#except then he keeps coming back in every single class and by the end of your school career you’re just like ‘oh this test is asking me for

[fmhobeus]

so, nerdy loser college boy choso *sighs* *opens legs*

a/n: just so you know, this man is gonna make you do all the hard work for a piece of that loser boy dick 😮‍💨 so... um so at some point around 2000 words in i realised this is way more than a hc post :3 eat it up if you will!

nerdy!choso who borderline has no friends except his gaming buddies who doesnt meet irl like ever. he doesnt like going to classes, especially this one. he doesnt need it but it's a requirement for all first years. and boy is glad it is when he sees you come in.

nerdy!choso who only listens to discussions when you're talking. suddenly he needs to put down his headphones and nod at every word you're saying. his eyes follow every gesture of your hand, every sway of your ass, every single time you fix your hair.

nerdy!choso who is starting to get a bit enamored with you, your style, your way of speaking. he loses track of time gawking at you in class from the last benches as you prettily do all the work in the class. he hates how beautifully your hair falls on your face, how nicely your clothes fit you despite being pretty modest for college. he hates how he can see the silhouette of your tits when you turn to the side. but he's too much of a gentleman to keep looking.

nerdy!choso who ends a game early when he remembers you, lying and saying that he had promised someone to meet them somewhere. the place is his bathroom and the person was you. god, you really shouldn't wear those tight jeans to class y'know? how will he continue to be a gentleman if you do?

nerdy!choso who despises groupwork but prays to dear god this class has some reason to pair you two together. he's getting so desperate to talk to you knowing damn well he too pussy to do it on his own. and the lord answers his prayers, the teacher assigns groups of three for a presentation. it's you, him and some slacking trust fund baby.

nerdy!choso who is about to combust and have a full blown panic attack when he sees you approach him after class with that smile on your face that would make the angels swoon. you're going on about distributing the work equally and what not while he is trying his fucking hardest to not accidently make eye contact with you and piss his pants : (

nerdy!choso who now has your name, your number and your email and he feels like the happiest man on earth. his hands are literally shaking as he responds to your request to call. he's overthinking every word he types.

choso: yeah i can do wednesday. choso: i'll be okay with whatever day you want.

nerdy!choso who hops on video call and short circuits with a view of you in an oversized band tee and a brief view of your room. why did you have to be this pretty? why did you have to video call him when you couldve done the work on text? why did you have to put your hair up like that? why oh why did you have you say "choso? hey, you there?" so seductively to bring him back to the present?

nerdy!choso who gets like no work done in a 30 minute call which felt like three hours. he knew he would hardly be paying attention so decided to record the call with your consent, saying he'd need the notes you were typing out on screen only to play it back and stroke his dick to you for what might've have been the twentieth time this week. his strokes only getting faster as you say his name in that voice he imagines sounds way better moaning and screaming it instead.

nerdy!choso who, after the presentation, is on greeting terms with you when he sees you studying in the library. he sits as far away from you as he can while still being able to see you. occupying the coziest corner of the library to stare at you study right when you come up to him.

"can i join you, choso? i'm all alone and your space seems comfy" you say with a smile, "of course, i dont mean to disturb you, is saw you were on your own too, so..."

uh oh, uh oh, uh oh. god no. please no. please dont say yes. please dont be staring at her like some dumb idiot (too late) please.

"uh... yeah sure why not?" he awkwardly says as he makes room for you to keep your things. he was such an idiot for thinking he could say no to your pretty face in the first place.

nerdy!choso who is absolutely drunk on your scent. it feels way better than any alcohol he's ever had. he feels like an animal in heat when he smells your sugary perfume mixed with the styrofoam-y air conditioned smell of the library. you're gonna kill him, yknow? how is he supposed to respond to this? what is one to do when their stupid college crush sits next to them? he gives you a half smile before furiously typing away on reddit, the only place with answers for losers like him.

nerdy!choso whose hands. oh his hands. (can be i a big whore for a second?) his long hands that feel like they're the size of your face. his kempt, beautiful and trimmed nails. his lengthy fingers that seem to yearn for something more to foddle with than just the keyboard or controller. he typed as such an insane pace it made your pussy ache. he was going so fast, jesus. those hands were meant to do more than just ask "how to talk to girls" on reddit.

nerdy!choso who (on the advice of reddit) asks if you would want him to order something for you. you tell you had a frappuccino not too long ago and that it was quite sweet and filling. and he hates himself for thinking that he could give you something much sweeter and filling than that like a horny fourteen year old.

nerdy!choso who is now determined to not come off as a creep so he does his work with the focus of four adderalls. he is typing as fast as his heartbeat, not realising he got two classes worth of work done in just an hour. he looks over at you, blissfully unaware of the absolute war in his mind.

nerdy!choso who feels as though if he doesn't muster up the courage to ask you out right then and there, he'll probably be the biggest loser on the planet. (as if he wasn't already)

nerdy! pathetic! choso who stutters a million times and barely gets the job done then too. his eyes are scanning your entire being (trying his best to not gawk at your tits) for any sign of discomfort.

"so- uhh so ummm... wo-would you, like, uh... like to do this again? sometime?... i got a.. a lot of work done today, so.."

oh heavens, the sheer nervousness in his tone makes you want to pull his pants down and show him how to really get work done.

you agree with a smile, even suggesting a better, more ambient (more romantic) cafe to study in. choso's heart is about to burst and flood the fucking library with his blood the way it is beating at an alarming rate.

"umm yeah uh 5 sounds... awesome... i hope it isn't a-a bother to you?" "no way, choso. i loved today," you offer him a smile as you gather your things, "i really like your hair, by the way" "i like your hair too, y-y-you smell very nice", he gulps.

fuck. why did he say that? what? you smell nice? who says that? is he like ten? you can't help but giggle at the sheer embarassment on his face.

he feels as though he's gonna melt into a puddle and turn to stone and throw up all at the same time.

nerdy!choso who is the most stupidly hot guy you've ever met, you think as you go giggling back to your dorm. mental note: pick a skimpy outfit for 5pm ;)

#aniya writes ૮ ․ ․ ྀིა #my head would be in my hands #if they weren't already occupied #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen choso #choso jjk #choso jujutsu kaisen #choso #kamo choso #choso kamo #choso x reader #jjk choso #choso smut #choso x you #choso my beloved #choso x y/n #choso x female reader #jjk ^ ~ #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fanfic #jjk drabbles #jjk x poc!reader #choso kamo x reader

[nanamikeento]

the rooftop.

Every girl in school likes Tsukishima Kei. Everyone knows he's the popular tall boy who helped take the school volleyball team to the nationals. Naturally, he's the target of various confessions per week. He's certain at least of every class has confessed to him. And then, there's you. The mysterious girl that silently hangs out with him on the rooftop of the school building. All he knows about you is that you're in the same classmas Hinata and Kageyama. That is, until you come up with a proposition he finds it hard to deny.

w.c.: 6.7k

hi. fake relationship. high school. feelings. sorry if this feels rushed towards the end, ive been writing this since januray 2023. crossposted on ao3

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The sky is a nice blue, and you enjoy the view as you lean on the rails of the roof on your lunch break, basking on the sunlight and the cool wind breeze mother nature decided to bless you this afternoon. Despite your friends having lunch in the classroom, you like being alone at this time of the day. It's the only time you have to yourself. After this, you'll have classes and club activities, and then you'll have to get home and have homework to do and study and won’t have even a single thought to yourself.

This is why you sigh silently when you hear a stranger's voice coming from behind you. Right at the corner of the roof, where they can't see you, there's a girl confessing her crush to the same tall boy who hangs out silently on the same roof as you. You look over your shoulder and see her handing him a pink envelope, bowing and leaving. The boy just stares at it, in silence, adjusts his glasses and walks over to the trash can by the rail where he tosses the envelope.

You scoff at him.

“Shut up,” Tsukishima tells you.

“I didn’t say anything.” You protest and look back at the sight the school building provides, “Although, that's what? The third one this week?”

“Tch.” He joins you on the railing and doesn't say anything for a moment. “I tried coming here for a break, but they keep finding me.”

You roll your eyes, “Oh, the struggle.”

The mocking tone makes him sigh, irritation coursing through his veins. You're one of the few girls that haven't had a crush on or haven't confessed to him. That he knows. And it's not like he takes pride in it, being one of the popular guys in school and having girls falling for him daily. Sure, it was fun in the first year of high school, but now, in his last, he just wants to focus on graduating and getting into a nice university, moving on with life.

Then, there's you. The mysterious girl he met on the roof of the school's building that he knows nothing about. All he knows about you is that you're in the same class as Hinata’s and he'll be dead before he asks him about you. For now, he'll just hang out silently with you and bask on the unspoken agreement that you two have.

“Why don't you give one of them a chance?” You break the silence and Tsukishima exhales sharply as he remembers Yamaguchi saying these same words to him once. He ducks his head for a moment, then pushes himself off the railing.

“Don't you have better things to do?” He asks, looking straight into your eyes.

“Nope,” You smirk at him, knowing you're getting on his nerves. A laugh escapes your lips as he clicks his tongue. He has pretty eyes, though.

“What about you?” He asks, leaning his forearms on the railing again, “Surely there must be someone—”

It's your turn to click your tongue, irritated. The subject annoys you too much, especially when the creepy boys from your club come to mind every time, and Tsukishima falls silent, knowing it's dangerous territory. The both of you fall into a comfortable silence again, once more enjoying what you came in search of: peace of mind.

Except your mind is not at peace at all. You barely know this kid, just that he's on the masculine volleyball team and that they went to the nationals once and it was a pretty big deal at the time. And that he's tall. And handsome. And that pretty much all girls in school fall for him because of all that. You're not so sure why so many girls tend to confess to him anyway. Tsukishima is a bit rude and harsh when you meet him. At least he was when you met him. At first, it made you back away from him as far as possible. How could a girl even want to be his girlfriend?

And then a thought hits you.

“You know...” You pick at your nails, eyes down to the other students far away from you, “I could pretend to be your girlfriend to keep those girls away...”

Tsukishima's eyes bore to you, but you're still looking down. At first, he thinks you're joking, but the look on your face tells him you're serious about it. Still, he can't help but be sarcastic about it because, well, that's just who he is.

“You'd do that for me.” The cynicism is clear on his voice, and you end up rolling your eyes, but smile as you look back at him, shrugging.

“You'd keep the creeps away.”

This, he wasn't expecting. He tries to hide the surprise on his face but fails to. Then, he falls into his usual Tsukishima face and scoffs, pushing himself out of the rail and turning his back to walk away. You sigh deeply and lean your chin on your forearms, enjoying the last minutes of your lunch break, knowing the bell will ring soon and you'll have to get back to your classroom.

…

It's not until two days later that you hear of Tsukishima again. You're doing some homework in advance on your break, since it’s pouring outside and you can't go to the roof today, when one of your classmates calls your name and tells you he's looking for you. The hallway is packed with people, and it annoys him that his earphones are out of battery so he can't listen to music like he always does, so when you meet him outside your classroom the frown between his brows is almost popping up a vein, you're sure of it.

“What's up?” You say, pretending not to notice the large vein on his forehead. Oh, he's pissed at something and you're dying to see it.

“C'mon,” he simply says and turns his back. When you don't follow, confused at his command, he sighs sharply and pulls you by the wrist. You try to protest, but you're very aware everyone is watching as he pulls you through the hallway towards a more private place. When he's sure no one is around, Tsukishima stops by the stairs between the first and second floors, where Hinata swore to him he once saw a ghost there.

“Damn, what happened?” You ask, frowning at the strong grip on your wrist.

“I'll do it.”

You pause, looking way up at his height that towers you. It should intimidate you, it should make you back away, especially after you saw the way he treats people... but you don't.

“Do what?”

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. Are you really gonna make him say it? Fine, so be it. What's a little pride anyway? He takes a deep breath and looks into your eyes.

“I'll pretend to be your boyfriend... to keep the creeps away.”  

“Oh. That.” You had forgotten about it already. So, he wants in, then? “O-okay.”

“Okay.” He parrots and his eyes travel through your shoulder to your arm and notes how he's still gripping your wrist like there's no tomorrow. Tsukishima quickly lets go of you like you have the plague, then clears his throat, a faint shade of red painting his cheekbones, “S-so, how do we do this?”

You shrug, “We spend time together on breaks, go home holding hands, all that couple stuff, you know.”

On the outside, your behavior is nonchalant, but your hands are shaking with nervousness. You’re about to fake an entire relationship with a guy you barely know.

“Right.” Tsukishima nods, “I have club activities until six, though.”

“Me too. You can wait for me outside gymnasium five, the one with the pool. Just make sure you're seen.”

A groan bubbles up in his throat, but he swallows it down. Isn't being seen the main objective here? So, he just nods and exhales softly as he closes his eyes.

“Don't worry,” you say, realizing he looks worried about your plan, “I won't make you kiss me or anything... unless you want me to.”

Tsukishima opens his eyes and blushes furiously, a frown growing between his brows. You let a laugh escape your lips, genuinely having fun with his reaction. That until someone starts descending the stairs, interrupting their moment. It's the girl from that day on the roof, the one that handed the letter over to Tsukishima when you were there. She looks at him and then looks at you, a small frown between her eyebrows. For a moment, you think she's going to say something, but she just walks past you both and quickly makes her way to the first floor. When you look back at him, his skin is bright red, and his eyes are everywhere but on you.

“Well, you gotta do better than that if you want to convince people we're together.” You actually smile at the view.

He just huffs and walks away from you.

…

The rain has stopped by the time you're done with your club activities. You make sure to leap out of the pool and power walk to the dressing rooms.

“No running around the pool!” Your professor says and you apologize, but don't stop, ripping the goggles and swimming cap from your head.

“Someone's in a hurry today!” You hear a remark, probably from one the first years, and ignore them as you quickly enter the dressing room and start undressing.

You don't even bother to wash off the chlorine from your hair, just a quick douche and you're already putting your uniform on again. Almost knocking a second year down, you bust out of the dressing room, making your way outside.

No sight of Tsukishima.

All that work for nothing. You sigh, deciding to wait a couple of minutes, but he doesn't show up. Did he change his mind? He would've let you know if that was the case, right?

As you start walking around the school to make your way to the volleyball gymnasium, you feel embarrassed to be that excited to see him. Maybe you should’ve washed your hair, maybe it was stupid to rush like that.

Trapped in your own thoughts, you don’t see the tall presence in front of you as you turn a corner to reach the gymnasium. The strong body collides with you, and it sends you back, your feet tripping on each other making you almost fall on your ass.

His hands reach for you, holding you in place.

Tsukishima’s eyes look down at you, honey colored pupils staring at you confused. For a second you think your heart skips a beat with the way he holds your upper arms, the warmth of his hands radiating to your own skin.

“I thought you said to be outside gymnasium five,” he says, pulling you back from your thoughts.

“Y-you didn’t show up.” You manage to say.

He sighs, letting go of you. “Sorry. Coach held us a bit back there.”

Tsukishima pulls his phone out of his bag and only then you notice he’s wearing his club’s uniform. He didn’t have time to change and was going to see you right away.

“Oh.” You say, watching the way his eyes scan whatever is on his phone. He looks at you and you feel heat on your cheeks, looking away. In the distance, a boy with brown hair and a blonde girl are looking puzzled at the both of you. You take a deep breath and look back at him, the corners of your mouth curving into a smile. “It’s okay! Meeting here is better anyway.”

Tsukishima then remembers he didn’t give an explanation to his teammates on why he wasn’t going to change, saying he just needed to be somewhere else. His ears turn pink when he realizes they’re still lingering outside the door and witnessing this interaction.

“Walk me home?” You smile at him.

He just nods. Walking you home is probably the best way to be seen together. Side eyeing Yamaguchi and Yachi, he walks by your side as you guide him towards the exit.

He'd have a lot of explaining to do tomorrow.

…

“Are you and Tsukishima from class four together?” It’s the first thing you hear when you enter the classroom the next day. Your friend grabs your shoulders and looks right into your eyes.

“U-uh…” you clutch your bag and swallow hard, thinking of what to say, “Yeah, we’re–“ you swallow hard again, “We’re together.”

Her eyes widens and she opens her mouth, but you interrupt whatever she is about to say.

“Don’t scream.” You manage to get free from her grip.

“Wait, but Yuuki from class two confessed to him yesterday! She said he said he wasn’t interested.” She follows you to your seat.

“Oh, really?” you say as you sit down, watching as she pulls a chair to sit beside you.

“And Maki saw you two in the hallway at lunch and started crying, ‘cause she also confessed to him this week.” You think back to the moment a familiar girl ran into you two by the stairs. You kinda feel bad for making a girl cry, but you’re sure Tsukishima will like that the girls already fell for your fake relationship. When you don’t say anything, your friend keeps talking, “Maki said he seemed interested in her, though.”

“Oh, trust me, he wasn’t.” You laugh, remembering how he immediately threw her love letter in the trashcan when she left.

“What?”

“What?” You look back at her.

“You’re acting so weird…” She frowns at you.

Swallowing, you shrug, “I don't know what you’re talking about.”

Luckily, the bell rings and you silently thank time for being so on point. Your friend goes back to her seat, and you sigh relieved.

Who would’ve known lying would be so hard?

…

“So, is it true?” Yamaguchi asks as he approaches the net to block a spike from the other team.

Coach made them split into groups of three to play against each other and Tsukishima was stuck with a freshman and Yamaguchi.

“What is?” He asks after jumping and blocking the spike successfully.

“That you’re with that girl from class one.”

He looks at Yamaguchi and understands why he’s been acting weird all day. Ever since he saw you together, he’s been acting as if he wants to say something.

Tsukishima says your name.

“Yeah,” he then says, “It’s true.”

He doesn’t see it, but he knows Yamaguchi is smiling at him, that hopeful, shit eating grin he hates so much.

“I knew someday–“

“Save it.” Tsukishima interrupts him.

“Well, I was right, wasn’t I?”

Yamaguchi had been saying for weeks that the girl who sits on the roof during lunch time and Tsukishima would end up together someday. Something to do with spending too much time with her, ‘specially if she hasn’t confessed’ like he said. Yamaguchi was actually so wrong about it, but he let him have it by grunting a response.

He felt bad enough lying to his best friend already.

“So who confessed first?”

…

“He did, obviously,” you answer your friend’s question.

A day later, in P.E., she asked if it was you who confessed to him. She couldn’t let go of your – fake – relationship with Tsukishima, asking you questions about him and how it happened, if you both had kissed and went out on dates already.

It usually wouldn’t bother you, since you don’t really like Tsukishima that way, but the number of questions she’s asking makes you think she’s the one who has a crush on him. It makes you feel weird on the inside, as if something is wrong.

“You must’ve really impressed him,” she says as you both complete another lap around the soccer field, “I heard he’s…”

“He’s what?” you ask as she trails away. You both come to a stop, panting and sweating and you wait for her response, but she just shrugs.

“What?” You insist.

“Just… that he’s cold towards girls.”

You stare at her. It’s not like you’re offended by her statement, she’s actually right. You’ve never seen Tsukishima acting differently with any other girl, or boy, or anyone. It’s just the way he is. But why would that be a problem? You’re not really together.

…

“Rumors sure do fly fast.” You mumble as you walk down the street, Tsukishima by your side. He hums an answer, “Have any girls bothered you yet?”

“No, but it's only been a week.”

A chuckle leaves your lips. Crossed arms, you shiver as a cold breeze rushes past you.

“Any creeps bother you?”

You side eye him, smirking, “It's only been a week.”

The silence that follows walks on the line between comfortable and awkward. You want to say more, have a conversation with him, but it seems Tsukishima was comfortable with the silence between you two. And it's not like you have to be friends with him for this plan to work.

It's only been a week, but you've learned that Tsukishima is a quiet, reserved guy. Always listening to music, always in his own world. You don’t want to force him much.

Another cold breeze rushes past you and the shivers on your skin make you tremble. A sign the cold weather is about to come. Tightening the grip on yourself, you take a deep breath, trying to control the involuntary shivers, until you feel something warm around your shoulders.

His school club jacket.

You pause your steps to look at him, now sporting just his shirt and shorts. It takes him a second to realize you've stopped, so he looks back at you and raises a brow. The corners of your mouth pull into an amused smile, and he rolls his eyes at you, resuming his walk.

“We're supposed to be pretending, aren't we?” he says, shrugging. The smile on your face grows bigger, but you don't mention that no one from school is around, “Also, you're gonna get sick with your wet hair.”

You want to thank him and say you won't, but you're too afraid it'll scare him off. For now, you just bask in the warmth of his jacket as he walks you home.

…

Two weeks later, you don't show up at school for three days. On the fourth day, a shy girl approached Tsukishima saying she was the class rep for class one and asked if he could take you some homework you missed. He tried saying he had practice after school, but she insisted, since he was her boyfriend.

He thought about just showing up at your house after practice, but his guts told him he should check on you.

You live on the way to his house anyway, so he figured it wouldn’t hurt. At the end of the day, he tells Yamaguchi he’s going to skip practice, and, to his surprise, he just smiles at him, giving a knowing look.

“What?” Tsukki stares at his best friend.

Yamaguchi just shrugs, “Nothing.”

Tsukishima suspected something was on his mind, but he said nothing as he kept that look on his face.

The walk to your place is pleasant and quiet, just the way he likes it. He missed being able to be with his own thoughts, listening to his favorite band and just... being alone. But at the same time, walking by himself feels strange now. In the past week, he’s grown so accustomed to your presence that, when you missed classes, he...

He missed you.

Halting his steps at the realization, he notices your house at the top of the small hill. His heart does something that he doesn’t recognize. A feeling deep inside bothers him to the point he thinks it’s just a stomachache.

 He also didn’t stop to think about how to introduce himself to your parents. The feeling only gets worse as he approaches your front door and rings the doorbell, expecting an adult to come to get him.

‘Just hand them the homework and leave’, he thinks to himself as he hears footsteps approaching and the door being unlocked.

To his surprise, it’s you who opens the door.

Pink colors his cheekbones as he notices you’re in your pajamas: sweatpants and a tank top that reveals much more than what his imagination can go. Your hair is a little messy and your face... You look so sleepy that he feels his heart skip a beat.

“Tsukki?” You say with a rough voice, bringing him back to reality, “What- what happened?”

“I-I...” He stutters and then clears his throat, “I brought your homework...”

Tsukishima digs through his backpack to get the stack of papers and hand it to you.

“Homework?” You say, frowning, “Isn’t that the class rep’s job?”

“Yeah, but she gave it to me instead.”

You scoff, taking the papers from him, which causes a coughing fit. At this moment the wind passes through you and you shiver.

“Get inside,” Tsukki tells you, “you’ll get worse.”

“Well, come in then.”

You give him space to walk inside your home. He does without thinking much nor hesitating. It’s like he’s always been here, like entering his best friend’s house.

“Are you alone?” he asks, taking in the living room. A blanket lays on the couch and the TV is paused on some movie you were watching.

“Yeah, my mom is working.”

You guide him to the living room, bunching up the blanket on a corner and giving him space to sit.

“And your dad?” he asks, carefully.

“On a work trip.”

“Oh.”

The silence that follows is definitely awkward enough for Tsukishima to be uncomfortable. He’s never been in a situation like this, alone with a girl in her house. It makes him nervous. Especially because it’s you.

“Would you like some tea?” Your offer comes right before another cough fit, followed by a sneeze.

Tsukishima sighs and reaches for the bunched up blanket beside you — trying to ignore how close you are —, wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Told you you’d get sick.” He mumbles, pulling the blanket so it gets right around you.

“Sorry.”

“Tch- don’t be sorry. I’ll make some tea.”

He stands up and goes toward the open kitchen, leaving you staring at his back as he walks away. Tsukki acts like he’s been at your place a million times: fills the electric kettle, looks for the tea in the cabinets and takes some honey from the counter. It’s only natural, he wants you to feel better.

And here you are, sick as a street dog, watching his movements with attention. His shirt rises when he stretches to reach the tea at the top cabinet – after you tell him where it is – and you see some hair on his lower abdomen. Your face immediately burns, but you can’t look away. You can’t help but stare. And you hate to admit it, but you like what you see.

“Are you feeling okay?” He asks, and you snap to reality.

“Uh, yeah, yeah.” You clear your throat and finally look away.

Tsukishima pours one cup for you and one for him. You watch his hands as he settles down on the couch again, his slender fingers hugging the ceramic of the mug as he hands it to you. When you take it, his skin brushes against yours gently. You feel your skin heating up again.

If he notices, he says nothing. You take a sip from the tea and almost burn your tongue at the temperature, but your eyes are fixated on his hands. The protuberant veins on his pale skin and the size of his palms, his fingers. One of them catches your attention, his pinky finger is different from the others.

“What?” his voice brings you back to reality and you look at him to find him staring back.

You don't know why you decide to go with the truth.

“Your pinky.”

He gives you a puzzled look. Clearing your throat, you speak louder.

“Your right pinky. It's different.”

Tsukishima raises his hand to show you his crooked finger. “Oh. I broke it in the finals for the Spring tournament in my first year. They just taped it together and it never healed right.”

“Oh...” without thinking much, you reach for his hand, your finger pads rubbing against the curve of his pinky. The warmth from his skin radiates to yours and you like the sensation of his hands on yours.

“I thought the whole school was there...” He mumbles and you let go of his hand. The warmth for your tea isn't sufficient to warm the lack of his touch.

“If it was in Spring, I wasn't.” You sigh, “Swimming trials start in April. I was trying to get into the Summer swimming competition.”

“Did you get in?”

“No,” you say with a smile, “but I watched the Nationals.”

“Oh?” His eyes light up a little and you think it's adorable.

“Yeah, on the TV.” You see him visibly deflate. You don't think he knows he's doing that, but you don't mention it anyway, “It was pretty exciting. You guys deserved it.”

Tsukishima looks at you as if he discovered a new star. It's not written on his face, but you can see it in his eyes, and you don’t know if it’s the fever or something else, but your chest constricts and your stomach churns. There’s a silence, tense seconds pass by.

“Can I ask you something?” Tsukki asked and you nodded, encouraging him to do it, “Who are the creeps you always talk about?”

Your smile fades away and your eyes tear the gaze from his. Sighing, you consider giving an evasive answer or just lying, but you decide to tell him the truth.

“Just some guys from the boys swimming team. Sometimes they watch our practice and make comments about me.”

“What kind of comments?” He breathes, trying to control his anger. Tsukki didn’t want you to realize he felt protective of you, but with his flushed face and inflated nostrils, he couldn’t hide much.

“Just some nasty comments about my body.”

A tense pause hangs heavily between you both. Tsukishima is thinking of all the ways he can beat up those creeps. It's weird that he feels so protective of you, you’re not really his girlfriend, but hearing you talk about this and not doing anything about it feels wrong.

“It’s not just me, though.” you continue, “It’s all the girls.”

“Your coach doesn’t say anything?”

“We tried to tell her once, and she did talk to their coach, but it only made the insults worse...”

He says your name, making you look at him. You see something in his eyes, something you’ve never seen before.

“If you want, I can—”

“No, it’s fine, I—”

“Hey.” Tsukishima grabs your shoulders, with the intention of forcing you to look at him and listen. His touch burns on your skin, and you grow hot as his amber eyes stare intensely into yours, “This is why we’re doing this, right? You said it yourself, I'd keep the creeps away.”

You pause for a second wondering why he’s suddenly acting like this. “Y-yeah, but you don’t have to do anything... I... I thought that if they saw I had a boyfriend, they would stop, but...”

“They didn’t.” He finishes your sentence. You just shake your head, looking away.

Tsukishima suddenly feels the urge to kiss you, to make your pain go away. His eyes stare at your lips for a moment as he wonders if they’re as soft as they look. He wonders how they would feel against his own lips, against his skin, against—

You look back at him, eyes meeting his, a curious expression on your face, as if you know what he’s thinking about. Then, he suddenly stands up from the couch, startling you.

“I-I should go,” he says, clearing his throat, “but once you feel better and you go back to school, I’ll deal with the creeps.”

You stand up from your spot as well, meeting his eyes, “Tsukki, I—”

“It’s not up for discussion.” His voice sounds lower, darker even. It lights a fire in you that you don’t recognize. “Text me if you need anything.”

With that, he leaves your house, leaving you to feel confused and puzzled.

…

The following week, you finally feel better enough to go back to school. The flu has gotten better, but you’re still not able to swim – medical orders – until you feel one hundred percent well. So after classes, you just hang out at the library until Tsukishima is done with practice. You miss swimming, but the peace and quiet of the library is a nice break from your hectic days. Or at least it was. As soon as they entered the place, you knew you were going to have a hard time.

Their comments about your swimming abilities, your body, your hair and even your – fake – relationship with Tsukishima, come to your mind and you quickly slip out of the place before they can notice you. You hate that they have such an effect on you like that, you want to admit you don't care, but you do. Of course you do, when they're calling you names and laughing at everything you do.

Walking around the school, you find yourself at the volleyball gymnasium, staring at the open door. Inside, Tsukki and his friends are doing serving and receiving exercises, and, before you can think too much about it, you cross the entry, passing through the protective net used to keep the balls from escaping.

A ball flies over your head and hits the wall beside you, making you gasp and jump in your place. Everyone looks at you. Swallowing, you quickly remove your shoes and offer them a small bow before running to the bleachers.

Tsukki looks at you with a puzzled face, and then jumps at the sound of the coach barking some orders. The rest of practice goes like it usually does, except there's a tiny voice inside his head telling him that you're watching. Deep down, he feels like he has to practice harder, do better, just because you're watching. By the end of the practice, he's sweating, overheating and catching his breath more than usual.

He avoided looking at the bleachers during practice, but now, when he takes a peek, he catches you staring at him. You quickly look away, heat creeping on your cheeks. He can't help but smile.

Days are getting dark sooner now, so when you leave the gymnasium to meet him, it's already dusk. The sky is a mixture of bright oranges and blues. You wait for him to get changed into his uniform as you watch the sun go away. A cold breeze rushes through you and you shiver, wishing you'd brought your uniform jacket instead of just a sweater.

A warm fabric falls on your shoulders, the familiar scent of fabric softener and Omnigel immediately invading your nostrils. Tsukishima's large hand rests on the top of your head, catching you by surprise. There's no one around to show off your fake relationship, so the affectionate gesture confuses you.

“Hey,” you say, forcing a smile.

“What's wrong?” He asks, noticing your glassy eyes.

“Nothing,” you respond too quickly.

He stares at you, amber eyes studying you with suspicion, “You have a weird look on your face.”

“It's just my face.”

Tsukki says your name, making you sigh and close your eyes. How is he able to read you so easily like this?

“Was it the creeps?” He asks, and you cringe, “What did they do?”

When you look at Tsukishima, you notice the anger and his eyes. Heat creeps on your cheeks at the thought of him protecting you.

“N-nothing.” You stutter, “I was at the library and they came in… They didn't even see me though!” You quickly add, “I just– I just didn't want to face them…”

He keeps quiet for a moment until he takes your hand in a bold move.

“Tomorrow we're going to face them,” He says matter-of-factly, dragging you away from the gymnasium.

“Tsu–”

“This is why we're doing this.” He interrupts you, “I don't care what you think they're gonna say, we're gonna show you're mine now.”

As quick as the words leave his mouth, he freezes, eyes wide, cheeks red in embarrassment. He doesn't look at you, as he stops walking, hand squeezing yours harder.

“Kei…” you say, stomach doing somersaults, breath quickening.

“Shut up.” He pulls you away, walking faster.

The rest of the walk home is spent in silence.

…

Tsukishima couldn't remember the last time he rode a bike to school, but here he is at your doorstep, hands on the handlebars tightening their grip. He wasn't sure if you'd want to see him after what he said last night, but when he knocked on your door, the look on your face changed from surprised to amused. You asked for a minute to finish getting ready and left him waiting outside.

The tension between you two is palpable, as you walk side by side to school. 

When you walk through the school grounds hand in hand, Tsukishima avoids eye contact, seemingly lost in his thoughts.

The morning is a mix of anticipation and nervousness. Tsukishima's determination to confront the creeps is evident, and you find yourself caught in the whirlwind of his protective stance. The rumors about your relationship spread like wildfire, everyone knew you were together, but seeing you holding hands just adds an extra layer of complexity to the situation.

He rests a hand on your head when you reach your classroom, “See you later.”

Nodding, you feel your cheeks burning as you enter the classroom. All eyes are on you when you take a seat. Your friends tease you all morning.

This agreement certainly took an unexpected turn. 

…

“You ready?” Tsukki asks you, taking your hand again. Lunch break was cut short when he approached you. Nodding, you swallow hard, confused by the swirl of emotions that hit you.

As you approach the library, you notice the creeps already there, smirking and whispering among themselves. Tsukishima tightens his grip on your hand, a silent reassurance that he's by your side. With a confident stride, you both enter the library, facing the unwelcome attention head-on.

The creeps pause their conversation, their eyes widening at the unexpected sight of you two together. You can sense the shift in the atmosphere as Tsukishima directs a stern gaze towards them. Your heart races, unsure of how this confrontation will unfold.

Unexpectedly, Tsukishima speaks up, his voice cutting through the library's silence. "Enough with the comments and disrespect. Keep your opinions to yourselves. She's not interested, and we're not tolerating any more of your nonsense."

The creeps, taken aback by Tsukishima's assertiveness, exchange uneasy glances. You stand there, witnessing a side of him you hadn't seen before. The library, once a place of discomfort, transforms into a battleground where Tsukishima defends your honor.

As the creeps mumble half-hearted apologies and disperse, Tsukishima's grip on your hand relaxes. He looks at you, his amber eyes softening. "Let's go," he says, leading you out of the library.

You're not sure they'll stop their nasty comments towards you, but for now, an easy smile spreads on your lips and warmth blooms inside you.

…

The following days bring a surprising calm to your interactions with Tsukishima. The fake relationship begins to feel less like a facade and more like a shared understanding. The library incident becomes a turning point, and the creeps keep their distance, realizing the futility of their attempts.

As weeks pass, the dynamics between you and Tsukishima evolve. The protective facade turns into genuine concern, and you find solace in his company. The popular, mysterious boy on the rooftop becomes a reliable presence in your life, and the unspoken agreement transforms into a connection that goes beyond pretense.

One day, as you both sit on the familiar rooftop during lunch break, enjoying the peace and quiet, Tsukishima breaks the silence. "You know, this fake relationship thing has its perks. No more creeps bothering you, and I get some peace too."

You chuckle, appreciating the humor in his words. The genuine laughter resonates in the air, and in that moment, you realize that what started as a charade has woven the threads of a unique bond between you and Tsukishima.

As the school year progresses, the fake relationship becomes less about keeping up appearances and more about navigating the complexities of your emotions. The rooftop meetings turn into genuine conversations, and the agreement transforms into a shared understanding.

As graduation approaches, you can't help the bittersweet feeling that grows inside you. Uncertainty about your future makes its way to your mind in the form of anxiety and dreams about Tsukishima ending things with you. It makes you feel stupid, there's nothing there to end.

You can't deny there are some feelings for him inside you.

“I got in.” He interrupts your thoughts, making you look up from him from your egg sandwich. It's a breezy February afternoon, and you're on lunch break, back on the rooftop. He's leaning on the railway and you're sitting on the bench as usual. “Sendai University.”

The sandwich is soon forgotten as you get up and wrap your arms around his shoulders, smiling widely at him. “Congratulations!” You mumble on his neck, your soft lips touching the skin of his neck.

Tsukki takes half a second to hug you back. In the past few weeks, physical contact has become more common between. Although he's still not used to it, he welcomes you gladly as the warmth of your body radiates to him. 

“Seems like we're going to the same university,” he says with a smirk. Looking into his eyes, you remember, just last week telling him you've been accepted at Sendai University as well.

“Yeah…” you breathe, fully aware that your lips are centimeters apart.

He would've kissed you. You swear, if it wasn't for the bell ringing just in time for you to pull away and him clear his throat. A blush stained his cheekbones pink as you smiled to yourself. Your story with him isn't over yet.

…

The day before graduation is filled with tears and poignant laughter. You say goodbye to your friends you know you won't see until graduation, swim at the gymnasium pool for the last time and wait for Tsukishima by the volleyball gymnasium, sipping strawberry milk you bought from the vending machine.

You don't turn around when you hear him and his friends leaving the gymnasium, or when you hear one of them point you out. You don't turn around when you hear his footsteps approaching you. When he stands in front of you, your eyes meet his. He's smirking, sweat glistening on his skin.

You don't care.

The strawberry milk box falls on the ground as his lips press against yours.

His skin is soft as you wrap your arms around his sweaty neck. Gasping when his tongue brushes against yours in a messy kiss, you pull him closer.

In the end, what started as a simple plan to ward off unwanted attention becomes a chapter in your high school story—a chapter filled with laughter, unexpected connections, and the realization that sometimes, the most genuine bonds are formed in the most unconventional ways.

#gabiwrites.txt #kei tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #tsukki x reader #kei tsukishima #tsukishima kei

[oshiawaseni]

Remember when Kacchan complained about Izuku obviously skulking around with All Might and how they need to be less conspicuous about their connection with each other? When you think about it, no one cared that much what the heck Izuku was up to… except for Kacchan himself. And in hindsight, that interaction is just so freaking cute. Just because this guy is always hyper aware of Izuku and the people surrounding him and absolutely concerned with his business, he thinks others will be too.

Take Season 2 for example at the sport festival… How did he even come to eavesdrop on Todoroki in the first place? By following and being invested in what Izuku was doing with him because Kacchan got so jealous about Todoroki declaring war on his shitnerd 😩 he couldn’t stand the idea of them going off alone somewhere together.

Stop the cap. You were there because you followed Izuku, Katsuki. 

Kacchan’s always overly concerned about Izuku and on top of that, he was jealous of Shouto taking his rival nerd from him. So when he got curious seeing them go off somewhere alone, he followed them and eavesdropped.

And another time he eavesdropped on Izuku in Heroes Rising.

He’s so focused on whatever Izuku’s doing or saying, he tunnel visions like hell. Here he forgot about his icey and it melted off the stick. 

Not only does he always give Izuku his undivided attention, he definitely wants it returned.

Izuku’s always looked at his back, right? Whether that was walking behind him in the woods, or being seated behind him in class... I think at some point Katsuki came to crave his gaze on him and secretly loved his praise too and that feeling was exposed in the joint training arc with his “Keep your eyes on me, Deku” 😂

Oh Katsuki don’t lie ❤️

You knew he’d be watching you like this with his big and shiny doe eyes didn’t you ;)

Turns out you’re allowed to be obsessed with Kacchan, Izuku. He was just being a hypocritical tsundere whenever he said stuff like this:

Remember when there were a bunch of Kacchan apologists that victim blamed Izuku for sticking around when he was told to leave him alone? What if I told you Katsuki never truly wanted Izuku to leave? Because if he did leave, then who would Kacchan stalk? 😂

Honestly!!! Kacchan’s Izuku complex and how he projected it onto him like Deku is the only one who’s obsessed, is one of my biggest sources of amusement with this ship. Heh. 🤭 They are true equal partners in a lot of ways…

Between all the “Did I do better than Deku?”, 

the eavesdropping

and every single time Katsuki targeted him, if you’re able to describe all of this as nothing other than PURE UNADULTERATED OBSESSION...?

DING DING DING. You’re damn right it is!

Then you flip the hate around because it turns out he was wrong to hate that person in the first place after all, and what does Katsuki’s obsession start to look like? Maybe a little something like this.

They’re obsessed with each other and always have been and this is perfectly fine. It used to be very antagonistic attention on Katsuki’s end but his attention has since become all soft and gentle because now..? Now he’s just in love. ❤️ And that’s the tea~ ☕️

#Kacchan calling Deku stalker is literal pot meet kettle #kacchans obsession is so obvious 😩 #he's adorable #like in hindsight of everything he ever said lmfaooo #bakudeku #also... #bkdk canon #op #bnha meta #Kacchan loves deku #kacchan was the one interested in izuku deep in his heart from the start lmfao #though izuku never denied himself the self satisfaction of his admiration of kacchan #kacchan slowly coming to terms with being JUST AS OBSESSED with izuku is such a blessing #I excavated this post from deep within the drafts xD #its always bothered me when people downplayed the fact THEY ARE BOTH OBSESSED WITH EACH OTHER and that is OKAY #bc it is okay #its okay if its kacchan <3 #thank you guys for supporting Kacchan’s obsession along with me #1k #everyone knows he’s such a huge simp… ​I love that for him #must read meta

[ishcliff]

i don't think heathcliff is an idiot at all. not in his source, nor in limbus.

in limbus, heathcliff keeps things direct and to the point, and dislikes spending a lot of time dwelling on what to do. none of these alone are indicators of a lack of intelligence. impatience and impulsivity, sure, i can concede. but with heathcliff, what i think is even more the case is he already feels like he understands the world well-enough. he's spent a lifetime living, both in the best and worst of the city. he offers insight in moments where the other sinners have little to offer. in a lot of ways, he is deeply comparable to roland, except (funnily enough) perhaps a little healthier.

despite his contempt for authority, heathcliff has accepted his role and the unspoken laws of the land, being witness to and on the receiving end of what happens when one goes against them. he seems to understand the whims of the city for what they are and can follow them intuitively. though, his knowledge is entirely practical; the theoretical and reasoning behind everything matters little to him, because the way he sees it, as long as he can continue to do as he pleases, it's of no consequence. he is in constant survival mode, seeking the rare moments where he is allowed to thrive.

his knowledge base is given ample time to shine in the main story. he is often positioned as a voice of reason and an appeal to the majority.

in canto II, he comes up with a plan that essentially works flawlessly when no one else could.

in canto III, he correctly points out ishmael's lack of comprehension of social stratification in the nest entry point. then, he rightly calls out meursault for his aiding and abetting of a religious-fascist regime.

in canto IV, he's proven correct about his critique of certain mindsets of the K nest, and his insight and cleverness are recognized by more than one person (importantly, including ishmael, his biggest critic).

he is just as intelligent and capable as everyone else; he simply doesn't care about the bigger picture. it's not like the bigger picture cares about him.

and yet...another point on the more superficial side: heathcliff has an identity where he is a capable, well-spoken scientist and political activist. while his political standpoint is reactionary anarchoprimitivism, it still matters that he's clearly capable of analyzing greater social class structures and realizing they are bunk.

this leads me to discussion of heathcliff in wuthering heights. i don't think it can be overstated how much of heathcliff's capabilities as an antagonist post-timeskip are due to his intelligence. in just three years, he cultivates enough wealth through what is assumed to be key-timed investments and intelligent brokerage. he makes a name for himself despite lacking even a proper surname. through his influence, knowledge, and cold determination, heathcliff decimates two families and claims their estates for himself. this is all in spite of the way he was forced out of school when he was a preteen and into slavery. the danger of heathcliff is not just in the depths of his cruelty, but his calculating nature and ability to chart out a years-long revenge campaign with contingency plans. and he almost entirely succeeded.

tying back a little to the context of limbus company, heathcliff's backstory has been heavily implied to be mostly similar to his childhood in his source material. in summary, he was raised under constant scrutiny under threat of beatings and/or losing the only person he ever cared about. every single one of his actions and assumed mindsets were called into question, and this is something he later internalized against himself.

i've talked about it on this blog before, but i believe one of the most important elements of heathcliff's childhood in wuthering heights for his characterization in limbus company is when he instinctively saved the life of his abuser's child. heathcliff swooped in and saved the child from a fatal fall without hesitation or thought. it's his nature to follow his heart and do what he believes the right thing to be. however, heathcliff realized a moment later that he had just done a good thing for his abuser, thus further distancing himself from catherine. he second-guesses his own instincts and is filled with transparent hatred and regret.

this is also related to his conflict with catherine and other social systems at large. catherine obsesses over her status and dwells on the ramifications of a union with heathcliff. heathcliff, however, loves her and believes that to be more important than everything else. her disagreement and casual disregard for his personhood in favor of her ability to get everything she wants pushes him out of the estate to begin with.

in limbus company, however? heathcliff doesn't have the dynamic with his abuser looming over him, nor any implications of threats to his status (beyond vergilius, but at least that isn't personal). he doesn't have to second-guess himself for the sake of his survival and getting what he wants anymore. in canto IV, those very instincts save gregor's life. he can just do what he wants, and even if he messes up and dies, he can just immediately be brought back to life with no consequences. he is freer now than he's ever been in his entire life, and he knows better than everyone the joys of not needing to overthink every single thing he does.

so no, heathcliff is not an idiot. i speculate he's just gotten a taste of freedom he's rarely known and he is relishing it.

#limbus company #limbus company speculation #lcb heathcliff #not even getting into how heathcliff tries to use this perspective to get ishmael to calm down in the magic hell bus #he knows what overthinking does and wants no more of it #dreamy sigh

[eunoiathewriter]

xavier thorpe x reader

where he has a dream that y/n dies, and just as they’re on the way to see him.

(but luckily they end up surviving barely)

X. THORPE X F!READER

Sypnosis: He wakes up and finds that his dream might be reality, which, in this case, is not good

Word Count: 3.3k

The crunching sounds of footsteps in the snow broke the eerie silence of the woods around Nevermore. However, no matter how much he wanted to move, he couldn't, and it was as if he were just invisible and could somehow see all that happened but could not move a single inch. The steps grew closer, and the sound of someone muttering incoherent things was vivid.

The figure walked past his nonexistent self in this dream. The figure was clearly frostbitten from the cold that was there, seeing as it was snowing outside. Whoever the figure was, it tried to keep warm; the hood of a hoodie that covered its face and the jacket gave off that impression. When the figure was about six feet in front of him, he began to move, following whoever had just passed through his dreams.

But it was the voice that gave away who it was. Even though her teeth were clattering from the cold and her whole body shook, missing the warmth of her dorm, he could still make out who she was. "You just had to tell me to come out here tonight, didn't you, Thorpe?"

Her muttering and cursing him for his bad timing was nothing new. y/n had over the years of knowing Xavier often had him come to her and just last minute ask for things. That could be anything from a pencil right before class to sneaking into her dorm and asking if she wanted to go to his shed with him at around eleven o'clock. But every time, she would always feel obligated to actually go with him or help him with things. Seeing as he would become a bit sour if she didn't.

But as she walked through the woods, she made sure to not trip and fall; that would be embarrassing. She did not fear anything in the woods; even though there was that thing running around killing people, it just did not really make her feel scared. She had gone to Nevermore long enough to just feel that that thing, the hyde, as Wednesday said its name was, would just not go onto the school's property. Given that the majority of murders occurred in Jericho and not elsewhere.

Then something made him stop—the sound of someone or something walking. She froze in place and listened, trying to see if she could hear anything—breathing, footsteps—just anything. But when there was no more sound, she only shook her head and continued walking.

She got closer and closer to his shed. Thank you to whoever invented hoodies, jackets, handwarmers, and any other form of warm clothing. Without it, she knew she'd be a human popsicle before she even got to Xaviers' shed. But it was yet another set of footsteps once more that made her turn, brows knitted together in confusion and slight fear.

She looked around the forest. In front of her, nothing; behind her, nothing except the shed, which was a good bit from where she was; nothing on the right side. On the left side, there is also nothing. "I swear to God, Xavier, if that's you, I'm going to get Wednesday to kill you, and she will enjoy it!"

She waited just a moment more to see if her words would make him walk out and reveal himself, with that stupid smirk on his face and chuckling at her, telling her she was just messing with her. But no, he did not walk out because he was not there, except he was there but not physically.

This time, when y/n turned back to start walking, she had a concerned look on her face. Perhaps she misjudged the hyde; perhaps it was present.Her face turned up with a hint of fear as she started walking towards the shed that was out of her line of sight and all she focused on. Even though more steps seemed to come closer, she did not turn. She hoped, prayed to any god she could think of, that it was just Xavier and she could hit him for scaring her.

Due to the cold, her hands shook as she reached the shed and saw that no light was on inside. Waking up towards the door, she let out a groan. Xavier couldn't be there because the door was locked.Had he forgotten? No, he would never. And there was no way he was inside, seeing as he was no ghost, so going through walls was sort of out of the question.

"Goddammit," y/n cursed again, hitting her head on the door. With a glance around, seeing as the woods now felt even more eerie than before, she hesitantly took her phone out of her inner pocket.

Turning it on, y/n immediately went into contacts, scrolling and then clicking on his name. Putting it to her ear, she waited. One beep, two beeps, three beeps, four beeps, five beeps, no answer. The fear in her body made her not even think of trying his number once more, and instead she clicked off the call.

Going back to her contacts, she had to think for just a second before it hit her. Scrolling as far up as she could, she clicked on the second-best option: Ajax.

"Come on, come one." It was anxiety-inducing just to wait for him to pick up, but luckily, Ajax always answered.

"Yeah?" His voice made her sigh out of happiness to have reached one of them.

"Hey, Ajax, it's me."

"Oh," he said, slightly surprised. "Is there anything I could do for you? I mean, it is kind of late."

"Yeah, ehm, me and Xavier were supposed to meet up, and he hasn't shown up. I was just wondering if you knew where he was?"

There was a pause on the other side of the phone. "Last I saw him, he was going to our dorm to get his jacket. He said he was going out. Now I know why."

"Okay, Ajax, don't. How long ago was this anyways?"

"Shit, I don't know, but you know he's probably on his way right now; don't worry."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right, thank you; it's just a tad, ehm." y/n trailed off looking around. "A little spooky out here alone."

"Well don't worry, I'm sure he'll show up soon."

"Mhm, thanks,"

"No problem,"

With that, the call ended.

So she waited a bit more. She was walking back and forth in front of the shed, just waiting for him to suddenly be there and let her inside. But time went slowly, and suddenly five minutes had turned into twenty, making her more and more impatient.

Just as y/n was about to walk back to school, sure as hell done with this and not caring if it was after curfew, she was going to mutilate Xavier, but she was stopped. Heavy footsteps sounded behind her, making her turn quickly, only to find emptiness. Then, yet again, a branch broke under pressure (which was not hers).

Then heavy breathing and footsteps were right behind her; she now stood with her face towards the shed. The breathing was very loud and strong; she could feel whatever it was breathing out, clearly not human. She closed her eyes, let out a shaken breath to calm herself, y/n then slowly turned, only to be faced with that.

The same thing that had occupied Xaviers' dreams for the past months, the hyde stood right before her.

—

The sound of a door slamming shut was what woke him up. Jolting upright at the sound, his mind was still foggy while looking around. Getting used to the light of the fully lit dorm took some time, but slowly his eyes adjusted.

Turning his head to the door into the dorm, Xavier came face to face with Ajax, who had stopped dead in his tracks. His mind still not completely clear, he rubbed his face and ran a hand through his hair, then turned back to his new dorm mate.

"Jeez, did your soul enter your body again? 'Cause that's what it looked like." Ajax remarked as he made his way to his bed, which had previously been Rowans'. The gorgon had moved in not soon after Rowan disappeared; it was to "make sure there were dorms in case of new students."

"Feels like it." Xavier looked around, still extremely confused at both the dream and all. It felt like he had forgotten something.

Looking around, he found that it was dark outside; the clock on his nightstand said ten thirty. His coat was almost falling off his bed, where it was not supposed to be, and his phone, well, he realised how uncomfortable he was and found it lying underneath him.

He could not, for the life of him, comprehend all of this. What was he even doing before falling asleep, because it seemed he was going to do something.

"I thought you wouldn't be back for at least another hour." Ajax said casually while sprawled out on his bed, looking at his phone.

"What?"

"I thought you and y/n would be away doing whatever you were meeting up to be doing for longer; it seems as though I was wrong." Ajax chuckled at himself but turned when Xavier was too quiet for his liking.

"How do you know that?"

"y/n called about an hour or two ago to ask where you were."

That was what he had forgotten; they were supposed to meet up at his shed. Just a little before nine o'clock was their decided time, and even though it was a Saturday, they still had the same curfew as any other day.

I will make what could be a long story short. Xavier had been with some of the other guys in one of their dorms to waste time, then when the clock was slowly dragging towards nine, he had gone off. He was only telling Ajax that he would be late and would be leaving.Once he had reached his dorm, for some strange reason, he had just sat down and laid back for a moment on his bed. But as he got more comfortable, his plans slipped his mind, and slowly he was pulled into dreamland. Only it did not feel like that was a dream now.

"You okay there, man?" Ajax sat up when Xavier suddenly stood up, grabbing his phone and coat, just in case.

"Just wait here," he said before going out into the hallway. He didn't care about waking up the rest of the students, or the teachers, because he might have made a critical mistake by accident.

The sounds of his quick pace did cause quite a few of the students inside their dorms to wake up, but none walked out to see what was going on. He luckily got to the girls' dorms with no problem. The darkness made it a bit hard to see, but he had learned where her dormitory was.

Knocking on the door was awkward because it would sure wake up people in the dorms around, and he would have to talk to y/n's roommate.

There was some shuffling before the door opened, and there stood an exhausted Ophilia, but the light inside was still on. "Is y/n there?"

He did not care for formalities right now and could see that there was a look of concern on Ophilia's face, yet she was also tired, as if she had been waiting.

"No, she said she was going out to meet with you." Ophilia told. "Why? Has anything happened?"

Glancing inside the dorm, he could see the clearly empty bed that had not been touched in hours. The expression on his face told Ophilia that something was clearly wrong. Why was he there and not y/n?

"Go wake Weems,"

"And do what?" Ophilia was not happy with only being told that. "Where's y/n if you're here and she's not?"

Xaviers' face said it all as he started to work on getting his coat on. The girl's face went pale, and her eyes widened as Xavier slowly started to make his way back towards his dorm, but not before turning back and saying one last thing to Ophilia:

"Go, tell Weems y/n never returned."

She did not get any tike to reply before Xavier was already heading back to his dorm. Trying to be as quick as he could without waking everyone in Nevermore, he had to pick up the pace now that he knew she wasn't in her dorm.

Opening up the door into the dorm, he found that it was still fully lit, and he was happy that the guys' dorm dad was not as strict as Mrs. Thornhill. Inside, Ajax sat at the edge of his bed, waiting patiently, as he had been told to do just minutes earlier. He stood up and saw the distressed look on Xavier's face.

"You're coming with me."

—

Ajax and Xavier shade made certain to thoroughly scavenge the woods, walking the same path that y/n had in his dream, to his shed.It was all just like in his dream, or nightmare, and snow was still falling. The sky was clear of any clouds, so the stars could be seen. To think they were just burning balls of gas from millions of light-years away.

They had their phones in hand and flashlights on to make sure they would spot y/n if she was anywhere where the naked eye would not see her. The more time that passed, the more his anxiety rose. His stomach twisted in worry.

What if she had died? What if his dreams had spared him her gruesome death? Would her body be just one of many victims? Did she feel alone when dying?

His mind raced with what-if scenarios.It was hard to concentrate on the path before him. The snow had been falling so heavily that no marks were left on the ground that could indicate where y/n had gone or if the hyde was lurking about in the shadows, waiting to pounce.

Finally reaching the shed, they both looked around in different directions to try and see if they could find anything. But there was no sign of anyone. The whole time, both boys stayed silent, and Ajax, who could at times muster up some jokes, knew that now wasn't the time for them.

"How about we each take a direction, but stay close enough to see the others' lights?" Ajax turned his head toward his friend. He did not ask how Xavier knew where to look; that was something he could ask later, but y/n could not wait if she was out there.

"Yeah, sure." Both departed in a different direction, keeping the shed as a center.

Xavier kept a close eye on every nook and cranny that his flash lit up, making sure that he did not miss anything. He was not just going to walk right past her if she was out there. No way. She would never have been alone if he had simply put on his coat and left. If she had someone with her, she would not have been alone in the eerie woods this late at night with a hyde stroking around.

As he happened to step on a branch, the sound of something rustling far away made him whip his whole body towards the sound. He remained silent while shining his light in that direction. If he just strained his ears enough, he could hear it—the sound of someone quietly praying for their life to be kept intact.

"y/n?" The quiet mutters quickly stopped as soon as he called out; a bit more rustling came from behind a bigger tree.

Slowly, very slowly, Xavier made his way towards the tree. Again, he slowly rounded the tree and found that the rustling was not from an animal but from y/n. There she sat, her whole body shaking from what had to be both the cold and fright, lightly rocking herself back and forth while keeping her head down in an attempt to keep herself safe and secure.

Dropping his phone to the ground and not caring for it as the light shone right up into the sky (his dad could buy a new one), he crouched down. Slowly getting to the same level as her, the sound of his phone hitting the ground made her body flinch a little.

"y/n," His voice was soft as he reached out and just barely touched her, but she immediately started fighting against him.

y/n yelled at him to leave her alone, hitting his hands away as he tried to grab her and drag her back into reality. Her adrenaline was clearly running high, as she did not seem to know it was him and not the hyde.

"Leave me be!" Her voice came out hoarse as she yelled, or tried to.

"Hey, hey!" Finally, after a bit of struggling, Xavier got a hold of her wrists. She tried to free herself, but clearly her body was too weak to fight hard enough. "It's me. It's me."

Never in his life would he believe that those two words, "It's me," would ever be able to make someone so full of fright and adrenaline to finally stop, which y/n did. Her entire body ceased fighting, her wrists slaking in his grip. Her breathing was laboured as she blinked and looked around for a split second before returning her gaze to him.

"Xavier?" It was a question to just confirm that she had not gone mad during her two hours of running and hiding from that creature, and she was answered.

"Yeah," Xavier said, nodding with a small smile on his face. His eyes scanned her face: a bruise on her left cheek, a busted lip, and a scrape on the right side of her forehead.

"I was just going to go back, and suddenly it was just there..." y/n choked out while gripping his arms as if to ground herself and make sure she was safe.

"Hey, it's fine," Xavier said, shaking his head as he didn't need to be told. He lightly pulled her a little closer, her arms landing around his waist as she hugged him closely.

Right now, Xavier did not care if he was getting cold from sitting in the middle of the night in the woods while it was the end of November, almost December. All he cared for was that she was safe—safe in his arms and alive.

"I was just waiting for you.." Her voice was barely a whisper as she spoke, clinging onto him as his arms had encircled her. One of his hands was on her cheek, thumb rubbing along her cheekbone as his chin rested on top of her head.

"I know." Guilt made a lump form in his throat. "I'm sorry."

They sat there, on the cold ground, Xavier holding onto her as if he were a shelter from the evil, all while y/n moved so the side of her head rested against his chest. Ear pressed to his heart, the constant beating was, in a way, calming. Her arms around his waist are not loosening.

"It almost got me." A stray tear fell down her cheek, but his hand that caressed it was quick to wipe it away. Pressing a kiss to her forehead and holding her even closer if that was possible.

"You're fine." It was more to reassure himself that she was indeed fine, or as fine as she could be after hiding and being attacked for the past two hours.

He could slowly feel the adrenaline in her body oozing out as she slowly relaxed into him more, almost her whole body weight leaning onto him. At last, y/n let out that one breath, that last shaky breath that needed to come out, her eyes closing for a second.

"Thank you.."

Once more, Xavier pressed a kiss to her forehead before resting his head atop hers. He waited a little longer before calling Ajax and telling him he had found her.

"You're okay."

Hope y'all like this, and why does everyone fanfic I write become longer than I intend them to? Maybe I'm word vomiting too much lol.

Anyway, requests are always open and I got another ifc coming tomorrow :))

Tagged people:

@getbillzoned @honeybubblepopp @mrskeery-mclaughlin @aspenreadsfanfic @wonderlandco @quinn165 @alicews @l4venderia @navs-bhat @ariianelle @i-bitch-you-bitch @sleepy-potato16 @moose-ubi @lomllino @honey-with-tea @cheryhrts @rayliz793 @moatsnow @s0ftdr1nks @writing-fanics

#xavier thorpe x y/n #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe #xavier x reader #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier x you #xavier thorpe fluff #xavier thorpe wednesday #xavier thorpe fanfic #xavier thorpe fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #wednesday series #wednesday xavier #wednesday fanfic #wednesday addams #fluff #xavier smut #smut #angst #imagine #percy hynes white #the gifted

[iamcalmdammit]

Nice to have a friend || [Simon "Ghost" Riley]

Note: I was so surprised that many of you wanted to read this stupid little thing. Read the notes for more after reading the whole thing.

Taglist: @untoldshortsofthefandoms @shoxji @atlantic-sugar @lujain420 @androgynoushellscape @actuallyanita

"What a coincidence, I knew a Simon Riley back when I was a kid," you noted with an adorable laugh after Price introduced the team to you.

Yes, that was me, Ghost was dying to tell you but his tongue was tied. That was the whole point of the mask, to keep his anonymity.

Seeing a familiar face from Manchester, someone he had fond memories of was a real serotonin boost for the rest of the week. You changed a lot since he had last seen you. Back in the day you used to be a pink-loving little girl who went to ballet classes after school, always the one to try and deescalate the fights between the boys.

Every time he laid his eyes on you and noted how far you'd come, his heart was filled with warmth. He was proud of you. Your sense of humor had matured over the years, but you could easily draw a smile on his face with your comments, you became strong and independent, and damn it, you were definitely easy on the eye too.

And this brought back memories, like the one from the first time he had actually talked to you after school. It was a cold, snowy day and he overheard you panicking about losing one of your gloves. He didn't want you to freeze to death on the way home so he decided to give you his gloves just in case. In return you asked him if he wanted to come over and play your brother's video games with you. From that day on, you occasionally met outside of school as well, and those were the happiest memories from his fucked up childhood.

"You seem to be really lost in your thoughts. What's up with you?" Soap asked him one day when the core team visited a bar after a mission.

Ghost let out a groan. He had noticed it before. The deep conversations you and Gaz were having more and more often, the little inside jokes no one but the two of you understood, and the lingering looks that strangely enraged him every single time. And now you were back at it again, staying within your own little bubble in the bar.

"Come on, Lt., you know you can trust me," the sergeant tried again after a minute or two. "Whatever it is, talking about it might be able to help."

He was right, but he had to be careful. "I think something's going on between those two," he said after a short while, as if he was just pointing out something quite obvious.

Soap looked over at you and Gaz. He even tilted his head to the side like a curious puppy as he tried to see what Ghost was trying to point out. "You think so? I haven't noticed anything unusual," he said.

Could it be that he was seeing more into the situation? "Maybe I'm wrong. I don't know." And with that, he dismissed the idea. It was nothing more but his surprisingly vivid imagination playing games with him. That was all.

Or was it?

Fuck.

When he was alone in bed, he always thought about you. It was strange, he wasn't the type to get fixated on women this much. But you… You were an exception. Every inch of his body was craving you, a primal need infesting his brain every time he thought of you. This led to times when his hand found its way under his jeans to end his suffering for the time being.

When he was away from you and didn't see more into certain situations, he often imagined what it would be like to have you around all the time. Seeing you walk around his shitty apartment in his shirt, having breakfast together, watching a movie with you in his arms, or him exploring your body over and over again, drawing one orgasm out of you after another.

It was bad. He was caught in a spiral and had no idea how to get out of it if you couldn't be his. Each passing day made it worse, he got lost in a fantasy world and was terrified to face you again. What if his instincts turned out to be right one day? What if he found out you were in a relationship with someone else, let alone with someone he knew very well?

And then the worst happened.

"I owe you a drink," Soap told him out of nowhere during their next mission. Ghost had absolutely no idea what he was talking about so he put down the weapon he had in his hand until then and gave him an expectant look. "You were right about Y/N and Gaz, those two are definitely together. I just caught a glimpse of Gaz having his tongue down her throat behind the building," he explained with a laugh.

But he couldn't laugh, not when every cell in his body wanted to scream. He had kept his distance so well in the past months that you barely talked to each other. This was a big mistake, he could see that now. Maybe if you knew the truth, if you knew he was that boy from your childhood, things would be different. You could be friends again, and once you were relaxed enough around him, he could try to see if you wanted more than that.

He couldn't even look you in the eye after Soap's announcement. If you asked him anything, he kept the number of his words to the bare minimum, and this didn't go unnoticed by you. "Do you have a problem with me?" you once asked him when you were left alone following a briefing.

How could you sound so sweet and innocent? How could he lie to you when you were looking at him like that? But he had to do it, he couldn't tell you that he was jealous. That he, despite being friends with Gaz, thought you made the wrong choice this time.

"No, I don't," he replied then walked away without another word.

Two days later Price stopped in front of him and watched him with a questioning look. He waited, hoping the Captain would get bored of this silent game and just tell him what he wanted. In the end he took a deep breath and asked, "Are you okay?"

Strange. "I am. Why?"

"Listen, Simon, I know the history of every member of this team. I know you and Y/N went to the same school at the same time back in the day. Did you know her back then?" he asked seriously, although Ghost could see the hint of a smile on his lips.

Was he about to scold him or praise him? He wasn't entirely sure. "I did. Why?"

"You've been different lately, especially when she's around. I'm not saying you've been making mistakes because it wouldn't be true, but maybe you should consider telling her the truth. There's tension between you and I'm not sure that's good for the team in the long run."

And Price was right. If he kept himself isolated for much longer, if he kept letting his fantasies take over his unwind-time, then he would soon be in serious trouble on the field. And not just him, but everyone else he worked with. Every. Single. One. Of. Them.

But despite the initial drive to do as Price advised, it actually took him a month to finally man up and talk to you. Even then he hesitated, wondering exactly how and when to approach you, preferably without any other member of the team around. Then the opportunity arrived near the end of the mission when he found you alone in a room.

"Can we talk?" he asked you after he knocked on the doorframe. You looked surprised at first. It was understandable, after all you had talked around a total of fifteen minutes in the past months. Ghost gulped loudly and closed the door after you nodded. "I'll make it quick. There's something I need to tell you."

He stopped and you waited. "Okay?"

Breathe in. Breathe out. It wasn't that hard. "When I was a kid, there was a girl in school," he began. "One day she lost her gloves and I gave her mine so her hands wouldn't freeze off in the middle of the winter cold. I think that's when we became friends."

Your eyes narrowed. Your breath caught in your throat. At that moment, you knew the truth. "Simon?" you whispered his name quietly.

He nodded in response, a delicate smile creeping on his lips under the mask as he watched you. A part of him hoped you would be excited, that you would wrap your arms around him to pull him into a tight hug. But his imagination failed him, your reaction was quite the opposite. You buried a hand on your hair and turned your back to him as you tried to process the news.

Then, after what felt like an eternity to Ghost, you finally turned back to him. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

Your voice was fused with anger and he honestly couldn't blame you. "I prefer anonymity these days," he replied, pointing at his skull mask.

"Why now?"

Because I can't stop thinking about you and it's getting awkward and also affects my performance in the team. Fuck. He couldn't tell you that. "Price gave me a pep talk. He thinks it would be better for the both of us if I was honest with you." Well, this was true. He did say that.

"Great. Now I know. Is there anything else?" you asked, your voice unusually cold.

There was nothing left to say. He could've asked you about Gaz, whether you were truly in love with him or only had fun during missions, but he kept his mouth shut. You were mad. He didn't want to make things even worse. So he walked away and decided to focus on the rest of this mission instead.

You avoided him from this point on. While until now it had been him who did that, now the tables turned and you were the one who didn't want to talk to him unless it was absolutely necessary. Months passed like that and he was beginning to worry that things would never be okay with you.

Then things slowly began to change. You began to ask him how he was, sometimes asked for his opinion, and generally acted nicer around him. At first he thought it was just his raging imagination playing games again, but no. You were really warming up to him.

"Wanna go out for a drink?" you asked him one day.

Ghost wanted to say yes, but it wasn't the right time for that. "We're working."

You nonchalantly waved your hand at him. "Nah, I checked with the Cap, he's okay with it if we don't stay long and don't get too drunk," you explained with a playful grin. "So, what do you say?"

Nodding, he followed you out to the car that parked in front of the temporary base. Friends. You had to be friends again first. But it was a start, he could definitely work with that.

#sorry no happy end for our boy #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty #modern warfare #modern warfare ii

[blouisparadise]

Here are some amazing bottom Louis fics that were posted or completed during the month of March. We really hope you enjoy this list. Happy reading!

1) Bloodsucker | Not Rated | 1,738 words

Harry and Louis’ passionate night takes a violent turn.

2) Hell Is A Teenage Boy | Explicit | 1,970 words

In the quiet suburbs of Roswell, the Tomlinson family has new neighbors: Harry and Alice Styles, a lovely and happy couple. Where Louis, a hopeless rebel fell for the man in the suit. Of course, he can't forget his pretty model wife holding his arm. Simple details.

3) Sweet But Psycho Only For You | Mature | 2,728 words

Finding your forever person is something that many dream to do. For some it takes longer than others and the trials it takes to get to that person can be overwhelming. For Harry it was simple. He didn’t have to relive a Shakespearean play or over exaggerated drama to find his love. He met his person at a corner store at 3am yelling at a clerk over cereal and instantly fell in love. It was all so simple. They dated, fought, fucked, moved in together. Oh, so simple. Until it wasn’t.

4) Blue Yarn | Explicit | 2,875 words

Louis was on his hands and knees on their bed, in nothing but the blue jumper Harry had knitted him, arching his back beautifully, fucking himself on… And Harry had to take one step closer before he realized that, outside of Louis’ bum, the end of his thickest knitting needle was poking out. Holy fucking shit. Louis was fucking himself on Harry's knitting needle.

5) To Make a Home Where There Is None | Mature | 3,907 words

Harry shows up and doesn't want to leave. Louis doesn't mind too much.

6) Your Hand In My Hand, So Still And Discreet | Explicit | 4,513 words

“It was about how cold he was under me. How still. It was knowing that even if he had died, even if he was already dead, he would still be mine.” Louis thought he knew each one of his boyfriend’s stories, secrets, and kinks. Turns out Harry was keeping a crucial one hidden away.

7) Haze On The Horizon | Explicit | 6,397 words

“— Louis?” He couldn’t speak. He should hang up. He should’ve never called. His breaths were building into a staccato. “…baby? Are you doing alright? Talk to me, please.” Harry sounded so concerned, and it was quickly weakening his defences. No. No, he wouldn’t. No- “Omega,” Harry called, voice low and just shy of his alpha voice, even through the phone, and Louis just… Louis broke. “I miss you! I-” he cried out, an agonising crack in his voice, a loud sob being ripped from him. “— I need you!” Louis sniffled harshly, slumping, before admitting, quieter, “I need you.” Louis finds himself unexpectedly going into soft heat. Which would’ve been fine, except he is hundreds of miles away from his alpha, Harry, and he needs him. They make it work.

8) Pour Some Sugar (Wax) On Me | Explicit | 11,213 words

Note: This fic has mentions of BH.

“Okay, so I just need you to hug your legs to your chest for me, and we can get started.” Swallowing past the lump that has lodged in his throat, Louis reaches down and grabs his shins, hugging his legs up to his chest, effectively putting his bare asshole, taint, and balls on display.

9) The Room Thief | Not Rated | 12,321 words

Louis: Can I come over? Need your help. Niall: Did someone die? I don’t need to help you bury a body do I? Wait, did you behead one of your alpha flatmates? I hope it was the one that smells like cherries. That is such a weird scent for an alpha. It’s disturbing. And I can’t even smell it. Louis: I’ve just been kicked out. Can I crash on your couch? Niall: Zayn’s in class. I’m here so get over here NOW. Louis: Thanks mate. Gonna pack a few things and will head over. Be there in about a half hour.

10) I Dig Your Cinema | Explicit | 12,930 words

It wasn’t that Louis didn’t want to see Harry’s latest film; it was a tragically pathetic fact that Louis had watched every single show and film, every interview, every red carpet that Harry had done since his ex-boyfriend had decided to leave Uni in the second year and pursue an acting career. It's just that he wanted to watch it on his own, in his flat, with a soft blanket, beer, ice cream, and a large box of tissues.

11) I'll Look After You | Mature | 15,471 words

I mean, when Harry inherited his late uncle's hybrid, he didn't necessarily expect this... Where Louis is a nice hybrid cat who's never lived with anyone but an old man, and who discovers the freedom of living with Harry...

12) I Don’t Want You | Mature | 35,941 words

Louis never wanted to be an omega. He didn’t want to end up like his mother- a submissive omega that married his father in an arranged marriage, and is now living her life as a baby making machine, and a trophy wife who can never voice her opinion- Louis was never the quiet type, he always said exactly what he thought. But life has a funny way of fucking him over and Louis finds himself forced into an arranged marriage with the one and only Harry styles.

13) Hiding Green Smiles | Explicit | 45,227 words

Louis’ heart is racing in his chest. The idea of temporary bonding—letting Harry bite down right on that spot without it being a real bond—makes his mouth go dry. He didn’t even know something like this existed! His mind fills with all the possibilities and questions. What’s it going to feel like? How will it affect his orgasms? How will it affect Harry’s knot? What parts of a bond does it simulate? When Louis goes with Liam to a hidden sex shop, he discovers a new sex toy, the BiteMat, and he can't believe his luck. He loves being bitten, has a biting kink, even, and now he can be bitten over his bonding spot without the fear of anything permanent. He hastily buys it to try with Harry, his friend and roommate, and his regular heat/rut partner for the last eighteen months. They've been friends-with-benefits outside heat or rut for eight months now, and Louis' been desperately in love with Harry for at least five of those months.

14) A Match Into Water | Not Rated | 68,756 words

“So, who’s the guy?” Louis startled at the question, immediately locking his phone and dropping it onto the beanbag cushion below him. This was a topic he desperately wanted to avoid with his friends, but it was bound to happen sooner or later. That didn’t mean he would try to avoid it though. “What guy?” He rushed out, looking at Liza with a dumbfounded expression, trying his best to avoid Niall and Jeremy clearly sharing a knowing look. “You’ve been on your phone nonstop, you’re never on your phone while working. Not to mention, you’re smiling at your phone like a nutter,” Niall pipes up, grinning at him facetiously.

15) I Would Rather Go Blind | Mature | 79,150 words

"What are you doing here, Harry?" Louis asked with confidence, his gaze briefly flickering to Harry's plump lips, a momentary hint of desire flickering in his eyes. "I…" Harry's voice caught in his throat as Louis' gaze travelled downward, coming to rest on his chest. Without hesitation, Louis raised his hands from the desk, bringing them to Harry's chest, helping him button the one he had missed. When he attempted to pull away, Harry's hand shot out and gripped at his wrist. "You're shaking," Louis observed, his eyes shifting to their joined hands before returning to meet Harry's gaze, unwavering. "It's…" Harry cleared his throat. "It's you. You make me… I don't know what is happening to me." "What do you feel?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "It's… warm," he began, shyly bringing Louis' hand against the centre of his chest over his shirt. "Here." His hand slid down to his stomach, their eyes locked in a powerful gaze. "And here." They remained silent for a moment, both captivated by the intensity of their connection. "Every time you're near me."

16) As Sweet As You Are | Mature | 87,394 words

Note: This fic was deleted and has now been reuploaded.

"Do you not have something more expensive?" The alpha gives him a weird look, resting his hands on the table. "Definitely not something the cost of that shade of blue that are your eyes," he responds effortlessly. "Why is a male omega on his own out in the middle of the woods at this time of night?" Harry speaks, staring intensely at the prince, smirk lingering on his face. "Your kind is rather rare. You should be more careful. There are a lot of rogue alphas around that won't blink until they've knotted and bred you up." The blue eyed omega swallows, shuffling in his seat awkwardly and looking anywhere but the alpha before him. "I ran away from home," Louis admits, occupying himself by taking a sip of the lager instead of thinking about the fact that the alpha hasn't yet taken his eyes off him. "My parents want me to marry someone I do not want to marry, so I ran."

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

You can find other monthly roundup fic rec lists here.

#fic recs #bottom louis #top harry #larry #blp #blp fic recs

[m4ctavish]

ghost — the apprentice.

masterlist.

pairing : simon “ghost” riley and gn!reader

desc : i can’t think of a funny description so, in short, ghost takes reader under his wing and teaches them a thing or two from his personal handbook. (“i’m reader and this is ghost and you’re watching jackass.” queue homemade c4 blowing up in the background)

a/n : ghost has reader on one of those kiddy leashes with like, a cat on it or smth.

simon “ghost” riley :

ghost really has to see something in you in order for him to even consider taking you under his wing. you’d have to show him that you’re worth him taking extra time out of his day to teach you something that you may just forget within the day

he can be a bit of an intimidating teacher. he’ll often quiz you on things he’s gone over with you within the past week or so, so you can either cover them again or figure out what you need to improve on.

there’s a variety of things he may go over depending on where your curiosity lies. guerilla warfare, hand to hand, knife efficiency, etc.

knife efficiency would likely be the one he’s the most serious about— he kind of has to be. all it takes is your target turning around and reacting before you do. perhaps you’re already efficient with a knife but there’s always room for improvement and ghost offers a plethora of information one normally wouldn’t know. he’s circling you like a hawk the entire time you go through the forms he taught you, stepping in with an occasional but jarring, “wrong.” every now and then. he’d then move to correct either your posture or the way you’re holding your blade. on another hand, if the two of you are doing a spar session for him to get a hands on assessment of your skill, he’ll be taking it as seriously as he does in the field. about maybe 30 seconds in, you’ll end up with a knife pressed up against your ribs, “you’re dead. stop being so open unless you want to get yourself killed.” or to your throat, “dead again. fix it.” he understands that sometimes mistakes happen. it’s just human nature. but he wants you to be able to minimize those chances so you don’t end up with a gun pressed to your head when you failed an otherwise safe takedown.

hand to hand is essentially the same. he’ll go through some forms with you, as well as a few moves. some are meant for immobilizing, others with the intent of knocking someone out cold. he’ll give you a demonstration on a training dummy beforehand, making sure to explain thoroughly what exactly you’re aiming for as well as the amount of force that should be behind your hit. adding on to that, he’d single out all of the weak points on the human body and what it’d take to cause some damage. (leaves you a bit concerned about how he knows all of this but maybe you don’t want to know..)

guerilla warfare and learning to make do with limited resources would likely be the most enjoyable/fun. it’s almost like an arts and crafts class except your crafts teacher is a decorated war veteran who kills people for a living. he’d give you a demonstration beforehand, listing off what you may need given what you have around you, then he’d give you instructions for whatever it is you’ll be putting together and see how quickly you can assemble it. (maybe if you’re lucky, he’ll take you out to a clearing and let you try out your freshly assembled trip mine or smoke grenade. just to see how effective it is.)

make him proud in the field; put your new knowledge to use. show him that everything he told you and showed you didn’t just vanish from your mind overnight.

the two of you make one hell of a team on stealth missions. rest easy knowing that he’s got your back the entire time, even if he’s not in your line of sight. (“coming up on your six.” or “on you, mate.”)

once everything is clear and you’re sitting on the helo after exfil, he’ll give you an affirming pat on the shoulder and a nod of his head. (“did good. keep it up.”)

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #call of duty x reader #ghost x reader #ghost x you

[happy74827]

Burning Bridges

[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Upon an incident that was out of your control, Dexter comes to the realization that it wasn't just a coincidence.

WC: 1951

Category: Slight Angst, Hurt/Comfort

I forgot how much I missed this show (him), so I decided to write another. It's been so long since I last wrote for him that I actually see the difference in my writing. It's wack.

『••✎••』

Dexter was many things… a brother, a son, a pro bowler, a serial killer… but what he lacked was being a good friend.

He didn't understand friendship or its value. It was something that he simply couldn't grasp. Sure, he was able to fake it well enough in order to make sure that people liked him and didn't find him too creepy or strange, but there was never any real emotional connection. In his mind, everyone was either someone he needed or someone he didn't need, and he would treat them accordingly. The only exceptions to this rule were his sister, Debra, and you.

The two of you had met back in college, having been assigned to be each other's partners for a group project. It was a poetry class and a course that Dexter hadn't really wanted to take, but a general education requirement and the promise of an easy A convinced him to at least show-up and suffer through it. Well, for a guy who had to fake every single aspect of his personality in order to fit in with society, it turned out that poetry didn’t come quite as easily as he thought it would.

He had always found the art form to be rather silly, with all the emphasis on metaphors and flowery language. There was no purpose or goal other than to be creative and artsy, and it bored him to no end. The first time you had sat down with him to discuss the project, you could tell how much he didn't want to be there, and the look of complete disinterest on his face as he tried to figure out what your poem meant was the most hilarious thing that you had seen in a while. You couldn't help but laugh, the sound of which made him sit up and give you a quizzical look.

"What?" He asked, tilting his head slightly, confused.

"Nothing," you replied, still giggling. "It's just that I can tell that you don't like poetry."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because you haven't said a word; you're just sitting there, staring off into space and twirling your pencil between your fingers," you told him, and he glanced down at the utensil as if he didn't realize that he was doing that.

"Oh. Sorry, I guess," he apologized, his tone making it clear that he was actually a little annoyed at having been called out on his inattentiveness.

"That's okay. I like poetry, so I'll be happy to do most of the work," you offered, smiling sweetly, and his eyebrows raised.

And that you did. In fact, you loved it so much that you majored in English and planned on getting your Masters, while Dexter got his degree in criminology. It was a nice trade-off because while he struggled in poetry, getting down into the debts of his feelings that were nonexistent, you struggled with chemistry, unable to wrap your head around the subject no matter how hard you tried.

So, the two of you had a mutually beneficial agreement. You did all the work for the poetry class, and in exchange, he tutored you in chemistry and made sure that you got a decent grade. Once the class was over and done with, the two of you stayed friends, though you had very little in common. Dexter had no interest in books, and you had no interest in criminology. He was a loner, and you had plenty of friends. You were a romantic, and he was completely unromantic. He didn't even have a girlfriend, and you had been in three different relationships over the course of the two years that you had known him.

Still, the two of you got along well enough. You were one of the only people that Dexter could actually stand for more than five minutes, and he was the same to you. So you went out to the bar sometimes, hung out with his sister, and did your best to keep him company while also doing your best to try to set him up on dates, hoping that one of these days, he'd actually find someone. It eventually did work out when you found him Rita, but as of right now, she had broken up with him, and he was back to being a lonely bachelor which it didn't bother him much until now.

You were in the hospital, your head wrapped and bandaged like a mummy. You were apparently attacked outside the grocery store, and if it wasn’t for the small instructions he had given you for self-defense, you most likely wouldn’t have survived.

At first, Dexter didn’t think of it as anything important in terms of his line of work. He believed it to be a coincidence, a random crime in the night. But it turned into something more the night he decided to visit with some cake.

“How’s the head?” He asked as he came inside, seeing you propped up reading. Of course, you were reading.

You shrugged. “Like I’m wearing a sweater hat, but it doesn't hurt, so there's that." You paused, setting down your book and glancing at him. "I’m still salty about my groceries. Almost two hundred dollars I spent on that stuff. Gone. Wasted. Poof."

Dexter had to chuckle a bit. "Hey, I can't do much about the food, but I brought you something," he said, revealing the white box.

"Is it chocolate? If it is, I love you," you joked.

"No, it's just vanilla. But, here."

He opened the lid and showed you, and you immediately lit up.

"Awww, Dexter! You are the best friend ever," you gushed, giving him a warm smile.

He smiled back. "It's the least I could do."

He was cutting it up for you when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. You didn’t seem to notice, but out in the hall, a shadow passed by the window. His body went on alert, eyes flickering towards the door. He couldn’t see much, but he could make out an elderly man with gray hair and a beard.

Dexter's face remained unchanged, though his body language betrayed him as he sat the cake knife down. He knew that look. That look in a man's eyes when he was looking at prey. This was a predator.

"Hey, uh, what was that description again? Of the man who attacked you," Dexter asked, his tone a bit distracted.

"You mean Santa Claus on drugs? That pretty much sums it up. Why?" You looked up, confused.

"I don't know. It's probably nothing."

But it was something. The man had apparently come back to finish the job, and Dexter's jaw clenched at the thought. He was already planning his death in his mind. It wouldn’t be pretty. He gave you a piece of cake, swearing that he’d be back soon before going after the man. He stopped at the lobby momentarily, informing Angel to keep an eye on you, which, of course, the cop complied with.

Angel was a good cop. He was loyal, smart, and a damn good shot. But there was one thing that made him a great cop. He cared about his city and the people in it. He would protect the innocent no matter the cost, especially when it came down to those he was closest to. He was the kind of guy who would risk his life without a second thought if it meant saving others.

This is why Dexter liked Angel and why he was the only one that he trusted with this job.

Finding the man was extremely easy on his part. Dexter already knew what the guy’s plan was, so he stuck around outside the parking lot, watching the shadows. After a few minutes, the man appeared, heading towards the entrance once again.

He never got that far.

A hand was clamped over his mouth while the other dragged him away from the double doors and towards the side of the building. Dexter didn’t pull out his knife, though, only resorting to his arms as he applied pressure against his throat. The man fought, trying to break free, but he didn't get the chance. Dexter didn’t kill him, no, not yet, but his arm was still strong, and he had no plans to let go.

“Listen closely. If you so much as look the wrong way, I will rip your heart out and shove it down your throat. Understand? Nod if you do," he threatened, his voice calm and even. The man nodded, terrified, his eyes wide.

"Good," Dexter replied, “Why are you here?"

The man was quiet, but he was breathing heavily, and his eyes were watering.

"Talk. That girl, why are you after her?"

"I’m not—”

"You attacked her, and now you came back to finish the job, did you not? Who sent you?"

The man was sweating; his face was flushed and red. Dexter was pressing too hard, and his victim was starting to lose air. He didn’t care.

"Who?" He repeated.

The man choked, unable to speak.

"Last chance. Who sent you? And don't lie to me."

The man didn’t answer, and Dexter tightened his hold. That finally did it. The man began to squirm violently, trying to break free, but it was too late. His face started to turn purple, and Dexter had to adjust his grip and pull him closer.

“It wasn’t personal! I had to! I didn't have a choice! It was just a job!" He gasped out, struggling for air. “I got paid to do it. I was just doing what I was told! Please, please, don't kill me."

"Who was it?"

"I—I don’t know. It was some lady. I met her at a bar. She didn’t give her name, but he wasn’t American. She gave me ten thousand dollars and told me that the job was to attack this chick in the parking lot and make it look like an attempted robbery. Said it had to be done in a couple of days. Listen, man, I didn't want to do it. But the money—"

"What did she look like?" Dexter cut in.

"Dark hair. Young. I don't know! I don't know, I swear. She wore sunglasses the whole time. Please, don’t kill me. Please."

Suddenly, it hit him like a ton of bricks. The Dark Passenger was roaring, the realization washing over him like cold water.

Lila.

Everything made sense now. The way she had suddenly showed up out of nowhere, the incident outside the bowling alley, her sudden interest in you. It all made sense. She was behind it. She had done it.

Dexter wanted to snap the man's neck. He wanted to rip his throat out. He wanted to take his knife and stab him over and over again, to punish him for what he had done to you, but he refrained. He had the answers he needed, and the cameras around were still running.

He dropped him and watched him collapse, gasping for air. He didn't move, too scared and in shock to do so. Dexter didn’t say a word; his anger was silent, but it was boiling beneath his skin.

He was going to kill her. He was going to hunt her down and end her, and there was no place on Earth where she could hide.

“You ever, and I mean ever, come near her again; I will tear out your spine and make you choke on it. Understand?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I understand."

Dexter didn’t say anything else; he simply walked off, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He had a lot to think about.

#dexter morgan x reader #dexter #dexter series #dexter morgan x female reader #dexter x reader #dexter x female reader #debra #debra morgan #deborah morgan #dexter morgan #michael c hall #michael x hall x reader #florida #slasher #slasher fandom #dexter fanfiction #dexter fandom #dexter tv series #dexter tv #darkly dreaming dexter #angst #hurt/comfort #protective!dexter #dexter book series #fanfiction #reader #x reader #plot driven fic #heavy angst

[dangowon]

title » boyfriend hcs !

pairing » lee heeseung x gn!reader

requested? » yes

genre » fluff

word count » 0.8k

a/n » lee heeseung is babygirl central tbh.

✧ the best way i could describe him as a boyfriend would definitely be comforting. he's such a good bf </3

✧ he lets you sit in his lap while he plays on his pc, burying his face in the crook of your neck and pressing light kisses over the area in between his matches. usually, he ends up playing until the late hours of the night, so it's no surprise you'd end up feeling drowsy in his arms eventually.

✧ a smile grows on his face every single time he hears your breathing even out, the sound of his keyboard having lulled you to sleep — at that moment, he decides to finally let his computer (and himself) rest as he turns it off and presses one last kiss to your neck before carrying you to bed.

✧ for some reason, you two always end up going out to get icecream at incredibly late hours. it often happens because neither of you can sleep and you end up sharing an icecream in tranquility that only the night can offer. oh and he lets you have most of the icecream, of course.

✧ when you go out at night without a jacket, he laughs at you when you shiver because he had specifically told you that you'd regret not taking one. he opens up his arms for you to fall into his warm embrace and kisses the top of your head lovingly. maybe you forget your jacket on purpose so that he hugs you the entire time, but he doesn't have to know.

✧ he's the cuddliest boyfriend ever, he can't sleep without holding you (or you holding him, either one works) and pouts and whines when you're not in bed next to him in the morning. he has to cuddle and talk to you for at least half an hour before going to bed and after waking up as well.

✧ if you have classes or work really early in the morning and you two can't cuddle? heeseung instantly acts like he's dying. the only way you can make it up to him is peppering kisses all over his face with a promise to give him extra attention once you get back home.

✧ whenever you're cuddling, he gives you back rubs and it's the most comforting feeling ever, especially when you've had a tiring day. he plays with your hair with one hand while the other one strokes your back, giving you kisses occasionally as he stares lovingly at you.

✧ he's so supportive of you no matter what you do. no, seriously, you could tell him you were about to commit grand larceny and he'd go "i'm so proud of you, baby <3". but of course, he's just as encouraging when it comes to more normal situations.

✧ he fully supports your choices and decisions, except if that means you're not taking care of yourself. if you're doing work or studying, he sits by your side to keep you company, ensuring that you're eating well and taking breaks so that you don't overwork yourself.

✧ he watches horror movies with you with the plan that he'll comfort you when you get scared, but after 10 minutes he's clinging onto you out of fear the entire time and burying his face in your neck when he knows there's going to be a jumpscare. you end up having to be the one comforting him honestly.

✧ jealous hee = pouty hee. if he sees you paying attention to anyone more than him, he gets petty so quickly. acts like a giant baby; he sulks as he stares at the person you're talking to, glaring at them in silence because 'that should be him you're smiling so sweetly at'.

✧ he's not very big on pda, but when he's overtaken by jealousy, he holds you close to him as if you'll disappear if he lets go. it's not as if he's insecure in the relationship you have, it's not that at all, he's just a really petty boy </3

✧ he loves showing off in front of you. when he's playing basketball, he brings you alongside him and winks at you with a smug expression right before scoring a shot. (one time he did that and ended up missing the hoop completely afterwards, you never let him live it down).

✧ he takes you with him when he's going shopping, because he trusts you enough for you to give your opinion on what clothing articles you think suit him the best. he also does this because most of his wardrobe also doubles as your wardrobe, and he'd very much prefer if you liked the hoodies that he lends to you <3

✧ on days where he's feeling a little more sentimental, he holds you as he tells you how much you mean to him. he could never imagine his life without you in it — you're his other half, he's so painstakingly in love with you and he ensures that you know it at all times.

✧ he loves you so much, it's almost painful to look at </3

#✧ yun writes #enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #heeseung #lee heeseung #heeseung x reader #lee heeseung x reader #heeseung x you #heeseung x y/n #heeseung imagines #heeseung scenarios #heeseung fluff #heeseung drabbles

[polyamorouspunk]

The first time I ever heard the phrase “pick your battles” was when I was about 12 years old in eight grade. The grade above us was filled with kids who drank and smoked and did drugs and the grade below us was filled with kids having sex in public bathrooms and somehow we were stuck in the middle, reaping the restrictions put on us for crimes we didn’t commit. One of these being that we were not allowed any personal bags in our wing.

Now, if you’re like me, you carry a *lot* of shit. I mean, there’s textbooks, reading books, food, water, phone, pens and pencils, an eraser that actually works, FeMiNiNe hYgIeNe pRoDuCtS, and idk? Random other shit? Too much to reasonably carry from class to class in your arms and pockets.

So my friends and I wore bags. Purses, if you will, though I hated that term because it was a bit too girly for me, and my “purses” came from the military surplus store. In fact, I still have the last one I got from there. Regardless, my point being that we wore personal bags to carry our shit in.

Except that wasn’t allowed because kids *before* us would sneak their alcohol and shit with them in bags.

Now, nowhere in the handbook did it say we weren’t allowed to have bags- trust me, we checked. Our parents helped us take up the cause- us being me and my 2 friends. But our teachers collectively decided we were not allowed to have them in our wing, they had to stay in our lockers. And so we asked: how them are we to transport them outside of our wing if our lockers are in said wing. If we can’t have them in the hallway how can we have them outside the hallway if we have to store them in the lockers in this hallway.

One day my teacher who had a soft spot for us pulled me aside. He told me he knew that I was on a campaign against this, but that sometimes we need to pick our battles. I had never heard of this phrase, so I sat on it for about .5 seconds before saying “then I’m going to pick this battle and continue fighting it.”

I understand now what he means though. We can’t change everything that we want to. There are so many causes out there, so many things that we should be aware of. But we’ll burn ourselves out trying to take them all on ourselves. It’s been said before to pick a few causes you really feel passionate about and focus on those because you can do more for change when you aren’t stretched out thin.

Beyond that, though, I think we need to pick and choose our battles because realistically there are not just things we can win, and at the end of the day some things *are* more important than others.

We live in a surveillance state. That’s clear in a lot of countries, including the US, but that’s clear on a global level. While this sucks, at least here in the US, it really seems like not enough people care to fight it. Hell, people are actively bringing surveillance devices into their homes in the name of convenience. Realistically, overturning our surveillance state doesn’t seem likely. While it’s a battle that’s noble to fight, it’s probably in vain.

But think about when Roe v Wade was overturned. How much outrage it caused. How much outrage it’s still causing. Enough people are fighting that there is hope to rectify it, I think. And when it comes down to it, if you have to pick a battle to “not be surveilled” or to “legalize life-saving medical treatment (again)” one of those seems a lot more pressing and important than the other.

It’s okay to personally put causes on the back burner. It’s okay to not reblog every single “awareness” or “woke” post you see. You’re not obligated to fight every fight. Even just reblogged activism post after activism post can be draining. It’s okay to take a step back, take a break. Don’t forget about these struggles. Keep them in the back of your mind. Maybe go back and reblog them later. But don’t burn yourself out fighting too many battles, especially if they’re losing one. Focus on a few, solid, tangible changes you can make: being kind to strangers; donating goods, services, and money; volunteering; teaching children; etc. and if you have the energy go above and beyond that. You can make a difference just by being kind. You don’t have to fix every single problem. But together we can fix a few at a time.

#long post #tl;dr there are some issues that the majority doesn’t care about enough to make real change and a few people won’t cut it #focus on what’s most important both to you and overall #it’s okay if you aren’t blowing up police buildings you can just be kind and that’s enough #personal

[mathanlin]

// mentions of bullying & abuse

Foster AU where Tommy’d been emergency fostered by his English teacher, Mr. Watson.

He’d only had one perfect week before he’d been dumped into a long-term placement, forced out  of the Watson’s home.

So it’s agonizing to see them at school every single day. 

Techno, waving to Tommy in the hallways. Wilbur, beaming at him in band class. 

And of course, Mr. Watson, teaching class like Tommy’s not withering in the back row. 

“How’ve you been?”

Tommy freezes in the classroom door. Mr. Watson smiles, like it’s just a normal interaction. Like it’s not Wilbur’s sweater Tommy’s wearing (hasn’t taken off), like he’s not still clinging to everything he can keep of them. 

“Fine.”

He can tell the man doesn’t believe it. 

(He sees Tommy’s dropping grades firsthand, after all. Surely he doesn’t know it’s because of *him,* of how Tommy almost sobs each time he reads some stupid dad joke on an assignment.)

But there’s nothing he can do.

Except cling, of course.

He still sits with the twin at lunch. Still listens to Mr. Watson’s lectures when he can’t sleep. Still begs Techno to tutor him (even if it’s just in the library, not back home).

It’s fine.

Until Wilbur gets suspended for him.

“I’m calling your father.”

The secretary’s words are directed at Wilbur — fists still red from full-on punching a bully. But Tommy can almost pretend it’s for him, too. 

Until Mr. Watson actually arrives, and the only one he looks at is Wilbur.

“Wil—”

“It was for *Tommy,* Dad,” Wilbur says, glaring defiantly. “Don’t start talking about your fucking job, I don’t care.”

Tommy’s gut somehow plummets further. *His job.* Could Mr. Watson *lose it,* because of him?

…and if he could, how angry would he be?

“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispers. Finally, Mr. Watson’s eyes fall on him. “I didn’t—”

“Have they called your parents?” he says — and for one, blissful second, Tommy’s confused. *What do you mean? You’re already here.*

But he can barely call Mr. Watson, “Phil.”

Let alone, “Dad.” 

They don’t even say goodbye before leaving. Tommy stays, still bleeding, staring at his bruises.

He’s not ready to go ‘home’ to *worse.* This time, Wilbur won’t be able to protect him.

And if he’s pissed Mr. Watson off enough, maybe he won’t be able to see them at all. 

.

.

.

“If this keeps up… you’re going to fail, Tommy.”

Mr. Watson’s trying to meet his eyes. Tommy avoids them, ducking his head and staring at his report card instead.

He shouldn’t have.

Because Mr. Watson’s eyes fall to the bruises on his wrists instead.

“Tommy.”

Tommy jerks back, startled by the teacher’s sudden concern. “They’re— they’re from those bullies,” he lies. “A while ago. I haven’t been fighting, I swear.”

The second part’s true, at least. Tommy’s never raised a hand to defend himself against any foster parent.

Mr. Watson’s eyes narrow, still impossibly soft.

But all Tommy can hear is Wilbur. *Don’t start talking about your job.* Like Mr. Watson could lose it, because of him. 

That, even if he hadn’t loved Tommy enough to keep him, he could still *hate* him.

And Tommy can’t take that.

So he’s glad when Mr. Watson doesn’t report the bruises. 

Even if it means he just has to hide more of them. Even when Mr. Watson stops packing him lunches, busy with end-of-semester work (and he didn’t have to do that in the first place. Tommy just starves quietly without them). 

His grades keep slipping. He goes hungry, day after day, patches up his bruises. Falls asleep in class (even if he’d never admit it’s from the safety of Mr. Watson’s voice). 

Mr. Watson doesn’t push.

But the twins do.

“You’re coming home.”

“What?” Tommy says, jerking awake. Techno looms over the library table where Tommy’d fled for lunch, no longer sitting with them.

“You wanted tutorin’, and I’m not doin’ it here. Come on. We’re goin’ home.”

Tommy scrambles up. “No. No, no, it’s the middle of the day, I have class, *you* have class—”

“We can skip them once,” Techno says, still walking. “You’re more important.”

“Mr. Watson—”

“—would do the same,” Techno finishes. 

He’s wrong. So wrong.

Wilbur’s waiting in the car.

Tommy bears each worried question on the car ride, answering quietly or not at all. *What happened to you? Why are you pale? Why aren’t you eating with us? What’s /wrong?/*

But then the house comes into view.

And Tommy starts sobbing.

“Please. Please, I can’t be here.”

It’s not just fear. It’s grief, torn up by seeing the home he wanted to spend forever in. He’s not sure how long he panics, twins trying to comfort him. 

But it must’ve been too long.

Because Mr. Watson’s car pulls in behind them.

“What do you think you’re *doing?*”

It’s fury, as Mr. Watson storms up the driveway, eyes locked on the twins as they rush out of the car. Tommy stumbles out the other side, hoping to slip quietly away.

But Mr. Watson sees him. His fury falters.

And then roars back full-force.

“You took him, too?!”

“Dad, quit it,” Wilbur yells. “For fuck’s sake. Be quiet for a second, okay?”

“He’s already failing class,” Mr. Watson yells right back. “You can’t do this, Wil, you’re getting him in trouble.”

*You’re getting /me/ in trouble,* Tommy hears. *My job’s in danger.*

“He’s sick, Dad,” Techno says, a little bit shaky. “Something’s wrong. Look at him.”

They do. All three of them, watching him cower, their home hovering in the corner of his vision. Taunting.

And then Wilbur’s eyes fall to the bruises on his wrist.

But unlike Phil, he does the opposite of ignoring them.

“What the fuck is that?”

Tommy jerks back. Not fast enough. (Never fast enough.)

Wilbur snatches his wrist, yanking the sleeve down. His grip is the only thing that keeps Tommy upright as the Watsons stare at every fresh, violet bruise hidden beneath Wil’s old sweater.

Silence.

Mr. Watson’s the first to speak, breathless. “You said… you said it was those bullies.”

“He *told* you?” Wilbur practically screams. 

“And you believed him?” Techno cuts in, voice low. “Those are new. And we haven’t been letting any bullies near him.”

That’s too much to process.

Even before Mr. Watson whispers like he already knows, “Tommy, who’s been hitting you?

He can’t speak. Can’t reply.

Not even when Wilbur wraps an arm around his shoulders. When Mr. Watson quietly murmurs, “Let’s get inside.”

Or when they guide him through the door. Onto their familiar, soft couch. He’s back home.

Even if it’s only for a little while.

#mcyt #dsmp #dsmp au #sbi #sbi au #threadfic #tommyinnit #technoblade #wilbur soot #philza

[ncteez]

beloved🥹 for ur sleepover could you perhaps consider #96 from that list (“I had this dream and- fuck- you couldn’t keep your hands of me.”) & vernon🫶 congrats on the 6k again you’re so talented and deserve the world and i’m so glad ur here🫶 - 🍿 x

Vernon + “I had this dream and- fuck- you couldn’t keep your hands off me.” 

wordcount: 3.1k

tags: stoner!vernon, stoner!afab reader, clearly the use of smoking weed, awkward best friends who only share their attractions to each other when they’re zooted as fuck, no joke– weed is a personality trait in this. 

warnings: mentions of anxiety and panic attacks. 

note: hi my popped p(ussy)opcorn anon! i was rly excited to write this so i hope you like it even tho i went kinda overboard. not proof read, as you know. 

~

You’re not entirely sure how you became so close with Vernon, the guy in highschool who definitely carried his lunch back to class in his pockets. Maybe it’s because college is hard, and Vernon is easy to be around. Kind of like a breath of fresh air except all the air you breathe in with him happens to be incredibly thick with smoke.

Never in your life did you consider weed as a personality trait. Not yours, anyway, until Vernon is around you. Honestly, it’s like being a burn-out during your down time is actually quite relaxing, as long as you keep up with your GPA and assignments, there’s nothing wrong with wake n’ baking. Or like, taking a few hits before a big exam to calm the anxious energy inside of you, right? 

The thing is, it’s gotten to the point that you’ve smoked in all sorts of scenarios and find the least anxiety ridden experience to be the one where it’s just you and him, sitting outside of his shitty apartment and pretending like every college kid within a six mile radius can’t sniff the two of you out.

Peer pressure be damned, Vernon was the first one to ever pass you a joint at a random party you both happened to attend. You didn’t really know why you grabbed it because you swore to yourself that you’d be straight edge until you get a degree, and then you’d maybe try buying a bottle of vodka and a sack of weed just to see what you missed out on. It was something about that night, your first college party, the first familiar face at a party, and the urge to say fuck it. 

You didn’t mean to actually inhale it, but somehow it was a natural thing your body did and Vernon didn’t even laugh at you for choking. That’s when you became friends with him, and ultimately over the months the two of you would often run into the other. 

Your first weed-induced panic attack was at a party with him, and he was honestly so fast to get you out of there without so much as knowing where you needed to go. Calming you down and very aware that you probably smoked too much, and had a little too much to drink as well. The weed wasn’t laced, he said, the alcohol wasn’t spiked, he assured. Somehow, and someway, his fried ass got you through it and the night ended much better as the two of you sat in a random person’s back yard picking their grass and talking about gods, and universes, and the theory of giants roaming the earth in ancient times. 

By now, he should know you don’t prefer the parties. It doesn’t stop him from trying to include you every single time though. Tonight was just another invitation, one in which you declined. 

Why? Smoking around other people isn’t fun. It makes you paranoid and uncomfortable. Being hit on ruins the fun too. Plus, the music is almost always trash. 

Vernon: why won’t you come?

You: you know i don’t like smoking in groups

Vernon: but free weed :( 

You: just bring some over when you’re done doing whatever you wanna do.

The way he does just that. Appearing at your door a mere four hours after he told you he was leaving for the party and smiling at you with already reddened eyes. 

“Free weed,” He starts, patting his jacket pocket and then stepping inside. “And snacks.” He adds, revealing a bag from behind him that contains the majority of snacks the two of you tend to gravitate toward. 

“God, just how much did you spend on the food?” You laugh, reaching for the bag and peeking inside. “Wait, why are you trying to butter me up?”

He scratches his ankle with his socked feet for a moment, avoiding eye contact with you and then shrugs again. 

“Because you’re my best friend?”

“Vernon, you never buy the snacks.” You narrow your eyes at him.

Another shrug before he defensively pulls the bag back, only to immediately toss it onto your counter and make himself at home in your living room. 

“Seungcheol disappeared with someone for a while and forgot that I know where his stash is.” He says, pulling out the little bag of definitely stolen weed. “I’ll pay him back later.”

You make your way next to him, immediately smelling the scent.

“How does he always manage to find the good stuff?” You ask with a chuckle, reaching forward to grab the candle lighter from your coffee table. 

“Fuck if I know.” Vernon is too focused on inspecting the buds he managed to pluck out of the original stash then turns to you. “Bong or blunt?” 

You look around. 

“Well, we aren’t at your place so unless you want to get kicked out of school I suggest we just roll a blunt and step out on the patio.”

Obviously, he’s already high and probably forgot that your place isn’t his, or that his place isn’t also yours.

“Smart girl. Always keeping me on the right path.” He compliments with a nod and a smile. “Do you have any wraps?”

That, you do. Because of course you do.

“Mango good?”

A nod. 

And you know, Vernon never was good at rolling blunts but they all smoked the same anyway. You didn’t mind the small bud leaves sticking to your lips by the time half of the blunt was smoked and you’re all curled up on the patio with your best friend beside you. 

It’s kind of weird, actually, how many times you’ve been high out of your mind and looked at him like this. It’s probably because the two of you always smoke together in the early morning or when the moon is out. You still remember the first time you looked at him this way. 

You crashed at his house after a particularly bad party and he woke you up from the couch that next morning offering a parting gift before he walked you home. After all, it was only a few streets away. His hair was a fucking mess, and his eyes were so drowsy with sleep that you could tell that he was even more groggy than you were to be awake. The morning sun burned his eyes, and likewise for you. You could see them glisten through the pain of light penetrating his pupils, and you could hear the way his nails scratched at his bed head after a winded stretch. His oversized hoodie offering the look of a particularly comfortably, but pissed off best friend for waking up so early. 

The smoke inhaled more smoothly that morning, and his smile seemed a little brighter than usual too. 

Right now, as you look at him, he’s in that exact same oversized hoodie with a beanie covering the hair he likely decided not to brush today. Despite a party, despite being out and about, he’s just….Vernon. With his febreze scented everything to hide the smell of his burn-out ways, and his stupid eyes that are always glassy and offering a watery, sparkly look. 

“What the fuck are you looking at?” He half-giggles under the discomfort of your gaze. Feeling a little insecure, in all honesty. 

“Oh, sorry.” You shake your head in a way to shake your thoughts of the constant fondness you feel for him. You’re not entirely comprehending that you admire him, you just happen to like noticing things. “I zoned out.”

“I can see that.” He smiles, turning away from you and facing the night sky. “It’s muggy out here, we should go back inside. We can finish the rest of this later?”

You nod, staring him down. Only he would wear a fucking hoodie in humid ass weather like this summer offers. He should know by now that even at night, it feels disgusting outside. 

It’s silent save for a few laughs as the two of you make your way back inside. The air conditioner hits your skin in a wonderful way, bringing goose bumps and causing you to let out a small shiver. 

“So much better,” You nearly sing-song out as you flop yourself down on the couch, your body feeling that familiar heavy feeling. “Do you think Seungcheol has noticed by now that you stole his weed?”

“Nah, he usually gives me some anyway since I’m always sharing with him.”

That’s fair. Still, the whole idea of stealing it felt dangerously funny and weirdly attractive. 

“Thanks for coming over by the way, I’m glad you weren’t too tired.” You smile, zoning out entirely by now.

Vernon hums out a response, now flopping down next to you and just lying there to feel the high he’s always chasing. 

The silence is short lived though, as he starts laughing out at nothing. You turn to look at him, waiting for some sort of joke or explanation of what he’s thinking about. 

“What’re you thinking about?” You say, almost laughing with him because it’s kind of contagious. 

“I just, like, it’s so stupid actually–” He starts, laughing out a breathy type of laugh and then taking in a breath to be able to speak again. “I was just thinking about how like, I had this dream the other day and it was literally just my old communications professor running away on stilts.”

Okay, now, hold on. That image is actually hilarious and it kind of sends you into a laughing fit too.

“What the fuck?” You laugh, wondering what he must be thinking about all the time to have dreams like that. “I never have funny dreams, mine are always scary or like…”

You trail off in a very obvious way, but thankfully Vernon isn’t amazing at finishing your thoughts or picking up on hints as to what you may have been about to say. 

Until like, fucking now apparently. 

“Oooooh,” He laughs, looking away from you. “You got a spicy dream to share?”

Man, you’ve got plenty but probably none that he’d be too interested to hear about. 

“Nah, nothing of note to really mention.” You say back, the laughing fit calming itself within you. 

“Well, that’s some bullshit. I have some pretty wild dreams, the sex ones can be kind of funny too.” 

Oh, your ears perk up. 

“What’s the funniest one you’ve ever had?” You ask, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“There was this one time I had a dream about Mingyu’s cousin.” 

You dead-pan stare at him in shock.

“I’m gonna tell on you.” You say, but he completely brushes you off.

“No! I mean, it’s not like I enjoyed it actively, but whoever I was in that dream was really going to town. I mean I was like, man–” He pauses, remembering the dream. “I’m pretty sure my dick was crying when I woke up because if I remember correctly, she was gnawing on it like a piece of beef jerky.” 

You snort and roll your eyes. 

“You’re totally the type to get off on some weird shit like that. Oh my god. Do you ever have a normal dream? Or like, a normal thought for that matter?”

He stares at you and you swear you can see his cheeks fan over with a blush. 

“Well….” He says, trailing off. “I mean, yeah. Of course I do, but you seem to like the funny ones the most.”

“Okay, then try and tell me a normal one and let’s see how it goes.”

Normal to Vernon may not be normal to you, but also he can’t tell if you’re referring to a sex dream or not. He’s not entirely the type to shy away despite feeling a little shy. 

“Sex dream or non sex dream?”

You think hard about which type of dream you want him to describe to you (no you don’t.)

“Sex dream.” 

He smiles, flicking his eyes to the bag of snacks on the table but opting to give it some more time before he starts eating like a damn goblin. 

“Let me think of one, hold on.” 

You sit there patiently, which probably doesn’t look very patient considering you quite literally turn your entire body to face him and rest your chin on your palm as if you’re expecting some inception styled sex or something. 

“Um…” He trials off, remembering very little of most of his sex dreams besides, well, the one he had of you. But to be fair most of them are about you, and he sees you so often that they’re kind of hard to forget. 

He can’t just tell you that though. He might be fucking zooted but he’s not an idiot. 

“Last week I had this dream about you.” 

Okay, maybe he’s an idiot. 

“Oh? Me?” You adjust your posture even more to that of interest, for no reason other than curiosity. You’re a bit flattered. 

“Yeah but that’s probably not one you wanna hear. There’s also one I had about–” Right, that one was about you too. “Or maybe…” Still about you.

You narrow your eyes.

“Just tell me the damn dream. I wanna know if I was any good.”

Vernon, for the first time in what feels like years, is experiencing extreme awkwardness. Nervousness. Dare he say, anxiety. Probably because of the way you blink at him with some type of expectation for this to be totally normal. Definitely a situation where he shouldn’t be feeling shy or even slightly turned on simply for thinking about all of those dreams he pretended he never had when you were with him.

Why did he have to tell you about this? Because now he has to actually tell you about it.

You watch him and the way he’s acting, noting that glimpse of nervousness and reaching forward to clap your hand on his knee. 

“Vernon, it was a dream, it’s not that big of a deal. You’ve been in a few of mine too.”

Well, that’s both comforting to him and terrifying because if he was in your dreams, the vernon in your head probably couldn’t even get you off. Which is fucked up of him. 

“If I tell you, you gotta tell me one of yours then.” 

You nod, resuming a more slouched posture and preparing to listen to him and his god awful story telling.

Except, it’s not awful. In fact, you can see him physically react to the images in his head as he re-tells the story. Those little movements in his legs? They don’t go unnoticed. 

“Last week, I had this dream and–” His eyes closed as he leaned himself against the couch, bouncing one leg up and down as if to calm his energy. He remembers it so clearly, and it’s kind of hard to admit with you right next to him. “Fuck,” He sighs out, ultimately choosing to leave the real life situation and instead live in his head for a few moments. 

Then, he opens his eyes and looks at you. 

“You couldn’t keep your hands off of me.” 

There’s a swirling inside of your belly at the way he is telling you this dream. One that makes you feel as though your initial reaction to his reaction isn’t so wrong after all. The dream turned him on. 

He liked it. 

He probably wanted it to happen after he woke up. 

“Then what happened?” You ask in a voice much smaller than you intended. 

Another sigh comes from him as he closes his eyes again, thinking hard about how detailed he should be about it. 

“Are you really wanting me to go into detail about how I dreamed about us fucking?”

You nod immediately, and then try to offer some form or relief. 

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay. Can you at least tell me if I was any good?” 

The way his eyes stay closed as he hums out. He is thinking. Very hard. 

“Well, it’s the only thing I’ve been jerking off to since it happened so I could argue that, yeah, you were pretty good.” 

You weren’t expecting him to admit how real he made the dream in his waking life. It’s an image he seemed to cling onto, and now, it’s an image you kind of want to cling onto as well. 

“Then tell me what happened.”

“I think I’ve admitted enough, it’s your turn now.”

Suddenly you feel shy. Yeah, it’s just a dream and all of that but now, seeing the way he seemed to really enjoy fucking you while being asleep, maybe you can admit to have liked the dream you had about him too. 

“We were in your living room and you went down on me. Absolutely rubbed one out when I woke up. Now, continue with yours.”

The fucking whiplash he gets from those string of words only drives him to continue.

“Oh how funny, I also went down on you in my dream too.” He tries to be normal about it, you can tell. “Would’ve been nice if I could actually taste it but as you know, I was like, asleep, and you’d probably never let me do that anyway.”

The side eye he gives you after saying that is almost hilarious. Almost.

“Well, were you any good at it?” You ask, leaning back against the arm of the couch and also pretending to be very normal about this sudden shift in friendship. 

“I’d say I was. Are you as vocal as you were in my dream?” He prods, still side-eyeing you. 

“Oh, most definitely.” 

He watches the way you lean back, the way you squeeze your thighs, the way you look a little flushed and he’s sure it’s not just the high doing it. 

“In my dream, you were also really wet for me.”

That, you can believe. 

“I’m really wet right now.” You admit in a monotone voice, staring straight at him and the way he turns his face away from you. 

“I’m also really hard,” He whispers out, not at all hiding the fact that his length is showing blatantly through his jeans. “We could, um, maybe…”

He didn’t even have to finish the sentence before you move yourself directly next to him, almost on him. You lean your head on his shoulder, feeling how warm he still is in this hoodie. You reach your arm up, pull off his beanie, and ruffle his hair once before smiling. 

“Are you going to eat me out first?”

It’s the way he nearly chokes, drowsy eyes no longer staring into space but staring directly at the way his cock twitches as your voice asks him such a thing. 

He nods.

“Yeah, yeah.” A cough. “Yes.” 

#[sleepover] #vernon smut #[m] #[h.hours] #[vernon] #I HOPE YOU ENJOY <3

[morallyinept]

JET SET CHRISTMAS - A Dieter Bravo Christmas One Shot

Summary: Dieter is flying away for a tropical filming schedule over Christmas, and you find a way to give him some First Class Service on his flight.

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 5.6K

Scoville Smut Rating: 🌶️🌶️🌶️ "You tell me I'm doing well, and then, you try to kill me."

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Warnings/triggers - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks)/tit wank/oral M receiving/drug usage/Dieter is a mess, as always.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

If this story isn't for you, that's fine. Just slip quietly out the back door. No need to make a fuss. It's just a work of fiction.

Author’s Note: I really enjoy writing for my sweet, messy Dieter. And Christmas Dieter is no exception. 😎

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Enjoy & Happy Holidays! 🎄🖤

Fun fact; approximately eighty-seven and a half million passenger’s travel through LAX airport in a given year. And each year that number steadily increases.

To put it mildly, it’s a damn fucking busy airport, capiche?

It is the world’s fourth busiest airport and the United States’ second busiest airport after Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta.

LAX holds the record for the world’s busiest origin and destination airport, since relative to other airports on this blue marble floating in the universe, many more travellers begin or end their trips in LA, rather than use it merely as a connection onwards to somewhere better and less congested. It's also the only airport to rank among the top five U.S. airports for both passenger and cargo traffic.

And considering approximately two-hundred and thirty-nine thousand odd passengers flow through this airport during any given day, being singled out and spotted amongst the hordes is always as surprising as it is annoying.

Dieter is used to people shoving their phones in his face and snapping away at him as he takes a massive bite of a vegan chilli burrito, or as he’s pissing over a fire hydrant whilst high on LSD; it kind of comes with the territory of being an actor whose notoriety precedes him.

You’d think you would be able to remain inconspicuous as you trundle on through the swilling crowds of holiday makers and businessmen in their fancy, Armani suits, wheeling your suitcase beside you.

But oh no, that’s asking too fucking much, right?

He’s not bitter about it; more of a casual acceptance that this circus is his life now, as absurd as it all seems when he falls back to Earth to try and keep his feet on the ground with a sharp shunt. And the mishaps keep on mishappening, even though he tries.

He tries so fucking hard sometimes.

But, at times like this, when he’s simply doing what everyone else is doing in the airport for the most part, it’s somewhat irritating to have fans and paparazzi stalking his every move around the terminal like poachers waiting for their chance to capture an endangered species.

Look, there he is, buying wired earphones! Get him!

Keeping his head down, masked behind large Rayban sunglasses, Dieter makes his way towards the private lounge near his gate. Only stopping when he’s accosted, seemingly at gunpoint, by over enthusiastic admirers of his work and surly attitude alike, begging for a selfie.

He tries his best to feign a smile for them, after all they buy all the cheaply manufactured shit with his face on, but more often than not it comes out as a less-than-impressed blank look about his prominently exhausted features.

Eyes that seem dull, peer out lifelessly at the screens through puffy sockets, and fuzzy scruff peppered across his jaw line grazes around his weak smile that is almost non-existent. 

(He would read later online, that he was on drugs, hence the tiredness straining around his bloodshot eyes. And they would be fucking right about that.)

Although truth be told, Dieter hasn’t really slept much at all, which is to blame for his current deer-in-headlights appearance.

Staying up into the wee hours of the morning reading through the script, still trying to decide if he actually wants the part or not, despite contracts being signed well over a few months back, with what felt like a gun to his back.

Dieter Bravo is reduced to doing fucking romcoms now.

Damage control, his agent had dutifully warned him.

Punishment for his latest screw up is some stupid romcom set in the Bahamas, with filming scheduled over Christmas, and his wardrobe will consist of jazzy floral shirts for the next few months.

His phone is chock full of voice notes reciting the lines of his character Mateo in different accents, that he’s still not happy with as he listened to them on repeat, whilst strolling through the terminal, until his earphones gave out, and he queued in line to buy some more at the Duty Free.

Mateo. He’s playing a fucking character named Mateo. He grinds down so hard on his teeth he dislodges a filling. 

He’d survived the night on coffee to get him through; his frantic night owl tendencies over taking him to the point that he decided to just stay up anyhow and indulged in a blunt or two whilst watching porn, despite his dick pulling limp after a few tugs. Something that happens more often than not as of late.

Well, at least Christmas alone in the Bahamas beats spending it alone in rehab. Again. 

But the caffeine and weed is starting to wane and filter out of his system, leaving him slugging like a zombie as he trudges through the airport.

He passes a giant Christmas tree, its twinkly bokeh lights bleeding into the back of his retinas as he squints under the sunglasses. 

Dieter makes his way through the terminal with lazy strides after leaving the prowlers behind; the wheels of his suitcase squeaking against the shiny flooring, that at times, feels like navigating an ice-rink.

Once he arrives at the Private Boarding lounge, reserved only for super important executives, or washed out, coke-head movie stars on their last chance, he approaches a woman behind the desk who appears to have been using the self tanner a little too enthusiastically.

“Good morning, sir.” She chirps away happily through an obscenely orange face.

A security officer takes his case and bag, and lifts them up on the belt to be scanned as Dieter empties his pockets and takes off his Rolex and rings. They plink into the tray the officer holds out for him.

The colour of her skin stops him in his tracks as he peers at her over the top of his shades incredulously.

Meh, he’d still fuck her if given half the chance. Yeah. He could do with a nice blow job or something right about now. 

Her smile is unrelenting, revealing stark white gnashers that gleam and glare through bright red lipstick. How anyone can be this jaunty at this time of the morning is beyond Dieter’s scope of understanding, but he throws a ghostly smile back at her trying not to stare at her face, bemused, as he’s scanned and patted down.

He hands over his passport and notices she won’t stop touching her hair.

She scrutinises his credentials and looks back at him and smiles even wider; a jaw full of white piano keys, her teeth seemingly unable to fit inside her mouth fully, with a massive overbite going on for dessert.

He hastily rethinks the possibility of a blow job. 

“Can I just say, I really loved you in Cliff Beasts…” She gushes, leaning forward to him over the desk. 

Dieter gets a whiff of her perfume like a suckerpunch to the jaw; overpowering like she’s doused herself in gasoline. It almost knocks him out like Novocaine. But the flash of cleavage more than makes up for it as his nostrils flare and itch.

“Oh yeah?” He says, elbow on the desk and sliding his sunglasses down the bridge of his aquiline nose with a grizzly smirk. 

“Yeah. My son really loved it too.” She finishes, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

He ignores her swooning compliment and smiles thinly through gritted teeth. He instantly pushes his shades back up. He has enough baggage to check in, he doesn’t need more.

“You played Gary right?”

“Gio.” He corrects. 

“Right. Gio. He likes Gio. Would you sign this for him?” She pushes him a piece of paper and he takes her pen and scrawls his John Hancock over it without any resistance, despite yelling no, fuck off! Loudly and repeatedly inside of his sludge brain.

“Thank you so much, that’s amazing!” She exclaims at him in a high pitched voice that makes his ears bleed.

“No problem, honey.” Dieter replies in a heavy voice as he puts his watch and rings back on.

“Did you pack your bag yourself, Mr Bravo?” Orange face asks, suddenly remembering she has a job to do despite being immensely star struck by this handsome, yet incredibly hungover, enigma standing before her. 

He nods once.

“Have you been approached by anyone asking you to carry anything for them?”

“I have twelve kilos of cocaine in my carry on.” Dieter remarks sardonically as he scratches under his chin, as he eyes the security officer who doesn’t find it funny.

She laughs however, and taps away on the keyboard happily with her nails, stealing glances at him as he frowns glumly. This whole charade is already starting to grate. 

She hands him back his passport, and he’s blinded again by the searing light from her mouth as she wishes him well on his journey. 

“Merry Christmas!” She calls to him and he responds by throwing his fist up in the air, dragging his case and bag as he walks away. 

Once in his First Class seat on the plane, he orders two whiskeys neat from the gnarly looking steward who eyes him scathingly, and dutifully reminds him that drinks won’t be served until they're in the air, no matter who he is. 

Dieter’s phone vibrates in his hand, and it's his agent wishing him a happy holidays, or some shit.

He replies with the middle finger emoji, before switching it to airplane mode. 

Sulking, Dieter slumps into his spacious booth seat throwing the complimentary, soft fleece blanket over his head. 

Dieter wakes a few hours later into the flight, the crick in his neck at breaking point and his bowels about to vacate all over the seat unless he goes right now. 

He passes the same steward and asks if they have anything natural for a dicky stomach, and she scoffs at him like he’s the self-entitled prick she assumes him to be. 

He’s not sure why he’s got the shits like lava coming out his ass; he hasn't eaten anything substantial in the last forty-eight hours as he grips onto the toilet seat with vigor.

Once the stomach cramps subside, and he feels like he won’t shit himself on the way back to his seat, he leaves the confines of the bathroom sheepishly and looking somewhat worse for wear. 

Biting back a growl, he sinks into his seat forlorn and weary. 

That is until you approach him and touch his shoulder gently. 

“Here,” you say to him. “I couldn’t help but overhear you're not feeling so hot.”

“Um, yeah.” Dieter says, pulling his sunglasses off completely to get a better look at you.

You, in your neatly pressed uniform and scarf coiled around your neck. You, with your fluttery, kind eyes and a smile that literally steals the breath from his lungs in a quick snap. So much so that he almost chokes.

You, leaning forward into his personal space to put down a bottle of Fiji water and some Imodium in a box you fish from your pocket. 

“Any chance of a diazepam in there?” He asks and you smile. 

“Fraid not. Nervous flyer?”

He shakes his head. “No. No.” He reaches for the box with shaky fingers. “Thank you, honey. You’re really sweet.” Dieter compliments. 

“Dieter, please.” He slaps his hand over his heart, possibly an attempt to mask how hard it’s beating right now.

“You need anything else Mr Bravo, you just ask me, okay?”

He peers at your name tag and looks up at you smirking. 

“Feel better, Dieter.” You wink at him and carry on down the aisle. 

He watches you go, his head poking out, neck craning like a Meerkat as he zones in on your ass.

“Well, shit.” He mumbles to himself and the passenger inside the seat across from him snorts in agreement. 

“Merry fucking Christmas, right?” He says to Dieter, and Dieter can only but raise his cool bottle of water in agreement. 

“Oh. Easy. Here comes Medusa!”

Dieter snorts, trying to hold his whiskey in his mouth. 

“Well, we’re going to do one of those things at least.” Dieter smirks.

“I think she thinks we’re going to get drunk and cause a riot. Get our dicks out and piss everywhere. Maybe open some airlock doors for shits and giggles.” The passenger opposite him whispers, chortling as the stony faced steward walks past them, giving them a careful stink eye.

They both burst out laughing like little boys as soon as she’s out of earshot.

He can already feel his head getting fuzzy and floaty; well on his way to boarding the train at crunkered-town. Mix that in with hardly any sleep and you’ve a recipe for a drooling, comatose mess right there.

“Did you know it’s absolutely impossible to do that? Open the airlock door mid-flight, I mean? Air pressure and all that shit, man.” The passenger twists the cap off his small wine bottle and pours it out into his plastic tumbler.

“It’s not like the movies.” Dieter agrees.

“No. You’re all a bunch of fucking liars, making us believe that shit. Fucking shame on you, man.” 

“What’s your favourite movie?” Dieter asks. 

“Well it ain’t that Cliff Beasts shit.”

Dieter wheezes as he laughs. 

“Seriously man, what were you thinking?”

“I was high for most of it. Stuck in some fancy British hotel during lockdown.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“You ever screw that Carol Cobb? Man, I’d love to get me a piece of that ass.”

“Nah. Not my type.” Dieter says, sucking against his teeth and trying not to remember the clusterfuck of his quick divorce from Anika - who seemed exactly his type - after their quick wedding in Vegas.

Turns out she wasn’t an angel at all. More like a crazed, obsessed demon whose PMS tantrums were worse than the Devil’s. Dieter shudders as he literally feels his balls recoil.

“Oldboy.” The passenger says, sipping his wine after a few minutes contemplating.

“Classic Korean viewing for budding serial killers. Are you a budding serial killer, David?” Dieter asks with glassy eyes.

“Depends on what day of the week it is, my friend.” David states. 

They both laugh manically again.

Dieter flops back in his seat; his body turned into his head rest, glancing down the aisle, as he and the stranger, David, who over the last hour or so he’s learned is on his way to a conference, talk and drink merrily. 

Dieter spots you further down the aisle, tending to another passenger when you look up and smile at him.

“Shit man, I gotta take a piss.” Dieter announces, standing up on wobbly legs. 

“Yeah, whatever.” He notices David put some wireless buds in his ears. 

“Shouldn’t use them things, man. EMF.” Dieter says.

“Pffft.” David retorts and waves him off. 

Dieter follows you as you retreat to the galley and smile again before pulling the curtain closed behind you. 

Inside the bathroom, Dieter slaps his face and talks to himself in the mirror.

“Just fucking talk to her, man. Say hello. What, you don’t know how to say hello to anyone? No, that’s fucking stupid… Hello. Hey. Hi. Hi. Hello? Helloooo…? Who the fuck are you man, the Queen? Jesus.” 

After washing up, he retreats out of the bathroom and glances down the aisle where the cabin is slowly dimming as the oncoming night swallows the plane; most people are already catching Z’s.

He glances at the drawn curtain and takes a deep breath. 

Behind the curtain you’re tidying up the galley, when a head pokes through the middle of it, floating there with unkempt fluffy hair and slightly dilated eyes. 

“Mr Bravo.” You greet, with a coy smile. 

“Helloooo.” He says, and then chuckles. 

“Hello.” You repeat back. “Can I help you with anything?” You query as he stumbles through and tries to straighten himself up. 

“I’m good. I’m good.” He looks around the galley. He scratches under his scruffy facial hair, his earring catching the light above, and twinkling at you. “This is a nice place you’ve got here. I like what you’ve done with it.”

You lean against the galley, watching him as he strokes down the shiny metal of the galley doors.

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Who? Me? Never better, honey.” 

“How big are your hands?” You ask, looking at them as he gesticulates wildly with them.

Dieter looks down and makes a fist with his hand before letting it free into a wide, stretched out palm. Silver rings adorn his pointer and pinky.

“Pretty big, I guess.”

“You know what they say about men with big hands...” You remark. 

“What do they say?” He grins.

“Makes their dick look really small.” 

Dieter grins and then wheezes again into a laugh. "God, I fucking hope not."

“Let me see those bad boys.” You reach for his hands and he regards you carefully as you step closer to him.

You hold your hands up to his and he rests both palms flat against yours; his fingers towering over yours ridiculously, and you chuckle, amazed. 

Dieter hooks his fingers over the top of yours and squeezes, smirking.

“You know, I really can’t fucking stand long haul.”

“Yeah?” You ask as you drop your hands.

“Yeah. Loathe it. I suppose you’re used to it though, right?”

“Yeah, I do it a lot. I don’t really notice it that much now.” You shrug.

“Yeah, me too.” He says and you snort.

You busy yourself pouring him some water and place the plastic cup in his hand.

“I’ve enjoyed it this time, though. I suppose I have you to thank for that.” Dieter gasps as he gulps back the water and wipes his lips on the back of his hand. “Sorry, sorry. That sounded so weird."

“No, it didn’t.” You reassure.

"I'm not creepy." He assures, scratching behind his ear.

You smile at one another for a few moments, just starting at each other’s faces quietly until Dieter hiccups. Loudly. 

“You’re kinda cute when you’re drunk.” You say, taking the empty cup from him. 

“Cute enough that you'd want to have sex with me?” He asks, brazenly. 

You scoff and laugh and then look at him biting your lip. “Are you drunk enough that you can’t get it up?”

You watch as he shoves his hand down the front of his pants and gives himself a squeeze. Oh yeah. He’s hard. “Not yet.” 

“So come on then.” You tempt him.

“Here? Right here?” He baulks as he watches you pull your panties down from under your skirt and tuck them in his pocket. “Fuck!” 

“Why not, it's kinda hot, right?”

“Fuck yeah it is-” He’s silenced mid-sentence by your lips pressing onto his, and taking him by complete surprise.

He simply leans forward and plants one on you; his body in the driving seat, and he can only look on from the back seat as he careens into you, right through the windshield.

Dieter pulls away, hovering in front of your face, groaning as your hand cups his cock over his pants, and biting his bottom lip as he pants hungrily.

You kiss him again with a slick smile, and his big hands find their way onto your face. His fingers stroking delicately and feeling your skin under the pads of them and trying to convince himself that you’re real. 

“You are real, right?” He gasps as you suck on his bottom lip. His lips are soft and inviting and so full - especially that damned bottom one. Squidgy like marshmallows, so wet and juicy.

“I’m as real as you want me to be, baby.” You growl sucking his lip harder.

“Mmph, fuck…” He gasps. "It's just, this one time, I got really high and fucked a woman that lived in my mirror. This is happening, right? We’re going to have sex?”

“Yes, Dieter. We’re going to have sex. And I don't live in your mirror.” 

“And you definitely want to have sex with me?” He checks. “You’re not drunk, are you?”

“No,” you giggle. 

"Good, good." He kisses you again, groaning wildly.

It suddenly gets extremely hot, like the plane has just dive bombed right into the sun and Dieter feels it on the back of his neck and down his back. 

You can hear murmuring behind the curtain and it’s the familaral snark of the stony faced steward. You quickly take his hand and seal you both inside the nearest toilet cubicle.

You flick the latch to lock the door behind you; his hands are reaching for your waist as you kiss him hungrily on the lips.

You both clatter backwards; the back of your calves hitting the base of the toilet and him keeping you steady as you lose your balance for a second.

You’re both gasping around your kiss; you’re tugging at his oversized cardigan, and running your hands up under his t-shirt, feeling his paunchy stomach underneath your fingers as they run amok over his skin.

His hands are doing the same, squeezing around your hips and under the back of your shirt before he comes to the front and begins to unbutton it slowly.

You break away from his lips; looking down at his fingers shaking profusely as he does it, his tongue out concentrating on the task.

“Are you okay?” You ask, tilting his chin up to you.

“Yeah. Um…” he drops his hands and sighs. “It’s just, you’re so fucking hot. And I'm... not.”

"Yes you are."

He shakes his head. "I'm a mess, baby."

"A hot mess." You say.

He looks as if he’s about to cry when he stares at your chest as you open your shirt to reveal your bra to him.

Imagine his excitement when it’s one that hooks together in the front and not the back. 

“Oh my God, your tits are fantastic!” Dieter wheezes from the back of his throat, beside himself. “May I?”

You nod, giggling, as he gulps and runs his hands all over your breasts, squeezing and massaging them, before slipping his fingers around the clasp and freeing you.

He begins feeling out your nipples that are wide awake under his rough fingertips; pinching them and twisting them gently. Teasing them and causing the utmost carnage between your legs as he does it.

He can only stare like a dimwit as they heave out; the teenage boy in him having a fit as though he’s seeing mammary glands for the first time in his life.

Look, Dieter. Boobies... heheheee!

You gasp and throw your head backwards as his digits run amok over those erect buds, and he kisses and nips at your neck avidly like a hungry vampire.

You reach out your hand and steady yourself on the sink as he kisses down your collarbone towards your cleavage. He sucks on one of your nipples and you can see him doing it in the grimy mirror too.

Dieter Bravo has my fucking nipple in his mouth! Jesus Christ…

His mouth is suckling enthusiastically, as he groans and pants, and the pull of it, his tongue flicking against it, feels incredible, like electric tingles pulsing through them as he nips on them gently between his teeth.

A delicious throbbing begins to take place inside your clit, making it ache profusely, and your pussy is having a panic attack and breathing into a brown paper bag - completely over-hyped and overwhelmed.

“Mmm.” You whine.

“Are you enjoying that?” He asks, eagerly. "Is it nice?"

“Yeah, baby. Feels so good when you play with my tits.” 

“Fuck,” he gulps, giddy and starts to grin. 

You smirk, biting your lip. 

"What else can I play with?" Dieter asks, giddy somewhat.

You run your hands through his already messy hair, tugging it lightly, as he does the same heinous act to the other nipple, and looks up at you with blown mesmeric eyes as he murmurs contentedly around your nipple. 

“Mmm, Dieter.” You mouth to him. “I need you to fuck me.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm, I need to feel your big, fat cock fill me up, baby.”

“Want me giving it to you?”

“Yeah. Want everyone to hear you make me scream as you pump me full. Let me go back out there with your come dripping down my legs.”

“Oh… Shit. You're naughty, aren't you?" He grins.

"Bad to the bone, sweetie." You smirk.

He then kisses slowly up your clavicle like a snake slithering towards you, hypnotising you in the process with wide pupils and a crooked grin, heading back towards your mouth where he swamps you again.

“I-I need a minute.” Dieter says, pulling back.

You reach down and grope his swollen cock over his pants, rubbing and jerking slowly as you swallow his moans that intensify around your tongue as you pump.

He whines, shuddering, hips bucking into your grip enthusiastically before stalling with a heavy grunt.

“You okay?” You query, bemused.

“Yeah I just… I might’ve…” he looks a little sheepish and embarrassed. 

“Did you just come?” You ask, stroking through his greying, fluffy hair and he pushes his forehead to your chest and groans loudly. 

“Hey, it's alright. It’s kinda hot actually.” 

“Is it?” He winces. 

He pulls his pants down and his thick cock is sticky and covered in himself. He's still half hard and you can work with that. 

You push him back gently so he’s sitting on the toilet, seat down. “Show me.”

"What?"

"Show me the mess you've made." You prompt.

“I’m sorry… this doesn’t usually happen.” He lies. It happens all the time, especially when he’s half cut. Which is, you know, all the time. 

“Sssh, baby. Let me take care of you.” You crouch down between his legs, pick up his softening cock and place it between your tits.

"Can I suck it?" You ask licking your lips.

“Jesus Christ…” He groans, watching as you pump him with your breasts.

It squelches, his creamy ejaculate in the deep trench of your cleavage as his flush cock is massaged slowly back to life by your mounds.

"Fuck..." he groans, watching you.

"Oh, I would love you to, baby." Dieter gasps.

He holds his crumpled t-shirt up, revealing more of his soft tummy spread and slotted belly button, as you run your tongue up the hard length of him.

He whines out as he slides fully into your mouth. His hands are thrown up on the back of the wall behind the toilet, pressed flat as you hoover up his cock with intense grit.

He grunts out a fantastic noise that gives your scalp prickles as he fills your whole mouth with his length and girth, fully hard again.

His rolling eyes search up to the ceiling as his hips move in time with you as you slurp him up and down.

You’re taking him in further with each suck, and he can feel himself at the back of your throat, tickling against your uvula and gag reflex.

“Okay, we need to fuck or I’m going to come again.” He pants. “Please.”

“You’re cute when you beg, Dieter.” You say, tonguing over his head.

“I’ll get on my fucking knees on this filthy piss stained floor if that’s what it takes!" 

You pull him up on his feet as the intense, wondrous feeling travels the length of his cock.

He slips his hand between your legs and slides his fingers across the slit of your pussy; feeling how wet you are before he pushes two of them up inside you. Although, wet is an understatement; it’s like a tsunami has just hit. 

Swirling his thumb over your clit, you gasp, feeling those fingers, thick and wriggling, in the slick oil inside your fleshy walls. You moan out as he begins sucking on one of your nipples again.

“Fuck, you’re soaking all over my fingers.” He groans as he pushes them in you deeply.

"Mmm, it's all you, Dieter." You see him blush and it makes you soar. "You're so hot."

"I am?"

"Yeah. So fucking hot."

The feel of his fingers furrowing inside you makes you dizzy and weak. You reach for his cock and pump him slowly inside your hand.

His mouth is like an engulfing vortex that you’d happily dive into, and be cast off into oblivion forever. A deep choking is felt in your throat as you gasp out around his pert lips, struggling for breath.

"Let me fuck you, how shall we do it?" He whines.

You smirk and simply sit him down on the lid again, straddling him and sliding down onto that bulging cock of his.

You both groan out as you slip yourself over him and begin riding him slowly and deeply.

He utters out a deep, guttural groan inside your ear.

Despite him being a bit of a mess, his cock is impressive as you feel it bottom out.

“Fuck, Dieter!” You gasp as he utterly fills you up to the point that you’re the fullest you’ve ever been. That feeling you get when you’ve had way too much fucking pie and if you move you might split and spill out the sides. 

"Damn, you have a big cock, baby." You grin at him.

“Oh God, this pussy is so tight.” Dieter whines.

You’re snug, tight fitting around him; pinching slightly, but you will yourself to sit all the way down on him - wanting every inch of him - and rocking your hips around him in a steady rhythm. Round and round, and up and down…

“Shit…” He puffs and you can see him clench.

“Don’t come, Dieter.” You warn gently. You’re nowhere near close yet. 

He blows out through his cheeks. “I… fuck. Feels too good.”

“Don’t. Come. Dieter.” You repeat, working a little harder, feeling your clit rub deliciously in the bundle of fuzzy hairs at the base of him. 

“Please…” He whines. 

You shake your head as you whine. 

“Please baby, let me fill you up.” 

Dieter utters out a small groan again to you through his puffy lips. You can’t abnegate yourself away from biting down hard on the bottom one, and sucking it between your lips.

“Not yet. Hold onto it.” You instruct.

"I can't, fuck-"

You pinch his nipples, hard. "Yes. You can. Hold it, Dieter."

“Ah, ow!” He whines as you feel his fingers dig into your hips. 

He smirks at you as you kiss him again as you wind yourself up and down on him whilst he grabs and gropes at your ass and moves you around on him too.

The sounds from the wetness of your cunt sliding up and down on his cock can be heard around the toilet cubicle like fine music, your mutual gasps leading the vocals.

“Does that feel good?” Dieter croons to you as you whine and mewl around him. “My cock inside you, hmm? Am I doing good, baby?”

You nod and smile at him. “So fucking good.”

He kisses your breasts again as you lean back; your hands on his broad shoulders fisting inside the wool of his cardigan. His own large hands supporting your back.

After a few minutes, he stands up with you and sits you on the cold metal sink, pushing his dick up into you faster.

“Aah fuck, Dieter!” You cry out and then realise that it’s probably too loud and wonder if anyone in the cabin has heard it, as you both enrol in membership at the Mile High Club.

Dieter fucks you harder; moving in and out of your pussy with the rolls of his hips like he's winding a hula hoop around his waist; looking down and watching himself do it too. Seeing your sticky juices coating his dick in a slick honey and making it squelchy good.

“Fuck me harder, Dieter. Don’t come.” You rasp to him.

“You want it hard?” He wheezes. “Turn around, baby.”

He’s pushing you forward as far as the confined space will allow you to go over and enters you from behind. 

“Oh shit!” You pant as he fucks you harder at your command.

“Like that? Is this how you want it?"

You can feel yourself soaring; that intense, pleasurable moment where all the building reaches its peak and starts to spill over. Unwinding like a coil, snapping back like an elastic band; a nuclear bomb destroying a small city. 

He can see your face in the mirror; lips parted through your pants, eyes staring back at him as he fuck you into high Heaven. At thirty-seven odd thousand feet, you’re not that far off from it, to be fair. 

"Oh God... fuck, baby! I can't hold on much longer!" He pants. "Your pussy feels too good."

“Ah yeah!” You mewl through a long, drawn out gasp, coming hard as fuck. “Come for me, Dieter!”

Dieter’s orgasm face is legendary; eyes rolling so far into the back of his head like he’s been possessed by demons. His mouth is making a small O as he sucks in hisses and breathes out grunts slowly through his bliss.

“Fuck, I’m coming, baby!” He splashes out inside of you, filling you up with that hot, salty goop, and it’s already beginning to drip out the sides of your pussy as you come around him. "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!"

Waiting for the delicious cream pie when he slides out of you and watches as his ejaculate sluices down your cunt.

A few slow thrusts and twitches as he empties out, and Dieter leans forward and trails tired kisses up the side of your neck; coming down from the high and feeling that his legs are now shaky, unsteady stalks.

“We just had sex,” you can hear him smirk and chortle inside your ear.

“We did.” You agree. 

“We just had fucking hot sex in the sky.” He sighs and his weight feels heavier against you. 

You giggle as he nuzzles into you.

"You're really beautiful, fuck..." he says, gazing at your reflections in the dull mirror.

He reaches into his pocket for your panties after you clean yourselves up.

"So are you." You kiss his scruffy cheek as he blushes.

"No. Really?"

You nod. "A beautiful disaster."

He hums into your shoulder and plants a row of smooches there to bloom into something pretty.

“Keep them. Early Christmas present.” You say. 

He kisses over your face eagerly and growling as you giggle again.

"I like that sound." Dieter says into your face.

"I like some of the sounds you make, too." You smile, kissing on his nose.

“Ladies first…” He gestures to you after a few more minutes of canoodling.

“You just want to look at my ass.” You whisper to him as you unlock the door.

“It’s like you know me so well already,” Dieter remarks, smirking.

He simply grins at you, and you’re not wrong. He remembers squeezing those cheeks as you rode on his cock and it makes him giddy at the recall.

Dieter slips back into his seat breathing out and relaxing.

You slip out of the toilet cubicle first, making sure the coast is clear, before he follows a few minutes afterwards. Taking some time to adjust his messy hair in the mirror and smirking to his own reflection.

You called him beautiful, and he can't stop his pink cheeks from pulling tight into a jaw aching beam.

“Must’ve been some fucking piss, man.” David says from the adjacent seat. 

Dieter simply grins wider. 

The plane touches down at Lynden Pindling International Airport in the Bahamas a few hours later, with a bumpy landing that rattles Dieter’s stomach to the core.

He’s slept a little, and that makes him feel worse somehow. At this point, he certainly looks like he’s been snorting drugs all night as he blinks through wretchedly dry eyes.

With his bag, he makes his way down the aisle towards the open cabin door, but lingers as he spots you in the galley.

You turn to see him, bent over as you zip up your case and he’s staring at your ass smirking, knowing that your panties are still bunched up in his pocket. 

“So…” He says, sunglasses back on and fumbling around his words. 

“So.” You echo, standing upright. “Don’t be weird, Mr Bravo.” You muse and he laughs. 

“I’m not. Sorry. Sorry.”

After a few, heavy lingering moments you speak first. “I guess this is goodbye, then?” You say. 

“I guess.” Dieter says, with a frown brewing, adjusting his bag on his shoulder and pouts.

“Listen, this is dumb and I’m expecting you to say no, but I have a two day layover before I have to fly back and I’m staying at-”

“Yes!” Dieter interrupts.

You baulk.

“I mean, carry on.” He says, smiling. 

You laugh. “I was going to suggest maybe you’d wanna buy me dinner?”

“Well, we can start with dinner. And more sex.” You clarify. 

“Sure. I’d like that.” Dieter nods, smiling. “I’d kinda do anything for you right now.” He mumbles bashfully. 

"Anything, huh?" You quip with a smile.

"Anything." He reiterates, nodding.

“Fuck. Yeah. Definitely more sex.” He nods like his neck is broken and can’t stop. 

He walks down the steps off the plane after you, and Dieter spots another Christmas tree twinkling in the terminal, and thinks that this might be a good fucking Christmas after all. 

12 DAYS OF XXX-MAS MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

#pedro pascal x reader #dieter bravo x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #dieter bravo the bubble #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo x f!reader #christmas stories #jett's writing

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Hey, who wants a really dark and morbid prompt filled with angst? Well buckle up or scroll away cause I'm about to hit yall with a hammer. You have been warned.

----------------

Danny had slowly come to hate his human side. Well, humanity in general usually left a poor taste in his mouth, so as the weeks passed and the end of his sophomore year inched closer he made a decision. He was going to live his afterlife in the ghost zone. Probably go so far as to fake his death.

Things go south when his bio-dad showed up and he would have been stoked to learn his bio-dad was Batman if it wasn't for his insistence on "fixing" him. He wanted to be less human not more. Geez.

Turns out his bio-mom was that one lady with the long dark hair and green eyes that would smile at him from the shadows while he was patrolling as Phantom. He liked her. Sometimes she waved at him. He liked her a little less for siccing Batman on him. She had called him in out of worry for thier "son"

As it turns out, the reason she did that was because the source of his power (he pointed out it was called a core) was absorbing too much power too quickly and was at risk of overheating and having a meltdown, something akin to a nuclear reactor. He didn't like where this was going. Frostbite had said everything was fine at his last check-up, but no one was listening to him (another thing he hated about being human. As a ghost he was respected, or at least listened to) "So, what? I'm going on vacation?"

The "adults" looked at eachother. "Something like that." Nightwing gave a reassuring smile that only seemed to unnerve Danny more. They were hiding something and Danny had a bad feeling that it was going to end up making him miserable in some way.

He made sure that his friends and sister (meeting his bio parents changed nothing. She would always be the best big sister he would ever have. The only big sister!) knew where he was going and for how long and to raise holy hell if he wasn't back on time. After that we went willingly with Batman onto the batjet.

This turned out to be a mistake as he woke up nearly two months later completely human. Well, ok. Not quite. His eyes still glowed green whenever he was angry or distressed, like now. But his core and all his powers were gone.

Batman had stolen his powers from him. He had stolen Phantom from him. Everything he ever worked for. All the treaties he had made and signed in preparation for his coronation to the Ghost Zones throne, all the grueling training Pandora and the others gave him to controlling his powers, every flunked class and detention from having to run out and deal with a ghost, his shattered dreams of being an astronaut, everything he had done and sacrificed since the accident now meant nothing.

All because of some rich megalomaniac billionaire wanting to control him. Figures. He had the audacity to act suprised when he blew up at him. His powers where such a huge part of him. It was one of the few parts of himself that he actually liked. And Bruce had the nerve to give him the "superpowers aren't everything" speech. How condescending could someone be?!

The insinuation that he could be one of his flightless birds (oh God he would never fly through the nights sky again would he?!) and should be greatful about it was frankly insulting.

So he did what he did best. Escape. Except they caught him. Every. Single. Time. Was this a mansion or a prison? Honestly he wasn't sure anymore. Where was Jazz and his friends?

He cursed aloud when he realized they didn't have any way of tracking him without him being a ghost. He really was on his own with his kidnappers huh. And they were trying really hard to inflict some Stockholm syndrome, but didn't like it when he made the insinuation out loud.

They tried everything in thier power to keep him there "until you're better" and he couldn't tell you how many times they've busted down the door to reach him before it was "too late". Many locks throughout mansion were removed because of this. Too bad for them there was a lot of ways a normal human could "Go Ghost". It was a reoccurring joke that was slowly driving Bruce insane. Good. Suffer.

He really wished Nightwing would stop coming into his room at night to hug him though. The hugs were long and uncomfortable and he kept trying to talk to him. Weird. He acted like death was something to fear.

Too bad he wasn't going to make it easy for them. He had managed to slip away from the purple girl long enough to set two of the libraries on fire (a fact the estranged Wayne child was later furious about when he found out) and make a run for it. He actually managed to steal the batmobile and get a few miles out of the city before he was caught and recaptured. Danny never gave up though. He always found a new way to raise hell and escape.

He was going to become a ghost again.

One way or another.

#fanfiction prompts #prompts #dp x dc #danny fenton #danny phantom #batman #tw: depression #tw: suicide #tw: implied suicide attempts #dark #suicide #implied suicide attempts #he plans to raise from the grave #so silver lining i guess #angst #this is much darker than usual and i even cut out a lot of things so it wouldnt be nearly as dark as it started as #please dont @ me if you dont like it

[mrsaltieri-real]

Alright! Request time! Lemme get a request with Mickey, natch, but hear me out. You and he, catching a mid-afternoon movie for a date, starts off sweet, and the theater is empty except for you both. He cannot keep his hands off you when twenty minutes after the trailers happen he realizes no one else is showing up. He teases and touches till you give in and let him fuck you in the theater. Some risky, public, try to keep it down, don't get caught sex in the theater. Passionate, needy, messy, some begging, make it so, so good just like I know you will.

When Boredom Strikes (Mickey Altieri x Fem!AFAB!Reader)

You and Mickey have an afternoon date at the movies, but boredom quickly consumes him, forcing him to find alternate ways to entertain himself.

Word Count: 3k

Warning/s: language, smut, p in v, slight degradation, fingering, public/semi public sex, praise, begging, almost caught fucking, teasing, thirsty Mickey, riding, ect.

Bex Bex BEX. You know damn well what this request has done to me these last couple of days. I’m happy to oblige. Here we go!

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Mickey stood with his arm casually slung around your shoulder as he eyed the movie options up on the board, pulling a face at every single one of them. “Fuck, there’s really no halfway decent movies.”

You rolled your eyes at your boyfriend, looking up at his dramatically disgusted face. “Well, whose bright idea was it to ditch class to come watch a movie in the middle of the afternoon, Mick?”

He glanced down at you, his pretty brown eyes playfully amused and a smile lit up his face as he lifted your chin with his finger, ducking his head down to peck you lightly on the lips, in which you eagerly reciprocated. “We missed our last date because I had to edit my short film and you’ve got a packed schedule for the rest of this week so I didn’t really have much of a choice now, did I?” He pointed out, reluctantly moving his face away from yours.

You nodded your head a little as you looked up at the board yourself, eyes scanning the cheesy rom com movies, every single one of them containing the exact same main plot point of a girl who didn’t realise love was right there all along. You knew Mickey hated these sort of movies with a passion, claiming they had no depth and no entertainment value whatsoever.

Being with a film geek like Mickey meant you were subjected to listen to his intensely angry ramblings about how cinema was quote “going down fucking hill,” and how there’s “nothing like the classics anymore.” You’d listen to him with a cocked eyebrow and watch him as he would rifle through his seemingly never ending cases of illegally pirated films that varied from action to mystery then to his personal favourite, horror.

As much as you loved him, you never quite understood his affliction with horror movies. Sure, you enjoyed them, but you’d see the intense excitement in his eyes as he watched some blonde girl with big tits get brutally butchered and ripped apart and you’d listen to him rant about the “authenticity” of the production value with blank but affectionate eyes. Nobody could say that he wasn’t passionate.

The theatre attendant sighed, her nails drumming impatiently on the counter as she stared unseeingly past the two of you with a bored expression. Mickey glanced at her, unable to stop the small roll of his eyes at her attitude.

“Just pick one and we’ll watch it. And choose fast because this one’s about to fall asleep.” Mickey said to you under his breath, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out his wallet. You knew better than to offer to pay, knowing you’d be met with a disgusted look of horror at the very idea of you wanting to pay for absolutely anything.

You loosely gestured to the least sappy looking movie for his benefit, secretly relieved you didn’t have to sit through yet another bloody mess of a film and Mickey paid the attendant and took the tickets as she mumbled, “enjoy your movie,” He nodded his head at her politely and picked up the popcorn and drinks, begrudgingly making his way into the theatre with a grimace on his face at the thought of having to sit in the freezing theatre for two hours and watch this god awful movie. But as he walked toward the theatre doors, popcorn under one arm and you under the other, he noticed how deserted the place was. Just you, himself and 3 attendants in the entire place. He smiled a little to himself, knowing full well he could have a lot of fun with this little benefit when the boredom would truly take over.

As you both settled down in your assigned seats beside each other Mickey placed the popcorn by next to his feet, leaning back on the chair with his eyes scanning the room. Just as he’d hoped, it was completely deserted apart from the two of you. He glanced at your face, the smile still on his lips as you looked back at him, asking him in a suspicious tone, “what?”

“Nothing, nothing.” He said, diverting his eyes from you and to the large screen as the trailers began to play.

“Give me my popcorn.” You said, holding out your hand expectantly.

“No, no, absolutely not.” Mickey shook his head as he spoke, pushing your hand away gently.

“What? Why?”

“Baby, you always finish your popcorn before the movie even starts and what happens? Oh, Mickey.” He mocked your voice in an absolutely terrible impression, twirling imaginary hair around his finger as he spoke. “I finished all my popcorn, give me yours.” He looked at you with knowing eyes and a playful smile on his lips as he dropped his hand back down onto the arm rest. “Just wait for the opening titles at least.” He said in his normal voice.

“You think you know me so well. I don’t fucking sound like that. Ass.” You grumbled under your breath, slumping back in your seat with a pout. He laughed at you affectionately, reaching for your hand and bringing it up to his lips, kissing it gently.

“Huh, guess it’s just us.” You mused as you watched one of the attendants close the theatre doors, leaving just you and Mickey in the large dark room with nothing but the glowing light of the screen shining down on the two of you.

“Guess it is.” Mickey said lightly, shifting in his seat and dropping your hand in favour of resting his palm on the smooth bare skin of your thigh, his fingers lightly tracing shapes and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

This wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Mickey was big on casual physical contact, especially whilst watching movies. The cheerful opening of the movie caught your attention and your eyes set on the screen, deciding to make the most of your date together by actually enjoying the movie, even if he didn’t.

Twenty minutes into the film and Mickey was bored out of his mind. You seemed engrossed with the movie, shushing Mickey every couple of minutes when he tried to talk to you or complain about the “god awful” film.

“This is so fucking sh-“

You swatted at his arm lightly, shushing him once again and he groaned, slumping back in his seat and letting his head fall backward against the soft material of the chair. The two dimensional characters seemed to mock him through the screen as the actors paraded around with an awful performance. He physically recoiled as he heard the cheesy lines being spoken.

Nobody fucking talks like that. He thought to himself with a grimace.

He began to think of what he could do to make this date a little more interesting. He quickly scanned the theatre double checking the room once again to make sure it was empty before his fingers slowly danced across your thigh, casually moving in between your legs.

He chuckled a little as you slapped his hand, pinning your legs together as you sent him a small glare. “No, Mickey.” You said as sternly as you could muster. He looked at you completely unphased and raised an eyebrow, but said absolutely nothing.

One of Mickey’s favourite pastimes is fooling around with you in semi-public places. Semi-public was okay, semi-public was fun and exciting. It was even encouraged. There was only a risk of being caught. You knew exactly what he was thinking at the moment, what he wanted to do. But doing it here, in the middle of a movie theatre? That was a little too risky for your liking. You felt his hand move back to your thigh after a couple of seconds, still tracing small shapes onto your skin with a feather light touch. You clenched your teeth, staring at the screen to try and focus on the movie again, but now that felt almost impossible.

How the fuck did he always manage to do this to you? Completely divert your attention and make you focus explicitly on him and what you wanted him to do to you? The fact he didn’t even need to speak in order for you to waver on your insistence not to fuck him in a movie theatre was almost making you angry with yourself and your lack of ability to stand by your decisions.

He waited until you relaxed your rigid stance and your legs unstiffened, his fingers still grazing your skin gently before he made another much slower move. His fingers hardly even touched you as he lightly brushed your inner thigh. He smiled to himself a little when he heard your breath hitch a little and felt you look up at him with imploring eyes. He made sure his eyes were still set on the screen as if he was completely sucked into the crappy movie. You looked down at his hand, tugging at your bottom lip with your teeth as it moved upward underneath your skirt, feeling his fingertips glide up your inner thigh, your legs opening for him as though they had a mind of their own before feeling him very lightly grazing your clit through the soft cotton material of your already damp panties.

You shifted a little, fingers digging into the dark red upholstery of the arm of the chair, your legs instinctively inching even wider for him and you heard him let out a small, satisfied laugh as he felt the damp patch.

Fuck.

“Look who's changed her mind.” He murmured softly under his breath. You ignored him, eyes fluttering closed as you felt him move your panties to the side, his index finger slowly sliding up the length of your slit to collect moisture before torturously circling your clit with a pace that was so slow, so light, that it was almost painful. He let out another chuckle as he felt the heat on his fingers and heard the small whimper fall out from between your lips, his eyes still not moving from the screen.

Your head fell back against your seat as his fingers gradually increased speed, circling over your clit in the way he knew drove you crazy, but not quite applying enough pleasure for you to genuinely enjoy it. Mickey shifted a little in his seat so he was leaning toward you, eyes finally dragging away from the screen and to your face, watching you with dark and almost amused eyes as your chest heaved and your grip on the armrest tightened so hard your knuckles turned white. His fingers suddenly abandoned your clit in favour of plunging two of them knuckle deep into your pussy and causing you to let out a loud, unfiltered moan.

“Shh.” He whispered to you, his free hand covering your mouth as he continued to move his long fingers inside of you, hooking and curling them to graze the spot inside of you that was bound to make you cum sooner rather than later if he carried on.

Your eyes nervously flickered around the room again, terrified you’d missed a spectator in one of the chairs that would turn around and find some girl getting fingered by her boyfriend in the middle of a movie theatre. Of course there was no one, but his free hand remained on your mouth as he leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek and before resting his forehead on your temple.

“You gotta be quiet, okay?“ he said in your ear, another twist of his fingers inside of you causing you to moan against his hand in response. His fingers abruptly stopped moving, frozen inside of you and you looked at him in desperate confusion as his other hand moved from your mouth to slide down behind your head, gripping your hair firmly by the roots and forcing you to look into his eyes. “Do you promise you’ll be quiet?” He whispered, hand dropping from your mouth so you could respond.

“Mmm- mm yes.” You gasped out, your voice pleading and almost whiny as you bucked your hips against his hand, desperate to feel friction again. “Please, Mickey.”

“Look at you.” He said tauntingly. “Twenty minutes ago you were slapping my hand away and now here you are, dripping down my arm and begging for me to get you off in the middle of a movie theatre.”

He suddenly pulled his fingers out of you, bringing them up and pressing them against your lips. You eagerly took his fingers into your mouth, sucking your own arousal off of them eagerly. He let out somewhat of a growl as he felt your tongue swirl around his fingers as you greedily tasted yourself and he quickly glanced behind him at the door before he slid his fingers out of your mouth slowly to unbuckle his belt. As he did, you were almost too eager to drop to your knees so you could blow him but he stopped you with his hand, shaking his head once whilst saying, “No, no,” and pulling his jeans and briefs down so his cock was just about out, already hard and pressed against his toned stomach. “Panties off, leave the skirt on.”

Your eyes widened a little as you hesitated, glancing up at the theatre doors. Mickey followed your gaze and rolled his eyes a little at you. “What, so you’re fine letting me finger your pussy here but you don’t want to fuck? Come on now, baby.”

You could hear the sarcasm in his voice and you scowled at him, but obediently removed your panties, discarding them on the floor by your feet.

“Good girl.” Mickey grinned at you, looking victorious as he grabbed your arm as soon as they were off, practically yanking you onto his lap. You straddled him with your knees either side of him, just about hovering over him as you felt the flushed head of his cock lightly graze your swollen clit, the sensation so slight yet so intense it sent a small shiver throughout your entire body. Mickey felt it too, sighing a little as he felt you just barely touching him.

The light of the huge screen dully illuminated the two of you as Mickey hitched your skirt around your waist before sliding his hands around to grip your ass, spreading you open for him as he angled his hips up, groaning quietly as he slowly began filling you. You let out a gasp that was a little too loud at the satisfying stretch, causing Mickey to stop abruptly, gripping your hips so you couldn’t move.

“What did I say?”

“I- I’m sorry, please don’t stop.” You begged him as quietly as you could. He could feel your body trembling with need and he couldn’t help but oblige you.

His eyes remained on your face, though you were hardly visible in the dim light of the screen and he smiled at your desperate expression before continuing to push up into you, sighing in satisfaction at the familiar feeling of your pussy clenching around him as he did. You angled your hips downward, impatient at his slow pace so you could envelop him completely and almost too eagerly. The thrill of fucking him in a public place where a stranger could walk in at any given moment and see the two of you was more exciting than you had anticipated, your earlier anxiety and concerns becoming nothing more than a distant and irrelevant memory. It made you more eager and hungry for him, more than you could have even begun to imagine. It took Mickey by surprise as he let out a small, breathless laugh as your hips rolled against him, thoroughly enjoying the reluctantly quiet moans you were panting in his ear.

“Such a whore.” He whispered into your hair, sliding one of his hands up your back and gripping the back of your neck under your hair. The sound of his voice in your ear as you rode him sent tingles through your body, spurring you on. “Look at you, riding me like a slut in the middle of a movie theatre, fucking acting like you didn’t want this the whole time. Bad fucking girl.” You groaned at his words, throwing your head back and moving your hands to rest behind you on his thighs, feeling the familiar need for him to take control. He obliged you once again, his hands resting your waist and holding you still as he began to grind his hips upwards and fuck deep into you, treating you as if you were his very own sex doll.

You almost cried out, turning your head and biting into the soft skin of your shoulder as you felt him thrust up into you, feeling his cock hitting all of the right places. You felt the slight stubble of his trimmed hair prick and grind over your clit, stimulating you perfectly as your nails dug into his thighs, making him let out a small hiss and grind up into you even faster, watching intently as your tits bounced from behind your thin tank top.

Your body was held still in his firm grip with your only movements being a reaction from him as he fucked you to his own accord as you tried hard not to make too loud of a sound. One of his hands moved from your waist to slide between the two of you, his thumb applying pressure to your clit and moving in small, calculated circles. His head fell forward to watch himself sliding in and out of your convulsing pussy, groaning as he felt you clench and tighten around him. He knew you were close to cumming when he felt your legs start to shake beside him and he knew he was close too. Just watching you with your mouth biting into your own shoulder to stop yourself from screaming as he fucked up into you in the middle of the day in a movie theatre was driving him insane, and he didn’t feel the need to prevent your impending orgasm or his own, the need to tease you disappeared in favour of feeling you cum on his dick.

Your head lifted from your shoulder and you looked at him, panting desperately with wide eyes. “I- I’m gonna- p- please can I-“

Mickey suddenly let out a sharp gasp and quickly grabbed you by your arms that were still propping you up by your hands on his thighs and hastily pulled you toward him, gently but quickly turning you around so you were sitting on his lap and he tugged at the end of your skirt so it covered the sight of his dick still stuffed inside of you. You frowned a little in surprise at the sudden unwelcome change, his heart hammering against your back and his panting breath on the back of your neck. You went to glance back at him in confusion only to see the theatre doors wide open and an attendant stroll in.

You looked at Mickey’s face in alarm but his eyes were set on the screen, refusing to meet you. You turned your head back around and looked at the screen, seeing nothing. You weren’t even sure what the movie was about anymore but you stared at the characters desperately. Mickey’s hand rested on your hip as the theatre clerk stood by the door, eyes scanning the room. It was just dark enough that the man wouldn’t be able to spot your panties bunched up on the floor, let alone you sat with your boyfriends still rigid cock up inside of you. To him, it probably looked as though you were sat on his lap cuddling him.

You shifted anxiously, feeling Mickey’s breathing change as you did so and you realised that at this angle, he could really feel you. Your eyes flickered to the utterly bored looking attendant who seemed to have his attention grabbed by the movie as an idea started ringing in your head. You slightly adjusted yourself, rising up a little and angling your hips back down. You heard him take in a sharp breath, his fingers bruising your hips as you moved very calculated and slow, unable to wipe the satisfied smile off your face as you felt his cock twitch almost pathetically inside of you.

“Filthy bitch wants to get caught.” You heard him mutter between his teeth.

You shrugged every so slightly, responding to him in a hushed whisper, “you started it. I’m finishing it.”

#eeeeek #i loved writing this #ty for the request Bex #I love writing mickey so much dude #hope you all enjoy #mickey altieri #scream #scream 2 #mickey altieri x reader #mickey altieri x you #mickey altieri smut