Ancient Civilizations’?” Gojo asked before realizing how silly he must have sounded.

You raised an eyebrow. “You familiar?”

Gojo nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’ve read it like… five times. I mean, the whole concept of storytelling through myths is incredible. The gods and monsters… They’re like the first fantasy novels, you know?”

Your mouth twitched into a small smile, intrigued at his words.

“Huh. I didn’t take you for someone who’d read stuff like this.”

“Yeah, I guess I don’t look it,” Gojo chuckled, scratching the back of his head nervously. “I’m usually more into… y’know, video games and stuff.”

“I could tell,” You comment, motioning towards his street fighter T-shirt. He looked down towards what he was wearing before his face flushed with embarrassment, sinking into himself as you chuckled at him.

"Gojo, right? You're in my creative writing class. I assume you like story telling, huh?"

The male's face lit up at this, before going on a tirade about the topic.

"I love story telling! I'm a computer science major and I'm trying to be a game dev which is why I'm taking creative writing. My favorite types of games are RPGs, like the LOZ franchise or Final Fantasy. They're not just about shooting stuff or solving puzzles, but they're interactive worlds that should matter just as much as books or movies! I'm actually working on a game right now about-" he cut himself off, seeing you now had a sly smirk stretched across your face.

Feeling shy once again, he cast his gaze down before saying "Sorry. I kind of went on a rant there..."

You let out a small, melodic laugh at this.

"It's okay, you're passionate about something. I think that's cute."

His heart fluttered at your words while his blue eyes wandered everywhere but to meet yours. He realized he was still holding on to your books, and he rushed to hold them out to you.

"Uh- sorry again. Here."

You gently took the books from him, fingers slightly brushing past his, setting off the butterflies in his stomach.

Their skin is so soft...

"Well, I'd love to hear about your game sometime, but I gotta get going. You free friday?"

Gojo couldn't believe his ears. You were asking him to hang out!?

"Um- yeah! I have practice from 1-3 though..."

"And by practice, you mean playing League of Legends for 2 hours?" you teased.

He nodded, slightly embarrassed by this.

"Meet me at 4 then. See ya!"

You sauntered past him, waving as you made your way towards the exit.

No way.

I have a date!

[miley1442111]

Hi sorry to bother you but can you make a spencer reid x reader with the mute!reader and he helping her with everything.

Thank you so much sorry to bother you.

this is so cute! I did some research but I am nowhere near well-versed enough to know everything so please someone tell me if i've made a mistake !!!

mutism- s.reid

a/n: intended for fem reader, but as always imagine what you like:)))))))))

summary: how you and spencer met, the first time spencer heard you speak, and a look into your life together :)

pairing: spencer reid x mute! reader

warnings: none

You were mute. You knew sign language and could talk to specific people on very specific occasions. You’d had it since you were diagnosed at 4 years old and it truthfully wasn’t the end of the world, but it did suck to not have had a date at the age of 22. Not that you weren’t beautiful, not that people hadn’t tried, you just… didn’t speak. 

But, CalTech was amazing, you were a biology student and you loved it. You could just lock in, ignoring the world around you and spend time in the lab for hours on end. Though, you couldn’t exactly investigate the growth rate of organisms in a crowded college bar. 

“I’m getting another drink!” Your very drunk friend shouted over the voices in the bar. You nodded your head, staring down at your half-empty drink as you sighed. You wanted to be anywhere that wasn’t here, at this stupid bar. Your friend, Maria, was a party-animal. You two had been dorm mates for the last 3 years and she had started learning sign language from the first week. She’d brought you into her friend group, allowing you a group of about 7 girls who all had your back. 

Well, they usually had your back, just not while they were all drunk and hooking up with their partners in the bathrooms or in their dorms, which is what all of them were doing right now. 

A tall and lanky boy sat beside you on your left and your body went rigid, silently begging him to not try and talk to you. 

“Spencer, come on!” One of his rowdy friends shouted. Spencer. Spencer was very cute. He had long-enough hair, brown trousers with a tie and shirt on. He looked far too overdressed for a simple college bar and you smiled. 

He was more than cute, he was gorgeous. You were shocked you’d never seen him modelling.

“No, I’m tired,” he laughed at his friend. “Go dance without me!” His friend gave up, walking off to a group of equally lanky and nerdy boys, all attempting to dance. 

Another man sat on your right, the seat where Maria had sat and you were instantly filled with anxiety again. Maria was nowhere to be seen and there were two men beside you, either of them could easily start trying to talk to you and what would you do? Just write it down on a napkin? On your phone? 

You hadn’t had this problem in a very long time. 

“So, you come here often?” The guy on your right asked, a soft smile on his face. He seemed to be the typical frat boy, kind of asshole-y but nicer than others you’d met. You tried to ignore him, pulling out your phone and texting Maria, saying you were going home instead of staying out longer, but he persisted. “What’s your name?”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Spencer had been attempting to make conversation with you all year. He knew you were the smartest in your class, since he and your professor were friends and he often read over your papers. He thought you had the most beautiful mind, he didn’t even care what you looked like, he just wanted to know you. 

But, he had found out what you looked like from your photo online and he fell harder. You were gorgeous, smart, and interesting. He also knew you were mute. Back in your first year at college most people had just assumed that you were rude or too prideful to speak to certain people, and that you were getting special treatment from teachers by them letting you not present your projects. This meant your facilitators had to make an announcement to most of your classes, explaining why you didn’t speak. He saw your face one day as your professor explained to the class that you were mute, you looked so embarrassed and ashamed and he felt his heartbreak. He'd been embarrassed of his intelligence his whole life (but trust me, he knew that these were VERY different things) and he felt an uncertain connection to you. 

“She’s my girlfriend,” he tried to sound intimidating to the guy but he knew he wasn’t exactly a beefy 6 '2 frat boy.

The frat boy got the message. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You felt sick, Spencer was speaking for you and all of it could’ve gone to shit if that frat boy hadn’t gotten the hint. You quickly got up, looked at Spencer and signed ‘thank you’ and practically ran through the door, just wanting to get back to your dorm, 

“Umm, wait!” Spencer followed you out to the car park and you turned to face him, feeling hot under his gaze despite the cold, dark night around you both. “I’m S-Spencer, sorry if that was really weird but I wanted him to l-leave you alone, I-I know who you are a-and… yeah.”

He knew who you were? You looked at him confused. 

“Professor Monk! I help with his corrections sometimes, I’ve read your papers, they’re really good,” he smiled. “C-can I get your number or something?” Something like panic flashed over his features, clearly shocked at his own words. 

You took out your phone and wrote out “I seriously doubt I’d be much fun, I don’t talk,” you showed it to him, and he chuckled. 

“I know sign language,” He smiled and your heart swelled. You didn’t know it now, but on your wedding day, he would admit that it was a very big lie. 

You held out your hand for his phone and he handed it over, you punched in your number and that was the start of your beautiful love story. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Through your life together, Spencer was always there for you, there to calm you down, speak for you, be there for you, and to love you.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first night he heard you speak was a year and half into your relationship, it was purely accidental on your part, genuinely comfortable enough to just speak and you did. 

“You’re so funny,” you quietly said between his and your own laughter. His own smile grew, while your face heated. 

“You spoke,” he observed, holding you from behind, his taller figure engulfing yours. “You have a nice voice.”

You whispered a meek “thank you” and he could’ve sworn that his heart grew three sizes. He didn’t want to push you, he just kissed you on the cheek and continued on with his cooking while he internally freaked out. Despite being together so long, you still found ways to fluster and surprise him. The majority of the time, he spent feeling like a schoolboy with how smitten he was with you. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, you knew Spencer would always have your back, always love you, and always care.

He promised you so on your wedding day.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, marvel, top gun, obx+)

[bellawoso]

love story

aitana bonmati x fem!reader

description: aitana falling for you despite you being quite nerdy when it comes to shakespeare and art. aitana is helplessly failing english lit, in order for you to tutor her she requests for you to come to her matches each weekend, you end up falling for her too.

(kinda unrealistic as i highly doubt aita would take english lit 😭) + ALSO DIEGO MAKES A RETURN!!!

at first the move to barcelona had been scary for you, the new language and culture were unknown territory for you, and you couldnt help but feel lonely with not many people to talk to you in english.

until at a party, you overestimated how much drink you could handle and ended up on the brink of passing out, only to be saved by a random spanish boy you had seen around campus and spoke english.

a new friendship stemmed that night, you and diego were inseparable, even though you owed him one two many times after he saved you from people cursing you out in spanish after you accidentally pissed them off.

that was exactly what had happened now.

you and diego also work at the same art museum, although he often complains about the boredom he experiences there, much to your annoyance. he still continued to work there, the pay is good and you are in your happy zone, excited to spend all of your free time surrounded by one of your favourite subjects.

except for times when you managed to irritate random spanish people. in your defence, the piece of work wasnt that good, and the artist wasnt well known, how were you to know that you were speaking to the artist claiming that there were better pieces that deserved a place in the museum.

the man had gone into a fast paced spanish rant, although you knew some spanish after some time of living in barcelona, you were no where near fluent enough to understand the heavily accented, rapid spanish that fell from his mouth.

diego was very quick to intervene and call security on the man who was now jabbing a finger in your direction, the only word you understood was “puta” after hearing the insult many times from diego to people that annoyed him.

seeing him escorted out, you were quick to flee to your favourite part of the museum, at the east wing of the top floor was a small library filled with copies of old literature, with historic renaissance paintings hanging on the walls.

not many people went in there, it was very well hidden from the public eye, and was out of the way of popular artist exhibitions. however, nothing was too hard to find for a certain brunette midfielder, who was bored out of her mind.

———

today was aitanas day off, when ona gathered her, jana, bruna, pina and patri for a “fun day out” a museum was the last thing she was expecting.

ona was actually enjoying looking around the museum, pina and patri were talking to a group of girls they found “hot”, jana and bruna were raiding the gift shop.

this left aitana bored out of her mind, so she went exploring and ended up on a corridoor that stretched to what looked like a library.

despite english literature being aitanas minor degree, she was actually not that fond of it, much to her parents dismay who had to hear constantly from aitana how she was failing it.

when she walked in, she physically jumped when she saw a girl sat on one of the seats reading some shakespeare play.

if there was one thing aitana despised the most, it was shakespeare, the prospect of learning the plays and writing about them made her want to gauge her eyes out.

she was ready to turn around and beg ona for them to go home, until a soft voice pulled aitana right back to the library.

“hello! can i help you?” upon hearing this, aitana quickly turned back around to match a face to the voice, and was met with you now looking up so she could see your face.

aitana didnt notice that she had zoned out while admiring you, normally she didnt feel this way for anyone. each time pina and patri tried to set her up on a date she was always quick to reject, as in her opinion she had to focus on football. however at this moment, she seemed happy enough to break the no relationships rule for you.

“sorry can i help you?” hearing you once again managed to break aitana from her daze, as she quickly tried to think of a topic that she could strike up a conversation with.

“uhhhh- you like shakespeare?” aitana asked, whilst internally cursing how her voice wobbled as she spoke to you.

“yeah i do! are you a fan of his works? what is your favourite play?”

honestly, aitana had no idea why she chose shakespeare, in fact, she despised the guy who she had to memorise a ton of plays for. however, seeing your entire face light up at the sound of his name could persuade her to talk about him all day.

what aitana hadnt vouched for was you quizzing her on him, i mean, she was failing english lit for gods sake. but if she could just act like she was an expert for long enough for you to be impressed enough to accept her request of a date with you, then it would give her enough time for some quick shakespeare revision before your date.

“i love shakespeare” aitana stated, the link tint of her cheeks only darkening as you smiled upon hearing this, “ i would say that romeo and juliet is my favourite!”

“a classic tradgedy, huh? you like romantic plays?” you asked with a smirk, and aitana tried to rack her brain to figure whether you were flirting with her or not, and made a mental note to somehow improve for the next time she spoke to you.

“yeah, im a massive tragedy fan! another tragedy i love is-“ silence filled the library as aitana desperately tried to think of another tragedy, and felt like hitting herself for not paying more attention in her lectures.

“uhhh- a midsummers night dream?” aitana cringed at how it came out as a question, and blushed fiercely when she heard you giggle.

“although some prospects of the play could be considered a tragedy, a midsummers night dream was actually intended to be a comedy!”, you stated, rambling off about some tragic elements of the play, and aitana never knew that shakespeare could be such a turn on, but maybe it was just the fact that a pretty girl was talking about it, not her old male professor.

after inviting aitana to come sit down with you, and diving into a conversation of plays, both of you hardly noticed how an hour had already passed, although the conversation had mainly been one sided, with you rambling about your favourite plays, aitana enjoyed your company.

that was until ona called aitana asking where she was as they were going, aitana was sad to leave, and noticed you frown a bit as she told you she had to go.

“thankyou for tolerating my rambling about shakespeare, i know you dont actually love it that much.” you said while smiling at the spaniard in front of you.

“huh- what do you mean? i love the guy” aitana argued.

“its fine honestly- i saw your confusion when i was talking about his plays” you laughed.

“okay fine, i might be failing english literature but i definitely learnt some new things while talking to you, so thankyou”

“any time” you responded just as diego ran into the library talking in rapid spanish which you know he only does when hes in a rush, you understood a part when he said “ended 10 minutes ago” which you could only guess he was talking about your shifts. you smiled apologetically at aitana and said goodbye before leaving with diego.

when aitana met up with everyone at the exit, she was bombarded with questions of where she was to which she responded “in the library”

pina was shocked at this answer “the library? you hate books! your failing english for gods sake! what were you doing there?”

“well- there was this girl-”

“a girl! there you have it! little aitana here has a crush! she must really love her if she spent an hour in a library with her!”

“shut up patri!” aitana scowled “ we were talking about shakespeare!”

“shakespeare?! do you feel ill tana, can you go to training tomorrow? ona i think she is ill” patri teased.

aitana only stormed off after shooting one last glare at the group before returning to the car.

the teasing didnt stop there though, as soon as the others got to the car, she was met with relentless bullying the whole way back to campus about how “whipped” she is.

but also she realised something on her was back, she had forgotten to ask for your name and she has also never given you her name, which put her in a grumpy mood for the rest of the night before deciding it was fate, and a sign that she should be focusing on football.

———

aitana however, was actually wrong that you didnt know who she was. it was part of the reason you knew she didnt actually like shakespeare. diego was a big fan of football and followed the schools girls football team who were quite popular amongst the school.

he dragged you to many of their matches whenever you had the time, and therefore you had seen the brunette midfielder quite a lot.

you werent surprised when diego dragged you to yet another one of their matches a few weeks later, you were both sat down when diego announced he was going to get a coffee, and with promises to get you a tea and some chocolate, he left.

while he was gone, both university teams started doing warmups, and you couldnt keep your eyes away from a certain brunette midfielder, who honestly looked too good today.

“careful, your drooling amiga! i didnt know footballers were your type”

“jesus diego! and theyre not, i was simply looking at number 14, i was talking to her a few weeks ago in the museum.”

“you were speaking to aitana! and you didnt think to call me?!”

the truth was, members of the football team were very popular, they were nice and would greet you if you said hello, but their main friends were in the football team, so you didnt really see them hanging around with other people. lots of students had slight crushes on certain members, much like yours on aitana.

you werent listening to diegos lecture though, as your eyes drifted to aitana again, the extra gym sessions she had been doing really paid off, and when she lifted up her training top to wipe the layer of sweat from her face, you wouldnt be surprised if you fainted there and then.

what you werent expecting were for her eyes to scan the crowd and land on you, seeing her point and wave at you with a smirk on her face made you glad you were sat, you knew if you were stood up your knees would have buckled under you immediately.

seeing you blush and send aitana a wave back was all of the confirmation diego needed to know that aitana just waved at you.

“did she just wave at you? y/n have you pulled aitana? how?! did you recite some shakespeare love quote or something?! do you like her? oh my god- you do! your blushing!” diego was spiralling, aitana was known for not dating or flirting, unlike many of her teammates who were known for flirting and dating a lot. so seeing her waving at you made diego unfocused for the entirety of the match, as he thought of how he was going to get you two together.

however, he didnt exactly need to, as you and him were seated quite close to the pitch, when the match ended both of you saw aitana call you over with a wave of her hand.

you werent sure how it was possible for her to look this good after a match, but as you approached the railing she was leant against you suddenly became very self aware of the blush that coated your cheeks.

“hey, your from the museum, right? i never actually got the chance to ask for your name.” aitana said, her eyes roaming appreciatively over your body.

“yeah, im y/n, you must be aitana, you played very well today, you have been revising some shakespeare?” you laughed as you saw the teasing frown that appeared on aitanas face, “shakespeare in my opinion writes very boring things!” aitana argued.

you put a hand over your heart and gasped in mock offence, “aitana youre hurting my heart, talking about the greatest play writer of all time!”

but before aitana could respond, pina and patri bounded over to her and slung an arm round her neck, they recognised you from the museum, and in their minds came to aitanas rescue to help her ask you out.

“hello! your y/n right? i think you were at janas dorm once doing art, correct me if i am mistaken” patri said, “yes i have been, its nice to meet you!” you replied as diego handed you yet another cup of tea.

“i hear you are very good at english literature? you know, aitana is in desperate need of a tutor!” pina stated while wiggling her eyebrows suggestively, making aitana smack her on her arm.

“ignore her! her mum dropped her on her head as a baby!” aitana joked making you laugh and reply “its fine! i dont mind tutoring you if you need it aita?”

upon hearing her nickname fall from your lips aitana couldnt help but smile bashfully and blush like a little girl with her first crush, much to her teammates amusement.

“uh- yes! yes- definately, i would love that, can i have your number? to schedule a time that is! or not- if you dont want to, or if you changed your mind! no pressure y/n- “

you smiled at aitanas almost incoherrent rambling, “aita, i want to tutor you, honestly. can i get your phone to put my number in?”

aitana quickly pushed her phone in to your hands before you could change your mind, and as soon as you typed in your number, sprinted off with a quick goodbye.

———

you and aitana scheduled your tutor sessions every tuesday and thursday, the days aitana didnt have training or matches. however, the study sessions werent going as planned, as aitana could not concentrate at all. you werent sure why, and obviously aitana would never dare admit that she was daydreaming about you, with you right in front of her.

you felt hopeless, you loved aitana, you really did, she spoke to you as well when she saw you around school, except that was it, you longed for so much more with the brunette, unknown to you that aitana felt the same way.

after a month of tutoring, aitana could still not pass an english literature test, she knew that you would confront her about it soon, you had dedicated a lot of time tutoring her after all.

“aitana i dont get it! i mean- you say you need a tutor but then you dont concentrate at all, you failed another test! do i bore you during these, what can i do for you to listen?” you said exasperatedly, aitana knew you had every right to be mad at her, to anyone else it looked like she wasnt trying at all.

“no of course your not boring me y/n, you would never!”

“tana, should i change the length of these sessions, are they too long, and making you tired? i understand if its too much?”

“no, no they are fine, i have one idea in mind though”, this was it, aitana planned on asking you something she had been mustering up the courage for a while to do ever since you had stopped accompanying diego to the matches, caught up in studying.

“uh- you could come to my matches each sunday? maybe in my jersey.” aitana asked sheepishly. you however, choked on your water as soon as you heard her request, i mean, was that not a couple thing to do?

“uh- sure aita, if that would make you concentrate on english literature more!” you paused as you quickly thought of an excuse to get out of the library to recollect your thoughts, “can we please cut this session a little short, i promised diego i would go for a coffee with him!”

“oh okay, bye y/n see you on sunday!”

after saying goodbye to aitana, you rushed to diegos room, telling him about aitanas request, although his reaction didnt match your panicked state, as he immediately started laughing.

“finallyyy amiga! i was wondering when one of you would make the first move!”

“diego your not helping! what do i do?!”

“you should probablyy… go to the match and wear the jersey?” diego said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, whilst rolling his eyes.

“everyone will see, its a thing couples do, everyone will think that we are together” you said, “you say it like its a bad thing y/n, if i were you, i wouldnt be mad if people thought i was with aitana bonmati” diego argued.

“whatever” you huffed also rolling your eyes at him “you will come to the match with me though, aitana texted me saying she got front row seats for us”

“obviously im going y/n, i guess now your girlfriend has got us good seats i owe the favour of being your drink refiller?”

“you were going to refill my drinks anyway, and shes not my girlfriend diego!”

“whatever you say”

———

it was match day, as promised you were wearing one of aitanas jersey which the midfielder had dropped off for you earlier this morning. you had already gotten quite a few dirty looks from people who you could only assume were aitanas “fangirls”. the dirty looks only got worse when during warm ups aitana came over to you, and leant over the railing, holding your jaw to move your head to the side so she could whisper something in your ear.

diego, who had gone to get you a tea when this interaction took place, only saw the two of you from far away, and from a distance, it honestly looked like aitana was kissing your neck.

“woah amiga what was that? you never told me you two had sorted your feelings out, was she kissing you?” diego exclaimed as soon as aitana was called back over to get ready for kickoff.

“what? we werent kissing! she was just telling me something!”

“sure y/n, sure”

the game had started, and a brunette midfielder on the pitch couldnt seem to keep their eyes off you. however, it wasnt aitana. a girl off of the rival team seemed to be flirting with you from on the pitch, as diego said.

it wasnt only the two of you that had noticed too, it was hard for aitana to not notice, especially when the girl scored and pointed at you in the stands.

this only fuelled aitana more to win, but jealousy once again overcame her when she saw the girl blow a kiss to you, so when the girl next had the ball, aitana quickly slid into her, completely taking her out and earning herself a yellow card in the process.

the short lecture that aitanas captain was giving her went in one ear and out of the other, as aitanas eyes had already drifted to you, both of you locked eye contact and you couldnt help but laugh and shake your head at the midfielder, who smiled at seeing your laughter.

in aitanas opinion, if she couldnt injure the girl anymore, she might as well embarrass her on the pitch. the rest of the match was filled with aitana nutmegging, and skilling the poor girl who flirted with you. the spaniard relished in the feeling of dribbling straight past the girl, and ended up scoring two goals, and after each one she pointed at you.

at the end of the match, she ran straight over to you, who was already stood up and leant against the railing.

“y/n i just wanted to thank you again for coming, you dont have to do this again next week, i know that football does bore you a bit.”

“no tana, i enjoyed it really, you played so well and im so proud of you!”

“you will come again next week?”

“of course i will, now you should go celebrate the win with the team.” you said, realising that most of the team were soaking up the glory of winning, and aitana was missing it, “also, would you want to go get a coffee with me next week, theres a new cafe that opened up near campus?”

“i would love to aita, message me the details?”

“i will tonight! bye y/n, and bye diego!” however a poke in your side from diego reminded you of exactly what he wanted you to do, and you knew you would be bullied relentlessly by him all night if you didnt, so you grabbed aitanas arm before she could run to her teammates, and pressed your lips to hers.

as you looped your arms round the midfielders neck, you felt her smile into the kiss, before pressing her tongue to your lips, eliciting a soft gasp from you which aitana silenced with her lips, you pulled away from the kiss when you began to feel lightheaded, and you werent sure if it was due to the lack of oxygen or that you were just kissing aitana.

“bye aitana” you said with a wave before pressing your lips on her cheek, as a more pg way of saying goodbye.

aitana ended up passing english literature.

———