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seeingivy · 8 months

Note

HI RONNIE!!!! HOPE ALL IS WELL POOKIE!! i just have a suggestion for your gojo fics + ts songs if you haven’t done it already bc i havent rlly checked but gorgeous from reputation 😋😋😋

gorgeous

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: nothing much, just some good old thirsting for our favorite sorcerer

an: HELLO MY BELOVED BABIE POOKIE SWEETIE PIE FACE!!! of course I can do gorgeous (which this is actually the fourth time it's been requested for taylor as gojo so I had to do it as fast as I could) fun fact: this was one of my surprise songs when my older sister flew me out to see the eras tour in atlanta!!!!

The rosé is sweet as it trickles down your throat, immediately filling you with a warm, fuzzy feeling in the center of your chest.

“We’ve only been here for twenty minutes.” Nanami says, reaching to take the bottle from you.

“And I’ve had the longest week of my life. Please mind your own business, Kento.” you respond, reaching for the bottle back from him.

A measly tradition from when you were masters students together is now the only reason you’re making it to the end of the week. After a load of corporate bullshit for Nanami, insane work hours for Shoko, and the most disorganized elementary school in the metropolitan area for you, the three of you come together to bitch and get drunk.

Let loose. And let loose really means let loose, because the bartender hates you so much that he has a picture of the three of you printed on the front door with a very menacing Do Not Enter sign next to it.

“Hi Toji.”

“I’m going to permanently ban you from this bar one day. And I’ll feel no remorse when I kick you out on your ass either.”

“Toji, stop flirting with me or I’m going to fall in love with you.”

Toji wrinkles his nose in disgust, looking borderline offended that you would even say such a thing, as he places three beers on the table. You shoot him a wink and he flips you off in response as he walks back to his spot behind the bar.

“So what is that asshat doing?” Nanami asks.

You turn your head to find Hiro, the stupid pathologist you’ve been dating for the past eight months, doing some type of…interpretive dance in the middle of the bar with a blonde girl. Interpretive dance is a nice word for twerking on each other.

“Networking.”

Shoko and Nanami nearly burst out laughing before pushing their bottles towards you, which you happily accept.

“You win. What an absolute idiot.”

You all laugh as you watch Hiro go on, matching disgusted faces plastered on the three of your faces as his arms become more uncoordinated with each changing beat. You turn your head to the side, swallowing down your disgust with Nanami’s beer and silently thanking the Ancient Sumerians for creating the aforementioned beer for you to drown your pity in.

The door of the bar swings open behind you and Nanami and Shoko lift their hands up, giving a polite wave, before sinking back down into their chairs. You turn around to look at who they were waving at and feel your breath get tangled in your throat.

Are you drunk? Yes. Are you a little bit delusional? Probably. Is this probably a result of the idiot you’ve been dating doing some type of weird, inappropriate bird mating call on the dance floor that’s more embarrassing for you than it is for him? For sure.

But the human personification of beauty just walked into the smelly bar and you think you’ve fallen in love. In lust. In whatever you can have with this man, because he’s literally the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

He’s tall, his defined arms peeking out through the white, buttoned collared shirt he’s wearing. His sleeves are pulled just past his forearms, because he’s a whore, putting the tiniest of veins on display and honestly, making you foam at the mouth. Not only is he built, not only is he fit but he literally has the face of a fucking angel.

You’ve never understood that entire thing. Attraction at first sight. You need to sit down, get to know someone, before you can truly like them. And tonight, you stand corrected because there’s something magnetic about him. You can’t help but notice, can’t help but pay attention to him walking around the bar.

You think it’s illegal. Because who the fuck walks into this dinky ass bar looking like that? Sparkly blue eyes, peeking from behind a pair of sunglasses, and perfectly tousled, snow white hair. Looks that could kill. Like literally kill, because your heart is beating so fast it’s going to explode.

He walks past the door and takes a seat at the bar, leaning against the table to order his drink. And you’re sure your inhibitions are not present because of the bottle of wine and now four beers that you’ve downed, but you’re full on ogling him.

Because your day, your week, your life can suck ass but you’ve grown enough to know that you should let yourself enjoy the little things in life. Which includes flagrantly gawking at this beautiful, beautiful stranger.

“You’re staring.”

You turn around to face Shoko and Nanami again, nearly twitching in your seat.

“Who the fuck is that?”

“Satoru Gojo. He’s a medical malpractice lawyer, he helped out a co-worker of mine a few months ago.” responds Shoko, placing a fresh cigarette in between her teeth.

“His firm is right across from my office. I see him on the train sometimes on the way to work.” says Nanami, leaning over to light Shoko’s stick.

“Do you know the things I would do to that man?”

“What?”

“I need that man. Horrendously. Biblically. Like we’re Adam and Eve, creating something new. Who the fuck looks like that? Who the fuck walks into Toji’s disgusting ass bar looking like a Greek god? Like an angel descended from the heavens?”

“Are we talking about the same guy?” Shoko asks, blowing the smoke out of her mouth.

“Shut up. Don’t act like you don’t go goo goo ga ga over Utahime every time you see her at one of my work functions. This guy is my Utahime.”

“Y/N. Stop.”

“Shut up Kento. One night with Satoru Gojo and I’d literally lose my fucking mind. Like freak shit - on the table, in the bathroom, on the kitchen counter. Like you know that mind-blowing person you still think about when you’re a smelly, old senile person reliving your glory days when your husband cheats on you? That man under me would be MY glory days. He’s fucking gorgeous.”

You feel a hand slide around your shoulder and the aforementioned gorgeous man is now sitting right next to you, his other hand resting on your knee. He’s smiling, his eyes even more dazzling when they’re filled with the sincerity of a smile.

“Gorgeous, huh?” he says, reaching forward to pinch your cheek.

You stick your face in your hands as you move away from his burning touch.. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. He leans forward to shake hands with Shoko and Nanami, exchanging pleasantries with them. The traitors.

“Were you planning on telling me he was standing right behind me listening while I listed all the ways I would do him, Kento?”

“What do you think ‘Y/N stop it’ means?” he responds.

“No need to be ashamed, sweetheart. I think it’s really cute.”

You roll your eyes as you scoot closer to the other edge of the bench, drowning in your embarrassment as Kento and Shoko break into conversation with Gojo.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“Hey babe. Are you ready to leave?”

Hiro’s now standing at the side of the table, sweat dripping down the side of his face, as he gestures for you to stand up. And now it’s even more embarrassing, because Gojo looks way too excited to be meeting Hiro right now.

“I’m not sure we’ve met. I’m Satoru Gojo.”

“Hiro. I’m dating Y/N.”

Satoru looks over, smirking at you, before he leans back - and sends your head into a tizzy in the process because who the hell looks attractive smirking like that.

“Congratulations. You must be really happy together. Life changing.” he says.

You can feel your cheeks burning. He’s teasing you. You just admitted all the things you would do to him out loud, about how one night with him would change your life, and not only did he hear but now he’s sticking it to your boyfriend too.

You push past him in the booth, give Shoko and Nanami a halfhearted smile, before you drag Hiro out of the bar with you.

You sit against the pavement, bumping knees with Itadori, as you both eye the empty parking lot in front of you.

“I’m really sorry. My grandpa should actually be here any minute.”

You look over at him, his pink hair tousled messily and the way he’s nervously fidgeting with the strings of his yellow hoodie. You give him a smile, knowing all too well the embarrassment of being the last kid picked up from school. Patiently waiting for someone to remember to pick you up.

“Are you enjoying the third grade, Itadori?”

“Yeah. I made a few friends recently which is nice.”

“That’s always fun, kid. I’m glad you’re situating okay. Do you like the area?”

“I kind of miss my old house. But it’s nice to spend time with my grandpa.”

You feel your heart ache as you remember the little file they sent over, the written note from your principal pressed on top. That his parents passed away just before the start of the school year and his grandfather, one of his only living family members, wasn’t doing too well either.

“Do you like your teacher?”

He looks over, a shy smile on his face.

“She’s okay.”

You smile, reaching forward to mess with her hair.

“Just okay? I think I’m pretty cool.”

“Eh.”

You reach into your pocket for the lollipop you swiped from your stash and hold it out in front of him. You watch his face light up, his excited little hands ripping the paper off.

“Am I cool yet, Itadori?”

“Freezing.”

You smile, giving his shoulder a squeeze as a black car pulls up, stopping right in front of you. And out comes Satoru Gojo, in all his beauty, and one of your other students, Megumi Fushiguro.

Megumi runs straight up to Itadori, holding out his hand, as he starts dragging him to the car. You stand up, awkwardly brushing your palms against your pencil skirt as Satoru walks up to you, a smirk on his face.

And what the fuck is he doing here?

“Hi.”

“Hello. Are you here to pick up Itadori?”

“Sure am, pretty girl. Have a note from his grandpa, he’s not really feeling well.”

You nod, ignoring the tingle in your hands as he brushes his fingers against yours to hand you the note. You pretend to read the note as you try to calm your breaths and look back up at him.

Ocean blue eyes, staring into yours.

“Perfect. Well, you’re good to go.”

Satoru gives you a look before bending down to Itadori and Megumi’s heights, giving them the keys to the car and full access to playing with his stereo system. They both excitedly run into the car, leaving you and Satoru outside the school.

“Are you not leaving?”

“I thought we could chat for a bit.”

You clench your fists as he takes Itadori’s seat on the pavement and gestures for you to sit next to him. You both eye Megumi and Itadori in the car, the two of them now sticking their faces too close to the air conditioning vents and manically laughing at how poofed up their hair is getting.

“How are you?”

“Satoru Gojo. Are you really making me sit here on the pavement to ask me how I am?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Well. I already know a lot about you. Your name, your occupation, how you feel about me. I feel like we skipped a few steps so we should backtrack. I didn’t even know you were my kids' teacher till about three seconds ago.” he says, smirking over at you.

“Excuse me. How I feel about you?”

“Oh, you know. On the table, in the bathroom, on the kitchen counter.” he responds, his voice all sing-songy.

“Isn’t your wife waiting for you at home?”

You can feel the jealousy seething in you already, because you know his answer. Because there is no universe where this man does not have a girlfriend already. The best ones are already taken. He leans closer, pinching your cheek in response.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I think the whole my kid’s elementary school teacher cheating affair is cliche, Satoru. Dare I say, even more cliche than the nanny.”

“But not as cliche as the secretary.”

“Oh, of course not. That’s the holy grail of cliche cheating affairs.”

He laughs, leaning back on his forearms as you both fall into the silence. Stupid, fucking gorgeous funny charismatic looking-

“No wife for me fortunately. Or girlfriend either.”

That’s somehow worse. Because if he had a girlfriend, you could be jealous of her. Put her face on a cardboard box and kick it off a cliff. But he’s single. And now he’s just something you want but can’t have. Entirely attainable but not in your reach.

Also known as, frustrating as hell.

“Shame. I’m sure girls are lining up at the door to experience the joys of dating you.”

“And you’re first in line, sweetheart.”

You feel your cheeks burn as he stands up, the tension so unbearable you can feel it eating at you alive. He holds his hand out, that little tingle running through you again, as he helps you up, now dragging Megumi and Itadori out of the front seats. You give the three of them a smile, your blood burning, as they drive away.

He sends you a gift the next day. A donation of classroom supplies you had been egregiously emailing all the parents about and a handwritten note.

the start of a cliche <3 - satoru

You try to wipe the smile off your face. The fluttering in your chest. The presence of him in your dreams and in your mind at all times.

Suddenly, you’re seventeen again and you remember the biggest woes of your teenage life.

The ups and downs of having a crush on someone.

You clench the bowl of pudding in your hands as you ring the doorbell, which sprouts a large amount of commotion and noise behind the door. You give your hair one last pat down, after fretting over it for six hours in the mirror, as the door swings open.

You’re met with Satoru Gojo and a pink apron hanging around his neck.

“Nice outfit, Gojo. Can I try it on sometime?”

“I’ll take it off and give you a show right now, sweetheart.”

You feel your cheeks blazing as he drags you in, his warm hands taking the bowl from yours. You can hear thumping upstairs, which you’re sure is Megumi, Itadori, and Kugisaki making a mess of Gojo’s apartment.

You follow him to the kitchen, taking a quick moment to totally check him out, before you make it to his mess of a birthday cake.

“There’s no way you’re going to actually give them that, are you?”

“What’s wrong with it? It’s homemade. It has that Satoru charm.”

“More like a stinky charm. What is that smell?”

“The dishes. I need to do them because they’re kind of sticking to the pans. From this downright radioactive cake I just made.”

You shoo him away, taking on the duty of properly making something out of the ruins of the "cake" Satoru had spread on his counter. From your vantage point, he has his back turned to you, which gives you full permission to ogle him once again.

You realize that this is creepy. That no part of this is romantic and that he only invited you to Itadori’s little birthday party because you’re one of five people he actually knows in this city. But god is your heart beaming at the fact that the two of you are like this, together and alone.

You’re mixing the frosting, a perfect light pink to match Itadori’s hair, and all you can think about is how good Satoru looks in a kitchen. In that run down t-shirt and sweatpants. Being all domestic.

The way his arms look when he’s washing the dishes, how he looks when he puts things back into the fridge - his arm flexed against the handle. How reaching for the top cupboards makes the end of his shirt lift a little and you can see that muscled skin on his back.

“I’m sure that the frosting is mixed by now. You’ve been going really hard at it.”

You feel your face burn as you fill the piping bag, entirely embarrassed that he caught you staring. He makes his way over as you fill up the bags, the two of you frosting the entire sides of the cake together. At the end, you and Satoru take turns frosting the letters - the happy birthday in Satoru’s messy block printing and the itadori in your swirly cursive.

He gives you a smile and it makes your heart all lopsided as he walks away. He goes toward the stairs, gesturing for all three of them to come down.

You hear three pounding footsteps and then are bombarded with all three of them hugging you, pleasantly surprised at your arrival.

“Are you here for my birthday?”

“I sure am, birthday boy. I even brought you a gift, Itadori.” you respond, pinching his little cheek.

He leans into your touch, giving you a hard hug before he lets go to run towards the kitchen. Gojo’s too busy strapping little birthday hats onto Nobara and Megumi's head as the two of you walk in, Satoru you a gleaming smile as he carries the last two hats over to you.

“Purple or blue? Your pick, milady.”

You point at the blue party hat which Gojo smiles at, before he lifts his hands to your face and secures the hat around your head. Some part of your hair gets tangled with the string, which Gojo fixes with the swiftness of his hands, immediately securing your hair back behind your ear.

You could die happy then and there.

He gives you a smile before turning back to Itadori - tickling him and screaming singing happy birthday into his ears, making the kid laugh so hard he’s crying out of his eyes.

And you hate Satoru for inviting you. Surely he must know that something like this would only make you like him more.

You turn your neck, just at the slightest angle, to get sight of him in your periphery. Keeping an eye on him is the only way to keep him at arm's length. And you’ve successfully avoided him three times now.

More dressed down than the past few times you’ve seen him, Satoru is wearing a run down t-shirt and five inch inseam shorts - and he’s very excitedly chatting up Utahime and Nanami. You may be seeing things, but you swear he inches closer every time you move, the majority of his frame always turned to whichever direction you're standing in.

Shoko starts poking your cheek aggressively to catch your attention, her face a few feet away from yours.

“You know if you look from the side, it’s still considered staring.” she says.

“Shut up. You’re acting like you weren’t staring either, Shoko.”

“Staring at who?”

You turn around to find the person attached to the voice and immediately walk away. Of course it was fucking Gojo.

Even the sound of his voice is enough to make your heart race, like you're a six year old girl meeting your crush on the swings. You immediately race to Shoko’s bedroom, for a few seconds to calm yourself down. Sober up before you say something embarrassing again.

When you make it to her room, you haphazardly shut the door behind you and fall face first into Shoko’s bed. You can still smell the laundry on her sheets, perfectly starched and fitted to perfection. You yank your phone out from your back pocket, quickly sliding through emails and making mental notes for your to-do list tomorrow to distract yourself.

You hear the door open and close behind you, the tiny lock clicking against the frame. You turn around to find Satoru standing before you, his hands crossed against his chest.

“Why do you hate me?”

You frown, taken aback by his question.

“What?”

“Why do you hate me, Y/N? I’ve made every effort to be your friend, to be your anything and you keep ignoring me.”

“When the hell did I ignore you?”

“I’ve been trying to talk to you all night. Every time I walk up to a group you’re standing in, you walk away.”

“That’s not intentional, I-”

“I sent you everything on your wishlist for your classroom. For your students, because you wanted it really badly.”

“And I appreciate that, I really do and-”

“You didn’t even stop by to thank me. I’ve been picking up Megumi everyday waiting for you to come out.”

“Thank you. Really, it’s made such a big difference and I’ve-”

“Why don't you want to be friends with me?”

You can feel the anger, the tension, the goddamn jumbled mess of feelings this idiot makes you feel bubbling out of your mouth as you start screaming at him, at the goddamn idiocy falling out of his mouth right now.

“That's just the fucking problem. I don't want to be friends with you because I want to be more. You should take it as a compliment that I went out of my way to talk to everyone here but you. That I like you so much that I can’t stand to even be near you without telling you.”

You can see the shock spread across his face as you keep rambling, the words stringing out of your mouth.

“I don’t not talk to you on purpose. But every time I look at you, I can’t say anything to your face. You-you’re just-”

“Just what?”

“You make me so happy it’s ridiculous. You could smile at me and I’d be on the floor, giggling in my bed like I’m a twelve year old. You’re- your banter leaves me blushing, your smile makes my heart beat so fast, and you make me so happy that it makes me sad I can’t have you. I’ve embarrassed myself in front of you for the literal second time now so can I please just leave before you humiliate me some more?"

You can feel your chest heaving, a very wide eyed Gojo staring back at you with a smile on his face. You make your move to run past him, to literally avoid this guy for the rest of your life, but he grabs onto your wrist, pulling you back so you’re leaning into his chest.

"Leave me alone. I'll probably just go die alone at home with my cats now."

“It's my turn to talk now.” he says, his voice low.

“What?”

“It's my turn to talk. You’ve gotten to ramble about how you feel twice and you have yet to let me do it even once.” he deadpans, cupping your face in the side of his hand.

You nod, your cheek searing from his warm hand on your skin.

“You think I’m gorgeous. But I think you’re irresistible.”

“Huh?”

“You. are. irresistible. Every time I see you, every time I even hear about you, it makes my heart bloom in my chest. Remember that smiley face you put in the email about Megumi’s grades? I literally had to bite down on my hand to avoid fucking screaming about the entire thing. That one time you smiled at me from across the hall when I went to pick Tsumiki up from her class? I was on the fucking floor.”

He brings his other hand up, securing it around your neck to angle your face up. His eyes are burning with something you can’t place and it’s making your stomach swarm with an array of butterflies.

“And the first night I met you. Your little grumpy face with your hands curled around two bottles of beer. Giggling with Shoko and Nanami, laughing so hard you were crying. You are so, so goddamn cute, so fucking beautiful that I just had to walk over. To have your eyes looking in mine, even if it was just once.”

He leans down, pressing his lips against yours, as you nearly melt into his arms, losing the agency you had over your footing. He must sense it because he immediately brings his hands down, lifting you up from your waist so you’re even closer to his mouth, his lips deepening the kiss. He breaks apart, whispering against your mouth.

“I’d like to meet your cats.”

“What cats?”

“You literally just said you were going to do die at home alone with your cats."

"Oh. Right. I live alone, that was kind of just an expression."

"S'okay. You've always had a flair for the dramatics."

the satoru as taylor swift songs series masterlist

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @luna0713hunter @shotenvinsoot @itzmeme @squirrelspoetry

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crackedpumpkin · 1 year

Text

Ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ

Requests: Temporarily Closed

Ask Box: Always open!

Find me on AO3: CrackedPumpkinSZN

For Milestone fics, click here!

Drabbles: Under the tag #CPDrabbles

Random Asks and Rambles: Under the tag #CPRambles (Get it? Cause CPR? haha)

|| ᴄʜᴇʀʀʏ ʙʟᴏꜱꜱᴏᴍꜱ ɪɴ ᴀ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴅɪᴍᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ ||

status: being rewritten

2012 Leonardo x Waterbender! Reader

tw: mature language, graphic mentions of blood and violence

Can be found under the tag: #CBIDD

When a conservative, spirited Waterbender meets four ninja turtles and falls for the leader in blue.

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐧

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐱𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧

Hiro Hamada

|| ʙᴀᴅ ɴᴇᴡꜱ ||

Hiro Hamada x Reader

Series status: ongoing, (very) slow updates

tw: Mentions of death, deals with an actual huge amount of grief

An eager young journalist with a thirst and penchant for sniffing out potential headlines gets fired from her job. Fortunately, her newfound friend Tadashi Hamada sets her up with a new one. Oh, and his cute younger brother who lingers around and compliments her? That’s a bonus.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧

Undercover

You just want to take a break from all your acting gigs, and decide to stop by cute cafe, when you happen to run into the cute boy working there.

|| ʙʟᴀɴᴋ ᴄᴀɴᴠᴀꜱ ||

Miles Morales x Reader

Series Status: Ongoing. Can also be found on AO3!

tw: None, just pure fluff and mild angst.

He fell first. She fell harder.

“Be my model, Miles Morales.”

“....Que?”

In other words, sometimes the best way to get past an art block is to rizz up your muse.

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐞

In Every Universe

“In every other universe, Gwen Stacy falls for Spiderman.”

Nishinoya

New Manager

A second year gets roped into the Karasuno’s volleyball team as their new assistant manager, courtesy of Tanaka. However, her shy nature is quickly bulldozed over once she meets an energetic libero whom brings about change in her routine.

But then again, change isn’t so bad, is it?

tw: none, SFW

Dating Nishinoya Would Include...

A few headcanons for our short king <3

The Mad Dogs

Spiderman Reader Leaving Gifts Headcanon!

Theatrics

BootyShaker9000

People-Watching

It’s a common hobby, and it’s helped you get out of small situations before. But when you’re stuck in a really dangerous one, who else is there to save you but an unexpected knight in shining armor?

Somehow though, you keep showing up over and over again around him, always in danger. He puts up with it, but the constant saving creates a small friendship between you two and along the way, you’ve somehow wormed your way into his heart.

tw: mentions of kidnapping, SFW

Neon Leon

101 Ways to Live

"Look, here's the deal. I'll protect you in exchange for your cooking. No room and board included." He holds out his green three-fingered hand to you, a lazy smile on his lips while he waits for your response to his final bargain.

You hesitate momentarily, mulling over the options in your head. You lift your hand, grabbing his in a firm handshake. "Looks like we've reached an agreement."

tw: Zombie Apocalypse AU, vivid descriptions of blood and gore, violence, eventual smut.

𝐅𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

Happy Smurfin’

A shitpost I’m unironically proud of. FanArt by @highoffshrooms -> HERE!

Under the Streetlights

All you wanted was to take a walk, in the dark, alone. That’s a lie. You’re scared and afraid of the dark, so when your turtle in blue shows up, you’re relieved that you’ll be safe. However, his brothers have something slightly different for the both of you in mind.

tw: none, SFW

Pregnancy Jitters

Morning nausea isn’t a regular routine you want incorporated in your everyday life. But when you you find out its cause, it might not be such a bad thing to deal with after all.

tw: none, slight(very slight!) NSFW

Liar

He wasn’t going to show up. He was never going to show up.

tw: angst, SFW

part two

Instinct

Leo just wants to bite you

Unwelcome Interruption

He just wants to rest with you, but his brothers keep preventing him from doing so. His solution? To not let you out of his arms.

Undercover Crush

When going undercover at April’s highschool to figure out what the Purple Dragons are up to, the last thing he expects is for their newest member to be this cute.

Favourite Things

Songfic(?)

Caught Red Handed

The Sun Festival, a celebration for the many. People flock to the busy streets for wares and game stalls alike, for the seven days it takes place - once every two years.

You're just a humble store owner trying to sell her freshly made pastries, though a troublesome(and very sneaky) thief manages to elude your sight every time, making away with four to five of them during each day of the celebration.

But not this year.

Oh, this year you would catch that thief red-handed.

2k12 Raphael Hamato

Softie

He’s only a softie around you.

tw: none, fluff, SFW

2k12 Donatello Hamato

Oblivious

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

When you’ve finally had enough, and a sudden confession changes everything.

2k12 Casey Jones

Weird

A careless bet turned serious, but there’s no way that he’s going to lose.

Just A Bet

When a bet with Raph turns far more serious than he expected.

Robin

When he realises he likes you

tw: none, SFW

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

Cole Brookstone

Infuriating Melodies

Being able to hear the songs your soulmates listen to is reassuring for most, especially with the distance signifying how far away they are. Unfortunately for you, it seems that your soulmate’s taste in music is excruciating to the point of disdain.

tw: none, SFW.

Infuriating Melodies (The Series)

𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

Soft Dances and Soft Tunes

Reminiscing can lead to unexpected outcomes.

Flower Crowns

Gift-giving is how you show affection, but nothing is good enough in your eyes for the Earth Ninja.

But flower crowns do look good on him though.

Familial Ties

Platonic Dad! Cole x Adopted Baby! Reader

Drummer Boy

A cute store assistant gives you drum lessons.

Holy Ground

Imagine a night when the famed ninja show up at your temple’s doorstep heavily injured. Of course, healing them comes first, but it’s what develops between you and the Earth Ninja that really matters.

Jay Walker

Lighting McQueen

You and Jay now have a running joke. Kachow.

Danny Phantom

It Started with a Kiss

When a simple dare becomes all too real for you. It’s just a kiss. That’s all.

#atla #tmnt #tmnt 2012 #danny phantom #bh6 #ninjago #masterlist #series #x reader #haikyuu #danny phantom x reader #bh6 x reader #ninjago x reader #haikyuu x reader #tmnt x reader

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theywhowriteandknowthings · 7 months

Text

Blood Money Chapter One: The Capo - A Reader x Dave York x Max Phillips fic - Vampire Mafia AU

General Warnings: 18+, as is the whole of my blog, I will mark anything specific but be aware this is predominantly a smutty blog that writes porn with plot. DNI if you are a minor. By reading further you have taken the responsibility to do so with the warnings I have given. Specific warnings: Reader is in captivity, chained up, a servant of a malicious vampire mob outfit, blood, gore, horror elements, existensial dread, thoughts of death and ending reader's life. Max Phillips is a warning in himself. Canon/horror trope-typical violence. I'm going back to tag lists so please let me know if you want to be added! Big thanks to @wannab-urs and @pascalispretty for beta-ing and proofing this one! And special thanks to @pastelnap and @patti7dc for being my muses on this one, even if I am so mad you made me start a new work with my WIP backlog as it is (I love you really thank you so much!!) Without further ado:

Summary: Stuck in a basement for over a year, fixing the books of one of the most ruthless Mafia outfits in New York City has no perks, only pain, misery and servitude. But when your masters are murdered by a rival clan, you wish for a swift death, but Max Phillips has other plans for you. [Ao3 Link] Masterlist Next Chapter->

Chapter One: The Capo

The clink of chains, the dripping of a leaking pipe. The combined smell of your own body odour, blood, and mould. The flicker of the too-bright fluorescent tube lighting burning your eyes. The cool air of the basement hits your bare skin, a pleasant distraction from a fever burning through you.

These were the only sensations you have known for over a year, but getting kidnapped by the vampire clan that runs this part of New York City renders such discomforts mundane. The fact you are still drawing breath is a blessing and a curse.

“Come on meat-sack, work time.” The vampire guarding the door snaps you out of your sleep-deprived haze. You look up to see Ren, a sadistic underling with a habit of trying to scare you enough to make you piss yourself. Although, that hasn’t happened in months. His jet-black hair is slicked back in a ponytail and his dark eyes devour you, his tongue snaking over his lips as he lingers on your exposed chest.

You sit at your desk, atop a faded leather office chair that creaks and wobbles from age. But it’s not like you could tell the Vampire Mafia that they needed better facilities for their staff. You flick through the disorganised mess of papers, receipts, shipment manifests and try your best to ignore him. But he saunters over to you, coming to hover over your shoulder.

“Shame Hiro’s going to fuck you up later, you’ve become so obedient.” Ren chuckles as he rattles your restraints. He snaps his fanged teeth against your neck, you’re almost sure the blunt ridges of his incisors brush your skin but you’re so desensitised now that you just nod. He wouldn’t risk puncturing your skin, even today. But you doubt you’d care even if he did.

“You’ve gotten boring anyway.” He grumbles at your lack of response and leaves, locking the secure door behind him as you sit in your concrete box. Your calloused, raw hands sift through the documents once more, but your mind is foggy and sluggish. You actually think you might be dying. You sip at the canteen of water chained to your desk – the metallic tang of contaminated water burns your throat – but it’s better than dying of thirst.

Your head pounds. You try to balance the manifest against the ledger in front of you but your vision blurs. Your body aches with cold numbness that spreads to your extremities like a spill of oil, slow, sluggish, suffocating. You’re falling asleep, face pressed against the desk when you hear it, the unmistakable rattle of semi-automatic weapons above you.

Your head perks up, something about the break in monotony appeals to that dim, flickering ember in your chest that wants to live. You know there’s no point trying to break free, you’ve spent the best part of a year trying to free yourself. So, you wait, skin buzzing with tension as you wait for whatever is coming your way.

Footsteps in the corridor beyond your prison door make your heart race. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as the locking mechanism clicks and you hold your breath. The door swings open and the realisation hits you; who would even come and rescue you? The FBI? The Police? Fucking Columbo?

“Let’s see what Hiro’s got hidden away in here.”

A low rumbling voice floats through the door as you feel your stomach lurch. You try and cover your naked body with your free hand, palm splayed over your right breast, forearm draped over the other.

“Help, please!” You call out, desperation getting the better of you for fear that they would miss you and you’d end up stranded, starving to death in your concrete prison. The door swings wide and you feel the blood leave your cheeks as another, unfamiliar vampire darkens the doorway.

He’s tall and clean shaven with perfectly styled hair that sweeps over his brows. His dark eyes glimmer in the harsh tube lighting, they rake over your naked form with a deep, primal hunger.

His three-piece suit is tailored to perfection. Grey suit jacket and slacks snug enough to show off his lean body but loose enough to not hinder his movement. The red and black baroque waistcoat and pocket square ooze opulence. If there wasn’t a semi-automatic rifle in his one hand, and a bloodied knife in the other, you would probably think him dashing.

But the fangs that jut over his plush lips extinguish all hope of escape. They glimmer, almost luminous, in the harsh lighting and you sit down slowly, crumpling into the decrepit office chair.

“Just get it over with.”

The vampire cocks an eyebrow at you, baring his perfectly white teeth at you in amusement. He saunters over, weapons still clutched in his large hands. You lean your neck to the side, eyes closed, you can’t even bring yourself to cry. You just want it all to end.

You feel him hover over you, the smell of his floral cologne invading your senses as you try not to react. The less you seem meek the quicker it’ll all be. The chains clink and you feel the restraints on your right ankle and wrist pull taut.

“Poor little thing, naked, dirty…” The vampire mutters in your ear, he inhales pointedly against your hairline, “But not afraid? Why is that little lamb?”

You go rigid as you feel the chains jostle once more, then an audible crack as your restrains fall away from your limbs. You whimper involuntarily at the blissful relief that radiates from the abused flesh; you’ve not had your restraints off in so long. You hear the vampire hiss, a curse in Spanish leaving his lips before he barks orders to someone else in the room.

“Just kill me!” You wail as you open your eyes, you turn to your captor and try to push against him, goad him on, rile him up to just rip your throat out and get it over with. You pound meekly against his chest with little effect.

A warm, heavy jacket weighs your shoulders down and you look up to see a strange look on the vampire’s face. A mixture of curiosity and pity, which only serves to makes you angry. But the world lurches around you before you can form another thought. You fall forward, nose pressed against the vampire’s silk waistcoat, and you welcome the sweet release of death.

----

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Dave finally snaps as he paces behind his desk. Not for the first time, he’s glad for the hardwood flooring. He knows there would be a worn patch beneath his feet if his office was carpeted. Max is splayed out on the chaise lounge in the middle of the office, a smug smile causing his cheeks to dimple. His buttons popped open to display the gold chain around his neck.

“She’s useful. She’s been running those books for well over a year, judging by the sores on her, we could use her.” Max says with a shrug, eyeing his superior with such challenge that would spell death for any of the other Capos.

Dave falters at the comment, searching Max’s features for a hint of a joke, or even deception. But for once, he reads Max like a book; something about this human is special. And Dave intends to find out what it is.

“We’ve been a team for a very long time Max, don’t make me regret this.”

----

You cough violently as you jolt awake, your mouth is dry and your tongue like sandpaper. Your head swims as you try and take in the dark surroundings.

Gone is the smell of rot and decay. Instead, you find your face pressed into clean, soft sheets that smell so fresh it’s almost surreal. You blink sleep from your eyes and roll up into a sitting position, you gaze around the darkness with tired eyes. You spot two doors; the one is firmly shut to your left. The other is ajar but the lack of light prevents you from seeing where it leads.

You turn back to look at the nightstand: there’s a pitcher of water and a glass waiting for you with a small note tucked under the base, and a lamp with a pull cord. You close your eyes and turn it on, opening your eyes slowly to the newly illuminated room. The colour scheme is deep brown and white, minimalist, yet dripping with wealth.

There’s a closet with mirrored doors at the far end of the room, next to what you can now safely assume is an ensuite. The mirrors let you look at yourself for the first time in so long and it makes your stomach roll. You’re too far away to make out the details but the sight is horrifying. You’re forced to look away from the gaunt, emaciated image of yourself, instead looking anywhere else.

The light from the modest lamp spills out over deep brown wooden floor, you let your eyes roam away from the mirrors, up to high-vaulted ceilings and down to the thick blackout curtains which effectively block any and all light from the outside world.

Not underground.

You think absently to yourself as another cough erupts from your throat. You pull the note out and place it on your lap as you pick the pitcher up with both hands, not bothering to decant the untainted liquid. It tastes like nectar on your abused tongue.

You groan aloud as the water washes over your dry tongue, rehydrating your mouth like an old sponge. You feel better with every gulp, but you force yourself to stop. You know if you drink too quickly you’ll just make yourself sick. You instead pour a glass of water, putting the pitcher down on the nightstand before unfolding the note.

The door is unlocked, the vampire guarding your room will arrange a car to take you wherever you need, if you so wish to leave. Her name is Amalia, and she is tasked with looking after you.

I hope you stay. We could use someone like you on our side.

Max (The handsome vampire that saved your life)

Your brow furrows as you try to make sense of the whirlwind of events that led to this point. You’re not dead, nor are you chained up, yet the sense of imminent danger remains. It clings to you like wet clothing, dragging you down, chilling you to the bone.

You look down at your body, lifting the sheets to check for restraints, you notice you are wearing someone else’s clothes. A white dress shirt that smells of orange peel and cinnamon, and a pair of loose, grey, cotton sweatpants. Both articles of clothing are too big for you but there’s a strange sense of comfort wearing something not your own. Not that you’ve owned anything substantial for some time.

You force yourself out of bed and make for the closed door. You knock gently on it before speaking through it to your vampire guardian.

“Amalia?”

“Ah, you’re awake, excellent. Have you made a decision yet?” Her voice is gruff and coarse but there’s a warmth to the way she speaks, setting you a little more at ease.

“No, but I am starving and I need to wash. Can you get me something to eat?”

“Of course, what kind of thing do you want?”

“I don’t know.” You say softly, realising you haven’t eaten a hot meal in as long as you can remember.

“I’ll figure it out. Try not to get your bandages wet, Max will kill me if he has to redress them so soon.” The sound of Amalia’s footsteps heading away from the door sets something off in your brain, the instinct to flee hits you like a punch to the gut.

No matter what the note says, you know that trusting vampires was foolish and often deadly. You have the chance to flee, but to where? You don’t even know where you are; are you still in New York? Did they move you across state lines?

And what would you even do? You’re weak, malnourished, they’d catch you before you even leave the building.

You scold yourself internally as you feel the desire to run ebb away, leaving hopelessness in its wake. You trudge into the bathroom and strip out of the shirt and sweatpants. The ensuite is large, with a walk-in shower taking up much of the right wall. The floor is tiled, large blue squares with streaks of silver and white arcing through the tile like the veins in marble.

The walls are bright white, and all the light fixtures and faucets are sparkling gold. You wonder for a moment if it’s all real gold. You spot the sink and mirrored medicine cabinet which you immediately cover with a towel from the heated rack fixed to the wall next to it. You’re not ready to see yourself, not yet.

You open the medicine cabinet to find it stocked with expensive shampoo, conditioner, and soap, as well as generic deodorant sticks, toothbrushes, toothpaste, even mouthwash. You feel a strange twinge of gratitude as you note the effort put in to accommodate a non-vampire like this. But you can’t trust it, your brain automatically lurching to thoughts of being buttered up, coaxed into a false sense of security. You grab the things you need and close the cabinet.

You turn the shower on and angle your body so that your right arm and leg stay out of the spray. You wash as best you can, taking twice the normal time due to only having one functioning arm and leg. You work through the products you had selected, making sure to wash your hair thoroughly. You can’t even remember the last shower you took, let alone the last time you washed yourself so thoroughly.

You towel off before using some of the fancy moisturisers on your face and skin without thinking, a strange appeal to your life before as you fall so easily into a muscle memory routine. Tears spring from your eyes, tracking down your cheeks as you feel something you can’t put into words. Like a burst of anguish and elation all at the same time. Like a burning blade being quenched in oil, it hisses and spits, but something about it all feels right.

You pull on the sweatpants and button up the dress shirt, subconsciously nuzzling into the collar as you head back to the bed. You still don’t know what time it is, but you really don’t care; you’re hungry and tired, and once you’ve eaten your fill you plan to sleep for as long as your captors allow.

You sit on top of the sheets, knees pulled up to your chest as you try to occupy your thoughts with something other than the looming inevitability of the servitude to your new vampiric overlords.

Same shit, different choice of designer suit.

----

“Food’s ready. Do you want it in there or in the dining room?” Amalia’s gruff voice calls through the door and your head perks up from its position atop your knees as you wake from a daydream.

“I can come out?”

“Of course. Max told me he left you a letter, didn’t you read it?”

“Well, yeah,” You call back, your voice stronger than before, a little self-confidence bleeding through, “But I just assumed that was some sort of trick.”

“Smart, I’ll give you that, but Max and Mr York are men of their word.”

“I’ll have it out there.” You say, crawling off the bed with weak legs. Your bandages were bleeding through a little and you wince at the deep crimson spreading across the off-white mesh.

“Alright I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be just outside the far door, the one with the peephole, if you need me.” Amalia says and you wait until you hear the closing of a second door before you twist the doorknob, mustering up the courage to leave the modest sanctuary of your room.

The next room is dimly lit, enough light to see by but with an ambience to it that felt almost romantic. There are no windows in this room, in their stead are lavish paintings in gilded frames. The long dining table sits at the centre of the room and you want to spend some time exploring this new space, but the smell of food draws you deeper into the room.

Three paper bags and three cup drinks sit on placemats and coasters, protecting the rich mahogany of the tabletop from grease and condensation. Each bag has the contents scribbled in Sharpie somewhere on the exterior, the drinks the same.

Cheeseburger and Fries

Chicken shawarma (Dairy Free)

Vegan jackfruit loaded nachos (Gluten Free)

Once again, the care and attention to your wants and needs strikes you like a physical blow. None of this was necessary or even reasonable. You’re a meat-sack waiting for the inevitable chaining to a desk and eventual draining when your value diminishes. Yet here you were, with a choice of three meals, and three sodas, as if they want you to be comfortable.

You rip all the bags open, sampling from each as you go. You can’t remember a time when you had variety in your diet, let alone a warm meal. You barely touch the soda, the fizz harsh on your tongue after so long without it; but there’s almost nothing left of the take-out bags by the time you’re done.

You settle back against the dining chair and let out a soft noise, somewhere between a whine and a burp. You sit for a while, letting the post-food coma take over as you feel giddy. You’ve been feeding on pouches of brown or grey mush for too long – you know you’ve overeaten, but you don’t care.

Freedom tastes sweet.

You ignore the little voice in the back of your mind that tries to remind you that this isn’t freedom. You want to acknowledge the small win, savour the brief reprieve from crippling despair.

The sound of the apartment door opening has you jumping to your feet, backing away slowly from the table, subconsciously making for the bedroom. Your heart hammers in your chest, your limbs feel heavy and unresponsive as you try to fight the Pavlovian instinct to submit and drop to your knees and bow your head.

“Max, come on, she’s still fragile, I don’t think she wants to see anyone yet.” Amalia’s voice has lost all the warmth she had used with you, and you hear Max hiss at her denial.

“Amalia, get out of my way or I will move you, and I can’t promise you’ll still have all your limbs when I’m done.”

You’re frozen, glued to the spot as you wait for Max to force his way inside, your skin slick with sweat as you wring your hands in front of you. You hear Amalia make a huffing noise of dissent, not quite a sigh, but something similar in tone.

The door opens slowly and Max slips inside, closing it with a soft click, as if after his explosive conversation with Amalia he could pass inside undetected. You let out a shaky breath and watch as he turns to see you standing there, arms crossed over your chest.

“Ah, shit, you heard that then?” He says with a dazzling flash of his perfectly white teeth. It’s disarming, leaving you feeling more confident than you know you have any right to be.

“It’s hard to ignore the threat of dismemberment when it’s practically roared through the hall.” You say softly, immediately clamping your hands over your mouth, eyes wide and pleading as you watch Max stalk over to you.

He’s wearing the same pressed slacks as before, but gone is the suit jacket and waistcoat. The sleeves of his white dress shirt are rolled up, the material accentuates his firm biceps; and gold shirt garters sit just above his elbows, holding them in place. His shirt is open, revealing a gold chain resting against his tan skin and small tufts of chest hair. You shamefully feel a spark of attraction for the monster before you, but you can’t deny he’s attractive, vampire or not.

“Glad you’ve got some fire in you, was worried you’d be deathly boring.” Max says with a dramatic roll of his eyes before opening a door to your left, gesturing for you to follow.

You hesitate, unsure if you should follow, but ultimately you decide to do as you’re told. You follow Max through into a large study, the walls are lined with bookshelves – mostly non-fiction but you spot a few unmarked ledgers bound in leather with gilded lettering interspersed amongst them.

Max flops down on one of the cream sofas that surround a small black coffee table. Beyond you spy an expensive looking desk with an equally extravagant looking green leather chair. You take a seat opposite Max, tucking your bare feet underneath you as you try to stop fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

“So, you’re probably expecting some grand monologue about how you belong to our Clan now, how you are to serve us as a diligent little worker bee until you serve no further use and we dispose of you. About right?”

You nod curtly, your eyes roaming over the vampire so casually sprawled out like a cat before you. His rich brown eyes are almost kind, but there’s a stony edge to them that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“Did you read my note?”

You give another nod and Max rolls his eyes and sighs, a deliberate action, seeing as vampires don’t breathe.

“I’m not in the business of being the only one talking, as much as I like the sound of my own voice. It gets tedious,” He pauses and sits up straight, resting his elbows on his knees before cradling his chin on top of his interlaced fingers, “Please, I meant it when I said we would let you go; for vampires, we’re actually pretty reasonable.”

“Sorry, I’m just not used to being allowed to speak.” You bow your head, averting his piercing gaze. He makes a small tsk sound and you feel the warmth of his fingers brush your jaw. You try not to shudder but it’s like fire is being breathed into your skin, vitality returning to you like sunshine after unending rain. His large hand cradles your face, and he coaxes you to look up at him. He’s leaning over the coffee table, his eyes soft and vulnerable as he tries to reassure you without words.

“If you choose to stay, you will never have to worry about being kept mute, nor caged. You will be part of our family, you have my word.” His voice is serious, fringed with emotion and a fragility you don’t understand.

“And if I choose to leave?”

“We will let you go, but you will be on your own. Hiro is in the wind, and he won’t stop until you’re back under his heel, or dead.” He says with a sympathetic twitch of his lips, not quite a smile, not quite a grimace.

“So I don’t really have a choice?”

“No, I guess not, but I know which option I would pick.” Max goes to move his hand from your face but you snatch his wrist without thinking, holding it against you. The tender touch of a monster is too sweet on your touch starved skin.

“But I mean it, we don’t intend to keep you prisoner, we’d like you to work for us, bookkeeping just like for Hiro, but without the chains and nudity.” Max doesn’t try to pull away and you drop your hand back into your lap. You lean into his touch, your mind softened by the promises of his silver tongue, your body mending at the tenderness of his fingers.

“Fine, I‘ll do it.”

“Excellent. Well we don’t expect you to start straight away, you’re, frankly,” He pauses as he pulls away to look you up and down, “A hot mess, and we want you healthy and fit before putting you to work.”

Max stands and holds his hand out to you and you wobble to your feet and take it as firmly as your weakened body can manage.

“Thank you.” You feel tears well up as you feel the rush of emotion coursing through you.

“No crying now, I don’t know how to deal with that shit,” Max scrunches his face up at you, like you’ve just dropped a dead rat at his feet.

“Noted.”

You feel a small laugh escape your lips as you shake your head in disbelief. Max takes you back to your room, hovering behind you but never touching you. Even if you secretly wish he would, he bids you a good morning, informing you that it’s just after four.

“Oh, and I’ll be by later to redress your bandages. Sleep well.”

The door clicks shut behind you and you take a shaky breath before climbing into bed, nestling amongst the soft sheets before closing your eyes.

Here goes nothing.

Thanks for reading! I'm going back to tag lists so please let me know if you want to be added! Let me know what you think!