#that or he was bleaching that light streak in

[random-blep]

I think it would be really funny if kaeya was lying this whole time and he was dying his hair blue

[elixirina]

# in my prime — jason todd x fem!reader

synopsis — jason gets awoken with a little surprise.

warnings — none just tooth rotting fluff

notes — was just thinking about jason’s white streak so yk

please please please reblog and like 🤍

© elixirina — all rights reserved. my work is never to be reposted, translated, modified, etc, even if i am credited.

the early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft, golden glow that gently woke you. you lay there for a while, listening to the quiet hum of the world outside the window and the sound of jason’s steady breathing beside you. he was still asleep, his face peaceful and relaxed, like he didn’t have a care in the world. the way he slept so soundly always made you smile. it was a rare thing, something he didn’t often let himself have—peace.

you turned your head slightly, your gaze falling on him. his dark hair, always messy, was sprawled across the pillow in a way that made him look like he belonged in people's sexiest man alive. but there was something more that caught your attention today—something different, something you couldn’t ignore.

near the front of his hairline, you noticed a small streak of white running through his otherwise jet-black hair. it was subtle but striking. you blinked, sure you were imagining it. maybe it was just the light. but no, there it was—clear as day, like it had always been there.

your heart did something funny in your chest, a fluttering sensation that you couldn’t quite explain. the streak was so... unexpected. it was small, but in that moment, it seemed to transform him. there was something beautiful about it, something raw and real. it wasn’t like any hair dye or accidental bleach job, and it definitely wasn't a grey hair—it felt like it was a part of him. maybe it was a mark of everything he’d been through, a silent reminder of the battles he’d fought, both internal and external.

and you found it... well, you found it perfect. you couldn’t help but love it.

you leaned in closer to get a better look, your fingers hovering just above his hair. you wanted to reach out and touch it, but you knew that would be an invasion of his space. so instead, you just let yourself admire it, that little streak of white against his dark hair, wondering where it had come from. it made him seem so much more... human.

suddenly, jason groaned, his body shifting as he stretched out beneath the covers. his eyes fluttered open, blurry with sleep, and the grogginess in his voice made you chuckle. “mornin’, baby.”

you grinned, the teasing glint in your eyes barely contained. “good morning, silver fox.” you couldn’t resist the nickname now that you had the perfect ammunition. a snicker escaped your mouth, despite your best efforts to stop it.

his brows furrowed as he blinked at you, trying to focus through the haze of sleep. “what? what’re you laughing at?��� he muttered, his voice still thick with the remnants of sleep. "what did you do?"

you couldn’t hold it back anymore, your grin growing wider as you gestured to his hair. “i didn't—you might want to look in the mirror, old man.”

jason’s hand shot up immediately, fingers running through his hair as he tried to figure out what you were talking about. his eyes widened in confusion as they found the streak. “what the fuck?” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of panic and disbelief.

you bit your lip, trying not to burst into laughter. his reaction was priceless—he was so caught off guard, and it was adorable. you leaned back into the pillow, watching him scramble to get out of bed and rush to the nearest mirror.

“what the actual—?” jason muttered, pulling at the streak like he could just... remove it. “tell me this isn’t real. did you do this?”

you couldn’t contain your laughter anymore and let it burst out, echoing around the room as you sat up on the bed. “no! baby, i swear, i woke up and you were like that,” you teased, your voice thick with amusement. “and honestly? i think it looks good on you. very distinguished.”

jason’s head snapped around to look at you, his eyes wide. “good? angel, i look like—like—” he gestured to his hair wildly, eyes wide in disbelief. “i should be in a nursing home! no! i’m still in my prime!”

you bit your lip to stop your grin before collecting yourself. “you look like jason todd,” you said again, this time your voice softer, more earnest. “you’re allowed to look however you want. and right now? you look...” you paused for a moment, choosing your words carefully as you stared at him. “you look perfect.”

jason froze for a moment, his fingers still tangled in his hair. you could see the gears turning in his head. the way you were looking at him—the soft way you always looked at him—was disarming. he felt it in his chest, that warmth that he never quite knew how to deal with.

he grumbled, not knowing what to say. “still not funny.” he took a deep breath, still trying to act like it wasn’t bothering him, even though the faintest trace of a smile was tugging at his lips. he walked back over to the bed, finding his place next to you once more.

he grumbled, not knowing what to say. “still not funny.” he took a deep breath, still trying to act like it wasn’t bothering him, even though the faintest trace of a smile was tugging at his lips. he walked back over to the bed, finding his place next to you once more.

you shrugged innocently, your grin unwavering. “maybe you’ll learn to love it. i’m pretty sure it’s a keeper.”

his voice softened as he tucked your head beneath his chin. “you think it looks good?”

you nodded, your hand resting on his chest. “i do. it’s... you, jason. just another layer to who you are.”

jason didn’t respond at first. instead, he just lay there, the two of you sharing a peaceful silence for a while. but when you looked up at him, you saw the warmth in his eyes, that softness that only ever came when he was around you.

“thanks, baby,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. there was something vulnerable in it, something rare, and you realized it wasn’t just the streak that was making him feel this way—it was you, and the way you always saw him for everything he was.

“no problem, silver fox,” you teased again, pressing a soft kiss to his chest.

jason rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the smile that broke through. maybe the streak wasn’t so bad after all. and maybe—just maybe—he didn’t mind looking distinguished for you.

[dvrcos]

Thinking about the Foxes dying their hair orange for finals. Like it starts with the girls doing orange highlights/Renee dying the tips of her hair orange during death matches

And then Matt and Nicky rope themselves in because they think it’s cool as fuck and they want to be apart of it. So Allison and Renee help them bleach their hair and Dan watches for moral support. They dye the tips of Matt’s hair and give Nicky chunky highlights

They try to convince Neil next and it doesn’t work until Matt asks and then he hesitantly agrees. They give him just a little streak of orange right at the front and it just looks like his normal hair but a bit brighter

Kevin is the next to join in because he’s superstitious as fuck and would think if half the team is already doing it than the whole team has to for good luck. Allison and Renee give him a nice ombré of orange over the tips of his hair

The twins are the hardest to convince by far. Kevin and the entire team hound them for a week. Aaron agrees finally just so Kevin stops bitching at him every spare breath and somehow Neil gets Andrew on board because he’s Neil and “just asked”

Aaron dyes the undercut of his hair orange and Andrew gets little fox paw prints on the shaved part of his head (so he can shave them off as soon as the seasons over). The orange is bright as fuck on their hair too since their natural hair is so light. And they both think it’s obnoxious but are team players

It definitely becomes a tradition after that and if they make it to finals Wymack and Abby surprise them by dying their hair (and Wymack temporarily dyes his beard)

[lalunanymph]

RIN ITOSHI AND DOWN BAD!!!

𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐁𝐀𝐃 [*ੈ✩‧₊˚ dawn.🕹️ ttpd]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ one breakdown. a sudden realization.

I’m staying at my parents’ tonight. Don’t call me. 

9 hours ago. That was Rin’s last message to you. 

The sky above was turning, grey clouds lingering on the horizon like the thickening of a warning smog. Growing up on this side of town, the smell of asphalt assaulting your nose was a constant, and it mingles with the carnage of your writhing emotions.

Picking up your pace, you try to leave the thought of Rin behind in the dust.

Taking the stairs two at a time, you reach the double glass doors, pushing it aside to be surrounded by the smell of iron, sweat and bleach. 

A run would be the best thing for your mind.

Booting up the treadmill, you stretch across the bars, unloosening the knots in your back; giving your glutes a tight squeeze with alternative leg lift ups. 

The pounding of your running shoe-clad feet on the belt filled your mind with white noise—the music blaring from your earphones helping to drown out the pain clawing its way through your chest.

But, no matter how much you tried to move forward, you could never forget. 

The greasy sensation lingering heavily in your bones heaves and twists, a child in the corner begging for mom to turn and acknowledge it. Throwing plates shattering to the floor; fingerprints drenched in blood red of neglect streaking across pristine white walls.

You lean forward, slamming the pause button. Almost flying off the treadmill, grab the handles and double down, clutching your torso, sweat and tears stinging down your cheeks. 

There was no one to watch your breakdown, the clock showing 2 in the morning; flashing 24-hour neon sign at the doorway blinking apathetically in your teary vision. 

For a long moment, you stayed down on the ground, sniffling quietly.

Once the tears dried up, you picked up your phone, checking your messages. 

Predictably (even if it made your stomach fall to your feet), Rin hadn’t texted you. You stared at his name, at his photo—his pretty teal eyes half-closed, disgruntled shade of amusement at your surprise kiss on his cheek as you ambushed him with this photo.

Never would you have anticipated he would make it his main contact picture.

Loving Rin existed in shades of grey and fractions of light which you tend to miss if you didn’t look fast enough. A fond look, a secret smile.

You missed his every fleeting show of affection. 

But, how long could something so perfect be kept behind the scenes without deteriorating from a lack of light and affection?

I can’t believe you would think I was cheating on you because of some rumour, he seethes from the couch. I come back home to you, don’t I? You’re being too fucking sensitive and unreasonable. If you hate me, you can say it right to my face rather than making this more difficult for me. You’re such a hassle. I’m leaving.

Barely giving you time to take back your words or give your pain more breathing ground for understanding. 

Rin took his keys, wallet and half of your heart out of your shared apartment’s door; unwittingly breaking your entire trust in him in a fell swoop.

You blinked the moisture from your eyes, staring at the carpeted floor. 

Your phone vibrated, and you rubbed your eyes, reading his message over and over again.

I’m sorry. I hate fighting with you. I’m on my way back home. Can we talk? 

You stare at your phone; outside at the inky sky unleashing a deluge of rain which splatters across the high windows. Rin was never this persistent unless he knew he had fucked up big time.

Baby? Are you there? Can we talk? 

The vibration of an incoming call. Without thinking it through, you declined the call. 

If he wanted to tell you what's on his mind, he could do it face-to-face.

(Did you even want to see him again?)

Hey, I know you’re angry at me, but at least let’s talk this out. I know the season’s been hard on both of us. I don’t want us to end like this. 

You read his texts silently, not responding. 

Another call. Another tap of the red button. 

Baby, stop ignoring me. I was stupid with my words. I said some really stupid stuff. Don’t be angry anymore and let’s talk this out.

The pitter pattering of rain fills your mind with static, keeping you on a loop of his last words and the ones you can’t seem to focus on the smeared screen. 

Mechanically, you read through his text, seeing the chat bubble disappear and reappear—never did three dots make you feel close enough to have a stroke. 

Your baited breath follows on the tail of his next message:

I still love you. I love us. I’m so sorry.

A wave of loss overtakes you, the next message you type out with shaky fingers sent straight into the void—blue speech bubbles turning grey once you begin the process of removing Rin bit by bit from your life; clicking on the ‘block’ button to refuse these crumbs of affection you couldn’t starve yourself on anymore. 

I’m sorry, too. Please, don’t come home. Goodbye, Rin.

©️ lalunanymph

[pettypiastri]

gentle hands find tender hearts — lando norris

lando norris x fem!reader summary - day 1 of testing leaves Lando sore and seeking comfort word count - 2.2k warnings - language, allusions to reader insecurity, otherwise none! note - first piece for f1, please be nice! basically just idiots in love but they're not in denial and are already dating. blame Lando's yt channel for the brainrot and info i've loosely based this on. drop by the inbox, would love to discuss all your thoughts about your fave vroom vroom boys (anons are on) 🤍 feedback always appreciated!

Seeing the green verification light flash on the hotel room card reader might be the best thing Lando’s seen all day. Decidedly the best thing he’s seen since leaving you, a vision in his shirt, behind in the crisply air conditioned room, a sleepy smile on your face after he pressed a final kiss to your forehead. Which, notably, he’d only managed to find after a two-handed effort to sort through your messy hair swathing your face and neck. He’d traded all that in for the Bahrain humidity that’s somehow made itself a home in the aching in his head and the weight he still feels bearing on his neck. Seeing you now, just as pretty as this morning, he’s certain a ‘meh’ day 1 of pre-season testing did not make up for what he’d left behind at 6:45. Not even close.

You’re perched on the king sized bed, white hotel bedding bleached beyond identity, with a book in your hand and Lando wants to cry. Or maybe huff frustratedly. At the very least kiss you immediately. The smile you give Lando upon seeing his head of deflated curls peek around the wall, the one you always give him that reaches your eyes and consumes his soul, has his shoulders sagging. More than 100 laps and hours of data threaten to finally crush him as he drags himself toward you, items falling from his hands in time with his steps. Bucket hat, wallet, key card until it's just him, drained and pouty, eager to demand your comfort. Blindly you dog ear your page, cataloging his schlumpy movements. 

“What’s wrong gorgeous?” 

A resounding ‘oomph’ leaves your chest as your boyfriend falls against your frame. Strong hands reach under your hoodie seeking soft skin. Even though Lando’s been in the heat all day, it’s nothing like the toe curling, soul unfurling warmth you can provide. These days, he always seems to feel a chill in his chest when you’re not around. 

“Shit day,” he grumbles, fabric sticking to his parted lips as he snuggles against your chest. Overwhelming fondness makes your heart ache, a playful quip is briefly delayed. As a distraction, your hands gravitate to mirror his, wrapping around his broad shoulders and back. One comb of your fingers through his mangy curls has them frizzing up, tendrils reaching out to tickle your nose. 

“Oh, s’that all?” A sharp pinch between your ribs in retaliation has you tightening your grip in Lando’s hair. Your free flowing giggle encourages Lando to elaborate, his traitorous smile hidden against fabric. 

“ ‘M sore. Back, neck… pride.” On instinct, your hand in his hair dips to the natural resting place on the back of his neck. A pensive hum settles on his ears.

“Hmm… Well, suppose you’re lucky you’ve got a girlfriend then.” 

A truly minimal effort grumble of confusion is all you get in response. Lando, tired and grumpy, never fails to make you smile. It’s why, with great effort, you wiggle down the bed with him still on top of you, crumpling pillows and pulling up the bottom sheet in your wake, so you can be nose to nose with him. His beautiful baby blues, with a streak of exhaustion, a fleck of frustration, and a halo of tenderness, crack open to regard you. Droopy lids are held open by a combative fondness that overpowers the weight of unmet expectations. You kiss him languidly, a need to rush nowhere to be found. Despite your initiation, you part your lips easily for him letting him control the moment how he wants. Lando always kisses you like it's his last chance, in a way that makes you feel it from your stomach down to your toes. Sometimes you find yourself crossing your fingers that you make him feel the same. 

Upon breaking apart you coax him gently, “Lay on your stomach for me? Let me take care of you.”

And Lando resigns to let you. Happily. Defenselessly. Completely. Because you always take care of him. After Sochi, after Carlos left, whenever he loses sight of himself. Your unyielding arms are always ajar for him to crash into.

Lando proves to be absolutely no help as you try to shimmy his hoodie off him, his face pressed into one of four available pillows, arms curled above his head. Your level of struggle makes you giggle, then laugh from your chest, a whine of his name mixed in. Half a cheeky smile is visible from Lando as he peeks an eye open to regard you. He lifts one arm begrudgingly and then the other, allowing you to successfully free his torso.

Gently you lay the hoodie to your side and scan his lean back. You watch his shoulders flex as he shifts again to get fully comfortable, the dimples in his lower back popping in and out. His golden skin, a tan you watched bloom over a long offseason, calls for your careful touch. 

One of your thighs raises to straddle the backs of his, finding a comfortable position atop his legs. As if in anticipation of your tenderness, an adorable sigh whistles out through Lando’s nose. Moving just by instinct, your careful hands start at the small of his back, digging in just enough with your thumbs to coax the tension out. Briefly you wonder if the tiny hiss Lando lets out is one of appreciation or if hours in the air conditioned hotel room have left your extremities just on the wrong side of chilly. You’re reassured when a more full chested sigh escapes your boyfriend upon your hands reaching the apex of his shoulders in one long motion of your hands. The look of contentment is already beginning to set in on Lando’s striking face as you continue carefully in fluid, albeit improvised, movements. 

There is a stillness in the room that welcomes the almost inaudible efforts of your hands pushing into his muscles and grants permission for your mind to wander. A dull hum from the air conditioning unit aims to harmonize with Lando’s consistent sighs. On instinct you itch to trace a pattern between his birthmarks, taking a moment to appreciate even the smallest parts of him. 

As now warmed fingers detour from their ritualistic path up his back, you stop at one mole, marveling that it looks the exact same shade of brown as the coffee was on your second date. A cup of which had steamed up between your eyes as you glanced sheepishly over the porcelain rim at him, hoping he couldn’t see you staring. The waitress had led with ‘how cute a couple the two of you make’ before informing you it was closing time. Lando had not corrected her. Instead he’d offered you his jacket before walking you home. You’d kissed him before you even made it to your street. The tableau, illuminated by a dusty streetlamp, saw you pushing him back with a hand on his chest when you realized you wouldn’t be able to stop if you carried on a second longer. Lando had found it sickeningly endearing. 

Another birthmark on your course upwards is a bit lighter, more oval, something like the dirt track he had taken you to watch rallying at with his siblings last winter. You’d shared lip gloss with one of his sisters and been asked for advice on the boy problems of the other. Lando’s brother Oliver realized he didn't even have to ask how serious things were when he’d caught Lando staring at you when he thought no one was watching. Oliver had leant over to ask him a question, only to find Lando didn’t even know who the race leader was as he’d practically not taken his eyes off you. You, just existing. Eager eyes darting around attentively at the flurries of dirt before you, your hand on Lando’s wrist, spinning the bracelet his Nan gifted him with absentminded ease. Later he’d watched Lando take about 30 photos of you as you wandered the merch booths and food stands, all of which you were none the wiser to and Oliver knew you never would be. 

The birthmark just at the base of his neck is the one you noticed peeking out from his t-shirt late one warm night in Monaco. When your eyes yearned to fix on something stable. Something safe. Lando’s hand had reached back for yours as he lead you through the Monaco streets. You’d linked your pinky with his, too shy to feel the warmth of his whole hand in yours. He’d driven the two of you around in his Jolly, for once abiding by the speed postings; he was in no rush with you. You recall being envious of the wind ruffling his hair, wishing it was you instead. The hand he placed on your exposed thigh had you looking the opposite direction to hide your glowing cheeks.

Slowly, so as not to startle him, you scooch to sit over the center of Lando’s back, bringing his strong neck into an accessible range. Your thumbs dig into the sides, freestyling a way to massage such a random part of the body in such desperate need of TLC. His curls that you’ve worshiped, pulled on, and braided for the past years are welcomed into the special treatment with your fingers sliding against his scalp before beginning at the base of his neck again.

Lando had looked at you sideways when you’d once commented on his strong neck being one of your favorite features of his. Refusal to elaborate was betrayed by your full body flush and flitting eyes as he leaned over you, hands settling on the arms of the chair you were sat in. That was just last month; he still makes you nervous. 

Nervous in the way that makes your breath catch and your palms clam up. Nervousness akin more to anticipation than anything else; woven with glee and eagerness. Something like you feel right now, realizing you haven’t kissed him in 15 minutes and your hands are starting to cramp. Leaning down, you press a peck to his exposed cheek, Lando’s cologne filling your nose. For someone you thought was asleep, his eye cracks open the instant your lips part from his skin. 

Lando regards you for just a moment before, with much difficulty given his current position and slight delirium, moving to wrangle you so you’re lying down chest to chest with him. One of his arms drapes over your neck, hand planted behind your head, creating a little bubble made just for your heads. Something unrupturable and uninterrupted where he can stare at you without needing a reason.

The eyes you’re met with are droopy, full of contentment, and overflowing with affection. It’s a look that you used to think you’d never receive from someone else. But Lando’s never been afraid to be loud with his love. It took some time, some proof of dedication from him that the beaming smile and honest eyes were not a fluke, for you to bloom. Now when you’re with him, you don’t care who’s looking. You love who you are in his company, how unafraid to occupy space you become. It draws you to place your hand on his stubbled cheek (that you will not stop teasing him about) and stroke your thumb slowly over his skin. On instinct Lando nuzzles closer, so eager to be doted on by you. His lips find yours in an intimate kiss. 

“Thank you baby,” he murmurs, words meant just for you, so soft they would’ve been mistaken for a flicker of the moonlight had you not been paying attention. 

You assume he means for the massage. He assumes you know it’s for everything else: all the support and love and devotion you show him. It’s bliss with you. Lando had gotten over trying to fight against the never-ending spiral of longing, lust, and love in every moment, word, and movement with you, a long time ago. Now he welcomes drowning in your smile and voice and touch. He yearns for the overwhelming clench in his chest and weightlessness of his body. He’s given himself over completely to you in hopes of his demise at the sight of your warm eyes and the way you say his name.

Lando finds his heart squeezing again just from looking at you, curled against him in a random Hilton somewhere in the Middle East. The only remedy, the only distraction is to kiss you again, gently but full of meaning. It makes you blush, afire under his adoring gaze, feeling so safe but exposed, heart bared fully to him. 

In the sacred hush of your hotel room you scoot just a fraction until your nose skims his, eyes fluttering closed. Upturned lips brush against yours involuntarily. 

A deep exhale leaves Lando’s nose, tickling the peach fuzz of your upper lip. It conveys total peace and comfort. It says somehow, this is all he needs. This is how life looks for him when his mind wanders to years his senior. Maybe there’s more noise around your little bubble, more feet, decidedly smaller than the both of yours, leaving prints on your hearts. But you and him together like this? It’s constant, transcendent of location or hardship or outside noise. You and him together like this, with 'I love you's' as the night's lullaby, is not just enough, it’s everything.

[sluttyten]

Little Shop of Wonders

Kinktober Day 8 | Kun Masterlist | Member Masterlist

tags: sex pollen, free use, consensual free use, fuck toy, shower sex, lots of cum, facefucking, masturbation, bukkake, cunnilingus, blowjobs, slight exhibitionism, subspace

length: 5971

The bell over the door jingled as you pushed it open, stepping foot inside the shop. 

You’d never noticed this place before. An old shop with big glass window displays filled with plants and crystals, its heavy wooden door recessed from the street, an old brass lantern hung above the door offering only a small puddle of flickering light over the doormat. 

“Welcome,” the doormat had scrawled across it, “to the Little Shop of Wonders.”

You weren’t sure what to expect, but it was a cool, damp October night, and the shop looked like a dry place to wait for your boyfriend. 

Kun had an appreciation for magic. Usually, he favored card tricks, sleight of hand, but he’d shown you before that he was intrigued by more magical magic. He would like this place, too, so you texted him the address since he was already on the way to pick you up from work. 

From deep in the recesses of the store, you hear a woman’s voice call out, “Welcome! Have a look around, and I’ll be there to help you shortly!” 

The store is very old, if you had to guess. The floors are hardwood, bleached by ages of sunlight, dry and dusty with each step you take. The boards creak, and even when you pass over a thick rug, the floor groans beneath you, belching up dust. Dried flowers and herbs hang from the rafters. Strings of lights drape the edges of the room, occasionally cross-crossing the space in between. You spot more of those brass lanterns hanging at the ends of heavy wooden bookcases, the shelves of which are weighed down with heavy tomes and knick knacks that range from crystals and cute animal carvings to disturbingly realistic wooden figurines of people and a skull with a candle melted atop it. 

This place gives you the creeps while simultaneously pulling you in deeper. It feels like magic. It tingles over your skin, smelling sweet. 

You don’t know how long you’ve been walking around before you hear the door jingle in the distance. 

You bump into a viney potted plant on the floor, and a cat bolts out of the shadows, streaking through a gap in the shelves. You follow the cat, discovering that it’s leading you back into the center of the store from where you’d drifted to the back edges. You can see the front door, the misty blue twilight sky outside the front windows. 

Kun stands in the doorway, framed by that eerie light, though the light of the lantern glows on his face, radiant. 

“There you are,” he says with a grin, stepping inside the store fully. “What kind of place have you found?”

“Welcome to the Little Shop of Wonders,” says the same woman’s voice as before, although now it sounds as though she’s floating above you. 

You twist around, looking up at the ceiling, and you find her. She’s a wiry older woman, her curling gray hair tumbling around her shoulders, a long skirt and apron swishing around her legs as she very carefully balances and navigates her way across the beams. 

When you look back at Kun, he’s watching her with a bemused expression, which shifts to that of one impressed when the woman leaps down from the beam and lands lightly on her feet. 

She brushes her hands off on her apron, and looks at the pair of you with a wide, warm, inviting smile on her face. 

“It’s so nice to meet you.” Her hands go to her hips, and she looks the pair of you over, her gaze studying the way you gravitate towards each other. “What can I help you with?”

“Oh.” You and Kun glance at each other, and then you say, “We’re just looking around.”

The woman nods her head. “Of course! If you look long enough, whatever you’re meant to have in here will jump out at you.”

You take Kun’s hand, and for a little while you browse the shelves, occasionally coming across a cat or the witchy woman herself, humming as she passes through different areas of the shop. 

Finally, after you feel that you’ve spent nearly an hour together looking at the small oddities and interests in the store, you realize that it’s time you leave so you can get home. But Kun’s interested in the live plants the woman has sitting beside a window towards the back of the shop. He brushes his fingers along a blush pink leaf, lifts his fingers along the stem, and cups one of the curved bloodred petals.

“I’d be careful with that one, if I were you.” The woman appears suddenly at your elbow, nudging her way between you and Kun. She cups the plant’s pot in her hands, lifting it gently. “This one’s a powerful aphrodisiac. Quite a strong stimulant.” 

Kun peeks at you over her head. You stifle a giggle against your hand. 

“Doubt me if you like,” she warns, “But this plant’s pollen is known to cause intense arousal when ingested. Whether that means if the residue is on your skin, or if it’s contained within a bottle of honey.” 

Suddenly she’s lifting a hand, a small vial of glinting golden honey sits in her palm. 

“Are you saying that’s a bottle of sex honey?” You ask, trying to keep from laughing.

The woman’s mouth tightens. “Yes, dear. Essentially. A taste of this honey, and you and your boy would be bound to fall into bed together. THat’s why I have it labeled for sale over in the love and sex section of the shop. Now, if you ingest the pollen directly, say if he were to lick his fingers now after having touched the plant, the effects would be much stronger. Arousal lasting days, possibly.”

Again, Kun catches your eye over the woman’s head, and you watch your boyfriend daringly lift his hand to his lips, and he pops his index and middle finger both into his mouth.

“Oh, darling….” The witchy woman shakes her head while looking at Kun. She quickly sits the plant back down among the others, and she waves her hand towards the front door of the shop. “You should leave now. Good luck. And you, my dear,” she says with a look in your direction, “You may want to purchase a bottle of the honey, just so you can keep up with him.”

“I think we’ll be fine, but thank you.” You wrap your arm around Kun’s and walk towards the door with him, calling over your shoulder to her, “Maybe if this goes as well as you’re promising, we’ll be back for some of that sex honey.”

You swear that instead of swinging gently shut as it had when you opened it, the door slams behind you as you and Kun step out onto the sidewalk outside the Little Shop of Wonders.

“Come on.” Kun slides his hand down into yours, leading you away to where his car is parked. “Let’s get home.”

On the ride home, you both laugh about the woman’s warnings. It just sounds so silly, the things she was saying. Kun keeps sucking on his fingers, saying that he’s still waiting for it to kick in like she promised, that from the sound of it, he’ll need to fuck you as soon as you get home, but it must be slow acting. “I’m not even a little bit hard, yet. Maybe her plant isn’t working right. Not that I need the help, but she’s made it sound like one taste of the pollen and I’m going to be rock hard for days.”

You laugh, tipping your head against the seat to watch as Kun flicks his tongue between the V of his index and middle finger. “Kun, I promise, if you’re rock hard for days, if this pollen truly works as well as she’s said, you can fuck me however, wherever, as often as you want.”

“I have free use of you?” Kun’s teasing, looking over at you as he rolls the car to a stop at a light. “You’d be my little fuck toy?”

“Anything for you, Kun.” You’re playing, but some part of you is actually serious. You love Kun. Since you started dating him, you’ve wanted him a ridiculous amount. It’s only because you can’t constantly be on his dick that you haven’t let on to him how horny you frequently are. You’ve tried to tone it down, but honestly, giving him free use to fuck you however and wherever and whenever he likes is exactly what you’ve needed all this time.

If only the ridiculous notion of sex pollen was real and not just the imaginary creation of some batty woman in a mysterious shop.

When you get home, you hop in the shower while Kun starts to prepare dinner.

You’ve been in there for only about five minutes, when the door to the bathroom opens. You pull the shower curtain back a bit, peeking out into the steamy bathroom. Kun’s right there, already climbing into the shower, yanking the curtain back shut behind him as he backs you towards the wall. 

“What’s this?” You giggle, reaching for his arm. “Did the pollen kick in or something?”

“Yeah,” Kun murmurs, and then his lips are on yours, his hands on your hips. 

You can’t believe he’s really going along with this, playing into it just to have shower sex. You let him spin you around so your chest and cheek are against the wall. Kun pulls one of your arms behind your back, the other you lift above your head to brace yourself a bit. 

“Any time, anywhere, that’s what you said right?” Kun confirms as he grinds forward against your ass. 

“Mhmm,” you moan, rolling your hips back to meet his movements. “Yes, Kun.”

His mouth moves fiery hot over your bare shoulder, his skin hot against yours everywhere he touches. “Perfect.”

And then he’s thrusting forward, driving his cock between your legs, rutting forward again and again until his cock slides inside you.

With no prep, it burns a little, but you like it. You like when Kun gets a little rough from time to time. Like right now, when he just starts plunging into you with these big thrusts, clearly just chasing his own orgasm. His hand holds yours against your lower back.The shower spraying down on you both has your skin all slippery, your bound hands sliding with each of Kun’s powerful thrusts. 

Your moans echo around the bathroom, and Kun’s breaths come hard and fast against your ear. 

Kun presses up against your back, pinning you between him and the wall, his weight bearing down on you as he fucks into you. Each press of his cock inside you, each catch of his breath against your ear, the heat in your belly stirs a little more. But it doesn’t stir as quickly as Kun, he cums with his mouth against your throat, his body flush against yours. 

One of his hands slides around down your belly, down between your legs, fingers against your clit as he thrusts several more times. Kun fucks his cum deeper inside you, gliding against your G spot while stimulating your clit, and you fall apart in his arms, feeling like you’re dissolving into sweet bliss as he keeps rocking his hips forward and tracing his fingers over your sensitive clit.

He keeps going until you’re whining, until he’s spilling inside you again.

Your legs shake as you actually put them into use again. Kun steps back, leaving you empty and on your own two feet. He rinses off quickly, running a hand down his body, over his cock. You twist around to watch him, biting your lip as you watch his hand run along his cock.

“Keep looking at me like that, babe, and I’m going to have to feed you something other than the dinner I started.” He leans in quickly, dropping a kiss to your lips, and then he steps out of the shower, calling back to you, “Shower quickly, dinner should be ready in a few minutes.”

You finish your shower, dry off, dress in a camisole and cotton shorts, then you head to the kitchen.

Kun’s standing at the counter, chopping a few toppings for the stew he’s made. You walk up behind him, wrap your arms around him and lay your head against his bare shoulder. He’s only wearing sweatpants that hang low on his hips. You run your hand over his bare belly, up his chest, and back down to the edge of his sweatpants. 

Kun sits the knife aside. 

You turn your head, brushing your lips over his warm skin. Kun lets out a shaky breath. You let your pinky finger tuck beneath the edge of his sweatpants.

“It smells good,” you tell him. “I’m ready to eat.”

Kun’s hand trembles as he picks up the knife again, and you rest your cheek against his shoulder, watching as he tries to chop up the last few ingredients. And then you notice.

He’s really so warm, his skin flaming hot beneath your cheek.

“Kun?” You take a step to the side, peering at his face, lifting a hand to his cheek. “Are you sick? You feel feverish.”

His eyes are dark when he looks at you. His pupils are blown wide, and he nearly moans at the cool press of your fingers against his warm cheek. “I’m not sick. I feel fine, except I don’t think that lady was lying about the pollen. I’m still so hard, babe, it hasn’t gone down at all.” 

You look down to his sweatpants, at his cock that’s still ragingly hard, tenting the front of his pants.

Your mouth fills with saliva, and you lift your gaze back up to meet your boyfriend’s. You swallow to keep yourself from drooling when you say, “I meant what I said in the car, Kun. However, wherever, as often as you like. I can take it. Use me as your fucktoy.”

“Fuck.” Kun sits the knife aside again, and he reaches for you, twisting his fingers in your hair, and he forces you to your knees. 

Your mouth drops open as Kun uses his free hand to push his sweatpants down. His hard, heavy cock springs free, already wet at the tip, leaking a crystalline thread of precum. You don’t need Kun’s hand in your hair to guide you; you dive forward, catching the falling bead on your tongue and following it up to the source, sucking Kun’s cockhead in. 

That’s when he takes over, hand pressing against the back of your head, forcing you deeper on his cock. His hips jerk forward at the same time, triggering your gag reflex as he hits the back of your throat. Not that that stops him, if anything it encourages him to go harder, faster, and you take it all, hungry for his cock shoved down your throat even as your eyes begin to water, as your jaw and throat ache from the repeated pressure. You slurp around him as he starts to drag your mouth off of his cock. His fingers tight in your hair, Kun allows you a brief breath before he’s fucking back into your mouth.

You’re drooling all over his cock as Kun holds the back of your head, fucking his cock into the deep warmth of your throat. And when he cums, he just keeps going, filling your mouth and shooting down the back of your throat, it leaks from the corners of your lips, and you think you’re going crazy because you want more.

Kun drags you off his cock by your hair.

Spit and cum and tears streak your face, dripping from your chin as you look up at Kun. 

He releases his hold on your hair to run his thumb under your bottom lip. “You’re so beautiful, babe. Get up, here you go.” Kun offers you his hand, and you slide your palm against his as he pulls you up to your feet. “Good girl, now sit down. It’s time for dinner.”

You obediently sit at the table, still a little fucked-dumb, still dripping his cum even when Kun serves you a bowl of the stew he made. It smells heavenly, rich with spices, and you dig in, the flavors of it only made better with the added flavor of Kun’s cum lingering on your tongue.

Kun pretty much inhales his helping of the stew, and he doesn’t even wait for you to finish eating before he’s walking over to you. You’re quite hungry, so you don’t want him to pull you away from the meal, even though you can see his cock still bulging his sweatpants, staining them with a spot of precum. 

“Keep eating, babe,” Kun tells you, reaching out to stroke your hair. “You need to eat to keep up your strength. If what the lady said is true, I’m probably gonna be like this for a few days.” 

You think back to him sucking the pollen residue off his fingers, licking his hands clean. Who knows how much he ingested?

You eat a spoonful of stew, eyeing his erection out of the corner of your eye. Is he just going to stand there and not take care of it? You look up at Kun, and it’s a horny little demon inside you that speaks with your voice, saying, “You don’t have to wait for me to finish eating, Kun. Until this wears off, I’m yours to do what you want with me.”

His cock twitches in his pants. Kun groans.

“Do you mean that, though? Really?” 

You nod. “Anything you want. Within reason. No bringing anyone else into this–”

“I don’t want to share you!” Kun interjects.

You continue, “Nothing that we haven’t talked about before.”

Kun smirks at that. “Well, that pretty much leaves everything on the table, then doesn’t it?” He strokes your hair again. “All I want right now is to cover you in my cum, babe, head to toe. I want to fuck you in every room in this house, fuck you until we both pass out. I want to treat you like my doll.”

You turn back to your bowl of stew. You shrug, “Then do it, Kun.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see him draw his cock out of his pants. You watch him start stroking his cock, but you focus on eating your stew, blowing on it to cool it off, taking your time to lick the spoon clean after each bite. You eat the stew like your pussy isn’t throbbing with arousal watching Kun jerk off inches away from your face. 

He cums again when you’ve got your spoon halfway to your mouth. Kun’s cum streaks over your cheek, landing in your hair, across your lips, some of it hits your spoon and your hand. You eat that spoonful too, enjoying the extra salty addition of his cum to it. Kun keeps stroking his length, a few last spurts striping your cheek as you reach for the bowl. You lift it to your lips, quickly draining what little is left because as soon as it’s gone, as soon as you’ve sat the bowl down, Kun is pulling you to your feet.

When he moves you so your ass is on the edge of the table, you expect Kun to push your shorts to the side and slide his cock right inside you.

You don’t expect Kun to sink to his knees, for him to tear your shorts down around your ankles, and bury his face between your thighs. He spreads your legs with a hand on each thigh, massaging them as he licks at your pussy, as he fucks his tongue into you, as he sucks at your clit and licks up your wetness as you’re drenching his tongue, writhing against his face, needing more and more.

Kun moans loudly, eating you out in the most noisy manner he ever has. 

You cum on his tongue, hands knotted in his hair as you ride it out, grinding against Kun’s face.

“If this is what we have in store,” you gasp as Kun licks a strip up your pussy one more time, ��I think I could get used to this. You’ve never given better head, honestly. I need you to be this horny all the time if it means I get eaten out like that.”

Kun scatters kisses over your thighs. “We’re just getting started, babe.” 

- - -

For the rest of the night, Kun has you sit on his lap, cockwarming him while you watch a movie together. 

Kun’s hands are constantly moving – stroking along your thighs, dipping to touch your clit while forcing you to sit still on him; he pulls the neckline of your camisole down to expose your tits, and he teases your nipples until you’re whimpering and fighting the urge to fuck yourself on his cock. But as soon as you get desperate enough to beg for it, Kun stops.

He’ll have you sit up, kneeling above his lap with just the head of his cock still buried in your pussy as he jerks off, cumming inside you so he can watch it drip back out of your pussy. Instead of letting you cum, when you’re teetering on the edge, he’ll have you kneel on the floor, cockwarm him with your mouth instead so he can cum across your tongue and cheeks again, adding even more to the mess he’d made at dinner. He edges you again, and then he fucks your tits, cumming across them then taking his time afterwards to clean it up with his tongue, feeding it back to you and watching you swallow everything before he returns his tongue to your nipples, flicking his tongue over the hardened buds until you’re rocking your hips up off the sofa restlessly.

Kun cums more times than you can keep track of, and you take all of the cum he gives you, hungrily sucking his cock, feeling him fill your pussy, spreading his cum across your tits with your fingers, moaning as he shoots his load across your back while he’s got his fingers inside you.

Kun edges you through it all until finally your body can’t take anymore, and you cum around him while Kun’s got you riding him. He’s hugging you to his chest, his mouth locked with yours, and he is once again spilling into you when your orgasm finally explodes through you.

You don’t remember him carrying you to the bathroom, don’t remember Kun rinsing off with you in the shower, or when he carries you to bed. You remember only a brief glimpse of his cock finally going soft when he settles into bed beside you.

And you think that’s it. 

The sex pollen ran its course.

You’re a little bit disappointed at that thought, truly. When you wake in the morning to pale sunlight, you check on your sleeping boyfriend, and Kun is all spread out beside you. He’s kicked away the sheets in his sleep, and although he still feels warm to the touch, his cock is soft against his thigh. 

You know maybe you should feel like you had enough yesterday. The never-ending edging paired with the amount of fucking you and excessive cumming Kun had done should have satisfied you. But you were having fun. You liked Kun treating you like a cumdump.

Maybe you should go back to the Little Shop of Wonders, ask the witch for that vial of honey or maybe purchase the whole sex pollen plant.

You crawl quietly out of bed, pull on a shirt of Kun’s, and you tiptoe to the kitchen to deal with the mess from last night. Neither of you had bothered with the dishes from the stew, which are still spread out on the table. You get to work cleaning, tidying things and doing the dishes. 

It’s probably for the best that Kun’s already gotten over the effects of the sex pollen, you think as you finish the dishes from last night and start making breakfast instead. Kun is supposed to work today. He’s got a deadline coming up, so he needs to get in the studio today, and he’d been complaining to you yesterday morning about a meeting he has this morning. He’s got things to do, people to see, he can’t call in sick today because he’s too busy dealing with a sex pollen crisis, though at least the people he’s working with and having meetings with are some of his closest friends; they just might understand the situation.

“Good morning,” Kun says suddenly behind you, startling you a bit, but before you can turn to him, his arms are around you, and his hard cock is against your ass. “I guess this isn’t over yet, babe.” He kisses your cheek. “I thought when I fell asleep that it must be. I’d gone soft, but I just woke up hard as I ever was yesterday.”

He thrusts against your ass. 

“So I’m gonna fuck you, babe. But you keep doing what you’re doing, hm?” Kun pushes up the back of the shirt you’re wearing, revealing your ass to him. “God, you’re truly unbelievable, you know that? So fucking pretty, my babe.” And then he’s pressing in, cock pushing inside your pussy. 

You brace your arms against the countertop, and you try to keep finishing the breakfast prep you’d been doing before Kun came in. The way that he’s fucking you makes that a little more difficult, but you try, and Kun seems to like that. 

“Yes, babe, look at you. You’re taking it so well, letting me use you like this.” His cock twitches inside you. 

It’s not easy, that’s for sure.

Your focus starts to slip when Kun pulls your hips back, angling you just right so each of his thrusts is nailing against your G spot. He’s moaning behind you, praising how sweet and tight and warm you feel around his cock. Your pussy just keeps growing wetter and wetter as he reaches up beneath your shirt to grope at your tits, as you try to keep on task even as Kun’s fucking you into delirium.

Kun cums, flooding your pussy, pressing in deep a few more times. 

He steps back, and although you try to keep tight, to keep his cum in, you can feel some of it dripping out, sliding down your thigh, dropping to the floor.

Kun pats your ass, then pulls the shirt back down. 

“Good girl.” He kisses your cheek again. 

He sits down at the table, and a few moments later, the breakfast you were making is ready, so he pulls you into his lap to dine together. 

“Kun,” you say after a while, “Don’t you have to go to the studio today? Don’t you have a meeting too?”

His erection is digging into your thigh, unable to be ignored. 

“I do, and I was actually thinking about that.” He brushes his lips over your neck. “What if you come with me? This reaction isn’t going away, so I’m going to need to cum regardless of whether you’re there or not. So I could jerk off every five minutes, or you could come along and we’ll both get something out of it. What do you say?”

Twenty minutes later, you’re in the car with Kun. He’s flying down the streets. 

Even though his eyes are focused on the road, his driving is worse than usual, though that almost certainly has to do with the fact that as soon as he’d pulled onto the road, he’d tangled his fingers in your hair and urged your mouth down into his lap. 

You eagerly sucked at Kun’s cock, stroking him with both hands, leaving kisses along his length, drooling over the tip, choking yourself on him. Kun lays his hand on the back of your head, directing you when he really feels like he needs to. As you draw closer to the studio where Kun works as a producer, he starts taking over, pushing you down around his cock, his hips rising off the seat to drive himself deeper down your throat. 

He cums right as he’s pulling into the parking garage of the studio. You clean him up as he navigates to a parking spot, and you wait patiently in the passenger seat as Kun gets out. He comes around to your side, opening the door and taking your hand like a gentleman, and he pulls you into a kiss as soon as you’re both standing outside the car.

He takes you into his studio, sitting you in his lap while he starts working, though that only works for so long. Soon he’s getting distracted by the pressing need he keeps grinding against your ass, so he has you slide to your knees beneath the mixing board. You pull up the sweater you wore, and Kun has you push your tits together around his cock, and he fucks between the softness of them, cumming across your tits and then immediately dragging your mouth around his cock. 

You’re still kneeling there beneath the mixing board with your mouth full of his cock when his friend, who is also the artist he’s recording today, walks in. YangYang either doesn’t notice you down there or chooses not to say anything. You obediently keep your mouth around Kun, suckling and shifting on your knees. 

YangYang chats with Kun for just a couple minutes, and then he heads into the recording booth. 

Kun drags you off his cock, and you look up at him. “Babe, I really need to focus on this recording session, okay? So I’m gonna need you to take everything I give you, no whining or touching yourself, okay?”

You nod, sticking your tongue out, offering your mouth up to Kun again.

“Good girl.” Kun pushes you back down around his cock. You hear him press a button above your head, and then he says, “Alright, YangYang, go ahead.”

You bob your head on Kun’s cock, working your hardest to get him to cum for you, knowing that if he doesn’t cum, Kun’s going to be distracted. All you have to do is keep him satisfied, and then he’ll be focused. 

He cums within minutes, but you keep going, and Kun tightens his fingers in your hair. You bring your hands up to his cock too, stroking him into your mouth, letting some of his cum and your spit slide down to lube the way. You’re making a mess of him; his cum leaking out of your mouth is pooling on the front of his pants, but you can’t help it. You’re swallowing around him, swallowing the first load of cum, but before long he’s cumming again, letting out a grunt as you choke around his cock.

“Dude, you good?” YangYang asks from inside the booth. 

“Fine. Try that verse again.”

Kun’s hand weighs down against the back of your head, pushing you all the way down around his cock, and you close your eyes, letting him do it. You sink into some kind of state where you’re not asleep, but you’re not fully conscious either. All you know is the weight of Kun’s cock on your tongue, the taste of his cum, the smell of him as your nose is buried at the base of his cock. You can hear his voice, but he could be talking to you or a whole crowd of people, and you wouldn’t know the difference.

Eventually, Kun lets you up again, tugging lightly on your hair.

You gag as you’re pulled off of him, coughing and gasping for breath. Kun’s cum drips from your lips and chin.

“Are you okay?” Kun asks when he takes one look at the dazed expression on your face. “Babe, are you good to continue.”

You nod, feeling your lips form a loose smile. 

Kun brings his hand up, wiping at your cheeks and chin and lips. His fingers are gentle beneath your chin as he brings you forward into a kiss. His lips leave yours, brushing over your forehead. 

“We’re done with this for now.” He helps you the rest of the way to your feet. “You’re too far gone, you can’t even speak to me right now. If you could see the look on your face right now, my love, you would understand. Don’t pout.” You didn’t realize you were until Kun said that, and you try to tame your expression. He smiles, leading you over to the sofa along the back wall. “Take a nap. You’re amazing, and I love you, and once this all wears off, I owe you something huge.”

You hum, sinking down onto the sofa, laying your head down, and immediately you can feel a tired pull. 

Kun strokes his hand over your head, kisses your forehead one more time, and you’re asleep before he walks away. 

- - -

You sleep it off there on the sofa, waking hours later to go home with Kun. 

He fucks you senseless a few more times that night at home, and when you wake the next morning you stay in bed with him, waiting for him to wake, waiting for him to need to fuck you again, to let you suck his cock again even though you’re pretty sure at this point, your throat is permanently molded to the shape of Kun’s cock.

But when he wakes, Kun just pulls you against his chest. His cock doesn’t grow hard. He just sighs and holds you close, and you’re actually perfectly content with that change of pace too.

But a few days later, as you’re heading home from work, you get the thought into your head to return to the Little Shop of Wonders, to see if that witchy woman will sell you a vial of that sex honey. 

The pollen had been a lot. Your body is still aching days later, and Kun swears his balls are sore from how much he came in such a short span of time. But you’ve both agreed that maybe the honey would be nice to have – a less intense version of that that lasts only a few hours wouldn’t be bad to experience from time to time.

You walk down the side street you’d passed down just a few days ago, and you search the shopfronts for the window displays filled with crystals and viney plants, for the recessed doorway with the brass lantern and the ancient-looking wooden door. 

But you pass up and down that street three times, checking each shop before you finally give up. It’s not here. It’s as if the Little Shop of Wonders was never here at all, but you know you couldn’t have imagined it.

Weeks pass, you forget about it, too swept up in the holiday season closing in around you. Christmas is just days away, winter staking her claim over the city with a snowstorm blowing in this afternoon, ruining your plans to go shopping for Kun a Christmas present and a birthday present, since that’s a week later.

You’re hurrying home from work, bundled up against the chill, thinking about what you can get Kun that he’ll truly appreciate.

And then, from the corner of your eye through the swirling snow, you see a gleam of bronze. You turn your head. 

A brass lamp.

A wooden door.

Large plate glass windows frosted over, but not entirely concealing the displays of crystals and books and a wreath of candles and symbols. 

A new wooden sign creaks above the door, blowing back and forth in the wind. 

The Little Shop of Wonders sits waiting, promising the perfect present for Kun.   

a/n: I could've gone on and on with this one honestly! I was going to write a few more scenes, but it's getting late and I really need to post this.

I hope you enjoyed! Reblogs are deserving of my eternal gratitude, likes are greatly appreciated, and your thoughts and comments are always welcome !

[aweina]

౨ৎ. UNDER HIS HOODIE ( suggestive ) ; mike schmidt

tags fem reader. established relationship. possessive + jealous behavior. awkwardness. implied sex + 1.1k words.

mike never let’s you answer the front door, not anymore at least. it was that time when he heard a striking knock on the door — giving your neck a soft kiss before lazily mumbling for you to get the door for him, barely registering the sight of your bare legs and the purplish hues on your skin.

you quietly complied with a dazed smile, rubbing your cold thighs together as you pattered towards the door — halfheartedly tugging at the hem of mike’s hoodie over your bruised neck as you threaded your fingers through the teased strands, rubbing off inky tear stains from your flushed cheeks with another hand.

the door opened slowly, revealing a blonde woman in an officer uniform. the buzzed feeling of after sex transformed into a state of alarm — the aching slouch on your back straightened within a blink of an eye.

it was her. the officer who likes to pry in your boyfriend’s business.

the tapping of her dirty leather boots seemed like she was on a time crunch. arms defensively crossed over her chest, a deadpan look in her face. then her bored blue eyes widened, lingering at your lustrous appearance. the jacket you sported was dark and baggy, blotches of bleach stains dispersed around the thick sleeves and edge of the hood. the smell was familiar too. fresh linen with a hint of herbal cologne. it was his jacket, mike’s.

with the cold zipper pulled down, the peak of your pink bra and cotton underwear was shown beneath the baggy fabric. blossoms of purple and red marking your neck and even sprinkled between the plushness of your bare thighs. your hair was frizzy and tangled, the light smudge of melted makeup painted your face. vanessa couldn’t help but chuckle, her guard faltering.

you looked up and down with a suspicious look, tucking your hands into the warm pockets of his jacket — leaning against the painted cracked doorway. there was an awkward stare down, until vanessa finally spoke up.

“i’ve never seen you before.” she says it like it’s a fact, smiling with a tinge of annoyance.

“neither have i,” you merely replied, shrugging your shoulders with your lips pressed into a flat line.

vanessa raised a brow at that, shifting towards one foot over the other — sensing the tension and maddening heat radiating off your body.

“well … it’s just mike never told me about a girlfriend.” vanessa explains further, a slight strain in her words. you rest your head on the doorframe, a snarky laugh escaping your smudged lips.

“is there any reason he would need to?” if it was possible, your eyes would’ve been glowing with crimson anger.

vanessa shook her head — her blonde locks swaying as she did.

"no, just a little surprised," she admitted, her gaze darting between your defiant stance and your bra strap slowly sliding down.

the silent air hangs thick once again, the standoff between you and vanessa alerting mike from his restless cooking — muttering curses as he wipes his sauce-coated hands before fixing his messy curls.

with an exasperated laugh, mike swoops in between the two of you — covering your exposed form with his clothed body as he tosses an awkward smile to vanessa.

“h – hey vanessa. what’s up?” mike can feel the burning glare on the back of his head, but he simply grasps your hand with a soothing warmth.

“had fun last night?” vanessa quips, watercolor eyes lingering towards the lipstick smudge on his neck and the deep bite marks trailing underneath the loose fitted shirt. she couldn’t even ignore the streaks of red staining his wrists, obviously clawed by your sharp nails.

mike opened his mouth to speak, but he seemed too shy to utter a word. yeah, he’ll admit, it was obvious the both of you had sex.

finally finding the courage to project his voice, mike slowly nods, scratching the back of his marked neck nervously. "uh, yeah, it was ... eventful."

you quietly peered over the tense scene, tugging away from his restraint to wrap your arms firmly around his waist — resting your head teasingly against his shoulder. there was a sly smile plastered on your rosy lips, hearing mike’s quiet groan from your sudden embrace.

“mike is busy, can you please leave officer vanessa?” you added a playful pout to your venom-laced request, casting an exaggerated look of annoyance at vanessa.

mike shifted uncomfortably under the weight of menacing stare down, trapped between your flush, bare body and the half opened door — under the judgment of vanessa’s knowing gaze. he feigns a small cough, an apologetic smile forced on his blushing face, silently mouthing a “sorry” towards the officer.

vanessa nods in assurance, noticing your rogue touches lingering beneath mike’s waistband. he stumbles a bit, holding your hands in place with a firm grip.

“a – alright. i will.” she holds back an amused laugh as she peers up at the blush ridden mike then to your cold glare, immediately turning towards mike. “so mike … i’ll see you tomorrow around —”

before vanessa could finish her sentence, the door was forced shut with a loud slam — your foot being the culprit for the disruption.

mike cringes and turns around, meeting your sparkling eyes and forced smile — the corners twitching with aggression. he cannot help but chuckle at your possessiveness, wrapping his own arms around your neck as he gives your jaw a soft kiss.

mike cringes and turns around, meeting your sparkling eyes and forced smile — the corners twitching with aggression. he cannot help but chuckle at your possessiveness, wrapping his own arms around your neck as he gives your jaw a soft kiss.

“seriously?” mike mumbles as he leans in to add another mark, tasting your honeyed perfume while he tugs your tight skin between his teeth. your aggression seems to melt under his mouth.

“she’s nosey.” you whine in his ear, scrambling to grasp on his curls when he suckles on a sweet spot.

“she’s harmless … i think.” mike mouths against your freshly marked jaw, ogling down at your soft breasts and thighs — spilling out the tightness of your revealing garments, shadowed by the wrinkles of his jacket.

he pulls away, a sheepish look on his face. mike brushes through the thick knots of your hair — a little reminder when it was threaded between his fingertips, every tug sent you whimpering and singing his name through the night.

“but just don’t … don’t open the door without any clothes this time.” he begs, zipping up his jacket to preserve last night’s activity — a little too late to feign modesty. “or answer the door at all.”

you smirked as you turned towards the kitchen, continuing mike’s cooking routine that was luckily not smothered in flames and spiced smoke.

“no promises mikey.” your smug answer left mike grinning, defeatedly locking the front door with a loud click.

© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I see you are open to Ms Spade/Lilia prompts. I am seeing a lot of speculation that Ms Spade might have been a delinquent in her youth like her son Deuce. It would be funny if Ms Spade and Lilia got to talking and the topic turned to the crazy things they've done in their pasts. Who has the crazier story: delinquent Ms Spade or former General Vanrouge?

Referencing this unofficial blog event!

adklbaboiyfyegea It might be hard for me to write stories in headcanon form, so instead I ended up doing general headcanons for delinquent!Dylla and Lilia sharing their experiences with each other!

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Dylla is very shy with sharing about her delinquent days. She holds a lot of shame and guilt about that era of her life, especially since she blamed herself for being a poor influence and a bad mother to Deuce when he went down the wrong path. It's only when Lilia talks about his own past as a veteran that Dylla gains the confidence to let him in on her secret.

She's still not that proud to talk about her delinquency, but Lilia lends her the encouragement and the kind ear she needs to truly open up. When things get to be too much and the feelings overwhelm her, Lilia stays with her and holds her until Dylla has stopped sobbing. "There, there," he murmurs soothingly, a hand rubbing her back. "Let it all out. A good cry will set you straight."

With time and practice, Dylla becomes accustomed to sharing her stories. It's hard to believe that she was ever insecure about them to begin with, not when Lilia grants her so much strength.

She's surprised that Lilia fought in a war before--and not only that, was served as a general--because he's so tiny. (Huh, that's odd. Dylla doesn't remember there being a war or major conflicts in recent years. She wonders which war Lilia is talking about, but he doesn't elaborate.) But Lilia reassures her that it's the cutest ones you have to look out for.

He demonstrates a few of his moves from back in the day, each of which Lilia has lovingly granted an overly embellished (almost magical girl-esque) attack name. Moving with lighting fast swiftness, he very adorably chants, "Ora, ora, ora 🎵 Watch out, I'll kill you dead 💞 Take this! Lilia-chan's Super Special Axe-Grinding Roundhouse Kick~!"

He casually talks about all the people he killed--"My, I was quite the reckless roughneck in my youth. If only I could go back now and properly mourn their losses."--while squirting ketchup all over the omurice she made for him. Dylla awkwardly laughs, but only because she thinks he's making a dark joke. (Lilia was, in fact, not making a dark joke.)

One day, Lilia brings his magearm with him to show Dylla. He even encourages her to try swinging it around! ... Which she does, and nearly chops off some of his bangs in the process--but he took it in stride and came out of it unscathed.

Dylla was a self-described speed demon. She loved riding fast on her bike--a hobby Deuce also picked up--but seldom rides anymore. After all, she has to keep her driving safe and smooth, especially when she's on the job! "Oh? I would love to go out on a romantic ride with you someday," Lilia tells her. "Let's do it--and no holds barred, okay? I want to see how fast you can truly take me."

Her fashion used to be a lot more daring. Leather jackets, combat boots, bold animal prints. Now all that remains of that era is the roots and strands of her bleached her. "You should consider experimenting more!" Lilia suggests, fingering his own hair. "I used to have this much longer, up in a ponytail--and I regularly dye my streaks different colors."

Compared to him, Dylla thinks her stories are much tamer. Sure, she committed minor crimes (shop lifting, skipping school, drinking while underage, being a public disturbance, etc.), but the worst she ever did was get into fights with peers. "I think I was just lost," she admits to Lilia. "Lost and mad at the world for not guiding me." He takes her hands and looks at her tenderly, whispering, "... And I as well."

Lilia mentions that he used to have a crush on the person he was sworn to protect. "That story," he admits with a sad smile, "is one that ends in tragedy." Dylla's heart aches--not with jealousy, but for him and the pain he feels. She takes his hands--like he has done for her--and lets him know she's there for him too.

At the end of the day, both Lilia and Dylla understand that they're changed people, and they're so proud of each other for that. They have new lives, new children, new identities--and each other. They aren't lost or mad or alone anymore.

[your-local-simp-writers]

A Little Sunshine and Some Explosions

Word Count: 1692

Warnings: None

Katsuki Bakugo x Fem!Reader ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The vibrant hues of autumn blanketed U.A. Academy as you made your way across campus, the cool breeze dancing around you and rustling the leaves underfoot. The air was rich with the smell of pumpkin spice, and laughter echoed from groups of students sharing their Halloween plans. It felt like everyone was caught up in the spirit of the season, and you couldn’t help but feel that familiar buzz of excitement tingling in your chest.

You approached your dorm, anticipation bubbling inside you as you unlocked the door. The moment you stepped inside, the warmth of the room enveloped you. Katsuki Bakugo was sprawled on your couch, his muscular frame taking up a substantial portion of the seat. His signature scowl was set in place as he scrolled through his phone, completely engrossed. The sight made you smile; it was comforting to see him in a familiar environment, surrounded by your own Halloween decorations—a mishmash of pumpkins, string lights, and cheesy ghost cutouts that you had hung up just a few days ago.

“Hey, idiot,” he grunted, his eyes still glued to the screen as you kicked off your shoes and flopped down beside him.

“Hey, Katsuki! Are you ready for Halloween?” you chirped, unable to keep the excitement from your voice. You could practically feel your smile radiating through the air.

He finally glanced over, eyebrows raised, clearly unimpressed. “We’re just picking out pumpkins, right? This isn’t some Halloween parade.”

“Of course! But I thought we could carve them together afterward, and maybe bake some spooky cookies? It’ll be fun!” You reached for a pumpkin-shaped cookie cutter you’d set on the table, holding it up with pride.

Bakugo rolled his eyes, but you caught the slight twitch of his lips that hinted he was fighting back a smile. “Why would I wanna bake cookies when we could just order takeout? It’s Halloween; I’m not wasting my time on baking when I could be blowing stuff up.”

“Blowing stuff up is not on the agenda, mister!” you said, shaking your head as you leaned closer to him. “It’s about having fun! And you can’t deny that pumpkin cookies are the best.”

“Whatever. You’re a dork,” he shot back, but his tone was lighter than before, the corners of his mouth betraying him again.

You turned your attention to the assortment of pumpkins on the table, looking for the perfect one to carve. “So, I was thinking about our costumes. You’ll be Bowser, right? I can’t wait to be Princess Peach!”

“Peach? Seriously?” He raised an eyebrow, looking genuinely puzzled. “You wanna wear a frilly pink dress? Do you even have any idea how ridiculous that sounds?”

“Yes! It’ll be adorable! And don’t pretend you don’t want to wear the Bowser costume. It’ll be hilarious!” You beamed at him, knowing you could break through his tough exterior if you just kept pushing a little.

He let out an exasperated sigh, but you could see the hint of interest flickering in his eyes. “Yeah, and I’ll look like an idiot.”

“An adorable idiot,” you corrected with a playful nudge. “I have a plan to make it epic!”

Bakugo crossed his arms, still pretending to be uninterested, but you could see the way he leaned in slightly, as if he was genuinely intrigued. “What’s the plan then, oh great costume designer?”

You laughed, moving to your closet and rummaging through your supplies. “Well, since I have curly brown hair, I thought we could dye my hair for the costume! I need to be the real Princess Peach, and that means I need to look the part!”

Bakugo raised an eyebrow, his gaze steady. “You think dyeing your hair is gonna make you look like a princess?”

“Of course! I’m going to bleach it first and then add some cute pink streaks!” You held up the bottles of bleach and dye, your eyes sparkling with excitement. “And you get to help me!”

“Help you?” He scoffed, leaning back against the couch with a dismissive expression. “You think I’m gonna sit around while you turn your hair into a rainbow?”

“Come on! It’ll be fun! Plus, it’s Halloween, and you can’t just say no to your adorable girlfriend,” you said, grinning widely.

“Don’t use that on me,” he grumbled, but there was an unmistakable warmth in his voice that made you feel giddy inside. You knew he was softening, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

With a triumphant smile, you grabbed a chair and placed it in front of your bathroom mirror. “Alright, let’s get started! You can be my dye assistant!”

He begrudgingly stood up, his gruff demeanor still in place, but you caught the slight hint of a smile on his lips as he followed you. “Just don’t get any of this on me,” he warned, crossing his arms again as you set everything up.

“I promise I won’t! Just sit still, and don’t complain too much,” you replied, trying to keep a straight face as you prepared the bleach.

As you began the process, you couldn’t help but steal glances at Bakugo. He was watching intently, and despite his grumpy exterior, you sensed a certain fondness in his gaze. “You know,” you said, trying to fill the silence, “I really appreciate you helping me with this. I know it’s not your usual thing.”

“Don’t think I’m doing this for you,” he shot back, but his tone was less harsh than usual, and you could see the way he fought back a smile. “I just don’t want you to look like a total idiot.”

You giggled as you applied the bleach, careful to follow the instructions. “You say that, but I know you’re secretly enjoying this. I can tell!”

He rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it. “I’ll enjoy it even more if it doesn’t take forever. Just don’t mess it up.”

After a while, the bleach was ready to be rinsed out, and as you moved to wash your hair, you caught his eye in the mirror. “See? It’s not so bad being a little creative. Halloween is all about fun!”

Bakugo just shrugged, trying to act tough. “Fun doesn’t mean looking like a clown.”

“Maybe for you,” you teased, splashing some water playfully toward him. He flinched back, eyebrows furrowing as a drop hit his arm.

“Hey! Watch it, idiot!” he snapped, but you could see the amusement dancing in his eyes.

Once your hair was rinsed and ready for the dye, you held up the pink dye with a triumphant grin. “Now for the best part!”

Bakugo crossed his arms again, watching with a mix of skepticism and curiosity. “Are you sure this is gonna look good? I don’t want to be the one who has to tell you it’s a disaster.”

“Trust me, it’ll look amazing!” You applied the dye carefully, trying to keep your hands steady as you worked. “And it’ll look even better with your Bowser costume.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he replied, but you could tell he was softening, that glimmer of interest growing as he watched you work.

When you finished, you stepped back and admired your handiwork in the mirror, your hair now a lovely shade of pastel pink with soft curls framing your face. You turned to Bakugo, your heart racing. “How does it look?”

He stepped closer, scrutinizing your hair with a serious expression. “It actually looks decent,” he admitted, his voice gruff but with a hint of something warmer beneath it. “Not that I care or anything.”

You laughed, your joy spilling over as you turned back to the mirror, fluffing your hair with your hands. “See? I told you it would be worth it!”

“Now you just need a crown or something,” he muttered, still trying to maintain his grumpy facade but failing as he watched you with a hint of pride in his eyes.

“Right! Let’s find some accessories to complete the look. We need to make sure everyone knows who you’re dressed as!” You grabbed a bag filled with random Halloween decorations and began rummaging through it.

As you searched, Bakugo leaned against the doorframe, watching you with a relaxed posture that you didn’t often see. “You really like this, huh?” he asked, almost contemplative.

“Absolutely! It’s my favorite time of year. Plus, spending time with you makes it even better,” you replied, your sincerity shining through.

He glanced away, but you could see the faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. “Don’t go getting all mushy on me,” he grumbled, but there was no bite in his words.

You found a glittery crown that you’d made a few years back and placed it atop your head, spinning around dramatically. “Ta-da! Princess Peach, at your service!” You giggled, trying to mimic a royal voice.

Bakugo couldn’t help but chuckle, his scowl finally breaking. “You look ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously cute!” you shot back, playfully sticking out your tongue. “Now let’s find your Bowser accessories. I’m thinking something fierce!”

You rummaged through the bag until you found a pair of spiky wristbands. “Perfect! These will make you look intimidating!”

Bakugo took them, inspecting them closely before smirking. “I guess they’ll do. Just don’t expect me to act all goofy like you.”

“Aw, come on! Just a little bit of goofy is good for the soul!” you replied, bouncing on your toes with excitement. “How about a scary roar when we show up at the party?”

“Don’t push it,” he warned, but there was an unmistakable spark of mischief in his eyes.

As you moved to adjust the crown in the mirror, you felt a sudden burst of warmth in your heart. You turned to Bakugo, who was staring at you with an intensity that made your stomach flutter. “Thanks for spending time with me today. I know you could be doing anything else.”

He shrugged, a slight smile forming on his lips. “Don’t think it’s because I like you or anything. I just figured I’d make sure you don’t screw this up.”

“Right, right,” you teased, enjoying the banter. “But I’ll take it! Let’s have the best Halloween ever, Bowser and Peach style!”

[elysiaheaven2]

𝗛𝗢𝗦𝗧 𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗚𝗢𝗡 𝗜𝗡𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗙𝗔𝗖𝗘- 𝗥𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻 𝘅 𝗚.𝗡 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 (Part 1)

Used to be on @elysiaheaven

This is the request!!

01: Host-Pathogen Interface

Words:4000

Genre: Red Room Reader (G.N) Gore

Summary: A sadistic captor fucking you <33 livestreams their torture, taunting a shackled victim while performing brutal acts for an online audience. They theatrically respond to viewer suggestions, twisted glee, blending dark humor with horrifying violence. The chat eggs them on, turning the view into a grotesque spectacle.

This happens before you meet Ronin! (Basically

Trigger Warnings:

Graphic Violence: Depictions of physical harm, torture, and injury.

Self-Harm: Indirect references to bodily harm or deterioration (e.g., breaking nails).

Psychological Torture: Mental manipulation, humiliation, and emotional distress.

Gore: Detailed depictions of blood, injury, and bodily harm.

Blood: Intense, graphic descriptions of bloodshed.

Trauma: Psychological and physical trauma inflicted on the victim.

Moral Corruption: Exploration of a character’s lack of remorse, twisted logic, and corruption.

Content Warnings:

Disturbing Imagery: Vivid descriptions of torture, suffering, and victimization.

Emotional Manipulation: Using guilt, fear, and despair to torment the victim.

Organ Donation: The idea of using a victim’s organs for medical purposes, which could be seen as dehumanizing.

Dark Humor: The use of dark humor surrounding violence, suffering, and exploitation.

Exploitation: The character finds satisfaction in the suffering of others.

Dehumanization: Treating the victim as an object or tool for personal satisfaction or manipulation.

EXTRA: He's a character from a game named Killer chat! Please play it! It's so good!

⟡ The show must go on

Welcome dear viewer, Read the warnings before reading this hell!

"Breaking news! A monster in human skin has committed atrocities beyond murder! This criminal, vile and unrepentant, has torn apart not just strangers but their own family as well. They didn’t stop. They didn’t care."

The reporter extended their hand toward the screen, fingers trembling as though desperate to reach those watching.

"These acts are beyond comprehension. What they’ve done is worse than death itself. If you see this person, don’t hesitate. Don’t hide. Report them immediately."

The screen flickered, and the reporter leaned closer, their hand trembling slightly as they pressed a button. A distorted image appeared—grainy yet unmistakable. A face. Vacant eyes stared out from the screen, their expression hauntingly neutral, as though untouched by the chaos they had wrought.

“This is the face of the devil walking among us,” the reporter whispered, voice low and quaking with disgust. “You won’t find them easily. Authorities haven’t. But their trail is marked by the missing… the abused… the broken. Those they left behind whisper of horrors too ungodly to repeat.”

The screen darkened, leaving a reflection of yourself staring back from the glass. You smiled, slow and crooked, as if the image had shared an inside joke only you understood. With a quiet chuckle, you turned, your steps echoing in the hollow hallway. Not toward the comfort of a home, but to your sanctuary.

Not Your office. It was a special place.

Sliding into the chair, you reached for the camera and flicked it on. The red recording light blinked to life, casting its glow across your desk. The scene you’d prepared came into view.

Ropes. Tools. A backdrop streaked in abstract patterns of red. The room smelled faintly of copper and bleach, but it didn’t bother you. Your stream began with a soft, almost gentle giggle. But it grew, morphing into something jagged and unsettling. The sound of it filled the small room as your viewers began flooding in, the chat bar rolling with their messages:

“What’s tonight’s special?” “The Pathegon's back!” “Are they still alive?”

You leaned in close to the lens, your breath fogging the glass as your giggle shifted to a low, manic whisper:

'Let's start the bloodbath!"

The first thing they noticed was a pounding headache.

Clicking… sharp, deliberate, like nails tapping against glass.

Their eyes cracked open, blurry shapes bleeding into focus. Kneeling on the cold, unyielding floor, arms wrenched above their head, they tugged instinctively—only to hear the heavy clatter of chains.

You stood in front of them.

"Right on time," you said, your voice slicing through the silence like a blade. "It’s 9 p.m."

They flinched, jerking against the restraints, but the chains held fast.

Their gaze flickered to you, wide and desperate. You tilted your head, watching them with a cool detachment, like they were a bug caught under glass.

"Where—?" Their voice broke, trembling.

"Try to remember," you interrupted, your tone as lifeless as the expression on your face.

"It hurts… You said you’d help me," they rasped, panic rising in their throat.

"I did," you replied, calm and matter-of-fact. "I took you away from the police, didn’t I?"

"But…" Their voice cracked. "I saw the news! It said I ran away!"

You smiled then, the kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes.

"You did." As you spoke, they darted frantic glances around the room, trying to make sense of their surroundings. Their eyes locked onto the cold glare of cameras, all pointed directly at them.

"Don’t worry," you said, voice unnervingly casual. "We’re going live in two minutes. You don’t need to worry about the police—they won’t catch you."

Their mouth opened, a protest forming, but you had already turned away, your attention fixed on the array of equipment surrounding you.

Their stomach twisted as they took it all in: monitors, wires, and blinking red lights.

"What the hell! Are you filming me, you sick—"

"Shh, shh!" you interrupted, a finger pressed to your lips as you glanced over your shoulder. "We’re starting."

You turned back to the screen, your tone shifting to something unsettlingly cheerful.

"Hello, everyone! How’s the feed?"

You weren’t talking to them anymore.

Their confusion turned to horror as your voice softened, addressing a live audience.

"Hihi! Everyone’s here! Oh, Goreboy, play nice in the chat, no bullying tonight!" Your fingers flew across the keyboard, tapping rapidly as you giggled, the sound high-pitched and unnerving.

"Yes, yes! We’ll pull this guy’s guts out!" you typed, glancing at the screen with glee. "Oh, Goreboy, that’s perfect! Love the creativity, even if you’re not donating. Your ideas for gore? Chef’s kiss."

The person on the floor thrashed against their chains, a strangled scream tearing from their throat. You looked over your shoulder at them, a playful glint in your eyes.

"Relax, it’s a metaphor," you said with mock reassurance. "We’re just going to do something… small. Don’t worry."

"What the fuck is this?!" they shouted, their voice cracking with panic.

You tilted your head, the grin slipping into something colder. "Radio silence," you said sharply, holding a finger to your lips. "You’re ruining the vibe."

"This isn’t a fucking show!" they cried, their voice trembling with hysteria.

You crossed the room in three deliberate steps, crouching down to their level. Your hand reached out, gripping their face tightly, forcing them to meet your unyielding gaze.

"What you did," you whispered, your tone venomous, "was justice, wasn’t it? You made choices—choices that led you here. So, tell me…" Your grip tightened slightly, enough to make them wince. "What the fuck makes you think you deserve anything better than this?"

Their breathing came in ragged gasps, their eyes wild with fear and disbelief.

You smiled then, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips, and released them, standing up and brushing your hands off like you’d just handled something filthy.

"The show must go on," you announced brightly, spinning back to the camera. "Alright, chat, who’s ready for the main event?!"

You turned back to the camera, fingers dancing over the keyboard as you laughed, a sound that sent a chill through the room.

"Chat, you won’t believe this one," you said, voice dripping with giddy malice. "Our guest tonight? Oh, they’re not just anyone. No, no, no! They’ve got a history. You wouldn’t think it, looking at them now, but…"

You spun around to face them, your eyes glittering with a deranged light.

"Should we tell them, hmm? Should we talk about how you snapped and tore your own family apart? Oh, I bet chat would love the details—the blood, the screaming, the mess you left behind."

Their face drained of color, their chains rattling as they thrashed. "Shut up!" they yelled, their voice cracking.

"Shut up?" you mimicked, tilting your head like a curious predator. "Why? Is it because you remember? You remember how it felt, don’t you? The rush, the heat, the way the knife felt in your hand as it went in again, and again…"

" "Stop it!" they screamed, their voice breaking into sobs.

"Oh, but why should I?!" you barked, your voice rising with manic energy. "You did it, didn’t you? You made sure they’d never stand in your way again. Your own family. And for what? Some twisted idea of justice? Some self-righteous, pathetic excuse for power?!"

They shook their head violently, tears streaming down their face. "I didn’t—I didn’t mean—"

"‘Didn’t mean to’?!" you interrupted, a sharp, mocking laugh escaping your lips. "Please. Save it for someone who cares, because here’s the thing—chat loves this shit. They eat it up. You? You’re a goldmine. The more depraved you are, the more twisted your story, the bigger the payout. And trust me, I’m going to milk every single second."

You leaned in close, your voice dropping to a chilling whisper. "Oh, and let’s not forget the other things you’ve done. The theft, the blackmail, the drugs…" You giggled, pulling back with a theatrical flourish. "You’re an all-star of illegal shit, aren’t you? Chat! Can we get a round of applause for our guest here?"

"Good evening, everyone!" you chimed, your voice bright and saccharine as you gazed into the camera. "I’m so glad you could join me on such short notice—Oh? Oh, Goreboy! Missed me, huh?" You let out a soft, teasing giggle. "Chat! Can you believe it? Goreboy’s being sweet tonight! Usually, they’re my harshest critic. What’s that, darling? Missed my streams that much?"

You laughed again, high-pitched and lilting, the sound dancing unnervingly in the air.

"Yes! Yes! My delightful patrons of exquisite taste, welcome back!" you said, raising your voice theatrically, your arms spreading wide as if to embrace your audience. "The block is gone, babies! I’m back and better than ever."

Your expression shifted subtly, a crack in the cheerful mask, though your tone remained syrupy sweet.

"And boy, do I have a treat for you tonight!" you cooed, spinning dramatically toward the camera. "Rottenlings, meet our fresh face! Please give a big, warm hello to Victim No. 66!"

You stepped aside and gestured mockingly toward the chained figure behind you.

"I plucked this one straight from the hands of justice itself," you announced with a flourish. "Oh, the police? They think they ran away. Poor, clueless idiots! But don’t worry, chat. I’m here to make sure justice gets served properly."

The person on the floor squirmed, their eyes darting toward the glowing monitor. Their heart sank as they realized what they were seeing: a live video feed of themselves, surrounded by a scrolling chatroom full of excited, laughing messages.

People were watching.

"You sick fucks!" they screamed, straining against their chains. "Why aren’t you calling the police? What’s wrong with you?!"

Your sharp, manic laughter sliced through the air like a knife.

"Oh, you poor, stupid thing!" you sneered, turning back toward them. "Do you think they care? Do you think anyone in this room—" you gestured at the screen, the chat still buzzing with twisted excitement— "is on your side?"

You leaned in close, your grin wide and predatory.

"This is Goreboy’s arena, sweetheart. Big win for them tonight, huh, chat?!" You shot a playful wink at the camera, then turned back to your captive, your expression mockingly soft.

"You’re begging them? Them?" you laughed, louder this time, your voice echoing around the room. "Oh, honey. You don’t beg for mercy here. You entertain."

The person trembled, their voice breaking into raw, desperate sobs. "Please! I’m sorry! Just call the cops! I’ll do anything!"

You tilted your head, feigning pity.

"Another one for the beg bucket, chat!" you teased, your voice sing-song. "Honestly, I don’t know why any of you bet on these fools. Mr. Duck, sweetie, let’s see how your other bets fare tonight, hmm?"

The chat erupted in laughter. No one called the police. No one even flinched.

You turned back to the screen, reading another message from Goreboy.

The chat erupted in laughter. No one called the police. No one even flinched.

You turned back to the screen, reading another message from Goreboy.

"Oh, Goreboy!" you said, giggling as you typed. "That’s disgusting! Hahah! Maybe later, hun. One day we’ll meet, but not now. Patience, my dear!"

You hit send, then turned back to your captive, the grin fading into something colder, sharper.

"Now," you said, crouching down to their level, your tone like ice. "Let’s see if you can make this interesting, Victim No. 66."

They tried to pull away, but their hands were bound—shackled together and chained tightly.

"Alright, my lovely audience! Place your bets! What should I do next, hmm?"

"AHHHHHHH!"

Their scream echoed sharply as you yanked their finger back with a brutal, deliberate twist. The sound of bone grinding against itself cut through the air, sickening as always—but you didn’t falter.

"Oh? Should I fix it for you?" You teased, your voice lilting with mock concern before grabbing the mangled finger again. Without hesitation, you forced it back into place. The wet crunch of it snapping back made bile churn in your stomach.

But you laughed—loud and cruel. "Hah! Just kidding!"

And then, with a merciless twist, you snapped the fingers holding the knife they’d dared to wield.

Screams. Screams. A melody sweeter than any you’d ever heard.

Turning sharply, you faced the computer, a smirk splitting your face.

"Well, well! A donation like that deserves my full attention! Fingers again, madam? Oh, you know me so well."

You chuckled, eyes narrowing on the username. "Ah, Goreboy suggested that one? You always know how to make me smile. You should visit me more often, you know—I’d love to see you in my streams, but you never act on it. Tsk, tsk. Let’s not skip ahead, shall we?"

With a theatrical flourish, you bowed low, a sick mockery of grace.

"Now then, my darlings—let’s see what we can do!"

You straightened up, spinning on your heel as you stalked back toward your captive, menace dripping from every step.

You glanced at the screen again, the bright flicker of another donation lighting up your face. The amount was juicy, and the request? Deliciously cruel.

You giggled—soft at first, then sharper, like broken glass grinding against stone.

“Well, well, what do we have here? ‘A clean slice this time,’ huh?” You read aloud, eyes glinting with dark amusement. “I like the way you think. Quick and clean—but where’s the fun in that?”

The knife glistened in your hand as you turned back toward them. It wasn’t elegant—worn, slightly rusted along the edges—but it did its job. And tonight, its job was simple.

“Don’t squirm,” you cooed sweetly, crouching down to meet their tear-streaked face. “You’ll ruin the show for everyone.”

Their eyes widened in horror as you grabbed their hand, gripping their trembling fingers one by one as if you were inspecting them.

“Let’s start with this one, shall we?”

The blade pressed against their skin—cold, biting. You didn’t hesitate. With a sharp pull, you sliced through the first finger, the knife slipping through flesh and bone like paper.

Their scream ripped through the air, a raw, broken sound that sent shivers down your spine.

“Ohoho, there we go! That’s the sound I wanted—don’t be shy, darling, let it out!” You glanced over your shoulder at the camera, giggling as blood splattered across the floor. “Are you all hearing this? Such raw emotion. Truly unmatched!”

Another donation alert flashed. Your eyes sparkled.

“Oh, another request! You all spoil me!” You gripped the next finger tightly, blood slicking your palm as you lined up the blade once more. “Shall we keep going? I think they have a few more fingers to spare, don’t you?”

The knife cut down again—swift, unrelenting. Another scream, another bone snapped, another rivulet of blood trailing to the floor.

You couldn’t help but laugh, head thrown back as you bathed in their agony.

“Ahhh… music to my ears.”

Turning to the camera, you grinned, lips and cheeks splattered crimson.

"You were always so… predictable," you said, eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "Begging, pleading… You never even tried to fight back, did you?"

Chop. Another slice, this one to their thigh. The skin split with a sickening sound, a cry of agony escaping their lips as they tried to curl away from you, but there was nowhere to go.

The blade danced in your hand, a fluid motion, as you shifted positions to stand over them. The chains that held them were nothing more than a slight inconvenience to you. They could barely move, their arms and legs bound, while you towered over them, each strike faster, sharper, more merciless than the last.

Chop, chop, chop.

The rhythm of it was almost musical, a cruel symphony played out with the sounds of metal biting into flesh, followed by their pained gasps and helpless cries. Blood splattered, staining the floor beneath them, staining your hands, your clothes.

Their body was slick with blood now, each movement an agonizing reminder of how helpless they were, how trapped they’d become in this nightmare. They whimpered, desperate for it to end, but you weren’t done yet. You never were.

You pressed the blade deeper, feeling the pulse under their skin, the warmth of blood soaking your hands. A twisted smile curled on your lips, but it wasn’t a smile of satisfaction—no, it was something far colder. The silence between the strikes had grown deafening, and now, you spoke again, your voice sweet and venomous.

“Do you know what’s funny?” you whispered, your breath hot against their ear, a cruel contrast to the sharpness of the blade. “You think this will end soon, don’t you? That this... torture, this agony, will stop when you beg enough. But the truth is, you’re not dying tonight.”

Their eyes flickered in confusion, exhaustion, desperation. “What... what are you saying?” they rasped, barely able to form the words through the pain.

“Oh, sweet, sweet fool,” you purred. “You really thought I’d end your misery. No, darling. You hurt them—your family, your loved ones—and now, I’m going to make sure you feel it. You’re going to remember the weight of what you did long after this moment, long after your body is no longer able to fight back.”

The blade hovered above their chest now, drawing slow, shallow cuts along their skin. Each mark was a reminder of the harm they’d caused, the consequences that would never leave them.

“You thought you could escape the aftermath of your choices, didn’t you?” you taunted, drawing out the words as if savoring the slow breakdown in their expression. “I’ll make sure you never forget. Every inch of your body will burn with the guilt you can never outrun. And when you beg for mercy again... remember, I’m the one you’ll answer to now.”

You stood over them, chest heaving slightly from the rush. Their sobs echoed in the room, broken and ragged, as they cradled their ruined hand to their chest. But you weren’t done. Oh no—not yet.

With a casual hum, you stepped back to the computer, wiping the blood-slicked knife against your shirt. The screen blinked again, another donation flooding in. You glanced at it, a wicked grin curling your lips.

“Ah, I see you all are in a particular mood tonight,” you murmured, voice soft but laced with menace. You grabbed a nearby folder—one you had prepared for this moment, knowing it would come. With deliberate care, you fanned the photographs out across the table, one by one, before turning back to your audience.

“Now, my darlings, it’s time to turn up the fun, don’t you think? We’ve had our share of blood—let’s break something deeper.”

You knelt in front of them, holding the first photograph up to their tear-filled eyes. Their gaze trembled as they caught a glimpse—a snapshot of someone familiar.

Their brother.

The photo was crisp, taken in that final, quiet moment before you got to him. “Look at him,” you whispered, your tone a mocking semblance of pity. “He was so peaceful, wasn’t he? Didn’t even scream when I—”

“STOP!” they wailed, thrashing against their chains, tears streaming freely down their face. You tutted, reaching out to grip their chin between your fingers, forcing them to look at the image again.

“Ah, ah, don’t look away. You owe him that much, don’t you? After all, you’re the reason this all started. You really shouldn’t have crossed me, sweetheart.”

You let the photo flutter to the ground and held up the next one. Their father this time—face slack, eyes empty.

“And him? Oh, he fought. I’ll give him that. A real family man, wasn’t he? Told me to spare you if I had to choose. Isn’t that sweet?”

Their sobs turned to screams—raw, desperate. They yanked at the chains, the cuffs cutting deeper into their wrists as they thrashed.

You laughed softly, soaking in their misery like it was the sweetest wine.

“Aw, don’t cry,” you crooned, brushing a bloodstained finger across their cheek. “They’re not in pain anymore. You’re the one who has to live with it now.”

You leaned in close, your voice dropping to a whisper, dripping with venomous glee.

“And when I’m done? I’ll make sure you see each and every one of them waiting for you. Won’t that be nice?”

You straightened back up, turning to the camera with a theatrical flourish, spreading your arms wide.

“Well, there you have it, folks! I’d say tonight’s stream is going splendidly, don’t you agree? Emotional devastation, physical ruin—everything you could ask for!”

A flood of donations pinged on the screen, the sound filling the room as you beamed at your audience.

“Keep those requests coming! After all…” You glanced back at your captive, their broken sobs barely audible now. “We’ve got plenty of time—and I’m far from done.”

The show did go on <3

"Why let a monster's body go to waste?" you murmured, your voice dark and chilling as you circled them, each word dripping with twisted logic. "Why let evil walk away unscathed when their heart could beat inside someone pure? Their lungs, keeping an innocent child alive, their hands, building a future for someone who deserves it. If their mind is corrupted, their flesh... their flesh can still redeem them."

You paused, the sharp blade gleaming under the low light. Their chest rose and fell in erratic breaths, their body shivering from more than just physical pain.

"You think this is torture, don’t you?" You chuckled softly, almost fondly, but the sound was anything but kind. "No, darling. What you're about to experience is... redemption. A form of cleansing that you’re far from ready for. You hurt people. You destroyed lives. Now, we make sure the world can still benefit from the leftovers of your broken, filthy soul."

With a cruel laugh, you reached for their hand, grabbing their wrist with the kind of brutal strength that matched your words. You dragged them forward, a twisted sort of calmness in your touch despite the violence in your eyes.

"How much would you beg for your own skin to be saved now? Would you fight back if you knew that every piece of you, every organ, could serve a better purpose?" You let the blade hover above their finger, glinting menacingly. "I’ve got no use for your nails, but someone else might. They’ll make a good memory for someone who knows how to truly suffer."

Each breath they took was ragged, desperate for release. But you weren’t done yet.

"You’re not dying, not yet. You’ll live long enough for me to make sure you never forget what you’ve done. Your body’s gonna be stripped of its evil, piece by piece."

You couldn't help yourself. The laughter bubbled up from deep within you, a dark, mocking sound that filled the space with an eerie resonance. It was a sound of triumph, of cruel satisfaction as you watched them break, piece by agonizing piece.

"You really thought you could hide from this, didn't you?" you taunted between fits of laughter, your voice shaking with cruel delight. "You thought you could walk away, escape the damage you caused, the people you destroyed. But look at you now."

Their screams intensified, raw and desperate, echoing off the walls like a symphony of agony. "Please! PLEASE! STOP! I DIDN’T MEAN IT, I DIDN’T—!"

After some time, the air had settled into a chilling stillness, the only sounds being the faint sobs of the broken figure slumped against their chains. You sat back at the computer, fingers dancing over the keys with practiced ease as you typed a single message into the chat:

“Will Send this one off to organ donation. All tonight’s donations will go directly to the little boy’s treatment fund. Isn’t that just heartwarming?”

The chat exploded. Messages flooded in, filled with adoration, awe, and sick fascination.

“You’re an angel!!!” “Saving lives AND giving us a show? King/Queen.” “I can’t believe how selfless you are! This stream is legendary.”

You leaned back in your chair, laughing softly—almost sweetly. Turning to the camera, you rested your chin in your palm, eyes gleaming as you scanned the incoming flood of messages.

“Aww,” you cooed, voice dripping with condescension, “I didn’t know you all cared so much about happy endings. It’s so touching, really. Sick fucks like you still want to feel good about yourselves? That’s cute.”

More comments rolled in, their tone shifting, teasing, and pushing:

“But YOU should’ve taken the organs yourself!” “C’mon, don’t you want to be hands-on with this one?” “We know you’re the real surgeon here. Give us some blood, maestro!”

You sighed dramatically, letting your shoulders slump as if their demands were such a burden. “You all really don’t let me rest, do you? Fine. Fine. Since you’re so persistent…”

You stood, rolling your neck with a quiet crack before grabbing a nearby surgical kit—polished steel tools neatly arranged and waiting, just for this. The captive’s head snapped up, their bloodshot eyes wide with renewed panic.

“No—no, no, no, please—” they choked out, words dissolving into incoherent sobs.

You ignored them completely, addressing the camera instead as you slipped on a pair of gloves, the snap of latex cutting sharply through the air.

“You asked for this. Remember that.” You picked up the scalpel, holding it up for the audience to admire. “Let’s get started, shall we? I’ve always been a fan of hands-on work.”

You stepped toward the body—your expression blank, detached, almost bored as you knelt beside them. The cold blade kissed their skin, tracing a slow, deliberate line just below the ribs.

“Now, I’m no doctor, but I do know my way around a body.”

The first incision split them open, and blood welled up instantly—thick, warm, dark. The room filled with wet, sticky sounds as you worked, hands steady and sure, your movements practiced like a grotesque symphony.

You paused briefly, glancing back at the camera, your gloved hands slick with crimson.

“There’s your blood, chat. Are you happy now?”

The chat erupted, filled with cheers, donations rolling in like a tide:

“YESSSSS BLOODDDD!” “This is art. You’re a god.” “More, more, more!!!”

You laughed again, the sound low and breathy as you reached deeper into the cavity, fingers curling around what you were searching for. You lifted the organ slowly into view, the slick muscle glistening under the dim lights.

“Well,” you murmured, holding it up for the audience to admire, “they won’t be needing this anymore, will they?”

Blood dripped onto the floor in a rhythmic patter as you turned to the camera one last time, a triumphant grin splitting your face.

“Don’t forget to donate generously, my loves. After all, we’re saving lives here.”

You worked with deliberate care, gently placing each organ into the sterile metal tray beside you. Liver, kidneys, lungs—each glistening under the dim light as blood pooled around them. The wet squelch of the final piece being set down echoed in the room like the last note of a haunting melody.

You straightened up, gloves slick with crimson, and turned back toward the camera, face illuminated by the screen’s soft glow. With a swipe of your forearm, you wiped a streak of blood from your cheek, your grin bright and satisfied.

“And done! There you have it, chat! A perfect collection. Hope you enjoyed tonight’s little… performance.” You gave the camera a theatrical bow, smearing your gloves against your chest. “All thanks to your generosity, of course.”

The chat exploded:

“You’re insane, I LOVE YOU!!!” “This stream was god-tier.” “BYEEE ANGEL, YOU’RE SO CUTE!”

You pouted playfully, tilting your head as you rested a bloody glove against your cheek. “Aw, you all know how to make me blush… if only I wasn’t covered in—” you gestured lazily to the gore streaked across your shirt—“well, this.”

Then, a message popped up that made you pause:

Goreboy69: “What now, darlin’? Gonna leave me hangin’? Don’t tell me you’re tired already.”

You squinted at the chat, a half-smile curling on your lips as your fingers hovered over the keyboard. “Oh? Someone’s feeling bold tonight.” You typed quickly, your tone sharp but teasing:

“Leaving. Bye, Mr. Goreboy. Don’t miss me too much.”

The response was instant, his reply lighting up the chat like a flare:

Goreboy69: “Too late, sweetheart. Already do.”

You froze for just a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing through your expression before you masked it with a sharp laugh. “Well, isn’t that sweet,” you murmured, shaking your head as you leaned toward the camera.

With one final look at your blood-splattered stage, you winked.

“Alright, my darlings. That’s it for tonight. Be good—or don’t. Either way, I’ll be back soon.”

You reached for the mouse, hovering over the “end stream” button as the chat flooded with protests and goodbyes:

“Nooo don’t go yet!” “Byeee CUTIE!!!” “Best stream EVER.”

You grinned one last time, your voice dropping to a low murmur, just for them:

“Goodnight, my loves.”

With a soft click, the screen faded to black.

You thought you will end your life with this.

Then, came a idea to write.

Then came him..

It had been almost a year since you and Ronin had been together, and things had been… comfortable, even in the darker corners of your shared lives. You’d both found your own spaces, with your gruesome world of streaming and his quiet, almost enigmatic nature. You had your gore, and he had his secrets. Neither of you had yet come to know the whole truth about each other. (You were the only one liar) He never suspected you were the streamer everyone in the underground chats adored—and you had no idea that he was Goreboy69, your loyal fan and the one who teased you so affectionately on the livestream

#ur-angel-or-yuor-devil-or writer darlin who's a maneater

[Angelic]- Y/n, you weren't online for some time.

[You]- I was busy ;-; Job was killing me

[Goreboy]- Darlin, There's a Angel Two now. But seriously did your boss made you Overwork again?

[Angelic]- Don't bully them, Ronin.

[Goreboy]- I'm not. I'm Worried Angel, They're My Partner

[You]- I'm fine, even my boss told to rest but I want to work for this case...I need to sleep tooo ahhhh!!!

[Goreboy]- Dm me. Angel. Sorry I'm taking my Lover for sometime.

[Angelic]- Since, when you start saying it that loudly ;)

[Goreboy]- Haha, Don't make me revive-

[Angelic]- Ronin, What the fuck?

After some time...

You settled into your chair, the glow of the screen casting faint shadows across your face as you stared at the video call. Ronin’s voice drifted through your headphones—smooth, teasing, always holding that edge of danger and flirtation. He lounged casually on the other side of the camera, the faint hum of his mic picking up the distant sounds of his apartment. His dark hair was mussed like he’d just rolled out of bed, the sly grin he always wore firmly in place.

The server call buzzed with energy. Truth or Dare had turned into its usual chaotic mess, but you didn’t care to play this time. Instead, you just kept pressing him for details about his latest… “hobby.”

“How’d your kill go, Mr. Crowbar?” you asked, feigning nonchalance as you swirled your drink in hand.

Ronin’s eyebrow quirked up. He chuckled low and sharp, voice dripping with that same playful tone that always made you pause. “Now that’s new, darlin’. You never ask me about the details. What’s got you so curious all of a sudden?”

You shrugged. “Just in the mood. Humor me.”

Ronin’s grin widened into something sharp, something that tugged at the edges of darkness. He leaned closer to his screen, as if to close the distance between the two of you. “If you insist, sweetheart,” he purred, stretching his arms behind his head as though he were telling you a bedtime story. “Well, y’see, there’s somethin’ so poetic about a crowbar. Personal, messy, and it leaves a mark. You know exactly what did the job.”

“Of course it was a crowbar,” you muttered under your breath, rolling your eyes. “Predictable.”

Ronin laughed—a deep, satisfied sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “You wound me! Predictable? I call it classic. But since you asked so sweetly…” He leaned back, cracking his knuckles before continuing with exaggerated theatrical flair. “Guy was scum. The type of fella whose face just begs to be rearranged. A couple swings later, I turned his skull into modern art. … Abstract, really.”

You tried to mask the way your lips curled upward. You didn’t want to let him know how much his words intrigued you tonight.

“Messy,” you replied simply, voice cool as you leaned into your chair. “But I expected nothing less from The Devil’s Butcher.”

That earned a gleam in his eye. He tilted his head, watching you through the camera like he was seeing something just out of reach. “Hah. You’re full of surprises tonight, doll. Didn’t think my little bedtime stories were your cup of tea.”

“They’re not,” you shot back, fighting the smirk threatening to break through. “But tonight I’m making an exception.”

Ronin hummed, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then he gave you that grin again—sharp, teasing, always bordering on something you couldn’t quite name. “Y’know, you’d make a good audience for my streams, darlin’,” he said offhandedly, though there was a hint of something heavier beneath the surface. “Too bad you’re such a softie. You wouldn’t last a minute.”

You stiffened. For a split second, your heart skipped a beat before you forced yourself to laugh it off. “As if. I could handle your ‘gorefest’ just fine. It’s you who doesn’t know me, Mr. Crowbar.”

“Oh?” His voice dipped lower, amusement dancing in his tone. “Is that a challenge?”

“Take it however you want,” you shot back, biting back your grin.

Ronin watched you carefully for a beat longer before he leaned closer to the camera, his tone soft but dripping with meaning. “Careful, sweetheart. You might surprise yourself. You never know how much you like the darkness… ’til you’re drowning in it.”

You met his gaze through the screen, your pulse racing in your ears. Neither of you said a word for a moment, the silence between you charged and unrelenting.

You broke it with a casual, “Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Devil.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and dangerous all at once. “Always playin’ hard to get. One day, darlin’, you’ll admit you’re just as curious as me.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the way his words sent a thrill through you. “Keep dreaming, Ronin.”

The call moved on and others rejoined the conversation, you couldn’t shake that lingering feeling—the way Ronin’s words sat heavy in your chest. You didn’t know why tonight felt different, why his details about his kill caught your attention more than usual.

And you definitely didn’t want to think about the unsettling idea swirling in the back of your mind—that maybe he was someone else entirely. Someone whose streams you knew far too well.

But that couldn’t be, right?

Ronin’s voice crackled through the call, that usual teasing tone dripping with curiosity. “Darlin’, you look like you’ve been through hell—what’s with the eyebags? You chasing ghosts or something?”

You groaned, letting your cheek rest against your palm as you lazily stared at the video feed. His smirk was too smug, as always, like he’d already won some game you weren’t playing yet. “It’s research. Even if I became a writer because of you, I’m still a reporter at heart.”

His brow quirked at the mention. “Research? What poor bastard you chasin’ now?”

You adjusted your position, letting out a slow breath. “Shithead of the year, honestly. A hacker who made millions off stolen data, killed a dozen people—including his own wife—and stole drugs. The worst part? He abused her into silence for years, and when she finally came forward, he killed her, too.” Your tone sharpened with disgust, almost venomous. *“He’s scum. The kind of filth that makes even *you* look almost… disgusting.”*

Ronin’s expression shifted at that. His smirk twitched, just slightly. “Almost disgusting, huh? Can’t tell if I should be offended or flattered.”

Your lips curled into a thin smile. “Does this guy make you angry or somethin’, Ronin?”

For a beat, he was silent, his eyes narrowing. Then, he gave a small nod, his fingers drumming against the desk he sat at. “Y’know what? Yeah. I’d say he does. Kinda wish…” His voice trailed off, almost testing the waters before continuing. “Kinda wish someone like Pathegon would grab him first.”

Your heart froze, all the blood in your veins rushing to your face. It felt like you’d been dunked into ice water. Pathegon. That was your red room stream name. No one else should’ve known. Your voice barely left your throat, a fragile whisper. “…How do you know that name?”

Ronin blinked at you, tilting his head with that same casual grin, as if nothing about this situation was remotely shocking. “Huh? Oh—nah, nah. I didn’t mean you, I meant this streamer. Gorey as hell, almost like a twisted love letter to the worst kinds of scum: abusers, killers, lowlifes—name it. Pathegon’s… good. Real good.”

Your body went stiff. You stared at him, pale as a ghost. He kept talking, too nonchalantly for your comfort, but his words were like a blade sinking deeper and deeper.

He's Goreboy69?!

You could barely hold your composure. Ronin laughed then, sharp and loud, like this whole thing was the most fun he’d had in years.

“Wait—no—hold on.” You stammered, pulling yourself together. “Was it you who gave the police intel on that guy? On… him?”

He grinned wider, teeth flashing in the dim light of his camera feed. “Bingo.” He leaned in, voice lowering into something sickly sweet. *“What can I say? I play both sides. Can’t leave *all* the fun for the cops. Someone’s gotta keep the game interesting.”*

You stared at him, stunned, before the anger boiling inside you started to twist into something darker. Something… dangerous. Your fingers curled tightly around your mouse as your lips parted, words spilling out before you could stop yourself. “I wish I could kill him myself.”

The room fell silent. For once, even Ronin seemed taken aback. His eyes flicked over you through the screen, studying every inch of your expression, as if trying to see if you really meant it.

“…Well, well.” His voice dropped to a low murmur, almost like he was savoring the moment. “Now, that’s somethin’ I wasn’t expectin’. You’d make a real good serial killer, y’know that?”

Your face burned. “No, I wouldn’t!”

But Ronin didn’t stop there. His smirk deepened, his tongue running over his bottom lip as he watched you with a strange gleam in his eyes. “Nah, nah. Don’t sell yourself short, darlin’. Picture it: that piece of shit tied up, bloody and broken, beggin’ for a mercy he doesn’t deserve. You’d look real pretty standin’ over him, crowbar in hand, paintin’ the walls red…”

You gawked at him, your mind spinning. “Ronin!”

He laughed—deep, low, and unrestrained. He looked almost giddy, a blush faintly dusting his cheeks as he leaned closer to the camera. “What? Can’t blame a guy for admirin’ talent when he sees it. You’re finally speakin’ my language, sweetheart. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

You threw your head back, groaning, but you couldn’t ignore the way your heart pounded at his words, or the way his eyes lingered on you like you were the most fascinating thing in the world. He was still grinning when you looked back, that dangerous, teasing edge in his voice.

“Careful, darlin’. Keep talkin’ like that, and I might fall even harder for ya.”

You glanced at the clock on your monitor, eyes widening in panic. “Shit! Ronin, it’s almost 9 PM!”

Ronin tilted his head, visibly unfazed. “And? Time’s a social construct, darlin’. You goin’ somewhere?”

“You’re literally gonna show our stream to the whole server. I need to get ready.”

He pouted, slouching in his chair dramatically. “Tch. You’re ditchin’ me? You could stay a little longer. You always bolt the second I’m startin’ to have fun.”

You sighed, trying not to let your voice waver. “I can’t stay. I… have a show.”

Ronin’s brow quirked suspiciously. “A show? You didn’t mention that before.”

You glanced away, fiddling with the edge of your desk. “I just need to sleep, Ronin. That’s all.”

He didn’t argue further, though his exaggerated sigh was loud enough to be heard. “Fine, fine.” He leaned closer to the camera, sticking out his tongue as he smirked—a glint of silver shining off the piercing he had there. “I’ll be nice just this once. Go get your beauty sleep, angel. You’re already lookin’ kinda rough.”

You scoffed but couldn’t help a faint smile.

Before you could hit the end call button, his voice cut through softly. “Hey—before you go.”

You froze mid-motion, glancing back at his face. His tone wasn’t teasing anymore; it was quieter, almost… earnest. “How’s the relationship?”

You blinked, momentarily stunned. “…Relationship? I’m fine with everyone, I guess.”

Ronin rolled his eyes, leaning forward until the glow of his screen cast sharp shadows across his features. “Not what I meant. I’m talkin’ ‘bout you n’ me.”

The words landed like a punch to the chest, leaving you momentarily breathless. You stared at him, unsure how to respond at first, before a small, stunned smile tugged at your lips.

“…Happy,” you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “All my life, I never thought I’d… date someone like you. A serial killer.” Your throat tightened as the words escaped you. “But I do care about you, Ronin. I really do.”

Ronin didn’t say anything. He just watched you, the usual cocky demeanor softening around the edges.

Your hand trembled as you held it out toward the screen, palm open as if reaching for him, for something intangible. Tears threatened to well up in your eyes, but you blinked them away. “You’re my dream come true, you know that? My wish fulfilled.” Your voice cracked faintly. “I just… hope we can be like Vince and Ai one day, even if we can’t ever get married because of… everything. Because of your past, your trauma, your beliefs. That doesn’t matter to me. I’m just happy I’ve got someone who respects me, even if you play with me sometimes.”

Ronin’s face softened, his cocky grin finally faltering as his gaze locked on yours.

You swallowed, gathering the last of your resolve before whispering, “I love you, Ronin Beaufort.” Your hand stayed raised, trembling slightly, before you quickly ended the call without giving him a chance to respond.

The screen blinked black. Silence swallowed the room, save for the sound of your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

—

Meanwhile, Ronin sat there, unmoving, his hand still resting on the mouse as the call screen went dark. His face was frozen in a stunned expression, his mouth slightly ajar as if you’d knocked the wind out of him.

The faint blush on his cheeks deepened as your words replayed in his mind over and over again. “I love you, Ronin Beaufort.”

“…The hell was that?” he muttered under his breath, fingers tapping nervously against the edge of his desk. A crooked grin ghosted across his lips, but it couldn’t hide the flush creeping up to his ears.

Ronin stared at the dark screen, completely still for a moment… and then he burst into a grin—one so wide it nearly split his face. His hand shot up, running through his shaggy hair as he leaned back in his chair, teeth flashing through the growing smile.

“Shit.” He let out a breathless laugh, a giddy, uncontrollable noise that echoed in the quiet room. His shoulders shook as he covered his mouth with his hand, trying (and failing) to smother the wild grin that refused to leave.

“They said they love me…” He muttered it like it was the most unbelievable thing in the world, like he needed to say it out loud just to confirm it had really happened. A giddy warmth spread through his chest, an unfamiliar and exhilarating feeling that left him downright giddy.

He couldn’t stop smiling. His cheeks hurt, but he didn’t care. His hand slammed down on the desk as another breathless laugh escaped him. “They actually said they love me. God—what the hell?”

Ronin tilted his head back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling, face still flushed as pink as his tongue piercing. “They’re so damn cute.” His voice dropped into a low mumble, but the fondness lacing his words was impossible to ignore. “Holdin’ out their hand like that, all teary-eyed. Gonna give me a fuckin’ heart attack one day.”

His grin only grew as he replayed the moment in his head—you reaching for him, whispering “I love you, Ronin Beaufort.”

“Goddamn, they’re insane,” he muttered to himself, though his voice was dripping with affection. “Insane for lovin’ someone like me…” He paused, his grin softening just slightly as he added, “…but I guess I’m insane for lovin’ them back.”

His eyes flickered to the corner of his monitor, where your last message still lingered. He dragged his fingers through his hair again, his smirk returning but more dangerous this time—like he was plotting something.

“I’m gonna wreck ‘em, one day.” He snickered under his breath, a dangerous gleam in his eye. “They don’t even know what they’re doin’ to me…”

And still, he couldn’t stop smiling. Like crazy. Like he’d just been given a secret that no one else could understand.

“I love you, Ronin Beaufort…”

Those words echoed in his head like a melody on repeat, and for the first time in a long, long while, he actually believed it.

[thesummerestsolstice]

Hair Headcanons for Finwe and his Kids:

Finwe: as discussed, Finwe's hair is always perfect. He rolls out of bed in the morning and it's immaculately wavy with no tangles or snarls, even if he left jewelry in it (which happens pretty often). It's also very shiny and iridescent, with his black hair lighting up in all the colors of the northern lights depending on the angle and lighting. The originator of the Finwean Hair Magic™️ all his descendants inherited.

Feanor: iridescent hair that shines in the color of raven feathers– a lot like Finwe, but slightly less shiny. Because of Finwean Hair Magic™️, even though his hair is very long, and often not bound very well in the forges, he's never gotten his hair burned or caught on anything. He keeps his hair even longer than most Noldor so he can do the fanciest traditional braiding styles.

Findis: inherited her mother Indis's blond hair, but it's also very shiny, looking more like actual gold than the Vanyar blond hair her mother has. Under Laurelin or sunlight, it often shimmers a more rosy color. Later in the Second Age, she was given the nickname Andune (sunset) because of how beautiful the pink and orange highlights are.

Fingolfin: during the Years of the Trees, he has his father's black hair, but while it is very shiny (and always perfectly styled) it is not iridescent. After the Helcaraxe, his hair is run through with silver and white streaks, which everyone agrees makes him look very regal and kingly. The streaks stay even after he's reembodied, and become something of a fashion statement among others who crossed the Helcaraxe, who bleach parts of their own hair to match.

Lalwen: her hair is dark brown instead of black, but is nearly as iridescent as Finwe's, with all the same colors. She also continues in his footsteps of wearing it partly down dangerous hikes and hunts, and just like Finwe, she never trips on it or gets it caught anywhere. In Beleriand, she often wears her hair in a crown-like updo, because she knows it's more beautiful than any metal.

Finarfin: also got Indis's blond hair, but through the filter of Finwean Hair Magic™️, he's the first member of the family to have the kind of "treelight" hair Galadriel was so famous for. Under Laurelin or Sunlight, it glows a bright, rich gold, and under Telperion or moonlight it glows silver, with the two mixing during the mingling. He wears it almost entirely loose, in Vanyar fashion, and kind of became an artistic muse for Ingwe's court because of it. There are poetry volumes about his hair, and mentioning one of them in his presence is by far the easiest way to make him blush.

[millylotus]

I dyed my hair recently so y'all have to suffer through my ideas on if/how the batfam dies their hair

-

Jason:

Ironically in canon he had red hair during his first introduction & dyed it to match Dick as Robin, but that got retconed. I don't really use this but of canon but now I will just for the hell of it.

Jason's hair is like his bio mom Shelia's, a red-ish blonde, kinda strawberry but definitely not. It's a very odd color & recognizable so he starts dyeing it black to avoid suspicion. Post Death & Resurrection he dies it the same shade of black as his mom Catherine's was, refusing to look like the same woman who killed her child.

He bleached his hair once & cursed god, has never done it again.

-

Dick:

Has actually never died his hair, & probably never will, prefers just going wild with the cuts because "It'll just grow back", did once frost the tips but didn't like how it looked & just cut them off

-

Babs:

When she was younger she dyed some strips purple for the hell of it, but slowed down when she became batgirl to try & keep her identities a bit more separate. Nowadays just dies her grey streaks out [they came in early like the rest of her family's] cause she likes having a full head of ginger.

-

Bruce:

Bruce secretly actually being a brunette is a lil headcanon of mine. Like his hair was mainly black but the Kane Brown[& Red but he doesn't have the red undertones] started to shine through once he hit like 30 & now his hair is Black & Black-Brown. He didn't really care to dye it until he started getting greys & decided that just wouldn't do & now his hair is Black-Black.

-

Kate:

Has never dyed her hair in a proper state of mind, but has bleached her hair blonde just to see if she looked like Beth [she does & it freaked her out, so she buzzed it all off]. Now just has her hair cut short & doesn't mind it going gray, does have the iconic red wig that she treats like her baby.

-

Steph:

Was extremely cognizant of her hair as a kid & never dyed it. Mainly cause it was one of her biggest traits & even her dad would notice any changes in it & recognize her on the spot. Now though she like styling it in fun ways & darkened it a bit just to experiment.

-

Cass:

Does actually dye her hair, & it's mainly just darker colors & off-blacks cause she likes how it looks in the light. But she has dyed underneath her hair for a two layer look & that's where she hides the neons & such.

-

Tim:

He dyes his hair, like to a wild degree. All about side identities & gets fully into character, Alvin is a red head/brunette? he's dying his hair. Carolina has dyed blonde hair b/c she had it as a baby & her mom kept dying it blonde even though her hair went brown at 2? Then that's what Tim has to do. Everything is meticulous & his bathroom is a mess. He does under dye his hair a nice red & has the top dyed an auburny brown/red. Sometimes goes blonde for the underlayer.

He's also completely immune to the burn of bleach now.

-

Duke:

Dyes his hair, but not the roots cause he cannot do the burn. He likes to have fun little shapes in his hair, like stars & such. The type of person to use his clippers to shave in shapes on his fade that match the vibe of the color or shapes. Gets away with all this defining stuff because like Cass & Tim he's wearing a full cowl & who's gonna police his swag during the day when he's the only one around.

-

Damian:

Doesn't dye his hair, at all but does like to help his siblings with their hair, mainly Cass, Duke & sometimes Tim, also helps Dick & Steph with new hair cuts. Secretly like it because it's basically dress up, & he's still a kid, & kinda sorta wants a cosmetology degree when he's older.

[valtsv]

What do your ocs reaver and valentine look like? I like them a lot!

YAYYYYYY okay <3 valentine's a decorated mech pilot who wears her mechsuit even outside the cockpit because her body is breaking down under the stress. she's pale, spindly, flat-chested and has poor posture from hours spent hunched inside a hulk of metal. she's tall and long-boned, which gives her an insect-like appearance. her hair is an off-white shade with faded brown strands peppered in; it used to be dark brown but the stress has bleached it. she usually wears it curled in propaganda shoots and television appearances because it looks too thin otherwise. her skin is a patchwork of half-healed, raw and infected, necrotic flesh from skin grafts which haven't had time to heal before she got back in the mech (hence the suit, which she uses as armour, exoskeleton and shield). she has wide brown bloodshot eyes lined with shadows of exhaustion and tension, and she gets an eyepatch later in her story when one of them is damaged too severely to be of functional use anymore.

reaver is a stocky asian-american man with dark hair streaked with grey and matching facial hair that lies somewhere in the liminal space between stubble and beard. he has an appearance best described as both careworn and careless - depression and bitterness weigh heavy on him, and although he's always presentable, he makes no more effort to be than the bare minimum. his clothes are clean, but old, and showing signs of repeated repair. his hair is long enough to tie back into a ponytail, but straggly at the ends in a way that suggests it's the result of a lack of regular haircuts rather than a conscious decision to grow it out. his eyes are heavy-lidded, hazel, and his loveliest feature. his skin is a light golden-brown, but with a pallid, unhealthy undertone that belies how little sun he gets. he looks older than his years, more like someone in their fifties than their forties like he actually is. he has muscle definition, but he's "let himself go" slightly, so it's padded out with a layer of softness and sagging skin that's clearly not from living well. unlike valentine, who gives the impression of someone who was striking but never beautiful, he's got the look of a man who was once handsome but has sunk into despair.

[thesinglesock]

Psychoanalyzing Lloyd’s most iconic hair styles.

[Post description: a series of screenshots from the animated series LEGO Ninjago. Image shows Kai and Lloyd sitting at a table, they are both holding tea cups. Lloyd is a child with a blonde bowl cut. End description.]

Rise of the Snakes Bowl Cut: this is a child. just a little guy. does not care about self expression through his hair at all, just trying to live his complicated little life.

[Image description: Sensei Garmadon and Lloyd are standing in front of a stone wall. Lloyd is young adult with neatly trimmed, short, blonde hair swept to the side. Garmadon has a similar hairstyle, but grey. End description]

the Sudden Growth Spurt Cowlick: still not a deliberate hair choice, he’s still a kid, trying to mimic his dad because he loves him and looks up to him.

[Image description: Kai has his arm around Lloyd, restraining him. Lloyd has black hair and light green skin. End description.]

the Possession Inversion: Emo phase. that was supposed to be a funny joke but I’m actually crying.

[Image description: Lloyd is holding his sword against Cole’s hammer. Cole’s back is turned to the viewer. Lloyd’s hair is white and nearly reaches his neck. End description.]

Baby’s First Deliberate Hair Choice! Now that he’s no longer feeling like a lost child and is entering his proper Teen Angst Years, the boy bought a pack of cheap bleach and dyed his hair in the monastery bathroom. He also stopped using his dad’s hair gel, sporting a looser, more stylish look.

[Image description: Zane is talking to Lloyd, who appears to be upset. Zane is in his titanium form. Lloyd’s hair is the same style as before, but now in a warm yellow colour with light streaks. End description.]

Post Harumi Golden Locks: you hair matching your girlfriend’s is only cute as long as she isn’t a homicidal maniac. After the Oni Trilogy Lloyd let his hair return to its natural colour, which makes it look much healthier. Too bad his newly developed severe trust issues can’t be fixed by swapping out his conditioner :(

[Lloyd is standing alone in front of a blurry, pink landscape. His hair has more visible dark streaks by the roots. The pink lighting makes it hard to see exactly what kind of blonde it is. End description.]

Dragons Rising: Lloyd has graduated the Angsty Teenager phase. He is now an Exhausted Adult. All his friends are gone, presumed to be dead (again), he is overworked, has adopted two protéges, and has not touched a shampoo bottle in Months. Just look at those greasy roots. Please let him take a break and also a bath.

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

Fit for a King - WIP - "You are tiny"

Fit for a King - Masterlist

König fanfiction scenes and chapters that do not yet have a coherent plot

planned content/TW: rivals to lovers, König x fem!character (not too descriptive to make it accessible for more readers), social anxiety killing machine König, badass friendly FMC, dual POV, secret relationship, switch energy, NSFW, adult themes, strong language, violence (more details are still unclear, gonna update as I go), authentic austrian german

a/n: well, my brain isn't letting go of this newest obsession of mine, so I will appease it and write some scenes/chapters that come to mind. i have written more original work and less fanfictions and our boy (and KorTac) is hard to research, but I'll try my best to stay some-what cannon to the lore. it'll also probably get darker down the road.

if your character doesn't have a tragic backstory, why not give him one?

A not so meetcute

(CW: some mature language)

I strut along the hallway, I'm already late to report for duty and turn the corner abruptly. I collide with somebody else at full walking force and almost get pushed to the floor, if the big figure blocking the light shining from above wouldn't have caught me. "Ouch.", I yelp, more surprised than hurt, even though I feel like ran over by a truck.

I steady myself to look at the "truck". I look up and I keep looking up and up. At first there's just this chest, a huge chest, in a simple compression shirt, but oh boy. The weapon holster is what I see next, sitting snug at the side of his torso. Shoulders, big broad shoulders, and normally you would expect to have a head sitting on top of them and a face looking back at you. I guess, he has one as well, even though I don't see one bit of it. I strain my neck to finally meet his eyes.

But all I see is the dark black of a… sniperhood? A T-shirt? I mean, it looks like a t-shirt, that somebody cut holes in to fashion themselves a kind of mask. The front is stained with bleach, two streaks coming down from the eyeholes... My eyes widen as it sinks in who this is. König. KorTac operator, field combatant and one of my superiors. Shit. I've heard some rumors about him. And it seems like at least some of them ring true.

"You are tiny.", he states matter-of-factly, his Austrian accents shining through the uttered words. It's the first thing he says to me. "And you are... not.", I retort. I can't make out his expression as it so obviously is hidden by his mask. He nods, turns around and heads down the hallway where he came from. I shake my head. What the hell was that?

I stretch myself, feeling the impact of the collision already. My god, that was like being hit by a battering ram. I heard that his specialty is breaking down doors with brute force. I thought this to be ridiculous, but now as I watch the gigantic muscled man strut down the hallway, quickly disappearing, I do believe it. 6'10" killing machine. Ridiculous.

I shake my head again and make my way to the meeting room. Ridgeback is already waiting for me.

______________________________________________________________

Fuck. Shit. Fuck. Verdammt. Ah, des hast du ganz super g'macht.* I tell myself sarcastically in my head as I basically run down the hallway. She must be one of the new hires. Must be. And you almost turned her to mush. Mus. Brei. Human remains splattered against the wall. I curse myself again. I didn't even apologize. "You are tiny." No shit, Sherlock, everybody is tiny compared to you. I continue to mock myself. Fuck, Shit, Fuck.

"Ridge, since when do we hire children?", I ask him as soon as I enter the room. He doesn't even look up. "We don't." He keeps reading. "Then why did I just almost run over a recruit that didn't even reach my waist?" – “Because compared to you, everybody seems tiny.” He sighs and looks up at me. “None of our personnel are under 6’, not even the women.”

“Even the new recruits?”, I ask him again. He furrows his brow. “What did you do, König?”, he wants to now. “I may or may not have almost trampled one of them.”, I say, kleinlaut***. He sighs again. “I think that was Müller, she’s actually on her way here.”, Ridgeback says. “Müller? Is she german?”, I ask in surprise. I didn’t hear such an accent on her, but to be fair, she only said like three words… and I wasn’t really paying attention to her words anyway.

On cue, the door opens and I fall silent. “Permission to enter, Sir?”, she says with a clear voice. Not at all seeming like I almost turned her into pulp. I take two steps back to stand in the back, trying to blend into the wall behind me – which I already know from experience is not going to work. “Come in.”, Ridge says. “Müller, right?” She nods and approaches. My focus is fully on her, all the small bits I noticed about her before are still there. She’s not wearing a mask because it’s not necessary off mission. You know, like you normally would. She has laugh lines. Around her eyes and mouth. Fucking laugh lines. She doesn’t look like she belongs here.

The two of them are talking, but I catch every single time when her gaze lands on me, even if it’s just from the corner of her eyes. I fight against the urge to turn away every time she looks at me, when I hear Ridgeback drop the old s-word. Sniper.

My ears perk up and I finally pay attention to what they’re saying again. “Your track record is almost immaculate, Müller. You’re gonna be an asset to the team on the next missions.”, he says to her. I can see that she tries to hold back a proud expression or smile on her face, but she doesn't really succeed at that. God damn it, a sniper. I groan and make my way to the door which doesn’t go unnoticed. “König.”, Ridgeback pipes up. “You wanna show Müller the way to the dorms?” as I already have my hand on the doorknob.

I still for just a moment and the roaring sensation of anxiety seeps at my feet and crawls up my body until it’s nested at the back of my head. I can’t talk to her. Not after embarrassing myself before. “Nein.”, is all I say before I’m out the door.

*God damnit. You did a really bang up job. ** two different words for pulp/mash *** meekly (word for word: 'smallloud')

[sourlemonsprout]

𝙷𝚊𝚒𝚛 𝙳𝚢𝚎 𝙳𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚖𝚖𝚊

Alphonse x gn!reader

Boo helps Alphonse re-touch his hair dye. 

Word Count: 784

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

It was late at night, and Boo had been lounging all alone in Al's bed, mindlessly scrolling through TikTok when suddenly, a loud noise in the other room startled them. 

"UGH, Damnit!" Boo heard Alphonse frustratedly yell. Lowering their phone, they craned their head to the side, listening intently for any more noises. 

What the hell is going on out there? 

After a few moments of silence, Boo flung the blanket on their lap off to the side and swung their legs out of bed. They wandered silently down the hallway, pausing at the sight of light filtering out from the slightly ajar bathroom door. As they peered into the crack, they saw Alphonse leaning over the countertop, shirtless with a messy towel covered in old hair dye stains draped over his bare shoulders. Another dirty towel hung over the faucet head, and a box of hair dye with its contents spilled out across the counter. Al was vigorously rubbing at a spot on his neck when his eyes met Boo's through the mirror. 

"Hey there creeper," He smirked mischievously, tilting his head to the side. 

"I was wonderin' what you've been up to. I thought you said you were gonna take a shower?" Boo smiled, pushing the door open wider so they could rest against the doorframe. 

"Well, I was, but I was tryin' to touch up my roots first. It wasn't supposed to take this long. Admittedly, I shouldn't have started this when I was so damn tired." He let out a big sigh as he turned to face his Boo. They surveyed the room, which looked like a bomb went off with hair tools and products strewn about haphazardly. Then there were the streaks of pink smudged across Al's neck and face. Boo couldn't help but find the situation amusing, and a series of giggles fell from their lips.

"What are you laughing at?" Al pouted. 

"I don't know, it just- the whole time we've been together I've never seen you dye your hair before," they shrugged.  

"Besides, I thought you'd be a pro at this by now!" they laughed. 

"Hey now, don't bully me, I'm tired!" he chuckled. 

"Soo... you want some help with that?" They offered, pointing at the messy jar of hair dye with a thin brush sticking out the top. Alphonse glanced back at the jar and then up at himself in the mirror before letting out a tired sigh.

"I suppose you can't do more damage than I've already done." he chuckled. 

"Okok, gimme a second!" Boo said excitedly before rushing away. A few moments later, they returned wearing an old oversized t-shirt, lugging a chair in one hand and two Laffy Taffy ropes in the other. 

"Here," they shrugged the chair forward towards Al.

"Sit on this. Otherwise, I'll never be able to reach the top of your head." Alphonse took the chair and positioned himself so Boo could access the sink and countertop with ease. 

"Thanks, babe," Al said softly, pulling at the wrapper of his Laffy Taffy candy. Boo turned on some soft background music before getting to work. They scooped up the jar of pink dye and stirred it to check the amount of product left. Although it was a bit messy, Al seemed to have covered most of the spots towards the back of his head that required attention. Boo gently turned Al's face to the side and started to apply thin layers of pink dye to the bleach-lightened areas on the side of his head. Alphonse quietly watched through the mirror as Boo worked on his hair, the Laffy Taffy rope hanging from the side of their mouth as they focused on the task at hand.

In no time, both sides were done. All that was left was some of the top and front parts of the hair. As they stepped in closer, Al inhaled deeply, taking in the calming humming and scent that filled his senses and made his heart flutter. Mindlessly, his hand brushed gently along the side of Boo's thigh.

"Hey, what are you doing silly?" Boo said, stopping mid-brush as Al tilted his head up to look into their eyes, a dopey smile spread across his blush-kissed face. With a firm yet delicate motion, Al grabbed the sides of Boo's waist and pulled them down into his lap. 

"I appreciate you takin' care of me, you know that right?" He said, running his hand alongside their jaw to cup their face.

"I know," they hummed lovingly. The two looked at each other and smiled, the air between them felt almost electric. Without another word, Alphonse pulled Boo in, their lips meeting in a soft, sweet kiss. 

꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦

The End <3