#thankfully the box soaked up most of it

[robinsnest2111]

laundry, magnesium supplements, then off to bed and then another day of work

[rambling-at-midnight]

omg a part 2????

i loved it so much!!!

Ahh I'm so glad you liked it!!! It's my first Jason x reader fic :) Here's a part 2!

Pros and Cons of Midnight Snacks (Part 2)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Gender Neutral Civilian!Reader

Summary: Now it’s time for a meet-ugly-ish with some dude named Jason. Also, you see the Red Hood again.

Word count: 6.3k (holy shit)

You’re not crazy, right? It’s weird that the library is completely empty because it closes in two hours and the weather is actually nice outside for once, and some random dude wanders in and sets up two seats down from you. He’s not even here to study; he pulled out a sci-fi novel as soon as he sat down.

Who comes to a GCU campus library to read recreationally? The seats are uncomfortable and plastic. And the sun is shining. Everyone else is outside soaking up the Vitamin D.

Honestly, you’re mostly surprised the chair he’s on didn’t snap as soon as he sat. The dude is huge. Football player huge. Shouldn’t he be at practice, instead of forcing the chair to make the most irritating squeaking noises known to man every time he moves an inch?

You grit your teeth and put on your headphones, but you can still hear the poor chair’s dying lamentations, so you turn on an instrumental playlist that hopefully won’t distract you too much from studying.

You let yourself stew over the annoyance until your stomach growls so loud you hear it over the soft music. He has the good grace not to look at you, but you definitely see him pause.

Okay, you’ll call it even. This is what you get for running to the library right after six hours of classes. You need to cement the knowledge in your mind while it’s still fresh, and if that means you have to forego lunch…

He’s still there two hours later when the closing time alarm goes off. It’s a shrill old-school bell, the kind no one can ignore, and he jumps like he’s never heard it in his life. The poor chair finally gives up. He tumbles to the ground.

You look over in case he needs any help, but he’s scrambling for the book, face bright red.

If he is a football player, you wouldn’t be surprised that he’s never heard the bell before. That sort rarely stays this late at the library—if they enter at all.

He rushes out. You pack up a little more methodically. All that’s left for you to look forward to tonight is trying to study in your apartment, but you never have much luck.

He’s outside the library on his phone when you walk out. Maybe waiting for a ride? You’re a little on edge from the events of two days ago, so you watch him out of the corner of your eye as you walk away.

Thankfully, he doesn’t follow you.

At least the library closes earlier on Wednesdays, 6 pm instead of 9:30. You don’t know why. It’s still a weekday. But it forces you out while the sun’s still shining, which is probably a good thing.

Within two minutes of the twenty-minute walk home, your hip hurts. By the ten-minute mark, you’re trying not to limp.

Despite your better judgment, you keep your gaze turned to the rooftops, even though you know the vigilantes are nocturnal. It’s stupid to want to see a flash of red helmet, anyway. The Red Hood probably saves hundreds of people every week; there’s no way he would remember you.

Of course, when you finally get back, there are the stairs to contend with.

Your cat, that ungrateful little beast, beeps at you furiously for being gone so long. Never mind that your roommate works nights, so at most the cat’s been alone for an hour. He makes a break for the hallway, and you box the doorway with your legs and slam the door closed against your hip as you slip through.

Your injury explodes with pain, but at least the cat doesn’t get out. Ungrateful little beast. As if he isn’t fed and loved enough.

You finish slipping through the doorway and just stand for a moment listening to the blood rushing through your ears. Damn, but that hurt.

In the bathroom mirror, you hike up the hem of your shirt and check the state of your injury.

All in all, it could have been much worse. The bullet scooped out a fair chunk of skin, but it was just a surface wound. There’s no fresh blood on the gauze, and when you change the wrappings, the skin is pink and raw but starting to scab. It scooped out a chunk and left a trail of bruising, but you got off fairly lightly, all things considered.

The GCPD released the robber’s mugshot yesterday morning. In the picture, the man’s eyes were so swollen from your pepper spray he could hardly open them.

You preferred the bullet, honestly.

You try in vain to study a bit more, but even after you take more painkillers, you’re not in the mood. You feed your cat, then curl up on the couch to watch a couple episodes of the show you’re currently in the middle of.

That was the first time you see the huge guy, but it’s certainly not the last.

You wouldn’t notice him so much if he wasn’t the size of a damn refrigerator. He’s gotta be a linebacker for the Knights, but he’s not on their roster. You looked it up after the third time he wandered into the library just a couple minutes after you. It’s probably not updated yet, but you see him so often, you’d like to know his name.

Also, he’d bleached a patch of hair right at the front of his head—was that a trend now, or something?—so it wasn’t hard to spot him.

On Saturday, your feelings shift from mild annoyance and curiosity to a sinking sort of dread when you notice him at the coffeeshop you always visit on the weekends. The employees know you by name and use it to call out your order, so now he knows it, as long as he’s paying attention.

You think he might be.

You don’t want to be that person. Not everything in the world revolves around you, obviously. But you might still be shaken from what happened on Monday, because the thought wiggles in the back of your brain: what if you have a stalker?

You try to tell yourself that it’s just paranoia. GCU isn’t that big a campus, after all, and there are only so many places in the city that are: A. close to campus, B. reasonably priced, and C. comfortable to work in. You’ve run into classmates here before, and you don’t have a monopoly on the library or this coffeeshop. Just because he shows up at the same time you do doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He might be establishing a schedule that just so happens to line up with yours.

But, you have to admit, it is easier for stalkers to stalk people when they know their regular schedule.

You keep a watchful eye out and are pretty good about keeping off the streets after dark, but a week and a half later finds you stranded an hour’s walk from your apartment. The buses worked for two days, then shut down again, and you foolishly believed that following the detour that said would get you home would actually get you home. You don’t want to call an Uber because traffic would make the ride longer than the walk and bankrupt you in the process. Same reason you can’t call anyone to pick you up unless you waited the two hours until rush hour dies down.

Walking is, unfortunately, the best option.

So you clutch your trusty pepper spray and prepare yourself for a long night of looking over your shoulder and ignoring the pain in your side. The wound has mostly closed, although the bruising has gotten worse.

Three minutes later, you hear the roar of a motorcycle followed by angry car honks. You barely pay it any mind until the motorcycle pulls up next to you and doesn't pass.

You keep walking, avoiding eye contact. Maybe ignoring them will dissuade the rider from catcalling you.

It doesn't work. "Hey," the rider says, and it's only because the voice is mechanically distorted, recognizable only because of how many videos of him that you won't admit to looking up the last week, that you look at him. "What are you doing?" asks the Red Hood.

"What are you doing?" you counter. He's blocking the flow of traffic talking to you.

The Red Hood looks over his shoulder, flips off the person honking behind him, and steers his motorcycle onto the sidewalk. He drives fast, and you flinch in case he tries to run you over, but he screeches to a halt at the last second.

"Haven't seen you in a couple of weeks," he says casually, like you two meet up often.

"I've been staying out of trouble," you say.

"Not tonight?"

"No. That wasn't my fault, though. I took the Southwest bus because it was supposed to connect with the L line, but all the signs they posted were a lie, apparently, because—" You cut yourself off. "Never mind, I'm sure you don't care. Point is, I'm walking home. It's not too far."

"It's about an hour," he points out. "How's your bullet wound? Will it object to that walk?"

"I'll be fine."

He pats the back of his motorcycle seat. "Hop on. I'll drive you."

You take a couple hasty steps back. It may not be a white van, but you know better than to follow candy into someone's vehicle. "Oh, no, thanks. Traffic's pretty bad right now."

You get the sense he's smiling when he says, "I bet I can get you back faster than walking." If only he wasn't wearing the stupid shiny helmet, you would be able to read his expressions better.

"Really, I'm okay. I'm sure you have better things to do than drive me home."

"Helping people is literally my job," is his response. "I have to make sure you get home safely. So either you get on the back of my bike, or I follow you the whole walk back to your apartment."

You know a losing battle when you see it. As a general rule of thumb, it's usually smart not to argue with the dude carrying at least two guns. "Don't kidnap me," you order before slinging your leg over the seat.

He chuckles. It's the first time you've ever heard him laugh, and it makes him sound so much younger. "You can't ride like that."

"Like what?"

He cranes his neck to look back at you. There's at least six inches between both your bodies. You clutch the sides of the seat with both your hands, hoping he doesn't take off with such a lurch that you topple off the back. "I drive fast. You'll have to hold on."

"I am holding on."

"To me."

You've only met the man twice. You're pretty sure clinging to someone's back is at least a third-meeting type of touch, but he reaches back. The Red Hood snakes a hand nearly twice the size of yours into the crook of your knee, then yanks you to him. You shoot forward with a strangled yelp and catch yourself on his back.

You've never before understood the phrase 'wall of muscle,' but you get it now.

He is huge. And strong. You gingerly put your hands on his shoulders. That's not an inappropriate touch, you think.

He has to live at the gym, right?

"You're still not holding on," he chides. "I don't have a helmet for you, so you really shouldn't fall off."

You swallow and move your hands, but he's too thick for you to link your hands around his front. So you fist both of them into his jacket. It presses your bodies tight against each other from shoulder to thighs. Through the layers his body radiates heat, but you shiver.

"Going," is all the warning you get.

Then you're gone; the bike shudders beneath you, then takes off like a jet.

You can't catch your breath. This must be what riding a dragon feels like, is your first nonsensical thought, a side effect of your roommate's obsession with Game of Thrones.

The bike roars beneath you, but you can hardly hear it over the rush of wind and the pound of blood in your ears. You can't see much with the wind drying out your eyes, so you press your head against the Red Hood's back and squint to one side. Cars and street lamps blur together into a stream of mismatched lights and colors.

The Red Hood drives fast. He weaves between lanes, runs through red lights, cuts onto the sidewalk. A couple bikers shake their fists at him when he passes them in the bike lane. A lot of cars honk at the two of you.

Judging by the way his shoulders shake with laughter, he likes pissing them off. You have to admit, the feeling is a little intoxicating.

You can't hear the sound, but your front is plastered to his back. Even with the layers of his suit and leather jacket, you can feel the vibrations of sound deep within his chest. He has a fairly deep voice, after all, unless the helmet changes that.

No less than ten minutes later, he parks abruptly. You lift your head, blinking moisture back into your eyes, and stare dumbly at your apartment building.

He'd actually brought you back.

Maybe he really was reformed.

You stumble off the bike onto unsteady legs. The Red Hood kicks his stand into place and rests against the bike, leaning with elbows on his handlebars. Like he expects a Midwest goodbye. And you find yourself dawdling.

Maybe you want one, too.

"Thanks for the ride," you finally say awkwardly.

"Anytime," he says, and you laugh, thinking it's a joke, but he doesn't. After a brief awkward pause, the Red Hood tries, "So how have you been?" as if you're old pals meeting up for brunch, and the question is so ridiculous coming from a sort-of-reformed crime lord slash serial killer that you respond without thinking.

"Pretty good, except I think I may have a stalker."

His helmet doesn't do a great job translating whatever sound he makes in response to that. It comes out as a crackle. "What?"

"I've noticed this dude recently showing up wherever I go," you say. "But I think it's just a coincidence. Sorry. That was a bad joke." It wasn't, but you don't want to accuse someone without proof of stalking you. If he's not, you'll seem self-obsessed. If he is, then he knows that you know, and it's not like the GCPD will do anything. One of your friends from your hometown had a stalker for literal years, and the police never did anything, even after he sent her death threats. They said there wasn't enough proof to make an arrest then, so someone showing up at the same places you are definitely isn't enough proof now.

The Red Hood tilts his head. "Does he make you uncomfortable?"

"You don't need to beat him up or anything on my behalf," you say. "I mean, you've seen me with a bottle of pepper spray. I'm pretty sure I can handle myself."

"I know you can," he says. You can hear the smile in his voice, like he finds something about the situation funny. "And I'm pretty sure that you know that I'm going to check this out anyway."

"No," you say, surprising yourself with your firmness. You can't rely on vigilantes to solve all your problems for you. "Seriously, it's okay. Thanks for the ride. Maybe I'll see you around."

"I'm counting on it," he calls as you walk away.

And he's right. Two days later finds you at the gas station at ten-thirty at night. You don't want to see him, per se. You're definitely not looking over your shoulder at the slightest sound. You definitely didn't check the parking lot for a notorious red motorcycle on your way in, and you certainly aren't taking peeks out the window every time headlights pass by on the street.

You're just... curious.

Maybe.

But you have absolutely no warning, not even a suspicion that someone is behind you, when you reach for a box of Cheez-Its. Someone else's hand gets there first and you nearly jump out of your socks.

"Hey," the Red Hood wheezes. He's clutching his side like he has a cramp. "Question: if I buy these for you, will you patch me up?"

"What?"

"I may have been cut," he admits. Judging by the angle of his hunch, it's a little more serious than just a 'cut'. "So: do we have a deal?"

The thought occurs to you, as you help him up five flights of stairs to your apartment, that you're escorting a strange man into your place of residence. You haven't even given your roommate a heads-up, though you're pretty sure tomorrow's his night off.

Sure enough, the only person there to greet you when you walk in is your cat. As per usual, he tries to escape. The Red Hood gently but firmly ushers him inside with his foot with such ease he must have one of his own. "It's cute," he says, still clutching his side.

"Thanks," you say. "He always tries to get out, but if he actually escapes then he just freezes in the hallway until I bring him back inside." Then you realize that you're discussing your cat, of all things, with the Red Hood. You clear your throat and say, "Let me take a look at you."

The crime lord and cat trail after you into the bathroom. It gets a little cramped because the Red Hood's about as small as a fridge is small, but you two figure out a passable system: he's too tall, even while sitting down, and you don't want to bend in half while you stitch him. So you sit on the toilet, he stands in front of you, and your cat jumps on top of his leather jacket on the counter to observe and judge. Luckily, the suture kit is still in the bathroom from when you thought you would have to stitch yourself up, so it's not long before you're instructing him to lift up the hem of his shirt so you can see the damage.

You hiss between your teeth at the sight. Someone grazed his side with a knife, by the looks of it, but the wound is deep. It might go all the way to his subcutaneous tissue.

After you clean it off, you're sure that it does. "You call this a cut?"

"I've had worse," he says gruffly.

"And you're still alive?" You squint at him.

He huffs like that's funny.

"They basically cut you in two! I don't know if I can fix this. I've never stitched someone up before!"

"What do you mean?" He tilts his head. "You stitched yourself up, remember? You told me you would."

Shit. Of all the ways to stick your foot in your mouth—

"It wasn't that bad," you say weakly.

“It looked pretty bad.”

“It just looked bad because I was wearing a light colored shirt. Don’t worry; I’ve learned my lesson.”

The Red Hood scratches under your cat’s chin. “About wearing light colored clothing, or about getting shot?”

You’re trying to thread the suture needle, but the stupid thread won’t cooperate. “Hmm?”

“Which lesson did you learn?”

“The former, mostly. Believe it or not, ‘try not to get shot’ is something most people, including me, know intuitively.”

"Let me see."

"Yeah, right," you say, "my apartment's basically a strip club, isn't it? First your shirt's coming up, then mine. Absolutely—" You slap his hand away— "Not. I'm fine. Now hold still while I stab you."

The process goes by quickly. He stands like a statue the whole time, like he's used to the pain of getting stitches. Considering his profession, he probably is.

Actually, you can see a couple healed-over scars on his torso just from the small bit of skin he's revealed by pulling up his shirt. And, you're pretty sure, a perfectly defined six-pack, but that's none of your business.

"I don't have the fancy dissolving sutures, unfortunately," you say while you tie off the thread. "These should come out in about a week."

"Yeah, I know," he grunts, letting his shirt fall back down. And you're not disappointed. At all. "Same time next week, then?"

"What?"

"To get them out."

"Uh." Your brain stalls out. You'd been operating under the assumption that this was just another freak coincidental run-in.

Is it just you, or is the Red Hood looking to make a friend out of you? Or maybe just a free pseudo-surgeon?

"Sure," you say. It's not like you can stop him, really.

"Thanks," he says, stroking your cat one more time. Then he nudges the pest off his jacket and shrugs it on, even though there's not really a need for it. The weather's been pretty mild the last week.

You walk him out the door. He pauses in the hallway, turns, and says, "By the way, what's your name?"

You tilt your head and tell it to him.

"Nice to meet you," he says. Then he walks away.

You watch him walk down the hallway until your cat escapes, and then you have to chase him. You're pretty sure the Red Hood sees it, because low-pitched laughter hits your ears as you gather the little bastard up, but when you look, the vigilante's gone.

"God, I hope he's up to date on his tetanus shot."

You find yourself at the coffee shop the next morning, determined not to let a buff bookworm change your routine. You're the first customer, and they have your order ready by the time you finish setting up your stuff on a small table in the corner of the shop, far from where the line will build up when more people trickle in.

Like clockwork, the bookworm wanders in just a couple minutes after you do, orders two coffees, and settles down across the room with his front to you.

Every time you glance up, he's utterly focused on his book. He's probably not watching you. Right?

Fifteen minutes later, the coffees untouched, he stands up. You watch out of the corner of your eye as he picks one up, approaches the counter, and...

Walks right past it.

Walks in your direction.

You stare blatantly, and he holds your gaze with a set jaw and something a little challenging in his gaze.

He's walking to you.

The coffee cup slams on the table, splashing a little over the edge, and you jump to move your laptop away from the liquid.

"Shit, sorry," the bookworm says. He runs away.

You stare until you realize he's grabbing napkins and hurrying back. At least ten, even though the spill's pretty small, and he piles them all onto the table.

His face gets redder the longer you watch without saying anything.

Once he's absolutely sure your laptop is safe from the couple drops he spilled, he balls them all into one large fist and rushes out, "I'm sorry—I was supposed to meet my brother here, but he canceled, and your drink cup's empty, so I was just wondering if you wanted this one? It's a little warm, but..."

"But free is good," you say, deciding to put him out his misery. And he certainly looks miserable rambling in front of you. Like he's mortified for some reason. "Um, thanks. What..."

"Just an iced coffee. Probably watered down."

You take a sip, just to be polite. It is watered down, but he didn't add any milk to it, so that's probably a good thing. "Thanks..." You tilt the cup to look at the name written on the side. "Jason?"

"Yep." He nods. He's still standing in front of you, like he wants to be invited to sit, but you have a lot of work to do, and he's a complete stranger, and all his stuff is still on his table across the room.

Something clatters behind the counter. You both turn in time to see the two baristas duck out of sight, whispering furiously. Probably about the spectacle you two are making.

"You go to GCU's campus library a lot, right?" Jason asks suddenly.

"Yeah, I do. So do you." You don't phrase it like a question.

"Yeah," he says. "It's peaceful to read in there. Quieter than my apartment."

"Okay," you say slowly. You're really not interested in this conversation, but you don't want to be rude.

He must understand you, though, because he rubs the back of his head and steps backwards, mumbling something about getting back to his book.

Jason's brother never does end up meeting him. You tell yourself that's why you keep glancing at him. Once or twice, you two peek at each other at the same time, and you always look away first, face hot like he's caught you doing something wrong.

The next time you go to the library, it's packed. The weather has turned, so students have nothing better to do than prepare for their finals. You head to the quiet floor, slowly losing hope that you'll find a seat.

A head snaps up the moment you walk in, dark-haired with a striking streak of white at his forehead. Jason.

Something like relief passes over his face, and he waves you over.

"I saved your seat," he whispers, dragging his bag off of the chair.

"Thanks," you say, actually touched. "You didn't have to."

He shrugs. "You're my reading buddy."

The next day, he's sitting at the library's entrance when you walk in. Jason shakes his head. "All the seats were already taken when I got here."

"Ugh." Strictly speaking, you don't need to study tonight. You're pretty confident about the next test's material, and you're also pretty burnt out.

"We could check out the Student Center?" he suggests. As if it's a given that the two of you are going to spend the afternoon together. And, you realize, after two straight weeks of studying in his proximity, you don't mind the presumption. That's how you made your closest friend in undergrad, anyway.

In fact, you think you might want to get to know Jason. Maybe ask about his white streak; you've been growing more and more curious about it. And why he's about seven feet tall and two hundred fifty pounds of muscle but has a passion for romance novels.

"I don't think I've studied in there before."

"It's not too bad, but it's a little louder than the library."

So you two head to the Student Center, but he doesn't open his book, and you open your laptop but don't turn it on. He buys you coffee, though you insist that you can pay for it yourself, and a simple query into what book he's reading currently turns into a two-hour conversation.

Jason likes to read every genre, but he likes classics and romance best. He doesn't just have one brother, he has four, and a sister. He's not on the football team like you'd assumed; he just likes to work out. He's finishing up his sophomore year of undergrad studying English Lit—he sees how your smile freezes at those words, and you're asking how old he is, and he's laughing when he tells you he took a couple gap years. He's your age, actually, and that's relieving for reasons you can't quite put to words.

When you check your watch and curse at the time—it's almost time for your cat's dinner—he asks for your number, and you put it into his phone.

You feel good on your walk home. You haven't made a new friend since the first semester of vet school; the course load is too demanding for you to participate in any GCU clubs. Your roommate asks why you're smiling and you wave him off. Of course, your cat doesn't care that you're in a good mood. He only cares about getting fed.

You see Jason a couple more times over the week, and soon you're too embarrassed to admit that you thought he was stalking you. He's almost as bad a texter as you are, responding at such hours you're half-convinced he doesn't sleep, so you're less self-conscious about taking hours to respond.

You've just gotten around to answering his last text when something knocks against your window.

You drop the phone on your face.

The Red Hood is laughing at you when you open the window to let him in. You'd forgotten he was coming, but you don't say so. He tumbles in, moving a little stiffly, but a lot better than he'd been last week. Your cat, the little traitor, runs to greet him and rubs against his ankles, purring like an engine. The Red Hood bends to pet him. "Hey, kitty." The red helmet tips up and those unnerving white lenses fix on you. "Hey, doc. Here to get my stitches out."

"How have you been feeling?" you ask.

"Good," he says, almost defensively.

It makes you suspect that something is wrong, but when you all pile into the bathroom again like it's a clown car and he pulls up his shirt, the wound is healing nicely. No pink or heat that signals infection, no puffy skin. You remove the stitches quickly, and again he hesitates, like he wants to stay longer.

You find yourself thinking about Jason. You're pretty sure you wish he was here.

"Well, thanks."

"Anytime."

He pauses. "Really?"

You shrug. "I mean, not if you need a hospital. Then I'd expect you to head straight to a hospital. But stuff like this—no worse than this, ideally—I guess I can help you with."

"You're pretty cool for a vet," the Red Hood says. "The last one I visited kept freaking out on me for stealing codeine."

"Well, that's a restricted—wait, you were stealing codeine? What for?"

He shrugs.

"What were you using it for," you repeat sternly.

"Okay!" he says loudly. "Well, thanks for patching me up, doc. I'll see you later, yeah?"

"Wait," you call out uselessly, but he vaults out the window. You gasp and rush to the sill, but there's no Red Hood-shaped puddle on the ground. Instead, his rapidly shrinking form disappears in the distance, swinging between the buildings that make up the Gotham skyline.

You don't see the Red Hood for a while after that, but you hear whispers of him wearing a new costume. You get caught up with finals and Jason, who asks you out after the semester ends.

Your vehement 'yes' takes you by surprise. Him, too, judging by his wide eyes and wider smile. You wonder why he asked if he thought you would say no. You wonder why you didn't realize earlier how desperately you wanted him to.

Now that you're out of school, you pick up shifts at the vet clinic. By some unhappy circumstance, they can only schedule you for the evening shifts. Jason works nights, too, and you've never fully squirreled out where he works, but at least you can spend some days together.

It's when you're walking back from your first shift that you see the Red Hood again after almost three weeks of radio silence. He pulls up next to you on the motorcycle. It's so late that there's no one on the road, so he stays on the asphalt and idles along at your walking pace until you break and say, "Long time no see, Hood."

"Did you miss me?" he teases.

You stop walking, because.

Most of his costume changed. Because it's summer, and even the nights are hot and muggy, you assume.

The pants are the same. So are the boots. But his jacket is red and sleeveless and has a hood that goes down to his eyebrows, the armor beneath short-sleeved, which means most of his arms are bare.

And...

Your mouth is dry. You swallow.

You're pretty sure not even Batman is that ripped. He looks like he's chiseled out of marble.

The longer you're speechless, the more amused he gets. You don't know how you know that, but something about his posture seems smug.

"You're taking 'red hood' seriously now, are you?" is all you manage to say. Because what else are you supposed to comment on? His bare forearms? His veins are so beautifully pronounced, they would be a dream to take blood from, but you have a boyfriend of a whole one and a half weeks, and you may be many things, but you're not a cheater.

He laughs, then pulls his hood low when it slips back a bit. His voice is still modulated, although it's not through a red helmet anymore. This is more like a muzzle. You can't tell if the eye covering is part of it, or like the domino masks that Batman and Robin wear, but the lenses are red now instead of white.

He's really leaning into the theme.

"You want a ride?"

"We're two blocks from my apartment."

He shrugs. "I'm heading there anyway."

What the hell. You've already hopped on the back of his bike before. It's easier to do so the second time. You wrap your arms around his torso again, and when his arms settle over your own, they're warm with his body heat, but not hard, even though the muscles look sharp enough to cut glass. He's firm all over, but his skin is soft, apart from the raised, bumpy scars that seem to cover him from head-to-toe. It makes you worry about him, just a little.

He doesn't drive fast this time. He drives slow enough to hold a conversation and tosses over his shoulder, "So what's new with you?"

"Not much," you say into his ear. Is it just you, or does he shiver? "I finished another semester of vet school."

"Top grades, I'm sure. Did you get extra credit for patching me up?"

"I wish." No, your grades are good, but not exceptional. But exceptional is what got you into vet school. As long as you graduate with a DVM, even if you're the lowest in your class, you're a licensed doctor. There's some relief in that. "The dude I thought was stalking me asked me out, actually."

"Really?" he asks, interested and alert. "Was he really stalking you? Do you need me to scare him off for you?"

"No," you say, smiling at the thought of the Red Hood trying to scare off Jason. They're about the same build, now that you think about it, which you're sure the vigilante isn't used to. And Jason's never been anything but gentle and polite, but you saw an undercurrent of something strong, something like titanium, under that gentle spirit the one time he stood up for one of the baristas at the coffee shop that you first spoke to each other. He hadn't needed to do much apart from stand up and glare at the beleaguered corporate guy angry that there wasn't enough sugar in his coffee, and the dude shut up and scurried out as fast as he could.

It was probably the hottest thing you've ever seen him do, except for that one time you pushed your laptop a little too close to the edge of your desk while studying, it tipped over, and he caught it one-handed without looking up from his book. What can you say? Saving you a couple hundred dollars in getting that fixed was hot.

"It was a misunderstanding," you say. "We just ended up in the same places at the same times."

A gust of wind pushes back the Red Hood's hood, exposing a head of thick, dark hair, the same shade of black as Jason's. The motorcycle swerves in his haste to pull his hood back up, and when you reach your apartment and hop off the bike, he's pushing his hair back, back, beneath the hood.

What's the point of ditching the helmet if he's just going to be fussing with the hood all the time?

"What's new with you?" you ask, scuffing your toe against the sidewalk. Your shoes are falling apart; the sole is peeling away.

"Same old, same old," he says. His voice sounds rougher, but that might just be the new modulator.

"How's your side?"

"How's yours?" he counters. "You still haven't let me see it. I bet it scarred because you were too stubborn to take my advice and patch it up."

You will never admit that he's right. You challenge, "Let's compare scars, then," knowing full well his armor dips below his pants. It's a little silly to picture the Red Hood wearing an armored one-piece, but that's all you can imagine.

He clucks his tongue and shakes his head. It dislodges the hood. A patch of hair falls down to his forehead, and it's white.

But the back of his hair is black.

White and black—

Your stomach flips.

"I thought you had a boyfriend, honey. Why're you asking me to strip?"

So that's what all the teasing's been about. He hasn't been flirting—or he has, his own weird version of flirting, because he's a dumbass.

For a moment all you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears, then you flex your fingers to regain feeling in them. You roll your eyes and say, "I think we've established that my apartment is basically a strip club. Why don't you come up and show me, Jason?"

"Well, I'm flattered, but—what?" He splutters like he's choking on his own tongue. Serves him right. "I'm not—why do you think that—I mean, I could be anyone—"

Yeah, he can have his little crisis on the street. You tug on your own fringe, then swipe into the building.

You hear his muffled cursing as the door closes.

You look forward to him catching up.

(My requests are open, so let me know if you want me to write anything in particular! Also let me know if you want to be added to a taglist.)

Forever tag list:

@lemirabitur @annymcervantes @queenmissfit @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @iksey @thehyperactiveteen @luxmoonlight @andreasworlsboring101

[shushmal]

steddie request! pre steddie during a pool day eddie feels cute aggression and bites the back of steve's shoulder and surprises him

It should be ILLEGAL, Eddie thinks, for Steve Harrington to allowed out into polite company, much less in a community pool where innocent eyes could gaze upon him. Objectively, sure, Eddie knows that those little pink swim shorts aren't any more scandalous that what anyone else is wearing today. Ted Wheeler is knocked out on a lounge chair with only a speedo. But it's Steve. And Eddie's doing his best to rehab his image in Hawkins, so drooling after the local Harrington prince wasn't going to help.

Never mind that it was Steve who drug Eddie out into Satan's crack that is Indiana summer in August. He'd made a good case about it, too—something, something, being seen doing good in front of all the moms at the community pool, something, something, Holly's birthday party, yada yada. Honestly, Eddie didn't hear most of it, lost in Steve's stupid, beautiful brown eyes.

What was Eddie going to say? No?? Be for real.

That was how Eddie found himself sat on a deck chair (thankfully one with an umbrella), in his jeans next to a cooler, handing little girls juice boxes and snacks when demanded of him.

Holly Wheeler must befriends with the entire elementary school, Jesus Christ.

Steve himself, in his aforementioned pink swim trunks, was playing as pool jungle gym and had kids crawling all over him. It helped a lot to keep Eddie from drooling after him, but didn't do a lot for Eddie's heart.

Worse than Steve being hot, was Steve being cute. Eddie couldn't take it. He was going to die.

Steve had one of the smaller kids perched on his hip, held safely up out of the splash zone, while the rest of the hoard took turns climbing up onto his shoulders and using him like a diving board, his free hand guiding them safely into the water as they jumped. It looked like hell to Eddie, but Steve was grinning ear to ear, rating each jump with a booming cheer that had all the kids screaming around him with each splash.

"Um, excuse me," snaps a little girl in front of Eddie. He glances down and feels like he's looking at a mini Erica Sinclair, her hands on her hips and scowling. A chilling sight.

"Whatcha need, shrimp?" Eddie sighs, flipping the cooler lid up to take another order. "We're out of red barrels, and our stock of blue is going fast."

She eyes him skeptically for a moment before her little shoulders slump. "Fine, I guess I'll take the blue."

"Here you go," he says, pulling the foil off for her since little wrinkled baby fingers have yet to manage it all day. "Now be gone with ye."

Treating him with another incredibly bitchy look for a third grader, she bounds off just as a shadow appears over Eddie. A wet arm hooks over Eddie's shoulders, just as Steve crashes into the deck chair beside him, too small for two nearly full grown men, the plastic creaking ominously. Steve is practically in Eddie's lap.

"Harrington, what the fuck," Eddie squawks, cold pool water soaking into his clothes because Steve is dripping wet.

"What the language, Munson," Steve says, still grinning, looking at Eddie with those brown eyes. His face is round and a little pink, and he's so close that Eddie can see the faint trail of summer freckles across his nose. He's so beautiful, and he looks so happy and excited to have Eddie's attention. "There's little ears—OW WHAT THE FUCK!"

Eddie opens his jaw and yanks his head back, almost as shocked with himself as Steve. He can taste pool water in his mouth. There's a line of pink teeth-marks on Steve tanned shoulder.

"Uh," Eddie says.

"Did..." Steve starts. He leans back a little, still half in Eddie's lap, to gape down at him. "Did you just... bite me?"

"Y-Yeah," Eddie breathes. "Whoops."

"Whoops?" Steve repeats, brows high on his forehead. "Why the hell did you bite me?"

"You're very bitable." Eddie's going to drown himself in the pool at this rate. "You're too cute. I had to bite you."

He watches as Steve's eyes narrow, watches as Steve begins to suss him out. Eddie's still too shocked with himself to do anything, can't even panic, because he's that much of an idiot and his brain has gone completely offline. Because Eddie bit Steve Harrington and then called him cute, Jesus Humphrey Christ.

Then Steve leans down, slowly, until his face is right in Eddie's, and an insane thought goes through Eddie's brain. I bit Steve Harrington, told him he was cute, and now he's going to kiss me.

Except Steve bypasses Eddie's face and lands his lips against Eddie's neck, where he then tries to take his own pound of flesh.

Eddie screeches.

Distantly, he recognizes what a weird blessing it is that they're at the community pool, surrounded half the elementary school, all of them screeching and screaming and splashing. Everyone is completely oblivious to whatever homosexual nightmare is happening to Eddie right now.

"You're pretty cute yourself, Ed," Steve says into the small space next to his ear. And then he's up and standing between one breath and the next. "We really gotta teach you some manners though," he says, grinning, before he turns and dives into the pool.

"Y-Yeah," Eddie says weakly in his absence. He can feel Steve's spit on his neck, rapidly drying the summer heat, the bite mark aching with promise.

[rafeandonlyrafe]

defending you (sfw version)

words: 1.6k

warnings: mentions of violence

taglist: @thelomlisrafecameron @f4ll-for-you @dilvcv @winterrrnight @slut4drudy @drewsbabygirll @jjmaybankswifes-blog @rafescokenostril @jjsmarijuana @jjmaybankisbae @seeingstarks @angelofcigs @cece45450

nsfw version!

"rafe!" you yell, relieved to see him standing out on his dock. it looks like he's sorting through something in a box.

"rafe!" you yell again, waiting for him to hear you, but you know the sound of the whipping wind is carrying your voice in the opposite direction. 

rafe stands, and turns back towards tannyhill. "rafe!" you yell again, and he finally turns, having heard not exactly his name, but an unexpected sound from the water.

"y/n?" rafe screams, his face going pale seeing you swimming towards the dock.

"rafe." you smile, relieved to finally be done with your long swim.

"what are you doing?" rafe rushes towards the ladder as you begin to climb up, legs and arms weak. "the water is freezing and there's a storm coming in."

"i know." you shiver as you pull yourself onto the dock, with help from rafe. you can't even stand as your legs crumble. "i was paddleboarding before the storm came and someone came and knocked me off my board and took it and my paddle. i swam here because it was closest." 

you're kind of friends with rafe. he's never been mean or rude to you like you hear other people say, but there's a certain awkward tension when he's around.

you're not rich enough to be a kook but not poor enough to be a pogue, leaving you in a weird middle ground that you kind of love, getting accepted into both groups parties.

it's a party where you first met rafe. your kook friends all tried to convince you that he liked you, that he's been watching you the whole party, but whenever you looked his way, he was quick to advert his stare.

you became friends with his sister sarah quickly, and eventually began sleeping over at her house, using it as a safe haven especially when your parents would fight. rafe always found some sort of way to be involved in whatever you were doing with sarah, inviting himself out to the movies, or to get ice cream.

"who took your board?" rafes eyes flash with anger, the kind all the pogues tell you he's capable of, but that you haven't seen for yourself.

"kelces friend. i don't know his name. that blonde guy."

"topper?" rafe questions.

"no, no. that new guy. family just moved into that blue house."

"luke?" rafe practically spits his name out.

"yeah, him." you nod, and a shiver racks through your body. the water was frigid, but thankfully your hard swimming kept you from freezing. it's only now, on the dock with the harsh wind, that you feel the real chill.

"hold on, let me get you a towel." rafe runs onto the nearest boat, flipping open a seat and grabbing the fluffiest, most warm looking towel he sees.

rafe helps you stand and wraps the towel around you, pulling you into his arms to warm you up even more.

"what kind of boat was he driving?" rafe asks.

you don't want to talk, or think, just want to lay with your head against rafes chest and soak up his warmth, but you're eventually able to mutter out, "a black speedboat. i don't know more than that, it all happened so fast." truth was, you knew it was an expensive brand, way beyond anything your family would be able to afford, so you had no clue what it was.

"and he just came and knocked you off?" rafe curses himself as soon as he says it, because it sounds like he doesn't believe you, but really he just wants to get the story straight before he beats this guy to a pulp.

"yeah." you sniffle. "he made a huge wake that made me fall off, and then he just came along next to me and grabbed my board and paddle before i could get back on."

"y/n?" you hear your name called and turn and look down the dock, at mr. cameron.

you step out of rafes arms, suddenly aware of how it looks.

"hi, sir." you say as he walks closer.

"don't tell me you were swimming in this weather." it is unseasonably cold in the outer banks.

"not intentionally." you shake your head. "someone knocked me off my paddleboard and they took it. i swam here because it was closest."

mr. cameron looks at his son, and rafe gives a stern nod, a silent conversation happening that youre not privvy to.

"im gonna go get your board back for you, y/n." rafe says, effortlessly grabbing the boat keys his father tosses to him.

"rafe, i don't expect you to do that."

"we look out for our own here, yeah?" rafe says, hand coming to your face. you think he's going to rest a hand on your cheek, but his hand flinched and he pushes a stray hair behind your ear.

"thank you." you say with a tight swallow of your throat.

"ill be back, you go inside and warm up, okay?" rafe says, stepping back towards the boat. you nod, a weird feeling twisting in your stomach as you watch rafe going to defend you, going to get back what's yours.

you follow mr. cameron to the house, thankful as soon as you step in the door to be out of the wind.

"do you mind if i shower?" you ask, glad the wind had dried you a little to not be dripping throughout the whole house.

"of course not, let me take you there." mr. cameron loops through the huge house. you swear that you get lost every time you come here, only knowing the way from the front door up to sarahs room.

you meet rose halfway to your destination, and mr. cameron quickly explains the situation. she gives you a quick hug, apologizing for what happened. you're thankful you're already comfortable with them after spending time at the house with sarah.

mr. cameron leads you to a room with an attached bathroom, telling you he'll leave some clothes on the bed for you and then you can watch tv until rafe gets back. you thank him for the hospitality and head into the bathroom.

--

you're sitting on the bed, snuggled in under the covers, when the door suddenly opens. 

"rafe." you breath out, hopping out of the bed to go to him. he's soaking wet from the rain that came in from the storm, but he has a proud gleam in his eye.

"i got your board back." rafe says. "and that asshole won't mess with you anymore."

you gulp, hoping that just means rafe gave him a stern talking to, but as you look down at his knuckles, you can tell it's not true.

"rafe!" you gasp, grabbing his hand and lifting it up. his knuckles are red and look bruised.

"it's alright." he goes to shake his hand out of your grasp when he suddenly freezes.

"youre wearing my shirt." rafe says. you look down. you just put on whatever clothes mr. cameron had left for you. 

"i-" you're unsure if he's expecting an apology.

"in my clothes, in my room." rafe mutters, looking back towards the bed.

"i thought this was a guest room." you look around, realizing now that there are way too many personal items around for this to be a guest room, and that mr. cameron had led you to rafes room.

"it's no big deal." rafe says, this time putting his hand onto your cheek, rubbing it gently. it's cold from being outside but still warms you.

"i put your board in our shed. it'll be safe there for now. you're staying here though, the storms really bad right now." rafe says, backing you up further into the room and closing the door behind him.

"thank you but i don't want to impose." you shake your head.

"im not letting you leave in these conditions." rafe says. "now get back in bed and keep watching your show. i need to shower."

there's a new confidence in rafe that's shining even brighter than normal, and you wonder if it's the act of defending you that's caused it. you feel compelled to do whatever he says, so you nod your head and slip back under the covers, watching as rafe grabs a few items of clothing out of the dresser before heading into the bathroom. 

the lull of the shower and the tv show you've seen a million times makes you feel the exhaustion of the long swim. your head rests against the pillows, and you don't even realize you've fallen asleep until you hear the bathroom door close.

you sit up to see rafe standing there with a smirk on his face, your eyes dragging down his bare torso, to where he's only wearing a pair of basketball shorts.

you have to hold yourself back from drooling at his broad shoulders.

"didn't mean to wake you." rafe says, stepping closer as if he's going to climb into bed with you.

"that's okay." you whisper, suddenly feeling small.

"can i lay down? keep you company for the night?" you aren't sure what rafes definition of 'keeping company' is, but you nod anyways.

rafe smiles again and you feel your last bit of apprehension melt away.

rafe gets under the covers, and you sit there awkwardly for a few seconds before you lean over, placing your lips against his. it's a quick kiss, not even enough time for him to truly reach.

"thank you for defending me." you say.

"ill do anything for you." rafe says honestly, placing a hand on the back of your head and pulling you in for another kiss, this one much stronger than the last.

[leviathanleva]

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

[Alcohol Consumption, Mentions of Chem Use, Blood and Injury] [5.5k words]

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 11 "The Polaroid"

They say people’s tastes in attire change with their character developing. In a normal world, you would have willingly picked out a new pair of clothes, but in the wasteland, such luxuries didn’t exist.

Still, after a particularly rowdy encounter with a group of cannibals, you’d been left with a torn dress and blood-soaked tights. The memories of those deranged individuals made a shiver slither up your spine and your stomach twist even now, months later. But what defiled your sense of good and bad, even more, was the fact that you had to strip one of the now-dead women, a victim who still had somewhat preserved clothes on, and take them as your makeshift attire until you got to a pawn shop and found something that hung off you less.

Of course, Cooper saw nothing wrong with that. The man was busy making ass jerky out of one of the cannibals while you’d gagged by just wearing a corpse’s clothes.

Thankfully, you’d stopped by a settlement a few days later and what were rags are now nicely fitting leggings and a tank top, you’d even managed to bargain for a pair of knee protectors. You were on your knees so frequently while delving through heaps of rubble in search of a treasure – a stimpak, RadAway, a stick of deodorant. It was only fair you had something to protect the soft skin there. Unfortunately, a more conservative top had not been available and most nights, you trembled in Cooper’s arms while he stoked your campfire and tucked you under his chin.

Colder months were approaching and you needed to find better attire, but so far no luck. Every article of clothing you’d ended up finding was almost always a hastily stitched together sack that was both itchy and didn’t isolate you from the chill that befell every night and stayed a little longer each morning.

“Told ya’ y’ should’a worn the stupid vault suit.”

Yes, yes, he had, but you were a stubborn fashionista. Even in the wasteland you had standards as to how to look, if your lips were chapped, if your hair was too disheveled.

In truth, you liked your current clothes; you were almost presentable. You just needed a coat or a thicker jacket to get through the winter months, and then you’d be good.

That was your mission at present, to survive the nuclear winter that by Cooper’s words was much worse up north. There wouldn’t be snow, much to your disappointment, but the temperatures would continue to drop until even a fire wouldn’t be enough unless you were indoors.

This is why you were currently elbows deep into an old closet, inside a run-down apartment complex in the middle of an abandoned city. The broken-down sign at the outskirt of the once-metropolis had read “Fresno”, or “Fresco”, it was hard to read after years of rust and decay. Your cowboy mentor had blabbered on about the place having had settlements before, which had been deserted due to a high number of feral ghoul activity. You’d treaded the streets together on high alert, but so far no hostiles had crossed your path, except the occasional starving rat that was probably blistering with rabies.

The hangers inside the wardrobe don’t offer you much positivity, it’s all moth-eaten old dresses and moldy shirts. With a disappointed scoff, you kneel down to inspect the litany of cardboard boxes stashed next to the empty shoe rack.

God only knows where Cooper’s run off to. Most likely scouring the kitchens for any leftover booze or sifting through the bathroom drawers for any pill bottles with a smidge of content left inside them. He’d ushered you to be a good scout and find something useful while he was tending to the “adult things” and “looking out for bad guys”. In truth, he was just looking for cheap alternatives to get high since his inhaler was running on fumes.

You hear a ruckus down the hallway and stick your head out from underneath the piles of clothes, blinking away the dust from your eyes as you stare at the ajar door. You half expect to hear a string of cusses lathered in a thick Southern accent, but nothing comes.

After a minute of staring, you shrug and return to digging for treasure. Not your circus, not your monkeys; the wrinkly addict can find his next hit by himself.

A glint at the bottom of one of the boxes catches your eye and you shuffle past old newspaper clippings and torn stockings to find a Polaroid camera lying neatly tucked into a black velvet box.

Bingo.

You take out the box and pry the camera out of it before rolling it around in your hands to inspect it. Not a single scratch anywhere, the lens was brand new and aside from a few dust bunnies, it was spotless. Your finger glides over a button while you maneuver it. It clicks and flashes in your face and you reel back, stunned and disoriented.

“Jesus Christ!”

Losing your balance, you end up on your ass on the dingy floor, rubbing the cushion of your palm over one eye while trying to blink away the white spots out of your vision.

Well, at least now you know it works.

Childish glee bubbles in your chest at the endless opportunities popping up in your head. You could document your journey, take photos of every settlement you visited, of wildlife. You could take pictures together with Cooper. You’re regretful for not having found a camera earlier, or having not thought of looking for one to begin with. Who knows how many you might have passed and simply not noticed while on your journey?

This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!

Another clamber of noise comes from the far end of the hallway and echoes throughout the whole floor. You unwillingly flinch, then shudder at the thunderous sounds before averting your attention from examining the camera back to the door.

“Cooper?” You call out hesitantly, then stand up and tuck the camera in your pack before slinging it over your shoulder.

There’s no answer except the sharp and uncoordinated shuffling of feet. Your first thought is that he might have found relief from his withdrawal and was high out of his boots trying to get to a somewhat soft surface to slump onto. But he always answers your call, it’s a rule of his, it’s for your safety and he’s done well to teach you in the past that if he doesn’t shout back either a curse or a lewd comment then something must be up.

You quirk your ears and even out your breaths as the steady beat of your pulse starts to quicken.

“Coop?”

For a moment you believe he’s trying to play a prank on you, but that’s not like him. He’s an asshole, not a trickster.

It’s difficult to be silent when the floor is littered with shrapnel, you do your best, avoiding rubble and garbage while you slowly walk to the door. You open it carefully, just enough to slip out of the room and into the hallway where nothing awaits you.

The setting sun is cascading through the broken windows on the left wall, it basks everything in a reddish pink. It’s cold, and the wind wafting through the cracked glass makes the skin on your arms erupt in goosebumps. You step around the shards on the floor, cringing at the constant crinkling under your feet. It’s just not possible to stealth with this much rubble.

The ruckus is coming from behind one of the doors, a beat-up slab of wood that used to be painted green until the color both faded and chipped away.

“Cooper?”

Still no answer.

You worry your bottom lip and give your arms a few rough rubs to fend off the cold and lessen your jitters.

The feint sound of labored breaths reaches your ears and your first instinct is to bolt, but then the image of the ghoul simply having fallen asleep flashes past your eyes and you’re less scared. But he’s never sounded like this before…not even when he’s been so high he forgot you existed that one time.

After swallowing a lump in your throat and willing yourself brave, you reach for the doorknob. It squeaks softly due to years of unuse and you hear stirring beyond the door as if caused by your noisy intrusion. You stick your nose inside slowly, peek at what’s beyond half-expecting to see Cooper sprawled on an old mattress and staring at the ceiling, cozied up in his little world while the drugs lull him to a peaceful snooze.

Maybe you were interrupting and would get an earful for it.

But what lies beyond the door isn’t Cooper.

It’s a fucking feral.

The thing is crouched down, the bones of its spine, protruding and sharp, are poking beneath its torn-up polo. It’s rustling through the debris, looking for something, food you presume, its back is turned to you. Bony, skinless hands and yellowed, broken claws that almost make you wince at the thought that they could tear your flesh as easily as paper. Patches of hair litter the top of its head, you can’t discern the color under so many layers of dirt. It hasn’t noticed you yet, too busy in its mindless mission to sniff out your presence.

You stop breathing altogether, afraid to blink even as you slowly and silently step back outside and try to close the door behind you. However, the door handle betrays you and makes a sharp screech when you let it bounce back in position.

The labored breathing stops and so does your heart.

You turn halfway, about to take off for your life depends on it, but you’re stopped before you can make it to safety or even call out to Cooper. Scuttling, rushed footsteps and menacing growls make your skin crawl because you know now it’s heard you, the thing bursts through the door, nearly knocking it off its hinges. It tackles you before you can put any distance between the two of you.

Shit. Shit. Shit!

You’re thrown off your feed, flying through the air and the breath is knocked out of your lungs as you’re forced onto the floor with an audible gasp.

“Get. Off!” You growl through clenched teeth, eating dust and crushed concrete with every word.

Radioactive drool dribbles out of its mouth and drizzles onto the side of your neck as the feral tries to still your flailing arms. The cacophony of desperate, vicious roars chill you to the bone and make your stomach twist painfully. 

Despite how frail the feral is, its weight and strength keep you flat on your stomach, kicking and struggling desperately as you try to take in a deep breath and call for help. Tears are beginning to gather at the back of your eyes at the thought of what this thing might do to you if you didn’t manage to crawl out of its clutches.

“Cooper!” You manage to shriek in between pants and kick furiously at its knees, forcing it off balance long enough to twist around and clutch at its neck as it lurches forward, trying to sink its teeth into you.

Your free hand is trembling so badly that you barely manage to unclasp the hunting knife strapped to your thigh. The feral succeeds in freeing itself from your grip and nearly bites into your shoulder before you’re repeatedly sinking your blade into its throat, praying that the damage makes it retreat.

But it doesn’t matter much to the ghoul, it’s too deranged and blood-starved to care for any long-lasting injuries when its prey is in its grimy paws. Blood oozes between the hilt and your palm, no doubt radioactive, and makes your weapon slippery and nearly impossible to hold.

Where the hell was the cowboy when you needed him?!

You keep calling out to him in a strained voice, every now and again between struggling grunts and whines of frustration.

The feral doesn’t budge no matter how many stab wounds it receives and that makes your faith that you’ll get out of this alive start dwindling. It snaps its jaws at you like a rabid dog as you clumsily avoid it biting your face off. You’d gag at the sight of it on top of you, from the copious amounts of blood and spit that smelled like cheese running down your wrists, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins had turned your stomach to iron.

Over the symphony of gargling snarls and grunts, you hear footsteps, stomping up stairs and leaping over piles of debris.

Fucking finally.

They’re hastily approaching, becoming louder and you choke out Cooper’s name again to guide him to your location.

“Darlin’?!”

You can’t twist your head to see him, fearing that breaking eye contact with those milky white, clouded orbs bulging above you might just cause your death.

“I’m here! Please!” Your voice echoes through the hallway and you’re ready to cry tears of joy.

Soon enough the feral is being roughly ripped off of you and you recognize the click of a gun before the shot rings in your ears. It falls dead next to you, mercilessly put down, and you lie there for a moment trying to process what had just happened, that you’d been a hair away from being eaten alive.

You’re unceremoniously gathered up in a pair of arms before being dragged into a lap you’re all too familiar with.

“You okay? Did it getchu anywhere?” Cooper is skimming over your neck and arms, looking you up and down while grazing his calloused palms against your skin, feeling for injuries his eyes might have missed. When he sees nothing but a few minor scratches he releases the breath he’d not realized he’d been holding and gives you a sharp glare. “What the hell you doin’ all the way up ‘ere? Ah told you, check the second story, not the fourth.”

“ ‘m sorry.” You mumble out and stuff your face in the safety of his neck, breathing him in as you slowly start to come down from your adrenaline high. Then you wince, finally registering the sharp sting in your palm and you turn your face and press your cheek into the ghoul’s collarbone as you look down to your hand.

Somewhere during your tussle, apparently, the knife had slipped and you’d been too preoccupied to notice. You weren’t holding the handle anymore, you were clutching the blade. It was slowly sinking further into your flesh the longer you held it.

A whistle slips past the cowboy’s pursed lips when he follows your gaze and sees the bloodied blade.

You felt nauseous from just the thought of looking at the damage you’d done to yourself. Instead, you let Cooper gently take the hunting knife away and wrap his fingers around your wrist before lifting your palm closer to his face to inspect.

“Is it bad?”

“Gonna need a few stitches, Baby girl.” He muses and you shiver at his words but keep your protests sealed behind your teeth.

He guides your hand away until your arm is extended to its limit and fetches his flask out of his pouch.

“Gonna sting a lil’, okay?” He soothes and just in case squeezes your wrist so you can’t escape before pouring the alcohol over your open wound.

You hiss, fighting against him weakly as instinct takes over cognitive thinking, but his grip is solemn and you’re left with no choice but to endure. Not soon enough it’s over and the flask is pressed to your lips instead. You take a courageous swig and your face blooms with wrinkles as you cringe at the taste.

“How can you drink this stuff?”

“I don’ judge you f’ bein’ stupid all the time, ‘n you don’ judge me f’ drinking.” He scoffs and gives you a side glance, a smirk is tugging on his lips, the rim of his hat shadowing his eyes dramatically. “How ‘bout it?”

He’s satisfied when you simply nod with an unimpressed expression and tenderly pushes you off his lap before standing and dusting off the back of his thighs. He cracks his back, pushing down on the back of his hips before rolling his wrists in preparation for the load he’s about to pick up.

You watch him from the floor, your poor legs are still shaking too much to support your rise, with your hand limply hanging off one of your knees, a thin trail of blood and whiskey trickling from your fingertips.

“Let’s getcha downstairs. Found an old TV, seemed to be workin’ proper. Woulda been certain if ya didn’t interrupt me by thinkin’ lip lockin’ with a feral was a good idea.” He gathers you in his arms like a small kitten, stuffs you inside his coat, and lets you rest against his shoulder as he slowly begins walking down the corridor and away from the massacre.

“I wasn’t…” You begin, but your self-defense against the slander is shushed harshly so instead you resume staring at the world past the broken windows you’re being carried by.

The sun is still a way from setting fully, you have plenty of time to settle down for the night. You try not to think about the wound you’ll have taped up when you get to the ground floor. Instead, you daydream about the mentioned TV, wondering if there are any movie cassettes you could play, you’d always craved to watch an old-school projection.

Your room back in the vault hadn’t had such luxuries, your father had thought the static might cause you some sort of harm, or maybe there just hadn’t been enough for every living cell.

You bounce gently in Cooper’s arms as he carefully descends the stairs while shouldering one of the walls for extra balance.

Then you see them.

A handful of feral ghouls plastered on the dirty floor, around corners, on the stairs, all of them with a vital stab wound visible somewhere. The cowboy had been silently cleaning them out, always with his knife to not alert more of them. So he’d taken a risk firing his gun for you earlier, he’d been worried enough to decide to hell with it. To wake up a whole horde of these things to save your life was a gamble he was willing to take if it meant you’d come out alive.

You cling to him harder, now less unaware of the potential sacrifice he’d made for you.

When you’re brought to the first floor, you see he’s already pulled up a couch in front of the TV and piled up a few movies he’d been able to scavenge. There’s a few half-full scotch bottles at the foot of the sofa, some empty, two cans of cram seem to have been hastily thrown next to them and his pack of cigarettes lay discarded on one of the cushions.

He sets you there among his treasures and after pulling the needle and thread out of his pack, washes his hands out with a generous amount of alcohol.

The mortified expression you bear makes him snort.

“Don’ worry yer pretty lil’ ass, Sweet Pea.” He coos and it doesn’t suit him in the slightest because he’s not being sincere, he’s simply doing it to keep you from running. “I got plen’ny of experience from sewing myself in the past. Two hundred years of experience, to be exact.”

“That’s what worries me.” It slips past your lips before you can stop it, then wince at the venomous look you’re shot down with.

He’s about to rest a hand on his hip but stops himself when he remembers he’d just disinfected them. Instead, he fetches his lighter and scalds the needle over the flame until it’s molten.

“You wanna die of gangrene, be my guest.”

“No…” You sigh and extend your bleeding palm to him, which he delicately encases with his own. “Please. Help. I’m just scared is all.”

“I know, Darlin’.” He kneels before you and rests your hand on your knee, palm up so he can properly see the damage while you look away in disgust and chew on the inside of your cheek anxiously. “ ‘s gonna be okay. I gotcha.”

When the needle presses into your skin you flinch and nearly jump off the couch, you earn yourself a cuss and the tender hold over your wrist becomes steel-like.

“Stand still!”

You whine in protest and Cooper eases his tone.

“Is gonna hurt, okay?” He says mildly, then cranes his neck, bearing it for you like an offering. “If is too much you just bite down on me as hard as ya can. Don’ worry bout me, yeah?”

“No.” You shake your head frivolously and sniffle back tears. “It’s fine, I’m sorry. Please continue.” Then you pause to think of how to avoid jumping every time the needle touches you and messing up his progress. You swallow thickly and decide to focus on your breathing instead of the pain that is to come. “Just…warn me before you prickle, please. Tap the needle first or something.”

“Sure, ya big wuss.”

And so he begins.

You feel the needle sinking in your skin, bite down hard on your lip at the sensation, and begin to sweat profusely. After that, the alien feeling of the thread pulling your flesh together makes you nearly gag, and it’s not painful or unpleasant, it’s the damned images that your brain keeps coming up with that make you sick.

The ghoul works excruciatingly slow, too caring for the mark the wound will leave, making sure the stitches are tight and secure before continuing. You’ll be forever grateful, but as soon as he’s done, because right now you hate him for it.

And he sees you struggling, fighting to be brave despite your weak nature, he’s not indifferent, not anymore, not after everything. So instead of making fun of you or cussing you still and silent because your whimpers are tearing at him like a Deathclaw, he decides to be soft again, treat you for soldiering another serious injury.

“Y’know…” He hesitates for a second, the memories that surge forward bring with them a drop of melancholy. “I used to be an actor back in the day. Was one of the best.”

You deserve to know more about him after all you’ve done to preserve the small spec of humanity still left in him. It’s a painful thing to recall, it’s damn right agonizing because he sees himself now and he can no longer feel his past self, only remember.

Maybe it’s better if he does not talk about it at all and lets it get buried all over again.

But your whimpers have stopped and you’re looking down at him with so much child-like intrigue and astonishment that he can’t bring himself to stop. The bitter-sweetness is like a drug shot straight into his bloodstream. Your lips are parted, eyes twinkling, and you’ve all but forgotten about the fact that he’s sewing your palm shut. Damn you and your stupid fascination with him, your love that he didn’t ask for, and your tender caresses and affectionate words that he knows have only ever left your lips for him.

“Really?”

“Yep.” He nudges his chin back towards the painted wall behind him. “Das me right there. Used to be a cowboy even then.”

“Wait.” You eye the familiar man painted grandiosely over the plaster, then your breath hitches and you nearly bolt upright. “You’re Cooper Howard? The Cooper Howard?”

Your eyes are zipping between him and the painting and he snorts at the starstruck expression plastered on your face.

“Now don’ get ya pan’nies in a twist.” He scoffs, regrets that he’s shared because he knows what’s coming next. “Was a long, long time ago.”

“You’re my hero!” You exclaim with a wide smile and he cringes. “I’ve read so much about you. I loved the comics. I’m a fan!”

And there it was – the admiration for a man who’s been long dead. Nothing but a husk of his former self, it felt wrong to take any sort of praise for his past. That wasn’t him. Not anymore…

But you’re so ecstatic that he doesn’t have the heart to tell you that, so instead he lets you ramble on his behalf, have your fill of fangirling over him while he finishes up your palm.

“You were such a big shot, I can’t believe it’s actually you! – ”

He’s done so many atrocities, it feels like he killed past Cooper with his bare hands. Now he was just the bloodthirsty bounty hunter who nobody dares cross paths with. Funnily enough on the outside, the only difference was that at present his sidekick, you, was human. Back in the olden days, it used to be a dog. He doesn’t mind the change though, even if you do tend to talk a little bit too much for his liking. Like right now.

“– I read your autobiography as well! –”

Your words salve over his crumpled ego and self-righteousness the more you blabber on. You’ve spent enough time with him to know how he is and his ways and you’re still speaking of him as if he’s the same old Cooper but just on a different career path. It does something to him, seeing you gushing so much.

He keeps stitching, keeps listening to you swoon with a ghost of a smile on his chapped lips.

For once he’s not enraged that someone has found out, it’s not painful. Instead, he’s basking in the delight of your enthusiasm, silent and at peace with himself for the first time in a long while.

“– But now that you mention it, Coop, I do see the resemblance. How didn’t I recognize you sooner… –”

He shivers at the cute little nickname you’ve given him, enjoys it secretly, but berates you for it verbally. It’s nice, it’s cozy, it feels like home.

You feel like home.

“You used to be so handsome…” You gawk and hear him choke.

“The hell’s that s’pposed to mean?” He peeks at you from beneath the rim of his hat, a daring edge to his whiskey eyes. “Ain’t I handsome now?”

You blink at him a few times as if his joke was the stupidest thing that’s ever come out of his mouth. When it becomes awkward and he stops chuckling as you lean in and tilt your head to dodge his hat. Your lips press against his forehead and he feels weightless all over again.

Because why the hell did you have to be so sweet with him? It was just a fucking joke. You didn’t have to make his chest burst into flames like a nuclear reactor.

“I don’t fall in love with ugly men.”

“I’m the only man you’ve fallen in love with, Sweetheart.” He combats weakly, his voice raspy and mild because a touch from you is like a caress from an angel against his ugly skin.

“My point stands.” You hum back.

He wants to slap that self-satisfied smile off your face, but instead, he lowers his eyes obediently and continues his work.

The quiet does wonders for his aching heart as you’re both left to just breathe and focus on your own thoughts. He shakes away your love like it’s a disease, months after your blatant confession he still refuses to believe you, refuses to let himself feel the same.

Why would you love him? How could you after all that he’s done to you?

He’ll never understand, and by your words, he doesn’t need to. He’s done as much good as he has bad. He’s not a villain in your eyes. He’s just a man, the man you fell in love with because he was the only one to show you kindness in this decrepit world.

He thinks you’re delusional and stupid and careless and a fucking bother to be around.

And he loves you too… in his own way. Maybe not the same, maybe not as much, or maybe he doesn’t and he’s lying to himself to make you happy.

But isn’t the need to make you happy a sign of love itself?

“Yer done.” He murmurs and after inspecting your hand one last time, lets it go. “Got anymore gauze we can use ta secure it, my lil’ hoarder?”

“In my backpack, left pocket.” You reply nonchalantly while looking over the stitches. It hurts more now that your eyes are on the wound, feels more tender than when you were looking away, but you don’t mind.

As long as you get to keep your limb in the end, nothing else matters.

Cooper sifts through the mountain of provisions in your bag before his fingers brush over a certain softness and he pulls out the bandages. He wraps them delicately over your wound, then pats your thigh roughly.

“Thank you.” You mewl out and relax back on the couch with a relieved sigh.

Fucking finally the torture was over, now all you had to do was look after it and pray it healed quickly.

“Ye, ye.” He waves you off before setting your bag aside and instead delving through his own. “Found somethin’ that might be of use t’ ya.”

“Yeah?” You perk up at the supposed gift and see him tugging a charcoal gray cloth from the bowels of his pack. When you can’t quite make out what it is you ask. “What is it, though?”

“Think is s’pposed to be a poncho.” The ghoul says, turning it in his hands this way and that to try and figure it out. Ultimately he gives up and tosses it in your lap.

You’re over the moon as usual, having completely forgotten about the pain in your hand within a blink. You hurriedly stand and throw it over yourself, struggling for a bit to find the proper hole for your head.

It’s marvelous! Thick, preserved, you can already feel it’ll keep you warm and the color is just perfect. You’ve no doubt it’ll be covered with all kinds of stains in a week’s notice, but who the hell cares? You’ve got your means to survive the winter and it looks amazing.

“Cooper…” You begin but are sharply cut off.

“Nah.” He spits out, his back turned to you as he fiddles with the TV. “No tears or Imma take it back, ya hear?”

“Yes, sir.” You giggle and stuff yourself back into the couch, chirping happily like a little bird.

The TV comes to life and you nearly cry out in joy. The white static screen illuminates the windowless foyer and you snuggle up in your new poncho as the ghoul casually lists through the cassettes he’s salvaged. He stops at a particular one, freezes completely as his eye bore into it.

You already know the movie he’s holding.

You reach out and lay your good hand against the middle of his back, feel him stiffen even more because he’s been caught.

“Put it on, Coop. I want to see.”

He grumbles to himself but concedes to your wishes and slips the cassette in before slowly standing and slumping onto the couch beside you with a bottle of scotch in his grasp. The movie starts playing, your eyes are glued to the screen and you almost miss the subtle tug on your wrist.

You turn to him, see he’s preparing to lie down, and get the hint. He stretches out on the couch fully, his feet dangling off the opposite end, and you nestle on top of him quietly. Despite your poncho, he still covers both of you with his coat and his smell is pleasantly overwhelming. Between the buzz of the TV and the even sloshes of the alcohol inside its bottle, the pain you’ve had to endure, and the adrenaline rush from earlier, your eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion.

“Feo fuerte y formal…” Cooper mumbles in tune with the movie, you feel it reverberate against your ear and make a meek noise to let him know you’re still listening.

You’re about ready to doze off when the memory of the camera surfaces and you perk up. You reach for your backpack, shuffling inside until you feel its smooth surface and pull it out.

“Look what I found.” You hum and turn in your spot so that now your back is pressed to his chest and the top of your head is rubbing against his cheek.

“Does it work?”

“Yes.” You answer before lifting the camera high enough to encompass the both of you, half-asleep, warm and basked in the white glare of the TV. “Say cheese.”

“Take two.” He says softly and wraps his free arm around your tummy, tugging you even closer.

“Why?” you look up at him in question and see him glance down at you, staring at your pouty lips in particular.

“One f’ me. One f’ you.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

As per usual, please tell if you'd like to be removed from the tag list, okay? Don't worry about it. <3

Hey, lovelies! It's been a while. I'm sorry I'm sad to say my life is a sitcom and there's always something happening. I just didn't have the mental to write more heavy stuff for a while.

<<< Chapter 10

Chapter 12 >>>

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

Masterlist

Tag list:

@bountydroid @ultimatreality @gruffle1 @v3lv3tf0x @fallout-girl219

@one-of-thewalkingdead @robin-the-enby @savanahc @whatthefuckkrichard @lisnamavka

@itsyellow @cloudroomblog @sarynnah @littlenosoul @skrzydlak

@zloshy @dreamtofus @thatcutewerewolf @villainofmyownstory @sgt-barnesveins

@enaelyork @i-just-like-to-read @skykaykay

[woodle-isbae]

Hi hi.. i noticed requests were open for Arcane i thought i ask for one.

>_< I was wondering if you were willing to write about a chubby squishy reader who absolutely adores Sevika and loves cooking/baking for her?

The acts of service love language; fixing the small things Sevika might complain about. But she absolutely refuses and gets all blushy to admit or say “I do it because I love you.” Might even have little playful banters where reader says something like: “no no I’m cooking this to absolutely poison you. Gonna steal your gambling money!” Then proceeds to make the most nutritious thing she can cuz her huge gf has new wounds from bar fights.

if Sevika gets fed up and tries to tease the “ILY” outta reader would be nice. 🙈

You can write this as hc or with anyone that feels more comfortable for you ofc. I think maybe Vi would be more fitting? 🫶🏻

Hope it’s an acceptable request.

╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

Cw: Hybrid! Fem! Reader, slight mean! Sevika, Sevika is all Gushy around Reader, wuh luh wuh, chubby! reader.

Mixed request☆

🎄 Sevika would come home to a fully made Christmas meal, Gingerbread house and candy canes lined up on the dinner table.

🎄She would get a little pissy over the fact you did it all alone, but her mood changes when she realized- You did all this...for her.

🎄Sevika who would constantly pester you over the fact you made her a whole feast, acting like a high-school girl when she took a bite into the warm and juicy Ham, giggling even more when you helped her build Another gingerbread house.

🎄You offered to invite Jinx and Isha- but they were already having Christmas with Ekko. Ultimately cuddling up with Sevika infront of the warm fire with some hot chocolate and gnawing on some Candy canes.

"You did all this for mee?"

You giggled at how giddy she was, slapping her shoulder gently and sitting up.

"Uh..no, I made it all for me- you just happen to live with me, which means you also have to get some I guess."

"Yeah alright Pussy-Cat."

She stood up before you could say or do anything, leaving you to let her words soak in.

"SEVIKA!"

🎄Sevika who leaves you alone in the house once again, not even bothering to tell you where she was going.

🎄She could completely trust you all alone, even though most of Zaun knew who you were and your affiliation with Silco's right hand, she trusts your hybrid instincts would help you incase anything happened.

🎄Sevika who came back later than you both predicted, everything was already packed away and the whole house cleaned.

🎄She had decided to leave you little gift under the Christmas tree that Jinx and Isha built earlier In the month, a note with your name in bold sat next to the box.

🎄Sevika, being the asshole that she is, shook you out of your sleep and dragged you to the living room. Thankfully the room was still warm enough for you to be in just your Pajamas.

"Open it."

You were quite skeptical, knowing she wouldn't wake you up unless it was very Very important or an emergency.

You messed around with the poorly wrapped paper and ribbon on top While Sevika occupied herself with the sway of your tail and twitch of curiosity in your ears.

You opened the box, being met with a strange shaped object which was Also wrapped, only letting out a sigh as Sevika giggled from behind you.

As the final piece of paper was removed, you let out a gasp and jumped up from the floor to stare at your partner in shock. She had gotten you (Christmas gift of your choice), pushing herself off the couch and strutting towards you smuggly.

🎄She knew how much you wanted it, and knew how hard it was to get in Zaun- so she pulled some strings and had it delivered straight to her..for you!

"Shh Shh, don't have to tell me how amazing I am."

"But why? This probably cost you an arm- no pun intended- and a leg!"

You giggled a bit before focusing back on the conversation. Placing the gift down and hugging the much larger woman, her hand gripped at the plush of your ass and bit the soft cheek on your face, earning an 'ow!' From you.

"It's really nothing compared to the whole feast you cooked up."

You huffed and rolled you eyes, shoving her a bit too.

"Vika, I only cook for you because I love you, you work so much and get hurt too! I made that meal so you could properly fuel up and mabye not come home so beat up."

🎄Sevika who stood there for a moment before laughing, not at what you had said but at what she accomplished. Grabbing you by the side of your head and pulling you in for a kiss.

"HA!! I got you to say why you did it- and you love me?"

you had stared at her I disbeliefed and a bit hurt that she would laugh after sharing your feelings.

"What...say what.?"

"I love you!"

"I love you too Vika."

The room had gone quiet, both of you staring at eachother- you more giddy while Sevika raised a brow.

"Okay, you got me there.."

🎄Sevika who tried to fight less for you, still expecting your amazing meals thought. She'd come home and make you count if she had any new wounds and how severe they are- probably got an earful from you if she had any new ones.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

☕️ CM Meet Cute Fics 📚

Hey friends! I want to start by saying thank you so much to everyone who participated - You are appreciated and the diversity only makes these events better.

Without further ado, here are all of the entries + recs for the Meet Cute Challenge! 🤗

@emberfrostlovesloki 's Masterlist of Entries: This lovely prolific writer has entered several fics, which include Hotch/Reader, Emily/Reader, and Spencer/Reader fics! Check out their page for even more!

P.S. At the end of this post, I included all my fics for this challenge!

SFW S.R./GN!Reader

Heart Language by @foxy-eva: Spencer has a crush on his doctor (and the feeling is mutual)

Warmth by @cecedownbad: A mystery man stumbled on to you, his gestures alone changing the dim scenery into a bright fantasy.

And in the Beginning... by @milla984: After spending a day at D.C.’s multifandom convention, Spencer spills his coffee on Reader.

(Not So) Stupid Things by @railingsofsorrow: Reader is a detective on a case the FBI is called to work on. While trying to make a good first impression, they forget that Spencer doesn't shake hands.

Frights & Fractures by @therealmsdelulu: Spencer accidentally gets hurt in a spooky attraction and Reader, a scare actor, breaks character to help.

Style Theory: Fashion student Reader meets their favorite scholar and teaches him a lesson in self-love.

SFW S.R./Fem!Reader

The Perfect Seat by @/foxy-eva: Reader's never liked crowded trains until a handsome stranger fell right into her lap.

Funny Thing Fate: Autistic!Reader is tipsy and lost in D.C. when she spots a man she thinks might be able to help.

Coffee Caramels by @007reid: Reader sits next to a stranger in the theater, but the two end up bonding when there's a technical glitch.

Every Single Day by @astrophileous: When his daughter demands to hear the story of how Spencer and Reader met, he must oblige.

War and Peace & Coffee by @drgenius-reid: Spencer meets a lovely stranger in a coffee shop where they read together.

NSFW S.R./Fem!Reader

In Full Bloom by @/foxy-eva: A random interaction between Spencer Reid and Reader leads to weeks of longing and yearning until they decide they have spent enough time being strangers

Get Lucky: It’s 3AM and a pipe burst in Reader’s apartment. She is soaked, angry, and forgot her wallet and phone. Her neighbor Spencer tries his best to make the night not terrible.

Elevator Pitch by @reiderwriter: Getting trapped in an elevator is never fun, but at least the attractive man sharing the metal box of death has an interesting idea about how to can pass the time.

And for my Next Trick... by @reidmotif: Reader and Spencer unknowingly match costumes at a Halloween party.

Assorted Fics (A.H., D.M., E.P., T.L., P.G.)

What a Ride by @alluring-andrayav: [SFW, Hotch/GN!Reader] Whilst on a bus ride to work, Reader gets knocked into a very handsome strangers lap.

Midnight by @foxy-eva: [NSFW, E.P./Fem!Reader] Emily is the most stunning woman Reader has ever seen, so she makes sure their night together doesn’t end anytime soon.

Falling for Me Already? by @alluring-andrayav: [SFW, Derek/Fem!Reader] It's Reader's first day of work, and her heel breaks. Thankfully, Derek is there to catch her.

Supervisory Special Agent by @alluring-andrayav: [SFW, Derek/Fem!Reader] Reader already met Derek, but neither of them realize it for a ridiculously long time because she has much bigger issues to worry about.

October by @gaelic-symphony: [SFW, Temily] The couple arrives in a couple's costume.

Adding It All Up by @masterwords: [SFW, Hotch/William LaMontagne Jr.] Hotch follows Reid and Jack into a haunted house. Inside he meets a ghost and stumbles right into some unexpected arms.

Collision by @codename-mom: [Gen Fic, Hotch & Penelope] A brand-new BAU is forming but there is still someone missing. The team masterpiece: a technical analyst.

Co-Creator NSFW Entries (S.R./Fem!Reader)

Devil in the Backseat: Reader is a little too much for Spencer (he’s into it).

Yellow Light: Everyone thinks Reader is dangerous. Probably because she’s Cat’s sister. But is that why Spencer likes her?

Big Bad Wolf (Part 1, Part 2): Spencer is overwhelmed by the apparent innocence of an elementary school teacher he meets on a case.

All Legs: Tall!Reader. Spencer meets a woman at an event and finds he really wants to be under her heels.

Co-Creator SFW Entries (S.R./Fem!Reader)

Serendipitous: Spencer’s pretty sure Penelope mixed up his blind date.

Dead Air: Professor Reid is hesitant to be a guest on his old student’s true crime video series, but is surprised to find it’s not so bad.

Porcelain: Autistic!Reader has a meltdown in the cafe. Luckily, there is a Dr. Reid nearby.

Baggage Claim: Autistic!Reader is having a hard time at the airport.

Mister Spencer: Reader has a crush on her child’s teacher.

Maddening One, My Goddess: Spencer has a one night stand… on February 13th. The next day, he is confronted with a familiar face on his pre-planned double date.

Studious Shadow: Reader’s crush won’t stop avoiding her at work and she thinks he might hate her.

Stranger Danger: Reader is a single mother having a very bad day.

Happy Reading!

Is your entry missing? DM me and I'll add you!

[milkkkkkkkkkk]

cw: explicit content, oral sex, vaginal sex, afab!reader, teasing, smut, mdni

word count: 2.8k

"You were soaking wet from the storm outside. You made your last delivery for the day, but still couldn't go home. Will the offer for some hot cocoa turn a bad day to a good one?"

jim halpert x reader

WORST DAY

You were thankful for your new job. It was awful most days, but thursdays... You had started working in delivery, pastries to be precise, and worked monday through thursday. And on that one last day, you got a weekly order from Dunder Mifflin. The receptionist always smiled at you, she was very sweet, and the guy who was apparently the boss didn't miss a chance to make an inappropriate comment. But there was a reason you kept making these deliveries, even if you could ask someone else to do them. You met his gaze, a couple desks over. There he was, brown wavy hair and soft eyes. You felt the butterflies in your stomach, and you heart raced a little. You held his gaze, not wanting to seem shy, and he looked down a couple of seconds later, showing a small grin on his face. That was the highlight of your weeks. The donut delivery to Dunder Mifflin.

One day he started to receive and sign the deliveries himself, taking the chance to make small talk, ask about your day or maybe your plans for the weekend. You surprisingly found him really easy to talk to, and learned that his name was Jim, his birthday was october first and he always had jam and cheese sandwiches for lunch. Your crush had developed into something more than just your heart skipping a beat. You'd noticed his eyes trailing down your body, and him leaning a little bit closer than needed, and how easy he made you squirm. You wanted him, and the tension between you two was undeniable.

That was your routine for a little over three months, stealing glances and hidden smiles, talking and flirting a little before you had to go. You'd grown comfortable around each other. And that had been your regular schedule, never a mishap. But today was different. The rain had you almost completely soaked, but you were making sure that your tiny umbrella covered the donuts completely and kept them dry, even if it was at your expense. You struggled to open the front door and at the exact moment you managed to get in you crashed into someone, resulting in a box of donuts on the ground. Thankfully the box was sealed with tape and none of the donuts actually hit the floor, but the glaze was messed up. You scrambled and mumbled a string of apologies, mentally cursing yourself and everyone else. You had a rough morning, and this was just making your day worse.

Gentle hands met yours when trying to lift the box off the ground, and as you looked up from underneath your long eyelashes, you met the gaze you were so familiar with. He looked a bit worried, and his mouth moved, saying something you didn't hear, you were too busy trying to comprehend what was happening.

You started to realize the state you were in, and asked a soft "Sorry?"

He smiled and asked "Are you okay?" while getting up from the ground with you.

"Oh," you chuckled slightly "Yeah I'm okay, I'm just having a little bit of a bad day."

"Strong storm outside..." He trailed off looking at the window to the rain outside. To be honest, it was raining pretty hard.

You took the chance to look at him for a second, taking in his wet hair and sticky shirt. Thinking he must've got caught up in the storm as well, and scolding yourself for staring.

"So um... Do you have any plans for today?" He suddenly asked, locking his eyes with yours.

"Thankfully this is my last delivery for the day, though I can't really go home, they're fixing a leak" You sighed, thinking how you couldn't even relax at home during the storm. You'd end up in a library maybe, you'd have to hope they'd let you in with soaked clothes.

"Im uh, done for the day, got off early," He started, "We could maybe go to my place" He suggested and you looked at him.

"I make killer hot cocoa" He finished with an enticing grin.

You considered it, it would be a chance to get closer, and maybe more...

You finished the delivery, deeply apologizing to the receptionist and after explaining the situation and the state of the donuts, you assured her the next delivery would be free of cost.

Finally, you opened the door to his car. He was waiting for you outside of the building, and turned on the heat to warm up. He lived 20 minutes away from his office, and actually closer to your apartment too. You walked into his flat, looking at the simple and a little bit messy living room.

"I'll bring some dry clothes for you" He said, disappearing into what you assumed was his bedroom. You took the chance to walk around the kitchen, it was clean and organized. He reappeared with a black t-shirt, some red and black pajama pants and a towel.

"These pants were my brother's, I think they'll fit" He said as he handed you the dry clothes. "The bathroom is over there" He pointed to a white door.

You thanked him and went into the bathroom, locking eyes with him as you closed the door, intentionally leaving a gap big enough to catch a peak. You turned your back to the door as you started to undress, feeling his eyes on you. You unbuttoned your shirt, and slowly slipped it from your shoulders until it hit the floor. The bathroom was directly across the couch in the living room. And you heard him as he sat down to enjoy the show. That made you even more giddy, and slick with anticipation. You unclasped your bra and took it off before moving to your pants. They were made out of soft fabric that was easy to remove from you body, and they dropped to the floor. Toeing off your shoes, you finally put on the t-shirt he gave you. You could tell he wore it often, it smelled strongly like him, and that made you wet. You grabbed the towel and put it around your neck, drying your hair a little, and walked out of the bathroom, to stand directly in front of him in only a shirt and panties.

"The pants didnt fit."

He was sitting on the couch, man spreading, one of his arms thrown over the back rest of the couch and the other one resting in his thigh. The first three buttons of his white shirt were open, and his tie ditched on the floor, his hair messier. The mood had changed completely, there was a clear sexual tension and heaviness in the air. His eyes had darkened, like his expression, and he looked directly at you. Looking at his shirt on your body had an effect on him. The hem of the shirt was just below your ass, and your perky nipples showed through the soft material. He didn't say anything and just stared, taking in the sight, and you noticed the growing bulge in his pants.

You took a step forward, and he stared at your eyes, finally smiling at you, a different kind of smile to the one he offered every thursday. Maybe today wouldn't be such a bad day.

You finished walking towards him, standing in between his legs, and you placed a hand on his cheek, making him look up. His eyes were hungry, and his hands acted like so. He started on your legs, caressing them, moving up to your thighs and then your waist and your back. You closed your eyes, enjoying his touch, threading your fingers through his hair and pulling his head towards your abdomen. After a few minutes he finally grabbed at your ass, looking up from your abdomen and pulling you to sit on his lap, straddling him.

You felt him then, hard and big underneath you. Leaning down, your breaths mingled, your hands moved to his neck as his hands cupped your ass. You were so close, yet your lips weren't touching.

"Are you sure?" He whispered.

"Yes." You whispered back before he kissed you. Slowly at first, as if he was memorizing how your lips felt on his, or how soft your skin was beneath his hands. He began kissing you more deeply, almost desperately, and you wondered if he had wanted you as long as you had wanted him.

He squeezed your ass, making you open your mouth to let out a sudden moan and he took that chance to make his tongue meet yours. He explored every inch of your mouth, and you started pressing down on his hard cock. You were in a state of bliss, and wanted to take the next step. Moving your hands from his neck you moved to the buttons on his shirt, undoing them and revealing a toned build. You finished unbuttoning his shirt and ran your hands through his chest. Your legs moved away from his sides and onto the floor between his legs. One of his hands moved to his belt, unbuckling it with such and ease that it made it incredibly arousing. You dragged his pants and his boxers down in one go, not wanting to take more time, desperate to have his dick in your mouth.

It was big, and it had a nice girth to it. You stared at it, your mouth already watering. One of your hands grabbed it by the base, and your tongue drew a line from the base to the tip. He threw his head back, finding the sight of you unbelievably hot. He gave himself to the feeling of your mouth on his dick. After teasing a little, your lips wraped around the tip of his member, earning a small gasp from his mouth. You swirled your tongue around it, before hollowing your cheeks for a few seconds and letting go, making a popping sound. You spat on it, before putting it in your mouth again. You continued, feeling one of his hands tangle in your hair. You bobbed up and down for a few minutes, before your needs started to feel unbearable. A string of saliva connected your mouth and his dick when you pulled away, looking up at him. You found his eyes staring right back, with an expression you couldn't read. You stood up, standing in between his legs again, and his hands found their way to the hem of your panties, sliding them down your legs until they were on the floor. He wet his lips, his eyes filled with lust and anticipation. He gently pushed you to the couch, making you lay on your back, and you were suddenly feeling a little embarrassed when he opened your legs to get a good look at you. You were flushed, and Jim was delighted to see you like that, so impossibly lewd.

He bent down, kissing you right below the belly button, and he continued leaving a trail of kisses leading right to your pussy. He only gave one kiss to your clit before moving away, kissing the inside of your thighs, the sides of your abdomen, and getting so close to your pussy it was almost torture. He was slow, as if he was enjoying tormenting you.

"J-Jim please...."

He froze for one second before turning his eyes to you.

"Are you begging?" He asked in a mixture of disbelief and lust.

You looked away, pouty. "I guess I am" You said sheepishly.

You couldn't have known the effect that had on Jim, to see you begging for him, sprawled in his couch, wearing your shirt, and so wet for him. He would've liked to keep going, to keep teasing you, but you were so irresistible looking like that... that he couldn't help it. He kissed you pussy, finally, earning a moan from your mouth. You didn't know if he had neighbors, so you tried to stifle the sounds coming from your mouth as he started to dive right in your folds. He swiped his tongue over and over, sucking on your clit, plunging his tongue into your hole, making you a moaning mess. You couldn't stand it anymore, you needed him, needed to feel full of him. Would he fuck you if you begged?

"Mnhn... Jim... please fuck me"

That was all he needed to hear before kneeling on the couch, one hand on the handrest behind your head, the other grabbing at your thigh, looking at you with hunger. He grabbed the base of his dick, swiping his tip on your slick folds and earning soft sounds from you. He was tremendously hard. He aligned himself at your entrance before looking at you for approval. You nodded.

You felt the mixture of pain and pleasure as he pushed in, stretching you, going deeper and deeper, before he was all in. He waited a moment before slowly pulling back out, and going back in. He kept a torturously unhurried pace, making sure you were comfortable, and enjoying it as much as he was. He had a knack for teasing you, for making you beg, you realized. When you were ready to pick up the pace, you looked up at him, hands on his chest.

"Faster...please"

He buried his head on your neck, and you wrapped your hands around his back. He started to go faster, slapping sounds filling the room, mixing with the ongoing storm outside. He felt so incredibly good inside you, you could hear the little sounds coming from him, his hands gripping your skin, his lips leaving a mark at the crook of your neck. You felt a familiar sensation starting to build in your lower abdomen, the fast steady pace of him hitting a particular spot inside you that made you feel better than you ever had. The sex was mimd boggling. You were so close.

"Jim...ah...I-I'm gonna..." You said through strained breaths.

He kept his pace, gripping you tighter, the knot snapping. You moaned, gasping for air, feeling overwhelming waves of pleasure coursing through your body, your sensitive parts being overstimulated by him, now going at an uneven pace, chasing his own release. He moaned and pulled out, sticky white strings shot out of him, landing on your chest and stomach. His load was big, and he kissed you when he finished.

You were both exhausted, but he still stood up and went to the bathroom. He came back with a towel and clean clothes and asked if you wanted to take a shower. You did, and wore the comfy hoodie he gave you. While you were in the shower he cleaned the couch and started preparing some hot cocoa. You emerged from the bathroom, taking in the sight in front of you. Shirtless Jim, preparing hot cocoa for both of you. A blanket on the couch and some snacks on the table. You could get used to this. His back was turned to you, and you suddenly felt the need to hug him. You wondered if it would be okay, or if it would be crossing a line. You decided to risk it as you walked up to him from behind. Your hands slithered around him and he flinched. A sudden wave of disappointment hit you, and you tried to pulled away before his hands grabbed yours, and pulled them around him.

"Your hands are cold"

He said as he turned his head to smile at you. Relief washed over you, and you melted on his back, before he turned around completely, leaning on the counter.

"I need to take a shower" Was all he said before pecking your lips and disappearing into the bathroom for 10 minutes. You decided to make yourself comfortable on the couch, pulling the blanket over your body. He got out of the bathroom with wet hair, and you couldn't help but think about how hot he looked. You then realized what just happened. You just had the best sex of your life with Jim Halpert. And you were in his apartment, in his clothes, waiting for the hot cocoa he made for you. You blushed, today was truly an out of the ordinary day.

He went into the kitchen and came back with two mugs. He put on a show and you drank your hot cocoa, talking about whatever came to mind. It was truly a killer hot cocoa, and you hoped to have it again. Soon, you had both finished your drinks and now were cuddling on the couch, his arms lazily hung around your body, and you were playing with his hair.

"Let me take you out on a date" He said out of nowhere, and he smiled when you met his gaze. You returned the smile, agreeing to meet tomorrow for dinner. Your bad day had turned out to be the best day you've had in years. You gave into the cozy feeling of being in his arms, taking in his scent and his warmth, and fell asleep to his fingers drawing circles on your skin.

note: hi!! im new to tumblr so im sorry if my posts look a little weird. this was originally posted on ao3 with the same name. i hope you liked it!! <3

[mistyacorn]

don't worry about me

sypnosis; dan heng gets pretty badly hurt after fighting a monster one day and you have to make sure your boyfriend’s okay!

pairing(s); bf dan heng + (trailblazer) gn! reader ⟿ featuring; established relationship, flustered dan heng (hehe), kinda dialogue heavy at the start

❀ wc; 1,585

a/n; ok to explain my inspo, whenever i play hsr and dan heng is dying, i heal the lovely man ofc, and his voiceline literally is "don't worry about me" (꧆▽꧆). anyw this turned out way sappier than i imagined loool

You have just arrived in the Astral Express after a long day of helping Natasha with the clinic. You’re feeling tired, and going around Belebog alone today just added to the exhaustion.

You actually missed having Dan Heng tell you to make rational choices during your quests. Without your boyfriend today, you ended up fighting probably double the enemies you needed to.. Plus, (you’d never tell her this) but you secretly missed March’s bright voice.

Speaking of her, as soon as you step into the parlor car, you’re greeted by the smiley girl. She’s sitting on one of the couches with Himeko, and they wave you over.

“y/n!” She sings, “come look! I took these today.” You approach the pair, greeting Himeko with a friendly smile and look at March’s phone with them.

“See here… this was when we were on the way to Rivet Town!” She shows you guys a selfie of herself grinning widely, with a deadpanned Dan Heng behind her. You and Himeko giggle. “The town was pretty cool. It was all dark and eerie, like some sort of ghost town! I wanted to film for you guys but the place was flooded with monsters so Dan Heng told me to put my phone away and fight. What a party pooper.….”

You smile softly as the girl continues showing you and Himeko pictures she took (and snuck) of herself, Dan Heng, and the town. “Oh yeah! On our way back here, we encountered this huuuge monster. He was big and angry, it was scary!” She widens her eyes. “Thankfully Dan Heng was there! He fought that monster like his life depended on it. Which, it did.”

She scrolls through her gallery and exclaims, “Hey, look! I managed to snap a picture of it before we fought.”

March turns the phone to show you two. The image is a little blurry but you recognise the monster. You’d fought it sometime before, and truthfully, it wasn’t an easy fight. The last time you defeated it, you were fighting with Selee, Bronya, Dan Heng and March. If it was tough for a five person team… just how much harder was it for two?

“It looks really strong, March.” Himeko speaks the words in your mind, “did either of you get hurt?” You turn to March, eyes wide with a little worry.

The girl thinks for a second before shaking her head. “Nope. I’m okay now!” She nods, pausing straight after. A sheepish smile takes over her face. “To be honest… Dan Heng did most of the fighting with that monster, heheh… I was knocked out 3 minutes in…”

You blink, heart beating just a little faster. “Is- is he badly hurt?” You ask.

March replies quickly, “Don’t worry, he said he was alright! Just a few scratches, a little sore.”

Himeko nods. “I did see him before he went to his room earlier, he didn’t look like he was in pain.”

You hum in reply. Dan Heng is strong, you know that. But you knew your boyfriend, and he never shows his pain. Even if he was a breath away from death, he’d still say ‘I’m fine’ with a blank face to anyone who asks.

You decide to excuse yourself to check on him. Nobody knows what state he could be in right now. Bruised? Bleeding? Dead??? (Okay so you are overthinking a tad bit but hey, it’s possible.)

As soon as you get to his room door, you nearly slam it open. You scan the room frantically before seeing Dan Heng, who’s sitting down on his makeshift bed with his back against the shelf behind him.

You immediately dash to his side and study him. In front of him is a box of bandaids, a bottle of antibacterial solution and a bag of cotton balls. He’s holding a soaked cotton ball too. The boy has his shirt off, and you clearly see the bruises and scars on his torso and arms. You can see the little cuts on his face, one or two looking awfully deep. Your eyes start to water at the sight. It must hurt so badly…

“you’re back already?” His voice sounds, making you look up at him. You feel like you can’t talk so you nod. Dan Heng already knows how worried you are of course, as soon as he meets your glistening eyes. He sighs. “y/n, I’m okay.”

You blink, eyes still watering as you furrow your brows slightly. “Are you sure?? It look bad babe..”

“It’s.. not as bad as it looks. Trust me- Ow.” He tries to assure you, although he accidentally winces when you touch on his cheek lightly. You widen your eyes as he closes his eyes and sighs.

“Sorry!” You peep, suddenly aware of every move you make around him. You didn’t want to make things worse.

He shakes his head, eyes fluttering open again. “It’s alright.” He replies, then moves to continue tending to his wounds on one arm. “I just need to- disinfect these.”

You watch him wince between every few words. As he proceeds to clean the rest of his cuts, you stare like a hawk, as if doing that will make the process less painful for him.

Dan Heng clears his throat. You glance up at him again and this time, you can see he looks a little shy. You tilt your head in confusion. “Um…” his eyes flicker and he looks down shyly, “would you be comfortable helping me with the cuts on my back? I can’t reach those.”

Oh! “Of course.” You nod quickly, scooting forward to plant yourself right in front of your boyfriend. You grab a cotton ball and soak it in the antibacterial solution. Meanwhile, Dan Heng turns himself around, back facing you. Secretly, he’s glad he can turn away from you, so he can hide his embarrassment.

Since the start of your relationship, you and Dan Heng have never really been a physical couple. Mostly due to the fact that he’s not the physically affectionate type. He often feel guilty about it. You never complain though, since to you, your boyfriend expresses his love in other ways that are cute and sweet.

Having never been physical, you also haven’t seen him shirtless. So this situation being the first time, Dan Heng feels a little flustered. You, being so focused on making sure his wounds are cleaned properly, don’t realise it at all.

The whole time as you’re disinfecting each wound with care, his cheeks are burning and his ears are bright red. He’s so grateful that you’re too busy to see him like this.

With all that on his mind, he barely reacts to your cleaning. Before he knows it, you’re done.

“Okay, I’m done here.” You announce, sighing in satisfaction. “You can turn around now.”

Dan Heng slowly turns back around, not really wanting to because he can still feel his face burning. You ready yourself with another soaked cotton ball. He glances at it in your hand and furrows his brows, an invisible question mark appearing above his head. “What’s that for?”

You smile softly, eyes filled with nothing but care as you scan the few cuts on his face. “Your face silly, there’s a few.” You point out. You move even closer now, placing yourself on his lap in order to do so. You focus on one scar at a time, tending to it. “Tell me if it’s really bad, okay? I’ll be gentle.”

“…Yeah.” He barely whispers. Now your faces are less than three inches apart. While you are staring at his scars, his eyes are on you and your focused face. His heart is thumping like crazy. Seeing you being so careful with him makes Dan Heng feel warm inside. He feels like he’s falling in love with you even more right there and then.

Besides a little white noise, the room is comfortably silent. Occasionally his breath hitches from the sharp pain but it’s nothing too painful.

There’s one cut left to disinfect, and this one is visibly deeper than the rest. You softly dab on it, but the stinging catches Dan Heng off guard and he flinches. “Sorry baby.” You say softly, an apologetic look on your face. “Just a little more.”

He nods, quietly speaking. “Don’t worry about me. I… It doesn’t hurt.” You simply hum in response. It’s clear that he’s lying. He never wants to cause trouble for anyone, especially for you, and you grin softly knowing that.

Moments later, you finish up by sticking a bandaid on the cut. You can finally breathe a sigh of relief. “There we go.” Your eyes meet his again, and this time you notice the flushed look on his face. You smile confusingly. “What?”

“Um.. you’re- I- uh…” Your boyfriend stutters, barely able to look you in the eyes. You’ve never seen his this flustered before. It takes a moment before it hits you.

You’re sitting in his lap. He’s shirtless. Oh. OH.

“Oh my- sorry!” Your eyes widen, cheeks getting rosy. Dan Heng looks to the side, his cheeks burning, shaking his head to say ‘no it’s fine’. You move to get up from his lap.

In the very moment, Dan Heng doesn’t know what washes over him but he grabs hold of your arm gently to stop you from getting up. Your eyes interlock, both of you flushed. “Thank you for helping me.” His whispers.

And before you can reply, his soft lips are planted onto yours.

© mistyacorn do not plagiarize or repost please, just enjoy it ykwim

[kakushino]

Relax

Tomioka Giyuu x GN! Reader

As the Water Estate's Kakushi, it was your duty to make Tomioka Giyuu's stay as comfortable as possible while he recuperates between missions.

Tags: fluff, domesticity Word count: 0,9k

AN: One of my dearest friends sent me a message one time saying "I think Giyuu would find it so relaxing when you take care of him. Let him bathe, brush his hair so gently and while he soaks in the water, you make some tea for him." Minus the tea, I think I nailed it.

Masterlist

It wasn't the first time you prepared a bath for him nor was it the first time you saw him naked - though it had been entirely innocent the last time, as you wanted to help him relax by giving him a massage. It was the first time you offered to wash his hair though, and also the first time you were in the large bathtub with him - in a bathing yukata, of course. Giyuu hadn't protested, and you'd taken it as a sign of approval. 

You moved your sleeves away from your hands while preparing for it. Giyuu's hair was… a mess, a tangled mess which would need quite a long time untangling, but determination filled you anew. He spent days, weeks, years fighting demons to keep everyone safe; it was your duty, a kakushi’s duty, to support him in any way you could, even if it was as small as helping wash his exhausted body.

"I will tilt your head back now, Giyuu-sama," you murmured before you acted, keeping him nice and pliable under your hands. You had already taken off the tie which usually kept his hair back.

You used a small cup to collect the water before you carefully poured it over his hair. With gentle hands and gentler touch, you used the special hair soap your friend recommended you on the mess on Giyuu's head, trying to work it in to let it work its magic. To make the wait less tedious, you made sure to give Giyuu's scalp a massage.

The Hashira, on the other hand, was on cloud nine. It had been years since he felt comfortable enough to be vulnerable in front of another person. And you? You brought him so much of that comfort he could melt under your skilled hands. A slight flush took over his cheeks, one he would blame on the hot water if you pointed it out.

As you worked through each knot and tangle loose with your fingers, you hummed a simple rhyme you learned from your father when you were young. Your fingers were sore and pruney by the time you deemed Giyuu's hair sufficiently soaked.

While washing out the hair soap, you took time to scratch him gently, eliciting a shudder that made you smile in secret. He seemed to be enjoying himself if the blush on his face and peaceful expression were anything to go by.

Once done with his hair, you used a tie to hold it up and got to washing his back gently. His skin was littered with scars of various origins, and you tried to be gentle around them, knowing the nerves can be a bit sensitive. Yet again, you made sure to scratch him lightly with your nails and knead his muscles where he accumulated the most stress of his days, particularly in the shoulder area. His sighs of content were music to your ears.

As the water gradually got lukewarm, you coaxed him out of the bath.

Your bathing yukata was thick enough to not be see-through thankfully, and he quickly put a robe of his own on while you averted your gaze. The air was thick with steam and smelled faintly of sakura blossoms.

“Giyuu-sama, please sit here,” you fetched a stool for him so you could continue the hair treatment, this time with oils to help with combing. You’d also noticed his hair was a little- okay no, very dry, and you were damned if you didn’t try your best.

You quickly found out the ends were irreparable.

“May I cut your hair, Giyuu-sama?” you whispered, trying not to break the tranquility of the bathroom. He tensed under your hands as you ran your fingers through his hair. “Just the ends.”

“Fine,” he muttered, not unkindly. 

A smile bloomed on your face and you quickly grabbed scissors from the box where you kept your bath products. You’d been meaning to cut your own ends soon, but Giyuu took precedence.

Giyuu always took precedence.

You straightened out his hair as much as you could with a boar-bristle brush and snipped away, evening out the choppy hair strands as much as you could and cutting through some of the unsalvageable knots. You continued humming the tune from before as you worked.

This kind of domestic peace was rare with your charge… and crush. You were determined to enjoy it to the fullest.

You put down the scissors when you deemed that part done; now you just had to comb out his hair.

Giyuu was so quiet you nearly didn’t hear him. 

“Thank you.”

Heat rose to your cheeks. “It’s no problem.” I enjoyed it.

It brought you joy to be able to glide through his hair smoothly now, though you knew he would go and mess it up by going to bed with wet hair the minute you released him from your clutches. An idea sparked in your mind - one which you immediately acted upon.

Starting at the nape of his neck, you weaved a simple braid into his hair, tying it off with the tie from earlier.

“All done, Giyuu-sama,” you told him and took a step back, collecting all the products and putting them away, quickly getting rid of the mess of snipped strands as the Hashira walked off. 

You wondered if he noticed, and if he did then if he liked it.

He did notice and insisted on you caring for his hair the next time he stayed at his estate again. One day, he would also offer to wash your hair, he promised himself.

dividers made by the amazing @/benkeibear

[demonslayedher]

The "Umai" Bentou: Gyunabe

A very special edition of Kimetsu Kitchen, recreating the most iconic meal of Kimetsu no Yaiba, one fit to power a Hashira through a night of battle! Good enough to be one's last meal!

As a quick forward, the first official fanbook makes it official that what Rengoku was eating on the train was a gyunabe (beef hot pot) boxed lunch, which is pretty close to a sukiyaki recipe for how it simmers beef in sweetened soy sauce brine. However, sukiyaki is typically eaten with the freshly cooked beef dipped in raw egg, for eggs were also a luxury food back in the Taisho Period commonly associated with Western style restaurant food (they were not commonly used at home until later in the period). Putting some egg in the bentou is part of what elevates it to be especially fancy. Speaking of time period differences, although it is not common now, Taisho Period gyunabe recipes included miso as part of the sweet soy sauce brine.

Thankfully searching in Japanese for keywords like "gyunabe bentou rengoku recipe" yields many results from Japanese fans who were mindful of this difference, so I more or less followed the following recipe. Unlike my usual Kimetsu Kitchen experiments, I'm going to try to write this one in a way you can follow. You can see the visuals in gif form on this post. That being said, I hate cooking, and I may not be a good person to take advice from.

Umai!! Gyunabe Bentou

2 servings, based on a Mizunoto-ranked Corp member's typical serving size

Ingredients:

200g of sliced beef short rib*

1 egg**

1/4 white or yellow onion

1/2 package grilled tofu***

1/4 leek

🔥2 tablespoons sugar

🔥1 tablespoon red miso paste

🔥3 tablespoons soy sauce

🔥3 tablespoons sake

🔥4 tablespoons mirin****

🔥2 tablespoons water

Beni-shoga (pickled ginger), to taste*****

Whatever serving size of white rice your heart desires (Japanese rice recommended, but I am not the rice police)

*Short rib is a fatty cut with lots of cartilage that turns to gelatin when slowly cooked. I prefer lean cuts, so even though it comes out tougher, I used sliced beef round and it turned out just fine.

**I prepared two eggs in case one wouldn't be very photogenic. That turned out to be a good call.

***Grilled tofu, like firm (momen) or silken (kinu), is water-packed and likely available at Asian grocers. However, the vegetarian section of a Western style grocer might only have firm & silken, in which case, go with firm.

****This can be substituted if you can't find it

*****Or totally omitted if you dislike it, can't find it, or otherwise don't mind not totally recreating the bentou

Step 1.

Get your egg(s) boiling. The internet will tell you wiser things than I can about this, but what I did is bring my water to a boil first, and then put in the eggs, submerged by about an inch. I added a splash of vinegar to make them easier to peel later. I set the timer for 10 minutes, but you can pull them sooner for runnier yolks. After that, put the eggs in cold water to stop the cooking. You could also steep the eggs in mentsuyu for half a day if you want, but I didn't bother and just peeled and added them to my brine later.

Step 2.

Get your rice cooking. I added nice clean bamboo charcoal to mine for good luck. I am not the rice police, but I did make sure to wash my rice first and gave it about 15 minutes to soak before I turned on the rice cooker. Because that is what old ladies in Japan tell you to do.

Step 3.

Cut and drain your tofu. To drain it, fold up a bunch of paper towels and set the slices on top, then put more folded paper towels on top of them. If you have flat surfaces like cutting boards to work with, you can put something heavy on top to squeeze out more water and make the tofu slices firmer and easier to work with. Do expect the surrounding area to get very wet--this is why I like to place mine on the bottom of a pan so there is somewhere for the water to flow away from the tofu, but it's not a big deal if your tofu is wet. Since you're only using half a block, you can save the rest of the tofu in water for later use; it's very versatile and packed with protein. Oh, you don't like tofu? I don't think tofu likes you much either.

Step 4.

Cut your onions. For the leeks, give them diagonal cuts, for the yellow or white onion, slicing with the grain will make them milder in flavor because you rupture fewer of of the cell membranes. Speaking of, you know what happens when you rupture those?

Step 5.

Cry. Because you miss Rengoku-san, because you hate cooking, because you are cutting onions. You must press on.

Step 6.

Mix all the ingredients marked with an 🔥. The miso might be a little clumpy, but don't worry about it. Just try to dissolve the sugar. It's a little late to say it, but I don't know if calling this a "brine" is correct. Don't at me. Do you think I cook?

Step 7.

Fry the yellow/white onion slices until almost translucent. Set aside, and clean the pan if you plan on reusing it for the rest of the dish.

Step 8.

Give the 🔥mixture a stir for good measure, and then heat it up over medium heat. Add the beef slices, simmer until heated through. Remove the beef slices, set aside.

Step 9.

Add the onions, leeks, tofu, and eggs to simmer. I just listened to my heart on the timing and wish I would have given the leeks more time and the onions less time, and I can't remember how much time I gave them. I peeled the eggs and put them in whole to give them some color and heat them back up, but maybe that wasn't necessary if you had them soaking in mentsuyu half the day. My tofu behaved. I like tofu and tofu likes me.

Step 10.

Your rice is probably done. Spread it across the bottom of your bentou.

Step 11.

Carefully slice a boiled egg in half. If you fail, try the other one. Select the prettiest half-egg to place in one corner of the bentou. Next to that, place your two prettiest leeks. Next to that, your two prettiest slices of tofu. There should a little space remaining to add your pickled ginger. You probably want to taste this first to decide how much you like it.

Step 12.

Stir back in the meat with the onions, then layer this mixture on top of the rest of the rice. The bentou is complete!

You know the final step to take once you take a bite.

Say it.

[cobrakaisb]

meet me in the pouring rain

summary: mark's working over time to make things up to you, because when sparks fly, they fly. (part two of life in a glass house)

word count: 886

all he could hear were your words, “i asked you not to waste my time mark,” repeating in his head like a mantra. he couldn’t go one second without hearing them. lifting weights with the team, he was thinking about you; eating at the dining hall, his thoughts were centered around you. 

it was a slap to the face, honestly. he worked so hard to gain your trust, establish a friendship with you, and then blew it in the span of one night. he blew it and he hadn’t even known it. until days later, and it was affecting everything. 

his game was off. he was spending more time than usual in the penalty box, and that’s saying something since he’s already in there an excessive amount of time. his social life was also taking a hit. suddenly, he didn’t even want to think about partying, drinking, or seeing any girls. all he wanted was you. 

he missed your study sessions, your ranting about books, ones he’s never even heard of, and your sarcastic remarks. he missed seeing your encouraging smile when he started to understand the material from english class. he missed sitting side by side on his bed, legs barely touching, as you ripped apart his latest composition. he missed watching you chew on the cap of the red, ballpoint, bic pen as you made small corrections to his revised essays. but most importantly, he missed you. 

after this revelation, mark made it his personal mission to talk to you again. he tried catching you after class, but you were either ignoring him or didn’t hear him. he wanted to believe it was the latter, but he knew there was a higher probability that the former was true. 

then, he tried finding you after your weekly book club meetings. he knew it met on thursdays, because you very adamant about keeping thursdays free, and he knew meetings occurred in a room in the student union. he just, for the life of him, could not find out which room. so that idea went down the drain. 

a week later, he saw you in the stands at yost arena. you were sitting with some friends, your group barely paying any attention to the ice or the people on it. but his eyes found you, and they kept coming back to you. “dude, get your head in the game,” ethan said, speeding by him. all he could think about was how you’d comment on the high school musical reference. 

thankfully, they won that game, and mark was sure that you’d stick around. he was so sure, that he rushed to shower and change back into his suit. imagine his surprise when he walks out of the locker room and can’t find you. he’d lost you again.

the next day, on his run, mark stopped in front of your dorm building. ever since you stopped talking to him, he changed his route, praying for a chance to run into you. it seemed that luck was on his side because you were fumbling around for your id to unlock the door when he slowed to a stop in front of your dorm room. 

“mark? you’re soaked, what are you doing?” you asked, looking at him for the first time in weeks. and that’s all that mattered at the moment, the fact that your eyes were meeting his. and was it raining? it was raining, he realized as he felt the cold water deep into his bones. 

“i ran to clear my head, and i somehow ended up here,” he answered. mark wanted you to respond, but you didn’t say anything. instead, you just stared at him. “look, y/n, the letter thing wasn’t my fault. i had no idea you even wrote me a letter until after you stopped talking to me. i was complaining about it to the guys, and they told me what happened. i really had no idea,” he explained.

“why didn’t you tell me any of this sooner?” you asked, arms crossed as the rain soaked your hair and all other aspects of your outfit. 

“i tried, but you were kind of ignoring me,” mark answered. “is that it?” you replied, after a couple beats of silence. 

“yeah, my pride is telling me that’s it. my pride just wants me to walk away and pretend like nine of this ever happened, but my heart says just forget about your pride, you idiot. you love this girl. and even if you’re gonna catch pneumonia, your ass is gonna stand out here in the rain, until you can convince her to forgive you.” 

“and why should i? forgive you?” she finally asked, giving him a curious look. “because i love you. and you look really hot standing out here in the rain, so i have to kiss you,” mark answered, with zero hesitation. at that moment, y/n smiled, a small one, but it was a smile, nonetheless. 

“oh you have to?” she asked, in that smartass tone that would usually have mark going mental, but with her it was fine. “i have to,” he agreed as her arms wrapped around the back of his neck, one hand digging into his hair. “then you better kiss me you stupid idiot,” she mumbled right as their lips collided.

[sunny-speaks]

Your 'Normal' Neighbour

Character(s): Ren from @14dayswithyou x reader!

back on that renren grind, sorry for the radio silence yall-

academic rivals! [redacted] has a wip sittin in the back rn, so hopefully yall are excited for thaT-

this is basically like if Ren was your neighbour instead of Violet or if Violet lived like down the block-

hope u enjoy !!

And that was it.

You grunted, setting down that last box before rubbing your back, who knew moving back to Corland Bay could be so exhausting. You swore that you had less stuff when you first moved out!

You finally managed to set your bedroom up in a way that you liked, thankfully having signed up for a fully furnished apartment. This way, you ould just add your personal touches and you’d be good to go, right?

You strung up a couple of fairy lights and puts some polaroids of your friends up. Maybe you’d miss them, maybe you wouldn’t. You certainly didn’t remember many people from Corland Bay, so now you’d have to make new relationships…

Great.

But the fairy lights were a nice touch from your friend, Thesia, all the way back in the neighbourhood you’d moved away from. You’d miss them, you thought, heading to the living room, grabbing a juice box out of the fridge.

Thank God you’d stocked it before all this heavy work…

You sprawled yourself on the couch and endured the August heat, mmm, coming back in summer was a brilliant idea. You soaked up all the sunlight from your translucent curtains and basked in the heat.

It wasn’t so bad, if you didn’t pay attention to how sweltering it felt. But you were too lazy to turn on the aircon at the moment…

Almost dozing off, you heard a hesitant couple of knocks at your door, almost groaning in annoyance as you heaved yourself off of your couch.

Your parents had thrown many fits about how persistent door-to-door salesmen were back here in Corland Bay, so you already knew how you felt about people trying to get their hands in your wallet.

You threw open the door and plastered on a close-eyed grin, “I’m not buying anything,” and promptly began to shut the door before you heard a soft noise of surprise.

“Wait!” The stranger stuck his hand right in between your door frame and your quickly closing door, “Ah-!” He hissed a little under his breath but his expression quickly relaxed when he saw you looking at him.

“Oh shit.” You looked at his hand, now red from the impact and then back at him.

That’s when it hit you. You gulped, trying to repress any of your delusional thoughts from coming out of your mouth or your jaw dropping to the ground.

This guy was cute as fuck.

You would buy anything from him, any day of the week. Even though it was summer, if he wanted to buy you a hot chocolate, you would gladly accept.

I mean, whaaat??? That’d be crazy. That’d be so down bad of you…

I mean, just cause he was the prettiest, most awe-striking, adorable guy you’d seen in ever, doesn’t mean you had to get on one knee for him-

Even if he was your future husband, not like he’d want you after you slammed the door on his hand―

“Oh shit.” You quickly grabbed his hand, “Uh, my bad, dude.” ‘My bad, dude’??? That was the best you could do?! Dumbass! “Didn’t, uh, didn’t think telemarketers these days were so persistent, damn…”

The stranger, rapidly blinking his eyes to shift his focus from ‘fuck, were you holding his hand????’ to ‘ohmygod angel is so cute when panicked!!’ before slowly answering your remark, “U-Uh… I’m your neighbour, aha…” They managed as you gently held their hand after having slammed on it, grabbing a pack of ice from your freezer. “I’m, uh, Ren. I wanted to w-welcome you to the building?”

Well, that made things considerably worse.

Not only had you mistaken him for a scammer, you had slammed a door on his hand! And were forcing him to endure conversation with you!

This could physically not get worse.

“Aha, yeah. Nice to meet you,” You quickly introduced your name, age and pronouns, “I really am sorry about the conditions though…” You awkwardly chuckled to yourself, “Uh, take a seat or something, if you… y’know maybe wanna stay? I’m really sorry, I can give you some cash as an apology?” You didn’t really know what to do when you injured someone or how to apologize to be precise. What does one do in that situation?

“Ah, no, no! Don’t worry yourself over that!” He frantically waved, ‘wincing’ at the pain in his hand. “I’m sure it’s just a bruise if you’re worried about anything like that! I’ve had worse injuries! You’re too kind to me, angel…” He muttered something at the end of his dialogue but you couldn’t quite make it out.

He looked up at you with small pleading eyes, “But if you want to pay me back… maybe we could hang out for lunch? I mean, I-I do want to know a little more about my new neighbour, you know?” He quickly backtracked, face flushing, “But i-if you don’t want to, I completely understand! …I know it’s a little forward of me…”

“O-Oh, sure! Yeah, I’d be, I’d be down for that!” You hastily agreed, anything so this wouldn’t be held over your head. You didn’t need someone being mad at you your first day in the apartment complex, much less your neighbour!

Plus, he seemed cute, wouldn’t hurt to get to know him better… right?

You made eye contact with the small Haruko character stand on display in your living room and back at the stranger, picking up quite a few similarities.

Nope.

You weren’t going to ask that and get someone weirded out, now is not the time.

“I, uh, should probably change then.” You gestured to your clothes that while comfortable in the solace of your home, were not too comfortable in public. Where people could see you.

“A-Ah, of course!” His face perked up and a wide grin took over, as he fiddled with the sleeves, “I-I’ll wait for you here?”

“Yeah, I won’t take too long, don’t worry!” You hurriedly made your way to your bedroom, leaving Ren by himself in your living room.

He hummed to himself excited, practically vibrating on the spot. He was in your living room! He took a couple photos of the layout so he could remember it when he came to visit later that night…

To be fair, he hadn’t expected you to actually let him in on the first try… Angel, you were too kind! One day, some bad person was going to take advantage of that… But he’d be there to protect you so it’s alright then!

Luckily, he’d brought a couple of cameras with him, [REDACTED] wasn’t stupid. He glanced around for a couple blind spots where you wouldn’t see them and slapped them around, even putting one right near your Haruko character stand before pausing.

He hissed under his breath a little, “What do you have that I don’t…?” before returning to his spot on the couch.

You were still in your room, humming along to one of your new favorite songs… for now.

You had taken off your top before pausing in realization. Your cute new neighbour…was wearing two fucking layers. Including a knitted cardigan.

What psychopath was that?!

Mm, nah. He probably just ran cold. Could be a medical condition, or he’s really dedicated to his outfit and aesthetic.

He’s too cute to be a psychopath.

You quickly changed into a normal fitting t-shirt and a pair of sport shorts before grabbing a small backpack before heading out to your living room.

“Alright, Ren. Ready to go?” You hadn’t changed much per se, but you changed enough so you would look good enough.

Now that Ren thought about it, you had been wearing clothes you looked and felt comfortable in… Ugh! He should’ve taken more notes!

Gah, if only he wasn’t so fixated on how pretty you were, how nice you smelled if he leaned in close enough, or how many eyelashes you had on each eyes…!

Ren sat there, out of comission for a couple moments before eagerly nodding, “Mhm! Yeah! Whenever you are, angel~!”

You paused in your tracks, “Um… angel?”

An akward and embarassed look made its way to his face. “Aha… s-sorry… You’re just, really nice, and really good looking. …Do you mind it? Because if it makes you uncomfortable…!” He let the rest of his sentence hang in the air.

You mulled it over. It had definitely been a first for cute guys to want to call you a petname… But you weren’t arguing!

“Mmm… I don’t mind. I’ve never been called that before, so it was a first. But if it makes you happy, then go ahead, I guess.” You paused, before remembering a playful comment Moth had made a while back grimacing with good-natured intent. “But I’m not calling you my ‘little kitten-whiskers’ or anything like that though…”

“Ah, of course not!” He flushed, elated at the mere fact that you were letting him call you ‘angel!’ “Shall we get going then?”

He couldn’t believe it! You let him call you ‘angel,’ which obviously meant you liked him enough for it, right?

And if you liked him now, with enough time, you’d be sure to love him!

[starfallchampion]

Alola! My name is Lucky, I’m a professional Pokémon trainer and retired Champion from, you guessed it, Alola! I’m Galarian by blood, but we moved when I was younger so my trainer journey formally began here. Yes, I am that Champion who dealt with the Ultra Beast crisis — I’m open to questions about it, so long as they’re not like “does it still keep you up at night?” Answer being yes, of course it does. In fact, if you have any questions about anything and everything battle-related, shoot them my way! Not only am I a seasoned trainer, I’ve also been travelling the world for quite some time now with my siblings, beaten a few gym circuits and given a couple evil teams what-for! I’ve seen people and Pokémon of all stripes from everywhere you can think of, so I like to think I’m pretty qualified!

If you’ve ever followed me and my journey as Alola’s Champion (fun fact: I was the first official champ in Alola!) you’ll know my strategy has evolved and changed a lot over the years. I can’t tell you what it actually is for obvious reasons, but you should know by now it’s super effective (lol). My ask box is always open, so please, ask away!

More information about me:

I started this blog at the suggestion of my partner! Partner as in romantic human partner, not my partner Pokémon lol. He and my siblings may post occasionally and if they do please do say hello!

I split my time between a lot of different regions for work reasons so I’m oftentimes extremely tired because of the jet leg on top of a sleep condition I have. For my physical issues I have a few Mons to support me that don’t battle, so they’re not very well-known in my ‘lore’ as some people call it.

Since I was a teenager and the Aether Foundation Incident happened I haven’t had very much privacy, so I’m very private about my life and my Pokémon outside of a battle context! I’ll probably still post about my non-battling Mons and my family + my partner, but not beyond what we’re up to generally.

My sister is studying very hard to be a Pokémon professor, so if she gets anything wrong, please don’t be afraid to correct her! Just be gentle, she’s still learning lol. My brother on the other hand will probably be reblogging a lot of Dark-type content, especially Umbreon stuff. As for my partner, he’s busy with work and me a lot of the time, so he’ll probably be a rare sighting on this blog!

Now, let’s meet the team shall we?

Neptune, a Primarina and my starter Pokémon! He’s a very loyal companion and loves getting everyone soaked in a stadium even when he’s not using his Z-Move. The best way I’ve ever seen him described is ‘a tank with a tail’ in a review of one of my matches.

Venus, a Sylveon with an axe to grind. He’s a bit of a diva but he’s extremely obedient in battles, so don’t be fooled by his attitude when you see him with me in interviews and such — he’s a sweetheart, he just doesn’t wanna admit it.

Bolt, an Alolan Raichu that is everything one would expect of his species lol. He’s a bit airheaded, one may even say he’s a klutz — but nothing and no one stands a chance against his megawatt smile!

Marian, a Ceruledge that has a strange knightley thing going on. I don't know when it started or what started it, but he's very chivalrous to all those around him, human or Pokémon! A relatively new addition to the team as he joined me while I was doing the Paldean gym circuit.

Bedsheet, a Mimikyu; there is a story behind her name. She made a disguise out of bedsheets and curtains the first night I had her. I was staying in a motel. Thankfully I managed to pay back the damages with all the wins she brought me. If I had to sum her up in a word: cheeky.

Tricky, a Golisopod that put me through the ringer as a Wimpod to catch her. She’s very sweet and loves to hang out by the beach. She’s a bit of a tank like Neptune, but she packs a punch too! She was my trump card for a while there.

Obviously as I’ve implied I have quite a few more buddies than this, but that’s my most frequent lineup as of now. For the rest you’ll just have to keep an eye on my battles. >_0

I think that’s everything! Thank you very much for reading and I look forward to every interaction we may have! :D

OOC INFO:

Hello hello!!! I’m Spooky, but I go by many names on my different blogs (Lovely, Cyril, Cerule, etc.) and likes and follows will come from my main @spookycrownblaze! Just want to knock a couple things out the way b4 I really begin with this blog!

First things first, no NSFW. Lucky and Grusha are adults but Lillie and Gladion are not. It’s not appropriate for this blog, nor am I comfortable with it.

I have no experience with any of the mail systems so I won’t make a call until I’ve had some experiences with them! So, tentatively, I’m accepting all kinds of mail for now.

Lucky is my self insert for the Pokémon world basically KSAKJLD he’s entirely based on my experiences playing the games!!! He wins 99.9% of his battles because all his Pokémon would be lvl100 + max friendship in the games as that is how I roll!!! If I don’t steam roll thru all my battles I am losing /j (oh and also I know nothing about the Pokémon anime so I’m working off game canon the majority of the time)

As you may have gathered by now, part of this blog is an established OC x canon relationship! If you don’t fuck with that, totally cool, please exit stage left. If you do, hey hi hello welcome! Thank you for restoring my faith in humanity a little! I’ve always known fandom to be pretty nasty about it, so it’s really refreshing to know some people are chill about it.

That said, I also work off my own canon, in which SM/USUM happened years ago and Lucky was the player character, except he was in his mid teens (15-16ish) and became a sort of older brother figure to Hau, Lillie and Gladion! It's kind of A Lot but to summarise: they saved Alola and all they got was this dumb shirt (intense PTSD), Lusamine is dead because of the Nihilego thing so Lucky functions as Lillie and Gladion's guardian as well as their older brother, Lucky has an extreme fear of Ultra Beasts and some physical scars from his battles with them but he kept a couple that proved they could behave themselves, being the oldest kid that emerged from the rubble of the Aether Foundation Incident Lucky is a bit of a celebrity for both good and bad reasons and Hau is the current Champion in Alola! He took over for Lucky when he retired a couple years ago and Lucky made him get a manager and assistant immediately after he took the position.

Lucky and Co. (Lillie and Gladion) mostly travel now! Along the way they just so happen to occasionally get roped into the plot of some other games. Lillie and Gladion do most of the talking, Lucky does most of the serious battling and gives any young trainers they meet advice. He also may or may not have beat up a few evil team grunts as opposed to battling them out of frustration.

Obviously don’t feel forced to interact with this blog if you don’t like any of the aspects of it or if you just don’t like the lore I personally work off for my character! I will not be hurt, I will not know — I get why. I am a slut for canon divergence and I love making fun overly powerful OCs with the cruellest nerfs I can think of. In Lucky’s case that’s just my sleep problems and Trauma™ JKDSJGLS

That is all!!! I feel like I yapped a little too much but I want anyone interested to have some context for this blog and its characters even if I feel So So Cringe laying it all out. Might post Lucky’s ref sheet at some point idk. My little eepy champion dude. THANK U FOR READING!!! ENJOY :D

[rainbowhighschoolnurse]

Doll restoration: Shadow High’s Heather Grayson

Didn’t realize until after I finished that I never took before pictures x_x. She came with the first lot of dolls I got, and was missing all but one single shoe of hers.

Unlike most of the dolls I’ve gotten, which had disastrous hair but face and body in pretty good condition, she was the opposite. Her body was really dirty. I had to wash her twice to clean off all the grime and grease buildup—the second time with stronger soap than usual. There were several weird smudges on her face that I went at with acetone when they didn’t come off on the first wash (very carefully so as not to accidentally remove her makeup), which thankfully worked even though Is still can’t think what might have cause them.

She also had what appeared to be mold on the back of her arm which I dealt with by scrubbing it clean and then wrapping it in an alcohol soaked paper towel for several hours to kill any germs or spores left over. Unfortunately, it was too late to prevent it staining the plastic.

Contrary to all that, her hair was in good shape. There’s some very slight discoloration on the underside of the white half, which I thought about doing an oxy-clean wash for, but frankly it didn’t seem worth it. You can only see it if you’ve got good light and you’re really looking for it. It combed out easily, and I washed and conditioned it and let it dry.

Now even though it didn’t take me an hour to comb out the tangles, that’s not to say her hair didn’t pose any problems. See, the thing is, her original hairstyle had been taken out and her hair was down, meaning I had to part it down the middle by color. And to make matters more difficult, rather than a single rooted part, she had a rooted line of black hair on the white half, and a rooted line of white on the black half, and I had to criss-cross basically one plug at a time, alternating to get it back to the way it was originally.

It took me about 5 hours over three days to do a two and a half inch part and I was separating strands individually way more than I would have liked. And that wasn’t even the end of it because once I got to the front, she had this huge clump of gray hair right on the crown of her head that wasn’t in any of the pictures I could find of the doll anywhere, so I wasn’t sure what to do about it. In the end, i just parted about ¾ of an inch in the front without regard for colors because how the heck else was I gonna deal with gray hairs. To make it look more intentional, I also pulled a small section in the back and reverse parted it so there was a streak behind her head.

Once her hair was fully parted, I could finally tie it up in her original pigtails, and that was when another problem presented itself: the bangs. They did not want to stay separated, and they really did not want to lay flat against her face. So what I did was pull them back and tie them together behind her neck with a hair-tie so they laid against her face like they were supposed to, then I rubbed some pomade on the hair over her face and especially right at her scalp, and left it for a few hours to set. When I took the hair-tie out, her bangs sit properly. There was a slight kink in her bangs where the hair-tie held them behind her neck, which you can see in the first pic, but it has since eased itself out with time and gravity.

Although I didn’t have her shoes, I did have most of her clothes, so I put her in her secondary dress and her awesome jacket, which has extra straps inside so she can wear it just over her shoulders and not on her arms, which I thought was pretty neat. I put her in Mila Berrymore’s thigh high embroidered boots because I thought it was a cool look with the minidress, and accessorized with a blind box purse and one of Carmen Major’s fishnet gloves to complete the look.

[confusedbuddyboi]

This is my first fic agere stuff, so I wanted to try espresso and Madeline, cause I can see them in my mind easily. :] btw this isnt edited so spelling errors possible and likely. This is inspired by the winter snow! It's made me excited! Also lmk if anyone's got ideas or such for other stuff! My ask box is always open even memes.

Fic under cut!

/I'll start this with saying I'm horrendous at guessing ages in general not even regressing. So most of my regression ideas here aren't based on specifics of ages and how they grow, but how a charather generally might act. Espresso seems like someone who even when regressed likes to try and be “a big kid” the main thing is regressed hes more open to offerings of help and general silliness. He also relaxes and is a lot less stressed\

Espresso was staring out the window, distracted from there work for a long moment. It was a gentle flurry, but the snow has been layering like powdered sugar on everything. Espresso realized they hadn't even realized the snow starting, he didn't mind the cold however. Being made with espresso kept him warm so he could really soak in the sight.

He never admit it but the winter weather made him a bit giddy. He always thought of when he would go out and play in the snow with his siblings. Latte would help build a snowman while cappuccino would be found making snow angels. Espresso had been much younger than his siblings but minus snow ball fights he never felt left behind in snowy fun.

“Ohhh espresso!” A joyful voice sang turning the corner seeing espresso turn from their window watching. Normally when Madeline came in espresso would jump, like a bundle of nerves, or scold him for being so sneaky when coming in. However right now espresso simply hummed, tilting his head a bit tired as always however.

Madeline gave a gentle “ah” as he realized espresso was likely regressing. Sometimes it was hard to tell, as espresso tended to fight it off wanting to work. Thankfully for Madeline the snow made espresso more willing to slip to a younger mindset without fighting it. “well, would you like to bundle up for a bit of time outside?” “you just got back from patrol though, your probably freezing” Madeline shook his hand in a ‘dont worry’ gesture. “I'll change into better layers and warm up while we but you in some winter ware,” he smiled “besides the hot chocolate taste better after a winter walk”

Eventually Madeline got his layers on first and quickly. He came back to espresso trying his best to put on the layers himself. He got the shirt and pants on fine, but was struggling with the zipper on coat. He was starting to get huffy as it didn't connect properly at the bottom. Madeline came over espresso likes to try and do big things on his own. “Can I help you buddy?” Espresso pouted wanting to get it done himself, trying once again not answering.

“Hey, you got your layers on. I'm proud of you but even big boys need help. Like I might need you to hold my hand to help me down the stairs, theyre a bit slippery!” it a moment but espresso let go of the zipper “ok”. Madeline knew it was better to tell espresso he was a big boy, or else he might get fussy. Even as a little he was always trying to be self-sufficient.

Eventually they made it out the door “hold my hand till we down the stairs ok? I don't want us to fall!” espresso beamed happy to help. “Here be careful ok! I'll be watching you!” Espresso decided to flop down and start making a string of snow angels, he looked over and urged Madeline over. “Make some too!” Madeline was cold, but with how espresso beamed excited trying to make a big circle of them, he couldn't resist.

Eventually they finished them and espresso giggled. Giddy with the masterpiece they made. Madeline brushed off the snow stuck to him and espresso before letting him explore a bit more. The snow wasn't wet enough for snowmen which made him a bit sad but settled on drawing in the snow with a stick.

Eventually espresso had enough outside, and headed inside. Madeline kept his promise of hot chocolate, letting it cool down before he put it in a sippy cup. Espresso was beaming bringing his coat to Madeline having taken off his layers. “Look! I got it off on my own!” He said excited. Madeline ruffled espresso hair a bit. “Great job! I got some hot chocolate to warm you up.” He was surprised when espresso held out the coat. “Could you put it on the rack?” Madeline smiled a bit and took it, “sure bud. Here yah go” espresso took it and darted to the couch and it's covers. “Thank you!”