#not only by the (gestures) but also man u can tell i stopped drawing in high school and only regressed since then :'''''''')

[prettyboykatsuki]

when you start writing for ushijima >>>>>>>>>>>>>

can you tell im begging?

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inevitable | u. wakatoshi

➳ tags ;; fluff n smut, getting together, first times together, unprotected sex, intentional lower case 18+

➳ wc ;; 1.9k (WHAT THE FUCK)

➳ a/n ;; ask n u shall recieve (i had rlly bad brainrot tn actually)

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if you had to describe ushijima wakatoshi in one word, you think the word you would chose is inevitable.

in·ev·i·ta·ble | /inˈevidəb(ə)l/ adjective certain to happen; unavoidable

of all the ways you could describe a person, it's probably not the best word. you could think of a laundry list of other ones to describe - really. hard-working, dependable, strong-willed, mindful, cautious. he's a lot of things and you think that's why he's so good at what he does. he's powerful but he he's brilliant at where he uses that power.

you would also use words like that to describe him, if you had too. if you had to give someone the run-down of wakatoshi - you could probably give them a whole speech about his accolades. he's probably the kindest person you know and he does that mostly on accident. he helps little old ladies carry groceries and lets your niece climb his arms like monkey bars with the most plain look on his face.

he's a lot of things - funny on accident, charming on purpose. but of all the things he is - to you, the thing he is most, is inevitable.

it's not hard for you to admit that you weren't exactly.. welcoming to ushijima when you first met him. you were a barista and he was well.. a big, pro-athlete who came to buy straight dark coffee every morning. after his work-outs (or what you figured was workouts since he always looked pretty sweaty) he bought himself precisely one pastry and a bottle of water and went about his day.

and it went like that for months. obviously you found him handsome - the way you could basically autopilot your shifts but completely broke down when he was there was evidence of that. he was tall, broad, handsome and nice. the kind of man who meets your grandmother, you think.

he always asked about you and you gave him short answers. too nervous to elaborate but he made you anyways, somehow and some way. and he comes back to you every week with details of your life you'd only mention in passing. he'd chuckle - a soft little smile at the way your eyes went wide. for someone so dense, he wasn't all that out of touch when it came to you. one morning your hands trembling just a little more than normal when you hand him back his change

(he tells you later he paid in cash just to see you stumble)

and he asks you with a plain look. observant.

"do i make you nervous?"

that's when you knew, really. you stood no chance against the all-consuming force that was and is ushijima wakatoshi. the subtlety and nuance in all of his actions left you worse for wear and any suspicions you had about how he might be treating you were to be confirmed much later down that line.

he's dense in the same way avocadoes are fruit. it's true, technically - but in a lot of ways and functionally it's just not the same. you think that the better word to use for him is selectively intelligent - like he doesn't bother thinking about anything that doesn't interest him for more than two minutes. but on the rare occasion it does interest him, i.e how you interest him - he becomes some kind of expert.

you've always been a little stubborn when it came to love. heartbreak does that to you - and you were overly cautious with ushijima. you let your heart walk on eggshells. you didn't let his gestures or touches or glances mean anything to you. you didn't let yourself be swayed by the smell of his cologne - sweet and woodsy on the back of your throat. not by the way he placed his hand on your lower back to walk past you on days off.

and when he took you out, to see the movies and stargaze, you told yourself it isn't a date. you tried your best really. because there is something really unbelievable about ushijima wakatoshi liking you - beyond the fact that he's some pro-athlete.

there's something about him that's a little unreal. not that he's perfect, but that all of his flaws make him more attractive. it almost bothers you but he doesn't seem to understand when you give him those lengthy explanations. hands making all types of gestures, flustered as he smiles. he doesn't take anything from your little lecture that day, just gives you a once over as he drives you home.

"oh, so you find me attractive?"

you didn't stand a chance. he was, and is, inevitable. everything about him has this powerful but subtlety all-consuming nature to him. you think the best way to think of it is like letting yourself float. the way you release the weigh in your body and inevitable give into letting it hold you. even if waves came - you'd probably stay in that state.

ushijima is like that. a constant presence and overwhelming force. you get swayed without even thinking. he could probably become president, if he really wanted. lucky for everyone else, he just wants to play volleyball. you think that it's a shame in equal parts that it's a gift but you digress.

the point is that you could never really be away from ushijima. and as hard as you tried to avoid the growing affection - you find that ushijima is always a few steps ahead. always reaching far beyond you with big, strong hands.

you try so hard, to avoid the inevitable. you do it with your whole soul. you're honestly just.. intimated. you've never felt something like him before - not once in your whole life. you're afraid of what'll happen when you succumb to the waves so you dodge the deep sea for weeks and weeks.

he found you after your shift one day after 3 weeks of dry texting and avoided phone calls. wearing a suit and a purple shirt and a nice watch, he has flowers too. and you're in.. a barista uniform with tousled everything and smudged mascara.

inevitable is really the only word. as you stop dead in your tracks, and as ushijima pulls you aside with the mostly gentlemanly smile. you kind of wanna cry when you look at him.

"i've waited a long time but i don't think i can much longer,"― he shifts a little. he almost looks nervous - it's the first time you've ever seen him look anything but overwhelmingly confident ― "i like you and i'd like to be with you,"

he doesn't really offer you much other than a confession and his hands. the frustrating thing is that he doesn't need to. it's the first time he's seen you cry but he handles you well, does it easily like he does everything else. like somehow he's just good at it, soothes you while you sob into his chest and melt into his presence and let yourself fall underwater.

in a probably not so surprising turn of events, you find that ushijima fucks with the same approach that he does most other things.

with careful consideration that seems effortlessly. it makes you feel a little hopeless that he feels good at everything. even at comforting you.

the first time you have sex, you take off his shirt for him. and he takes your hand and puts it up to his chest. gives you the most gentle look. his heart-beat is rapid.

"you make me .. nervous too. just so you know,"

the one thing about ushijima is that everything about him is big and wide and broad. he kisses you like he's trying to circle the solar system - there's a slowness to it. a vastness as he has you seated in his lap with his hands exploring up your body. his hands are everywhere. he's good with them. not too gentle but not too rough as the spread your thighs open.

he cups your pussy and it fits in his whole palm. his middle finger teases your slit as his kisses travel south, down your jaw and onto your neck. they latch onto your chest with a little breathless sigh - like he can't even breathe. it makes you clench when he talks to you - raspy.

"you're.... beautiful,"

he makes you shy. so shy as you lean forward a little and rock into his hand - a burning need nipping at you. and his eyes widen and his cock stiffens and his breath hitches and you think this is the first time you've caught him off-guard before. you wanna bask in it but you're too desperately so you latch onto his lips again.

ushijima does everything right. with knowledge in it. he kisses you and sucks on your tits and plays with your clit with this.. knowing. he likes seeing you fall apart he thinks. he likes how you get when he takes it much slower than he needs too - how he drags you through one orgasm to another with this lithe. he lets you lean over his shoulder when he fingers you - and his two fingers stretch you out like four of your own.

his cock is big. bigger than you think any person could ever take. you stare at it for a long while, gaping at it. your hands barely fit around it and that image burns itself into ushijimas brain like a permanent memory. your mouth falls open and your eyes look hazy and ushijima thinks that he's never wanted to be inside of something so bad before.

"it's so big," ― you whisper, hoarse ― "i-it won't fit,"

"i'll make it fit," ― is his only reply, kissing the crown of your head ― "sit tight,"

he does, by the way. make it fit. he makes it fit good - makes it stretch your pussy out but you don't feel like you'll break. there's a little pressure inside, and your clit swells with desire and blood - but it fits. and his eyes are glued to the way your cute little cunt seems to be swallowing him like it's nothing. it's enough to make him lose his mind.

"c-can i move?"

you nod and he does. slow at first. he draws the noise from you - a slow and soft moan leaving your lips as he drags his cock in and out of you. but it gets faster, goes much faster than you thought it could.

eventually he has you bouncing in his lap, on his cock, with such force that you feel like you can't breathe. it feels unbelievable, sets off a supernova in your gut like at any moment you could come undone. you feel like you're breaking and ushijima doesn't help, soft grunts and whispered affections.

"you're so beautiful," and "im so happy" that make you feel dizzy. you'd probably give him anything he asks for. he bounces you on his cock and lets his thumb just rest on your clit and you're so close you can almost taste it.

"cum for me," ― like he's begging ― "please,"

what choice do you have anyways? you cum on his cock with a silent scream, like your voice is tearing a blackhole into space and you shudder while he holds you in place. he finishes only seconds afterwards.

"did it feel good?"

you give him a wide-eyed look. he's dense at times. you don't know how to hate him for it so you just sigh and nod, cozying to him.

"y..yeah,"

he kisses your forehead, sweaty and tired.

"good,"

yeah. you were right.

you never had a single chance of winning against him.

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#WHY DID THIS GET SO LONG WHAT THE FUCK #return to sender #ushijima x reader #haikyuu x reader #prettyboy.thirsts #formal #writing tag #IM GONNA BE SICK HOW DID THIS EVEN HAPPEN #haikyuu smut #ushijima smut

[honeydazai]

hii i saw that u write nsfw too! and i wanted to request a dazai x reader (it can be a scenario or headcannons, however you're more comfy with) in which dazai has an spank kink? assfssddd i swear im over heels for this man

it can be fem or gn reader, again, however you're more comfortable with, thank you for reading!

Dazai who loves to spank you....

Dazai, who doesn't mind putting up with your bratty attitude in public and chuckles when you snap at him, but also doesn't hesitate to bend you over his knee once you two are alone,

Dazai, whose favourite position is you laying across his lap, your ass raised and on display with your skirt flipped up, because of how utterly defenseless you are like this,

Dazai, who loves how responsive you are - the way you cry out every time his palm comes down on your ass, how you feebly kick your legs in protest and how your whole body jolts forward with the force of the hit makes his dick twitch with excitement,

and you honestly have no choice but to react this strongly, because, despite his rather lanky figure, Dazai isn't weak; his hits are harsh and sting awfully, especially since they're dealt with precision - you didn't seriously think of him as frail and fragile just because of his physique, did you? he was a mafia executive after all, you should've expected this to hurt -,

Dazai, who deliberately alters his rhythm every few minutes, only because it's much more fun to see you all tense, awaiting the next hit without knowing when it's coming,

and Dazai, who chuckles each time you wail and whine, your noises high-pitched and pleading as tears drip down your flushed cheeks, while he keeps you from squirming away with one hand placed on the small of your lower back or with a firm grasp on the back of your neck,

“Oh, love, look at you - crying already, and we're not even half-way done. What a shame, really; if only you wouldn't have been such a brat, I wouldn't have to do this. Oh? But what's this, belladonna? Don't tell me you're enjoying this.”

Him, smirking as he trails his fingers down between your legs, scooping some of your arousal up and caressing your wet folds, and, god, you can't help but tremble at the sudden touch, a moan leaving your lips,

and you're unable to stop your hips from grinding against his lap and your legs from spreading further apart, your arousal coating your own thighs and his fingers, and Dazai only laughs, the sound clear and mocking,

“You're truly getting off on this. That's really pathetic, love, you know? What a slut you are, so needy. Your cunt is literally dripping wet - you're getting my trousers all dirty. Well, at least I don't have to feel guilty about drawing this out more then, hm?”

Dazai, who only chuckles and mocks you when you beg him to stop because now, the ache is really setting in and you can do nothing but choke out sobs as his hands move to your ass to knead the soft giving skin, the gesture seemingly comforting but only serving to punish you more with how sensitive and raw your heated ass feels,

and, god, it's unfair that he chooses to interpret your pained whine as one of pleasure, but you can't bring yourself to complain when lithe fingers are suddenly spreading your cunt open, causing you to moan,

“My, you're basically sucking me in. Do you want my fingers that badly, hm? Ah, that's tragic, really. I doubt you've learned your lesson yet.”

and also Dazai, who keeps groping and occasionally slapping your ass after he's done with you, only to watch you grimace in discomfort as you force yourself not to whimper,

“Ah, belladonna, you should be thankful that I'm this merciful. This could have been so much worse; be glad I'm not using a paddle instead of my hand. Also, don't pretend you didn't enjoy this - I remember clearly that you've begged me to fuck you once I was done. You were so shameless about it, too - like a bitch in heat.”

notes: I LOVE SPANKING, this got a little long, but head full, many thoughts. also who isn't heads over heels for Dazai; he's just hot 🧡 ... i hope you like it!

[if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!]

#honeydazai writes #🍒 content #bungou stray dogs #bsd imagines #Bsd smut #bsd headcanons #bsd x reader #bsd x y/n #bsd x you #bsd imagine #bungo stray dogs imagines #bungo stray dogs x reader #Bungou stray dogs smut #dazai x y/n #dazai x you #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #Dazai smut #dazai headcanons #dazai fanfic #dazai imagines #bungou stray dogs dazai #Anime smut

[h0tchner]

Any Age, Any Day, Anywhere (Part 1) - aaron hotchner x fem!reader

pairing: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: WRITTEN FOR AN ANON REQUEST: "ok hi so u already wrote a jealous reader and was wondering whats your take on jealous hotch? i mostly see him in fics as possessive and yeah being the leader type i would think he could also be possessive but i also think that he would just be sad like ya know he doubts himself as we saw in some episodes and i think he would need assurance and a lot of convincing that u only love him but if you’ve given that to him then thats the time he would be possessive and god i would love to imagine a possessive and feral aaron hotchner"

word count: 3.5k

includes: kissing, so much freaking adorable fluff, talk of body insecurities, insecure!hotch, protective!hotch, wifey reader, super brief mentions of pregnancy, alcohol, confrontation with a drunk asshole (derek & hotch are all over it tho dw), party at papa rossi's!, smut to come in next chapter...

rating: 18+ (technically there is no smut in this part, but there are adult themes such as drinking, kissing, etc.).

a/n: HELLO BESTIES! This is part one of a two-part fic! The next part will be pure filth, so keep your eyes peeled for some feral hotch content... ALSO! PLS (!!!!!!!!!!!) interact if you liked this, rb, comment, like and/or send me a request if you have ideas for future fics! i love y’all! - rivka💞

“Aaron! Can you come here for a sec?” you call out to your husband from the bathroom, muttering curses under your breath as you try (and fail) for the third time to zip up the back of your black cocktail dress.

“Sure, I just need a minute,” he replies from the bedroom closet, securing the last opalescent button on the arm of his white dress shirt. He looks at himself in the closet mirror, zeroing in at the bags under his eyes and the sprinkling of grey in his stubble. He looks… tired. Tired and old. And he hates it.

Even though Aaron is only in his late-40s, he has lived lifetimes; years of working as Unit Chief of the BAU will do that to a man. Every horror he’s seen and every person he’s lost has weighed on his body and mind. In the past few months, amidst work changes and a new baby, he’s been exhausted and in fear that he’s letting himself go. Of course, being the stoic man that he is, he’s done his absolute best to hide these feelings from you. Tonight, however, he doesn’t know if he can. It’ll be your first night out together as a couple since welcoming baby girl Hotchner to the family four months ago. With no pressing family or work distractions, he just knows that you’ll be able to sense his apprehensions. It’s only a matter of when.

Taking in a breath, he turns a little to the side, frowning at his profile. Aaron winces a little at his “dad bod,” but quickly recovers from the discomfort, milliseconds after it flashes across his face.

“Aaron Hotchner get your handsome butt in here and help me zip my dress! We’re gonna be late,” you exclaim, trying one last time to reach the zipper before giving up and crossing your arms in defeat. You lean back lightly against the countertop facing the door, letting the fabric slip off your shoulders, and wait for your husband to rescue you from the hell that is this dress.

At the sound of your voice, Aaron snaps out of his trance. He shakes his head lightly, as if to physically erase the intrusive thoughts, and clears his throat. Grabbing his suit jacket off the hanger, he flicks off the closet light and closes the door behind him.

Languidly, he meanders from the closet toward the bathroom. He drags his feet a little longer than he normally would, still feeling off and a little bit shy about his appearance.

“Aaron,” you sing, “I’m waiting for –,” your jaw drops mid-sentence when Aaron appears in the doorway.

“Oh fuck,” you breathe out before you can stop yourself, eyes widening at the sight of the gorgeous man in front of you.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, crossing over to you, searching your face for any ounce of reprieve.

“Nothing, nothing’s wrong,” you’re quick to reply, standing from your leaning position to meet him, holding out your hands.

He takes them in his own, cocking his head slightly, his soft hazel eyes boring into yours.

You shift forward, moving up on your toes to peck his soft pink lips.

He sighs into the kiss, feeling the warmth of your lips against his own. It feels so good that it almost makes him forget about how he is feeling… almost. But the dark thoughts come back, and he pulls away from you a bit, reluctantly.

Aaron clears his throat.

“You called me?” He questions, but it sounds more like a fact.

“Yeah,” you give his hands a squeeze. “I needed you to zip up my dress, but now,” you lean in again, “I kinda want you to rip it off me.” You offer him a sultry smirk, moving your hands up to rest on his broad chest. He moves his hands to settle on your hips.

You lick your lips and let your eyes rake over his body, taking in every ounce of his sexy frame. The way his crisp, white dress shirt hugs his solid body makes you go weak in the knees. His strong, toned legs in those black dress pants? Yes please. His soft black hair and salt and pepper stubble on his face are practically begging to be touched. He looks good. Damn good.

“You look…” you pause, tapping a finger lightly against his pectoral, searching for the right word, “…delicious.”

Aaron blushes lightly at your ogling, offering you a sad smile as he squeezes his eyes shut out of embarrassment.

You sense the falter in his demeanor, knowing that there’s something else nagging at him far beyond his usual flustering when you vocalize your attraction to him.

“Honey,” you implore, looping your hands around his neck to bring his forehead down to touch yours. “What’s going on in that big, beautiful brain of yours?”

“It’s nothing,” he mutters, swallowing, rubbing soft circles into your sides.

“It’s something,” you counter, carding a hand through his hair at the nape of his neck. You scratch lightly at his scalp, waiting for him to speak. You’ve learned that the best thing to do when Aaron gets in a mood is to give him some time to gather his thoughts. Keeping him close, physically, is a way to show him some comfort without pressuring him to speak. It encourages him, without words, that your arms are a safe place.

“I don’t…” he starts, and then stops himself. His dark eyebrows furrow and his mouth presses into a thin line.

“Mhm?” you question, fingers still tangled in his thick, black locks.

He pulls his forehead away from yours and locks eyes with you. You let your hands be still now, a silent gesture to show him that you’re listening.

He takes in a breath.

“I don’t look the way I used to,” he says quietly, shifting his eyes away from yours.

“What do you mean,” you urge him to continue.

“I mean, I don’t look like I did five years ago. Two years ago. Four months ago. I mean, I was practically a different man when we first met. I was younger, fitter…” he trails off, visibly upset.

“Yes, Aaron, you were,” you agree, keeping your tone temperate.

His eyes snap to yours, confused. It’s clear that was not what he was expecting you to say.

“You were a different man,” you continue gently, resuming your pacifying touch in his hair, “and I was a different woman.”

Aaron lets out a huff.

“Do you love me any less now than you did five years ago?” You ask him.

“Of course not,” he’s quick to answer.

“Why is that?” You prod.

“You’re gorgeous, inside and out. You’re funny, smart, loving…” he begins, but you interrupt him before he can go on.

“And,” you butt in, “if I were to go completely grey, gain thirty pounds, and only wear a potato sack to work every day would you love me any less?”

Aaron huffs again, but this time he’s fighting a smile. He’s starting to catch on. You watch as a spark of levity returns to his eyes. He holds you a little tighter.

“No. There’s nothing you could do or say to make me love you any less,” he grumbles in annoyance, but his upturned lip and matching eyebrow tell a different story.

“Ditto, baby,” you smile up at him. “I love you at any age, any day, anywhere, and there is nothing in the world that can make me change my mind.”

He dips down then, capturing you in a kiss, grinning against your lips.

You giggle as Aaron works his way down your jawline and neck, gasping as he kisses the soft skin at the junction of your neck and shoulder, thick fingers gripping the sides of your hips. He moves his lips back up to your earlobe, nipping at it lightly as you let out another soft gasp.

“You always know the right thing to say,” he whispers into your ear, pressing another kiss right underneath it.

“Aaron, I know I said I wanted you to take this dress off me,” you say breathlessly as Aaron nips at your shoulder again, “but Rossi will kill us if we don’t show up tonight. Plus, I really want the chance to show off my super sexy FBI husband. It’s been far too long.”

He lets out a low groan into your skin and gives your hips a squeeze, nuzzling his head into your neck.

“Yeah,” he mumbles, “you’re right.”

“Aren’t I always,” you snort, eliciting a chuckle from your husband as you turn around in his arms to let him zip you up.

He takes his time, letting his fingers brush lightly over your spine as he draws the zipper over your back. When he’s done and the clasp is latched, he kisses one shoulder lightly, and then the other.

“Thank you,” you whisper, leaning back against his warm body.

“No, honey,” he kisses the top of your head, “thank you.”

_____________________________________________________________

By the time you and Aaron arrive at Rossi’s mansion, the party is already in full swing. Judging by the number of cars in the makeshift parking lot on his spacious front lawn, there must be at least fifty, maybe even a hundred people here.

Despite the bustle of the evening, it doesn’t take long for you two to find Emily, Penelope, and Derek in the living room, drinks in hand, snacking on some very expensive looking food.

“Hey, look! It’s the Hotchners!” Emily cheers, teetering on the arm of the leather couch, wine glass in hand.

“Hello beautiful BAU power-couple!” Penelope chimes in from the seat next to her, cuddled up into Derek’s side.

You laugh and let go of Aaron’s hand, walking over to greet your friends.

“Hey hot stuff, look at you, look at you!” Derek chimes in, eyeing you up and down before standing to shake Aaron’s hand.

“Oh, please,” you roll your eyes at him as you give Emily a big hug.

“And you don’t look bad yourself, boss man!” Derek adds.

You shoot your husband an ‘I told you so’ look over your shoulder, before untangling your arms from Emily and giving Penelope an equally enthusiastic squeeze.

“It’s good to see you all,” Aaron smiles lightly, all dimples in the low light. He steps in to give Emily and Penelope soft hugs.

“Let’s go get you a drink,” Derek says to Aaron, clapping him on the back.

“White?” Aaron looks to you, even though he already knows the answer.

“Yes please,” you respond, “thank you.”

“Be back soon,” he smiles easily, kissing your cheek, making your heart ache.

Aaron and Derek turn and exit the room together.

Penelope drunkenly pats the seat next to her, and you plop down on the couch.

“We’ve missed you like this!” Emily exclaims, gesturing between the three of you and around the room. “I can’t believe we’ve had to wait nine whole months plusanother four just to have a drink with our best friend again.”

You laugh at her, tilting your head back lightly. “Well, you guys got a beautiful little niece out of it, doesn’t that make up for all the wild girl’s nights I missed?”

Emily sighs, dramatically, “I guess so,” she jests.

“Oh, for sure.” Penelope adds. “You look freaking gorgeous, by the way. I mean, I would have never guessed you were creating a tiny human in that body only a few months ago!”

You blush lightly at her words, “You flatter me far too much, Pen. I owe this,” you gesture down at your figure, “all to Spanx!”

“Amen!” Emily toasts. You raise an imaginary glass to theirs and pretend to clink, taking a swig of invisible liquid.

“Are J.J. and Will here?” You ask them after they’ve had a few more sips of their wine.

“Yeah, yeah,” Emily nods, “they’re around somewhere.”

You take a moment and look around the room, taking in all the sights and the sounds of the party. You see some faces you recognize from around the bureau, but others you don’t. Just as you’re about to turn back to your friends, someone catches your eye. One face stands out from the crowd: he’s a young, suave-looking man in a sharp navy suit. Sandy hair perfectly gelled, shiny brown loafers, and bright blue eyes looking right at you. In another life you would have been exhilarated by his attention, apparent charm, and good looks, but now? Now, you’re married to the love of your life with an amazing stepson and a wonderful baby girl. His wolfish gaze means absolutely nothing to you. You simply flash him a curt smile and turn back to Emily and Penelope without a second thought.

You and your friends resume your chatter, waiting for the men to return with more drinks... only they don’t. Perhaps its “new mother anxiety” talking, but the longer your husband is gone, the more you start to grow concerned. A few more minutes pass of antics, laughter, and catching up until the nagging voice in the back of your head turns into an all-out scream. All you know is that you’re suddenly feeling very overwhelmed need to be with Aaron. So, you announce to your friends that you’re going to hunt down Derek and your husband.

You stand from the couch and smooth out the skirt of your dress with the promise to be back in a few minutes.

You walk out of the living room and into the grand foyer, following the same route as Aaron had earlier. Your black kitten heels click on the marble flooring, the skirt of your dress swishing lightly as you walk with purpose towards the kitchen. You’re so concentrated on reaching your destination that you don’t realize the man who had been watching you in the living room was now hot at your heels, following you through the house. It’s only when a hand reaches out and jerks your arm backward that you stop, startled, just past the grand staircase, turning face to face with him.

“You’re not an easy woman to get alone,” he smirks, reeking of alcohol, still gripping your arm, tight. Up close he is decidedly not as handsome as the low light of the living room made him seem. In fact, he seems… creepy. Really, really, really, creepy.

“Can I help you?” You blink at him, pulling your arm out of his vice grip.

“You sure can, baby,” he steps closer to you, voice oozing with sleaze. You gag at the liquor on his breath.

Moving away, you scowl at him, crossing your arms across your chest.

“What’s say you and I head upstairs for a little while? I’m dying to get my hands on your body.” He jerks his head toward the staircase, reaching out to grab your arm again.

You’re fuming at this point, ready give him a piece of your mind when a stern voice beats you to it.

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” Aaron articulates, approaching you both with Derek not far behind.

You breathe a sigh of relief as your husband glares at the drunken man vengefully, coming to stand by your side. Aaron pulls you into him, roughly, hand tight around your waist. The anger radiating off your husband is equally terrifying and HOT.

“Take a walk, man,” Derek adds in, coming to stand next to the drunken asshole. The man looks from you, to Aaron, then over to Derek, and finally back at you.

“Whatever,” the man grumbles, putting his hands up, “she’s not worth it anyway. Not pretty enough for the hassle. I just thought she looked like an easy lay.”

“That’s enough,” Aaron snaps, seething. “Leave now, before I make you,” your husband growls. He angles his body forward so you’re slightly behind him. A shiver passes through you at his fierce protectiveness.

“Fine, I’m going to get another drink,” the man utters.

“No,” Aaron interjects, “the party. Leave the party or I’ll have you removed.”

“What’s your problem?” The creepy man retorts, this time, more confrontationally.

“My problem?” Aaron says, angrily. You feel his entire body tense at the accusation.

“Hotch,” Derek warns, “I’ll take care of it. You guys go enjoy yourselves. Forget about him.”

“Come on, Aaron,” you tug on his suit jacket lightly, eyes pleading… but Aaron doesn’t budge from his spot. He only holds you tighter as he continues to stare down the man as Derek ushers him away and towards the front door. He doesn’t falter until they are out of sight.

“Aaron?” You repeat.

He looks down at you, finally, blinking away the fury until all that’s left is an all-consuming love. He releases you from his protective hold, and you face him.

“I’m okay,” you assure him in earnest, letting out a shaky breath.

“Honey, I’m so sorry,” he breathes, bringing his hands up to cup your face.

“Aaron, it’s okay, really,” you bite your lip, shifting your eyes away from his.

“You’re so beautiful,” Aaron kisses your forehead, and then the top of your head. “So, so beautiful, and I’m so sorry.”

“Aaron, can we just go home?” You ask.

“Sure,” he kisses your head one last time before weaving his fingers between yours and guiding you gently toward the back exit.

_____________________________________________________________

The car ride home is quiet. The only sounds are the occasional click of the turn signal, and the hum of the wheels on the road. Aaron is still upset, and so are you, but you’re also… something else. Something you can’t quite put your finger on. You feel guilty for ruining the evening, guilty that you FEEL guilty for something you had no control over, hungry, tired, and… horny? Oh, and guilty for feeling horny.

It isn’t helping that one of Aaron’s hands is planted firmly on your thigh. He lifts it only to adjust the air conditioning or to scratch his nose, but otherwise it remains on you the whole way home. When he pulls into the driveway of your shared house, and shuts the car off, he still doesn’t move it.

“Honey?” You turn your head to look at him. His eyes are closed. You take in the strong features of his profile, noting the prominence of his nose and the way his eyelashes rest on his high cheekbones.

“I almost punched him.” Aaron whispers, opening his eyes to look over at you sheepishly.

“You what,” you exhale, mouth slightly agape.

“That guy,” he continues, bringing his left hand up to pinch his nose. “I almost punched him for saying that about you.”

You snort, amused by his confession.

Your husband lets out a short laugh, squeezing your thigh as he does.

“I would’ve liked to see that.” You’re grinning now and so is he.

He flashes his eyes at you and laughs again, this time less anxiously. You join him, feeling the tension dissipate with every passing moment.

“My big, bad FBI man decking a barely-legal drunk dickhead for making a move on his wife? Where can I get my tickets?” You joke.

As you say the words “his wife,” Aaron’s breath hitches in his throat. His hand on your thigh presses down instinctively. Neither of his reactions go unnoticed.

You lay a hand over his where it rests on your leg.

“You know, Aaron,” you begin.

He looks over at you, jaw tight, but this time it isn’t from anger.

“This is the first time we’ve had the house all to ourselves in months,” you pull his hand off you and bring it up to your lips. You press a kiss to his palm, and then to his wrist.

“This… is true,” he breathes out, studying you, taking you in.

“So, I’m just wondering:” you grin, linking your fingers with his, “are you going to carry your wife into our house, Aaron? Or do I have to walk myself?”

#my fics #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x female reader #cm fanfic #criminal minds x reader #my content #aaron hotch #hotch #hotch x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #h0tchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #penelope garcia

[hockey-fics]

Is There An Us? ~ Brock Boeser 

Summary: Your relationship with your neighbour was just about casual sex and that’s all it was ever going to be. Or so you thought. 

Word Count: ~7k

Warnings: smut, arguments, language

Standing in the quiet hallway of your apartment you listen to the sound of the elevator whirring as it approached the floor. Grabbing the handle of your bag you readjust it on your shoulder, sighing as you wait for what felt like forever. Perhaps the six flights of stairs really would have been the better option. But just as the scales are tipping in favour of jumping ship and heading for the stairwell the polished metal doors glide open. 

Your eyes drift up to the man stepping out of the elevator. He seemed to be around your age, tall and attractive. You watch as he looks up from his phone, locking it without looking back down when he sees you. After stepping off the elevator and onto the solid floor he visibly pauses, eyes glancing up and down your body. You hold yourself back from rolling your eyes at the blatant way he was checking you out. “Hey,” he says with a slight nod. 

“Hey,” you reply, stepping to the side of him as you stick your arm in front of the closing elevator door. 

You glance back at him one more time. His eyes were still on you but he only looks up to look into your eyes when he notices you had looked back. Pulling your arm back you let the doors close, pressing the lobby button on the elevator. You hadn’t even realized that your heart was racing a little after the interaction till you were leaning against the elevator railing, already replaying the interaction. He wasn’t that attractive that he could do that and still seem intriguing to you…was he?

A couple weeks later you were digging through your purse, your anxiety levels bubbling up with each passing, keyless minute. You didn’t need your keys to lock your apartment door, it came with a keyless code entry instead. When you first moved in, thrilled with the ease of it all, you hadn’t realized what else would be incredibly easy…leaving your keys with the front door fob on your kitchen counter. 

“Need to get in?”

Flinching you whirl around, looking in the direction of the voice. Not only were you locked out alone it was also getting late and the darkness had started to worry you standing outside the building alone. But you recognize the figure immediately, your panic subsidizing slightly. The man from the elevator a couple weeks before. “If you wouldn’t mind.”

Chuckling he shakes his head, his keys already in his hand as he steps closer to you, reaching his arm out to hold his key fob near the sensor. The light flashes green and he pulls it open, stepping back and gesturing for you to walk in ahead of him. 

“So you can check me out again?”

He raises his eyebrows, glancing into the empty apartment lobby. “I could have left you out here.”

Scoffing you step through the open door. “You’re kind of an asshole,” you comment, already walking to the elevators, pressing the button just a little too hard. 

“I wouldn’t…” he calls, jogging slightly to get to the elevators before you could disappear, potentially skewing your opinion of him forever. “…wouldn’t have left you out there.”

Keeping your body facing the closed elevator doors you turn your head to look over at him. “Oh, wow, sorry, you’re a real gentleman then,” you reply sarcastically. 

“I, uh…look, I’m sorry, I think I gave you a bad first impression,” he stutters, seeming flustered. “I’m Brock, by the way.”

The elevator dings as the doors slide open and you step into the brightly lit space. “Y/N,” you reply, voice quiet and uncertain. Were you really going to let his past behaviour slide simply because he got a little flustered and muttered a hollow sorry? 

You watch as he reaches over, pressing the number 6 for you both. “Did you just move in recently?”

“Just over a month ago,” you tell him, your shoulder pressing against the elevator wall as you lean against it. “How long have you been here?”

“A couple years,” Brock tells you. “I’m in 625 in case you ever need anything.”

You stare up at Brock blankly for a few minutes. Were you supposed to tell him your apartment number? Was he really offering to help you out in a time of crisis beyond being locked out of the apartment building? Or was he suggestion something beyond friendly and helpful with that? “636,” you eventually blurt out, feeling your cheeks redden immediately. “I’m, uh, I’m in 636…in case you need something,” you clarify just as the doors open.

“I’ll remember that,” Brock chuckles, stepping off the elevator after you. He turns in the opposite direction of you, glancing back with a smile. “See you around.”

“See you,” you call, heading down the hallway to your apartment.

And see him around you did. It seemed like you ran into him with greater frequency than anyone else who lived in the building. In the hallway, in the elevator, in the parking lot. Perhaps he was just easy to notice, tall and handsome, but you seemed to see him more than anyone else that lived in your building. And you couldn’t deny the little crush you had developed on him. Your heart would race when he would stop the elevator doors from closing to let you get in. Your cheeks would get warm when he would open the front door for you, cracking jokes about being there to save the day even though you always did have your key. 

Saying you were happy it was Friday was beyond an understatement as you yank the apartment lobby door open. Your day seemed to have gone on forever, everything so much more difficult than it should have been. You were stressed and frazzled and you were ready to be doing anything other than thinking about work. As you get to the elevator you hear the front door opening again, drawing your attention. Your eyes land on Brock and you can’t help but smile a little. “Hey,” you greet as he walks over, your voice a little deflated. 

“Hey.” Brock watches you for a split second, seeming contemplative. “Is everything…okay?”

Sighing loudly you nod, “just a really long, really bad day. I’ll be fine. How was yours?”

“Not bad,” Brock tells you honestly, stepping into the elevator after you. “What are you doing now?”

Shrugging you press your shoulder blades against the wall elevator, looking up at him. “Anything to get my mind off the day.”

“I have a bottle of wine at my place if you think that might help.”

Smiling softly you nod, pulling away from the elevator wall when the doors open. “I definitely think that would help.”

So you follow Brock down the hallway in the opposite direction of your own apartment, never having been down the hallway before.  

You step into Brock’s apartment, immediately noticing how much more spacious it was than your own. Suddenly you realize you didn’t really know much about him, only knew what you had assumed about him. You didn’t know how old he was, what he did for a living, didn’t know if he had roommates or even his last name. Kicking off your shoes you follow him into the kitchen, watching him grab a bottle of white wine from the fridge. “White okay?”

Nodding you press your elbows against the bar height counter, leaning down onto it. “That’s great.”

Brock pours two glasses of wine, setting one in front of you. “So, you want to talk about it?”

Picking up the glass you take a sip, the flavour unfamiliar. It didn’t taste anything like the nine dollar bottom shelf bottles you had gotten used to. “Not really,” you reply honestly. The last thing you wanted to do was recount exactly how stressful the day had been. 

Brock laughs and nods to the left, your eyes following to notice the living room. “Want to go sit down?”

Nodding you follow Brock into the living room, carefully settling down onto the couch, the glass of wine in your hand as you curl one of your legs under the other, facing Brock on the couch. “What do you…do?” You ask, gazing around the living room. While you were living in the same apartment building everything in his unit seemed to be just a higher caliber than your own. 

“I play hockey.”

Glancing back over to him you giggle quietly. “I mean, what do you do for a job?”

“Hockey,” Brock repeats, chuckling. 

You blink a couple times letting it process before nodding slowly, eyes glancing around the apartment. From what you knew about professional athlete’s salaries it did all check out. “Wow.” You look back to Brock, unsure exactly how to react. “Impressive.”

“Yeah, you seem impressed.” His voice is filled with sarcasm and the little smirk on his lips tells you he’s amused by your lacklustre response. 

“I didn’t,” you begin, pausing to laugh softly, glancing down at the couch as your cheeks warm up. “I didn’t mean anything by it...just not what I was expecting.”

Brock takes a drink of his wine, his eyebrows lifted slightly as he sets the glass back onto the coffee table, clinking quietly against the glass table. “I don’t look like an athlete?”

“Oh my god,” you groan, laughing as you reach over, playfully hitting his arm. “Stop...you know I didn’t mean that. You do look very fit...I mean, like from what I’ve seen.”

“So you’re allowed to say that but you wanted to like kill me for checking you out that one time.”

“That’s different,” you protest. Lifting your glass to your lips you take another large sip of your wine, setting it down and curling your other leg onto the couch you lean your side against the back of the couch. “I wasn’t like...fucking eyeing you up and down so blatantly.”

“Blatantly?” Brock enquires.

Groaning you roll your eyes, tipping your head to the side to rest on the back of couch, giggling. “Whatever...yes, you’re hot, is that what you want to hear?”

Brock shrugs, the smirk on his lips only growing. “Well I’m not going to say I don’t like hearing it...but especially from you.”

You swallow heavily as you stare over at him, an overwhelming urge to reach over and touch him. To kiss him, to let him run his hands and not just his eyes over your body. Your eyes flick down to his lips for a second, your own parted slightly as an unsteady breath leaves them. 

You slip one leg out from underneath you, sliding closer to him on the couch. Brock looks over at you for a couple moments, contemplative and tentative before leaning closer. His hand slips along your waist, gently tugging you a little closer as he brings his lips closer to your own. 

Your eyes flutter shut as you bring one hand up to his shoulder, sliding behind his neck as you wait for him to kiss you. The moment seems to last for longer than it should before Brock presses his lips to yours. But as soon as he kisses you there isn’t another second of hesitation. Your own lips are eager, your body relaxing as you let Brock pull you closer. Your free hand moves to his arm, grasping at his shoulder as his entire arm circles around you. 

The stress of the day was already so far out of your mind, so completely wrapped up in the moment. You clumsily pull one leg over one of Brock’s settling down onto his thigh. Your hips grind down against him and you’re not even sure if it was voluntary at this point, your body seeming to be taking over, needing a release. You moan against his lips as Brock brings his hands to your hips, guiding you to continue moving. Pulling back you gasp softly, fingers curling into the fabric of Brock’s shirt. 

“Feel good?” Brock asks, a smirk on his lips. You can tell he’s feeling pretty cocky, knowing he didn’t even have to do anything to make you moan. 

“Yes,” you whisper, leaning back in. Your lips meet his again, fast and eager as you bring your leg to the other side of him, now fully settled on his lap. You can feel that he’s just as painfully turned on as you are and you pull back. Your hands grasp at his shirt, tugging it up in an effort to signify that you wanted to speed things up. 

Brock takes over, pulling his own shirt off before swiftly moving to yours, pulling it over your head easily. You can feel his fingers on your bra strap a minute later, the familiar relief of the fabric loosening around your body as he unhooks it, the straps slipping down your arms. His hands slide slowly up your bare sides as your lips connect with his again. You feel a shiver run up your spine under his touch, confident but gentle and slow. 

A couple minutes later you pull back, sliding yourself back as you move onto the ground, your knees hitting the soft rug. Brock groans quietly as he watches you get down onto your knees. Your hands move to his jeans, fiddling with the buckle of his belt. 

Brock’s large hands are on yours not long after, lifting them away from his belt as he finishes taking it off himself, lifting his hips to slide his jeans and underwear off for you. Reaching back over you gently wrap your hand around his hard length, your eyes flitting up to his as you lean forward, tongue running over the tip of his dick. 

“Fuck,” Brock groans, his head tipping back on the couch. But as you take him into your mouth as far as you can he brings his head forward again, hands pulling your hair out of your face to watch you. 

You continue what you’re doing, spurred on by the quiet groans and stifled moans coming from Brock. You feel your desire growing with each passing second, squeezing your legs together to try to and get some relief. 

It’s not long before Brock is stopping you. “You’re so good at that,” he mutters, hands under your arms as he pulls you back to your feet. You watch him stand up a second later, leaning down to kiss you again. He slides his hand into yours a second later, pulling away and down the hallway to a room on the left. 

You look around the dimly lit bedroom before Brock places his hands onto your waist, pushing you backwards till you hit the mattress. His bed is soft and comfortable as you scoot backwards on it, watching Brock leaning down, his hands unbuttoning your jeans and pulling them off with ease. 

You swallow heavily when Brock runs his hand up your inner thigh, one arm supporting his weight as he leans down to kiss you again. His fingers brush over the fabric of your underwear and your hand clamps down onto his forearm. Your body language is less than subtle and Brock takes the hint to hurry up, pushing the fabric aside as his fingers run along your folds. Your hips jolt as his fingers find your clit, gentle and slow when he first gets to it. But as you stop being able to stifle your moans Brock increases the speed and pressure till you’re squirming underneath him, moaning quietly. “Oh fuck, I’m…I’m close,” you gasp out. 

Brock continues what he’s doing, your fingers digging harder into his arm. Your eyes shut when the familiar rush comes over you, your body hot as the waves of pleasure rush from your core. You push Brock’s hand back when you’re through your orgasm, clit sensitive from the constant pressure. “Fuck,” you whisper, it’s the only thing you can think. You were far from a virgin but you weren’t used to men caring about your pleasure so much that they would make you come even before themselves. 

Brock leans down, kissing you gently before laying down beside you. Tipping your head to the side you furrow your eyebrows. “You don’t want to…,” you drift off, watching him hesitantly. 

“I mean, yeah,” he tells you with a chuckle. “But it’s up to you.”

You press your hand into the mattress, pushing yourself up and swinging one of your legs over Brock’s body, feeling him pressing against you, still just as hard. “I want to,” you tell him, resting your hands on Brock’s chest, leaning down and kissing him again. “Do you have a condom?” You whisper against his lips. 

Brock nods and leans across the bed as you move off his lap, watching as he grabs one from the nightside table. He puts it on easily, glancing over at you, as if hoping you would just get the message that he wanted you back on top. You giggle quietly as you slide your leg back over him. Reaching down you wrap your hand around his length, guiding him to your entrance as you sink down onto him. You inhale sharply, pulling your hand away as you take over with your hips. 

Brock places his hands on your hips, leaving them there gently, letting you go at your own pace. “You’re so fucking hot,” Brock mutters, looking up at you. You feel Brock bring his hand to your clit again and you tip your head back, gasping softly. 

“Keep going, please,” you plead, the added sensation against your clit tipping you onto the fast track to another orgasm. 

Brock does exactly as you say, his fingers rubbing gentle, consistent circles on your clit. “I-I’m,” you whine, feeling your body getting tired and hot and overwhelmed from being built up to your second orgasm so soon after the first. You’re shaky as you continue moving your hips, trying so hard to keep going as you ride through your second orgasm. 

Brock’s hands tighten on your hips, stopping your movements as he takes over, hips smacking against your ass he thrusts into you. It’s only a couple more minutes before he’s slowing down, groaning softly as he wraps his arms around you, pulling your slightly clammy bodies together. “So good,” he hums, pressing his lips to your forehead. 

When you catch your breath and your heart has slowed down you pull your body off of Brock, rolling onto your back beside him. “You’re a pretty good stress reliever,” you joke, turning your head to look over at him. 

“I’m glad I could help,” Brock chuckles. Sitting up he climbs off the bed, removing the condom and heading into the en-suite bathroom. 

While he’s in the bathroom you scurry about to get your own clothes back on. When he comes back into the room you watch him pause for a moment, glancing at your fully clothed body. “Are you, uh, leaving?”

You glance over at the door and then back to Brock. You had simply assumed that’s what you should do, not thinking too much about it. “Um,” you hum, shrugging. “I was planning to.”

“Okay, yeah, I’ll uh, walk you out…home?” Brock comments, pulling his own clothes back on with a slightly flustered speed. 

Giggling you walk over, grasping Brock’s hand as he reaches for a pair of sweatpants hanging over the back of a chair in the corner of the room. “I can walk down the hallway alone,” you assure him, leaning over and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“Okay,” Brock chuckles, still seeming a little taken aback by your hasty exit. 

“Okay,” you repeat, stepping back and towards Brock’s bedroom door. “Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, of course.”

So you gather your few belongings, heading out of Brock’s apartment and down the hallway to your own apartment. 

A couple weeks later you find yourself standing in front of Brock’s apartment door. It was pretty late at night and you had been contemplating what you were about to do for far too long. Perhaps if you had just bit the bullet the first time the thoughts crossed your mind the time wouldn’t have been such a problem. Eventually you bring your hand to the door, knocking gently. Maybe if you didn’t knock too loud you wouldn’t wake him on the off chance he was asleep. 

But the door swings open a couple minutes later and you can see the glow of the TV behind Brock, indicating you hadn’t woken him up. “Hey,” you greet sheepishly. 

“Hi,” Brock replies, clearly confused but not unhappy with your presence. “What’s up?”

“Are you busy?”

Brock shakes his head, glancing back at the TV. “Not at all.”

You glance around the empty hallway before reaching over, fingers curling into Brock’s shirt and pulling him down, your lips on his eagerly. Brock responds quickly, his arm wrapping around your body and pulling you into his apartment, his other arm closing the door swiftly. “Let’s go to your bedroom,” you whisper against his lips and Brock takes your hand, guiding you to his bedroom without a second of hesitation. 

And for months things continue just like that with Brock. Sometimes you would text him and get him to come to your apartment, sometimes you would run into him on the elevator or in the hallway and you would both end up back at his apartment, sometimes you would simply head to his apartment hoping he was there. But that’s all things ever were. Occasionally you would watch part of a movie together before or lay in bed talking for hours after. But your relationship with him revolved entirely around sex. 

But Brock wasn’t the only guy in your life. You had met Kyle at the gym a month after you first met Brock and had started casually seeing him. No strings attached with either person, so you figured there would be no harm done. You knew what you were truly doing though, deep down you knew the truth was that Kyle was a distraction. You were far more attracted to Brock, craved his touch, loved the late night conversations. But he wasn’t going to commit to you, hadn’t even taken you out on a date. So you found someone to keep yourself from getting too hung up on him, to keep your feelings from getting involved. 

You had just gone out for dinner with Kyle, now heading back to your apartment to hang out for the rest of the evening. You walk into the apartment lobby, freezing when you see Brock standing by the elevator. Just as you’re contemplating a way out of the situation Brock looks over his shoulder, doing a double take when he realizes it’s you and another guy. You quickly let go of Kyle’s hand, realizing it was too late anyway. 

Kyle continues walking to the elevator, completely oblivious to the tension that had settled on the lobby. “Hi,” you greet Brock, barely able to make eye contact. 

“Hi,” he replies coldly. “Having a good night?”

Swallowing heavily you nod, eyes glued to the ground. “Not bad,” you say quietly. 

“Hey man, I’m Brock,” Brock says to Kyle, his voice cold. He didn’t need to introduce himself, you knew he was making some kind of point but you weren’t sure what or why. 

“Hey,” Kyle replies, his tone friendly and light. “Kyle…how do you two know each other?”

You glance from Kyle and then back to Brock. Brock stares at you, waiting for you to give an answer. “We…,” you begin, trailing off, not knowing what to say. You were always bad at lying and you didn’t know if Brock was going to make it even harder for you to lie. 

“We used to hook up,” Brock replies, his tone unwavering. 

You feel your heart begin to hammer, freezing as you stare at Brock in shock. The elevator opening draws you out of your stunned silence and you reach over, placing your hand in Brock’s path, stopping him from getting on the elevator. “I was here first,” Brock grumbles. 

“I want to talk to you,” you tell him, looking over at Kyle. “Can you please just meet me in my apartment?” 

Kyle hesitates, seeming confused and concerned but he simply nods, stepping into the elevator alone. 

Once the doors close you look up at Brock, eyebrows raised. “What the fuck, Brock?”

“What?” 

Shaking your head you cross your arms over your chest. “You can’t just…you can’t just say stuff like that.”

“The truth?” Brock questions. 

“But you can’t just…you just can’t, okay?”

“Can’t what?” 

“Tell people we’ve been sleeping together.”

Brock shakes his head, scoffing. “Why not?”

“I…because, Brock, that’s personal information.”

Brock chuckles, looking away from you for a moment. “It’s my personal information too, I can do whatever I want with it.”

“Why are you being such a dick?” You snap, frustrated and annoyed. Sure, he was right, he could tell anyone he wanted that you two had been sleeping together multiple times a week for months. But he also could have chosen to be a gentleman and keep his mouth shut, sparing you from having to deal with the issues this would cause with Kyle. 

“Me?” Brock exclaims, shaking his head. “You’re the one running around with other guys.”

You stare up at Brock in stunned silence. “Running around with other guys?” You question, shaking your head. “I’ve been seeing Kyle for months, I haven’t been running around with multiple. Not that it would matter if I was, that’s none of your business.”

“Months?” Brock’s voice is suddenly quieter and his eyes are soft as he stares down at you. “What do you mean you’ve been seeing him for months? We’ve been sleeping together for months.”

“I don’t know…we’ve just been casually dating. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal,” Brock echoes, nodding as he reaches over, pressing the button for the elevator again, indicating he was done. 

“Brock,” you whisper, turning to him. “Brock,” you repeat, beyond confused. You were almost certain he’d been seeing other women, he just had better timing. It’s not like you owed him an explanation, there was no reason for him to be upset. “Can you not just walk away from this conversation?”

“What do you want me to say?” Brock snaps, looking down at you. 

“Why are you mad right now?” 

“Because you’re fucking some other guy.”

It takes you a few minutes for your mind to wrap around what he said and what it meant. “Are you jealous?”

Brock looks down at you, jaw clenched. He doesn’t respond for a minute, looking back at the numbers above the elevator as they count down towards the lobby. “Yeah, maybe I am.”

“Why?” You whisper. 

“What do you mean, why? Because I like you, Y/N.”

You reach over, grabbing Brock’s wrist and gently pulling him to face you. “Do you actually like me or do you just like fucking me?”

Brock glances towards the elevator, the doors opening. Brock slides his hand out of the grasp you have around his wrist, grasping your hand and slipping his fingers between yours as he pulls you onto the elevator. “I like you,” he tells you as the doors close, leaning down and pressing his lips to yours. It’s so soft and gentle and you can’t help but melt into his grasp. You slide one hand up over his shoulders, leaning up onto your tip toes. He gently wraps one arm around your waist, the other on the side of your face. 

“We should, uh,” you hum, pulling back. Neither of you had pressed a button to go anywhere, standing in the closed, unmoving elevator. But it felt like you had figured out a pause button. “Fuck, Brock,” you exclaim a second later, taking a step back from him. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what this means.”

Brock reaches over, grabbing both your hands and gently pulling you back towards him. “Why him?”

“What do you mean?” You ask, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Why are you seeing him but just hooking up with me?”

“Because Kyle and I have been going out, on dates,” you explain simply. 

“What if I took you out on dates?”

“Brock, it’s not that simple,” you whisper, shaking your head. 

“Why not?”

“Because of…Kyle,” you tell him, your voice getting quieter when you say Kyle’s name. 

Brock nods slowly, leaning back against the elevator wall. “Because you have stronger feelings for Kyle than you do for me,” Brock mutters. 

You take a deep breath, shaking your head. “No,” you whisper. 

“Then what’s the problem?” 

“The problem is that you only want to be with me because you don’t want me to be with anyone else,” you tell him, reaching over and pressing the button for the sixth floor. 

Brock stares at you in silence, letting your words sink in. He didn’t know what to say because he realized that there was some truth to it. He had been enjoying what you had. No strings attached, no real accountability to another person. But it wasn’t that he hadn’t developed stronger feelings, he had just opted to ignore it. 

The elevator doors open and you give him a chance to say something, anything, else. But when he doesn’t you step off the elevator, hurrying to your apartment where you were sure you had a less than simple conversation ahead of you. 

After talking for awhile with Kyle he leaves your apartment for the night, both of you deciding you needed time to think. It wasn’t a volatile conversation, both of you well aware of the fact that you hadn’t done anything wrong. There were no strings attached but now you needed to figure out if that’s how you wanted things to stay, both with Kyle and with Brock. 

You went to bed early that night, doing your best to think through the whole situation rationally, to not get too upset about it. Going to bed you had hoped a good night of sleep would help, but when you woke up the next morning you hadn’t found anymore clarity than you had going to bed the night before. You go about your morning routine as best you can, getting ready for work while trying to keep your mind off of the events of the night before. 

You hated bringing your personal life to work but you had to admit that you were distracted all day. You forgot things you normally wouldn’t, things took much longer than normal. You were a mess. And by the time you left work that day you were exhausted, mentally and physically. Gathering your belongings you leave the office, later than anyone else because you needed to stay late to get everything done. It’s pouring rain and the sky is dark when you walk out of the office, hurrying to your car and heading straight home, wanting nothing but the warmth and comfort of your apartment. 

As you pull the door to your apartment open you notice Brock walking in your direction. Rolling your eyes you take a deep breath, avoiding eye contact. 

“Y/N,” Brock says, hurrying to your side. 

“I’m not in the mood tonight. It’s been a long day, I just want to shower and go to bed.” You keep walking towards the elevator, doing your best to ignore the fact that Brock was following you now. 

“We need to talk,” Brock says, voice serious as he steps in front of your path to the elevator. 

“About what?” You deadpan, arms folded over your chest as you stare up at him. 

“Us.”

Shaking your head you step away from him. “There is no us, Brock. There never was an us. So there’s nothing to talk about.”

“What if I want that to change?” Brock asks, voice gentle, eyes soft. 

“I don’t…I can’t,” you begin, hesitating as you reach around Brock to press the button for the elevator. “I can’t do this tonight.” You step around Brock and into the elevator as the doors open, leaning against the back wall and reaching for the 6 button. 

Suddenly Brock sticks his arm in front of the closing doors. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

“I, uh, I don’t know, nothing I-.”

“Seven o’clock, I’m picking you up and we’re going for a date,” Brock tells you before letting the elevator doors shut, leaving you alone. 

Your mind races for a few minutes and just as you contemplate going back to the lobby, finding Brock in the parking lot and telling him to forget it, the elevator doors open on the sixth floor and you find yourself walking to your apartment like a robot with a set location. 

You had been hoping the next day at work would go a little smoother, that your distractions would be gone. But now you were fighting through the day with another mind full of distractions. 

“So what’s going on with you?”

Glancing up from your computer you look at Caroline, your work best friend, standing over your desk. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you haven’t taken a single break in the last two days. You haven’t sent me any snarky texts about the boss. You were here late yesterday catching up on work, which you never have to do because you’re always ahead. So, what’s going on?”

Sighing you lean back in your chair, staring up at her. “You know 625?” You had told Caroline about Brock, well, the basics of it. But he always went by the nickname 625. 

“Yeah, of course,” she laughs, sitting on the edge of your desk, ready for all the gossip. 

“And Kyle?”

“The one with the name.” 

“So I was out with Kyle a couple nights ago and we ran into Brock-.”

“Brock, that’s 625’s name?” Caroline exclaims. 

“Yeah, it’s Brock,” you laugh, swaying side to side in your chair. “So we ran into him and Brock got all pissed and jealous, acting like we were dating and I was cheating on him. But we haven’t even been on a single date.”

“But he clearly has feelings for you.”

Rolling your eyes you press your elbow to the desk, your head in your hand. “I don’t know, I thought maybe I just bruised his ego a bit. That he was just jealous because he wasn’t the only one I was sleeping with. But then…last night, he uh, he asked me on a date. A real date. Tonight, at seven.”

“Oh my god,” Caroline says, the shock in her voice not hidden. “So 625, uh, Brock, sorry…really does have feelings. What about Kyle?”

“I don’t know,” you whine. “I haven’t even really talked to him since that night. And part of me, I don’t know, maybe I don’t want to? Like now that I have Brock’s attention I don’t need Kyle as a distraction anymore. Fuck, I’m such a bitch.”

Caroline lets out a quiet laugh. “I mean, it’s kinda a bitchy thing to say but you were never trying to be a bitch so I don’t think it counts. I think you just need to follow your heart on this one.”

“My heart is dumb, Caroline.”

“Your heart will figure it out eventually.” Caroline stands up, giving you a reassuring smile before heading towards her own desk. “Oh, and can you finally answer my email about the meeting tomorrow afternoon?” She calls. 

“Yeah, sorry, I’ll do that now,” you call back, feeling guilty about letting your work suffer. 

Later that night you were standing at your kitchen counter, staring at the time on the oven. 7:02. You check your phone for what felt like the hundredth time that hour, trying to keep yourself from feeling nervous. It was just Brock. You had done things with Brock that you had never done with anyone before. He had seen every part of you, had touched every inch of your body. Yet the idea of going on a date with him was sending waves of anxiety through your body. A knock at the door makes you flinch, as if you weren’t expecting it. Taking a deep breath you walk over to the door, pulling it open and looking up at the tall figure in front of you. 

“Hey,” you say quietly. 

“Hey,” Brock replies with a soft smile. “You look beautiful.”

You feel your cheeks redden in an unfamiliar way and you glance down at the ground. “Thanks.”

“These are for you,” Brock says, handing you a bouquet of flowers. 

Reaching over you take them from him, looking at the flowers in awe. “I, uh-.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Brock says, stepping into your apartment. “You don’t, um, have to make it a big deal.”

“I’m not,” you say quickly, despite the fact that you were trying really hard to contain the smile on your face. Bringing them into your kitchen you look through your cupboards for a vase. 

“Do you want me to get it?” Brock asks, watching you reach for a vase on the top shelf. 

“Sure,” you say, not having a chance to step away before Brock is standing behind you, reaching up over you to grab the vase. When he sets it down you slowly turn around, your bodies pressed against each other. Your eyes meet his only for a second before you lean up, pressing your lips against his. 

Brock kisses you back, his hands tugging on your waist, pulling you even closer. Your arms slide up over his neck and he lifts you up onto the counter, your legs wrapping around his torso. Pulling your hands back you bring them to his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons. 

“Wait, stop,” Brock says, pulling back, his hands wrapping around yours and pulling them away from his shirt. “This isn’t what this is about.”

“What?” You whisper, breathless and flushed, heart racing. 

“Tonight. I’m not here to have sex with you. I’m taking you out, on a date. A nice date…which we’re going to be late for.”

“Brock,” you whine, leaning forward and pressing your lips to his gently. “That ship has sailed.”

Brock chuckles, his hands on your waist, sliding you to the edge of the counter. “I know, I’m sorry. I should have taken you out a long time ago,” he tells you, lifting you off the counter and setting you down gently. 

Rolling you eyes you shake your head, turning your back to him to fill the vase with water. “I was just your fuck buddy, Brock. You and I both know that. I don’t know what changed, if anything changed at all. Maybe you just want me to think we’re more than that, so you can have me all to yourself, I don’t know. But don’t pretend you’ve had stronger feelings this whole time.”

Brock wraps his arms around you, his chest pressed to your back. “I’ll be honest, I do want you all to myself. The idea of you being with anyone else makes me mad. But it’s more than jealousy, Y/N. I don’t want you to be with anyone else but I don’t want to be with anyone else either. I know that’s crazy to say on a first date-.”

You can’t help but laugh at the idea of this being a real first date, after months and months of hooking up. “Sorry,” you whisper, for cutting Brock off with your laughter. 

“I’m trying to be nice here and you’re laughing at me,” Brock chuckles, turning you around to get you to face him. “I like you…I have feelings for you. I didn’t even realize how strong they were till I saw you with Kyle. I don’t know, maybe I didn’t have to think about it until then. I just thought, things were good the way they were, we didn’t need to have that conversation…this conversation.”

You’re quiet for a moment after he finishes talking, processing what it meant, what you were supposed to say. “I don’t want you to be with anyone else either.”

“Good,” Brock whispers, leaning down and kissing you quickly. “Now come on, I’ve got a date to take you on.” 

Brock takes your hand, guides you through your own apartment to the hallway, watches you lock the door behind the two of you. He doesn’t let go of your hand till you’re at his car, where he opens your door for you, closes it once you’re settled in the passenger’s seat. The drive to restaurant feels strangely comfortable, Brock letting you pick the music, the conversation flowing easily. 

“This place is so nice,” you say to Brock after the two of you put in your drink orders. Wine, of course. 

Brock shrugs, arms resting on the table as he leans closer, towards you. “I hoped you would like it.”

“I do,” you tell him. “But I would have liked any place you took me. It’s not about where we went, Brock, it’s about you actually taking me somewhere, a real date.”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind for next time, and the time after that, and-.”

“Shut up,” you giggle, rolling your eyes. “What does this mean?” You ask with a newfound sense of seriousness. 

“What?” 

“Us. We’ve been casual for months, but now…now you don’t want me to be with anyone else and I don’t want you to be with anyone else. And we’re going on dates. And you bought be flowers. And…”

“And I guess that means there is an us now, hey?” Brock says, reaching across the table and taking your hand.

Your lips curl into a soft smile, nodding slowly. “I guess that means there is an us,” you agree.

#brock boeser #brock boeser fic #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser fanfic #brock boeser one shot #nhl fic #nhl one shot #nhl fanfic #nhl imagines #nhl fanfiction #hockey fic #hockey blurb #hockey fanfic

[jonnnysuh]

Dating Jackson would include:

A/N: Crazy how I’ve gotten through almost all of the 7s already. Jackson’s was kinda hard bc I think he’s an actual combo of funny and romantic ?? Idk lemme know what you guys think. As always, based on my observations/ my perception of him.

He loves you with everything he’s got. No half assing it

If you get the wrong order at a restaurant he’ll call the waiter back so that it’s correct

“Are you checking me out?” “No” “it’s okay the heart wants what the heart wants” “my heart wants to throw up.”

His hugs feel like home

When he doesn’t get his way he’s sooooo pouty you just give in there’s no other way I’m sorry

Loves being the center of attention, but for you, he’ll share it LMAO

Never lets you lift a finger to carry something heavy

Very very protective of you

He’s so convincing when he’s talking bullshit. His hand gestures just sell it for some reason

Will only be big spoon

Will (not seriously) serenade you and will hold your hand and pretend he’s in a music video

Really really wants your parents to love him

Will bring you flowers on the first date

Goes out of his way to find the thing you like that you mentioned once before

I feel like he smells soooo nice

After you’ve spent a day with him you’ll smell like him too

Kisses you before he leaves the house, kisses you goodnight, kisses u thru FaceTime, he literally doesn’t care he will find a way

Always talks about the kind of future y’all will have together

“Are you really gonna do it?” “I promise you $10000000000 and 3 cents that I will”

Soooooo extra

Like so extra

Wants to make you proud

Can talk for hours about his future projects

Super duper competitive over the dumbest things

Cuddling is his favourite

He’ll go to you second when he has a problem bc first is his mom sorry bout it

Bro if you wanted to do like bungee jumping or something it would take hourssss to convince him and then when u get there he’s like “nope I’m not doing it what if I DIE? Then who’s gonna run Team Wang? How do you think Jinyoung would feel???”

But then he’ll see you bungee jump and be like “okay I have to be manly I have to do it” and then when he bungee jumps he’s SHRIEKING ITS SOOOO LOUD

When he makes time for you, he makes time for you. He won’t even look at his phone.

He knows he’s handsome but it hits different hearing it come from you,,, he will literally be like “Stopppp 🤗🤗 What else do you like about me?”

Both of you will hold in your laughter when something happens at an inappropriate time

BUT THEN HE’LL IMITATE THE THING AND MAKE IT HARD FOR YOU GUYS TO STAY QUIET

If you’re angry at him he’ll literally do anything to make you laugh

Tells himself daily affirmations

“Do you think if I stretch every morning when I wake up that I’ll get taller? Why not???? ☹️☹️“

Would wrap his arms around you while you guys look at the city skyline at night AHHH

Will make friends ANYWHERE it doesn’t matter where

Screams when you turn the lights off

Loves to say what he’s thinking

Says he would fight anyone for you BUT he draws the lines at ghosts

“I am not gonna allow a demon to possess me”

Keeps an extra pair of pajamas for you at home

Makes sure his house is stocked up with your favourite things

Wants you to feed him

Will send you cute lil update pictures throughout the day

Idek what his love language is bc this man is everything

Bro taking care of him drunk would be soOoOooOo funny because this man loves everyone sober so he’s gonna be an extra lover boy DRUNK

Jackson is also team “I hate the people you hate” like he’s just WAITINGGGG FOR YOU TO SPILL THE TEA

But at the same time he’s like “don’t let the bad energy affect you. Be the better person.”

Yet he can’t stop listening to the gossip??? HUH INTER ESTING

Will show you offffff ((you know like that Will And Jada Smith red carpet picture??? Exactly that but more)))

like he will hype you up even when you don’t think you look good

Will step between you and anyone if it’s obvious you look uncomfortable

Comes up with a lot of ridiculous “what if” scenarios that he throws at you when he’s bored

“What if your second grade crush confessed his feelings for you would you leave me then?” “What if otters could produce milk. Like would you eat the cheese? I would”

He just makes you blush so easily why is he so good at words

His laugh makes you laugh it’s just so funny

Pulls out the chair for you, holds the door for you, makes sure you’re comfortable at all times

Every time he says “I love you” it just feels so right

Super energetic for the events in your life and it genuinely makes him sad when he can’t make it

Gets sooo excited to see you after so long like a literal puppy

When he gets mad he speaks so fast you have no time to interject

And when he’s mad he won’t be willing to listen to what you have to say

Gets distracted easily

Sometimes you’ll rant and at the end of it he’ll be like “YA! THE GUY SUCKS.” And you’ll look at him like ??? And he’s like “… sorry I wasn’t listening”

Isnt afraid to clown you ESPECIALLY when you clown him

You know like the Blake Lively - Ryan Reynolds type flirting? It’s exactly like that between u two. It’s obvious you guys are together but in the insta comments you’ll just act like “I have no idea who this man is”

Knows what you like to order at any restaurant

I feel like if you guys didn’t work out you could still be friends. His love for you is apparent either way.

He loves you more than anything and you know it

#kpop imagines #dating would include #got7 #got7 drabbles #got7 fluff #got7 imagine #got7 one shot #got7 oneshot #got7 writing #kpop drabbles #Jackson wang #got7 Jackson #Jackson got7 #boyfriend!jackson #got7 timestamps #got7 fanfic #got7 jinyoung #park jinyoung #dating got7 would include #got7 preferences #wang jackson

[bestiesenpai]

tattoo artist sukuna

I am way overdo to get my sleeve finished and I’m already itching to get a full back piece, so this is right up my alley. Gender neutral reader, and if you’d like to see the tattoo style i reference please go to @/novchild.jpg on instagram :)

It was a spur of the moment decision that led you to drive downtown with your friends at nearly midnight, drunk off each other's energy and eager to do something reckless. Speeding down the motorway, you scrolled through Instagram in search of a tattoo artist.

“Are you guys sure about this?” Your nerves had finally caught up to you as the car was parked in front of the studio you all chose. It was a typical brick and mortar building with a large skull painted on the only window to the outside world. There were a few bald men smoking cigarettes right outside the door, scrawling ink covering their exposed hands and faces.

“Yeah, c’mon!” No one waited for you, everyone climbing out of the car in excitement. Slowly, you got out of the car as well, head down as you walked past the men and into the shop.

Loud, blaring metal music met your ears, jarring you upright and tense. There wasn’t anyone you could see at the front desk, the only workers were huddled in a back corner leaning over something and laughing.

“Which one should I get?” Your attention was drawn away from the men in the corner and to the art hanging on the wall, all different flash sheets from various artists. Some were more gory, clearly drawing inspiration from horror movies while other pieces were bright and colorful, like bubblegum pop come to life.

“Hey.” A gruff voice cut through the loud music, and a man was now leaning against the front desk, spiky black hair in a ponytail with a bored look on his face and several piercings in both ears. He was clearly sizing you up, the black bar going across his nose moving as he did.

Unprepared to speak to him, you were happy when someone else stepped in and started chatting about prices. The man at the counter had on a hoodie with the sleeves rolled up, exposing one full arm and hand that was completely blacked out.

“Choso, any customers?” Another shouted, a man wide in stature with long hair. He sauntered up to the counter, tight black t-shirt showing off the traditional Japanese work covering every inch of skin.

“Getou, can’t you see?” Choso rolled his eyes and gestured to your little group.

“I can’t make conversation?” Pulling a face at Choso, Getou leaned his elbows on the counter and flashed a wide grin at all of you. “So, who’s the first to get some ink?” His narrowed eyes looked over your bare skin and you could see the wheels turning in his head.

“I am! I want that one!” One of your friends pointed at the wall, making Getou hum and nod.

“That’s Gojo’s work, he loves to draw the cute shit. I’ll call him over.” As a white haired man walked over at Geto’s call, one by one your friends made their decisions and were paired with artists.

“What did you choose, (Y/N)?” A friend asked, seeing you still stuck staring at the wall.

“I don’t know!” Throwing your head back, you were beginning to regret even tagging along. There were simply too many options and the task of picking something was daunting.

“Having a hard time choosing?” A flash of white crosses your vision and soon Gojo is leaning down into your field of vision, piercing blue eyes staring at you curiously.

“U-uh yeah.” Stumbling back from how close his face is, you realize how tall he is when he stands up straight, hands shoved into his pockets.

“Me and another guy just got done making a new flash sheet, lemme show you.” It takes him only a couple seconds to go back to his station and come back with a piece of thick paper with drawings on it.

Taking the paper, the drawings were unexpectedly cute. A lot of them looked like rough sketches or crayon drawings, simple in concept but intricate in detail.

“I’ll take this one.” Pointing at a mid-sized crayon drawing, your mouth ticked up in a smile as Gojo took the paper from you with sparkling eyes.

“That one is so cute, good choice! One sec!” Tossing the paper down, he dashes away shouting nonsensical words towards the back of the shop where they’d all been huddled up. “Sukuna! Someones here for ya!”

Rising straight up from a chair with a loud groan, a shirtless pink haired man glared sharply at Gojo. Even from a distance you can see the sharp black lines tattooed across his face and down his body, circles on each shoulder, dashed lines across his chest down his stomach and around his wrists as well.

“Geez you can really yell, you know that?” Running a hand through his hair roughly, Sukuna stands up, flexing his muscles and unknowingly giving the whole shop a show of his chiseled physique.

“There’s a client here to get a piece we made together earlier.” Shoving the paper in his face, Gojo points to the piece you selected. Sukuna mumbles a few words and sets his eyes on you, walking over with a swagger that makes you nervous.

“Alright, where do you want it?” Leaning close to you, Sukuna quirks a brow.

“I don’t know.” You sigh softly, looking down at your arms and legs. “I don’t-”

“Your arm, right here.” Grabbing onto your arm, Sukuna turns it outward to expose the flesh of your inner arm. “It would look good right here, about the size of my palm.”

“O-oh okay.” Nodding quickly, your face is burning when he lets go. His touch still lingered on your skin, the edge of his black painted fingernails digging in briefly as they squeezed you.

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes, go sign the paperwork.” Sukuna speaks with his back to you, already walking to the station he had been sleeping at and setting up. Rushing to fill in the proper papers, you wait nervously at the front of the shop for your turn.

The rest of your friends are already getting started, the whir of the tattoo machines adding to the ambience of the shop. With a wave Sukuna calls you over to his corner, still shirtless with a pair of gloves on.

“Hold out your arm.” Grabbing you once again, Sukuna angles your arm in front of a mirror by the table. Rubbing ointment on your skin, he sticks the stencil on and rubs firmly, making you squirm from the tickle of his hand getting close to your armpit.

“What do you think?” Stepping to the side, he looks at you in the mirror. “Little to the left? Right?”

“No, it’s perfect.” The longer you look at it, the longer you love it. Giving you a pat on the shoulder, Sukuna led you to the table, having you lay down and stick your arm out.

“This your first one, I can tell.” He said, adjusting your body how he seemed fit and rubbing more ointment on you.

“It’s that obvious?”

“Oh yeah, only a first timer would get something like this from me.” A cocky grin spread across his face and he gestured to the wall behind your head, covered in realistic black and white portraits. “This is normally my speciality.”

“You drew yourself?” Pointing up at one of the pictures that looked exactly like him minus the face tattoos, you chuckled.

“Nah, that’s my twin.” Your brows rose in surprise and you looked between Sukuna and the picture.

“Does he have-?” You waved over your face and body.

“He’s too scared to get a tattoo, says he’ll get ink poisoning and die.” Sukuna laughed, pouring out the various colored ink into little cups. “Won’t even let me do a tiny dot on him!”

“Safe to say you two are pretty different then.” You found yourself laughing a little as well, eased at Sukunas laid back nature.

“Mhmm, he’s busy going on the straight and narrow while I’m here ‘ruining my body’ as our grandpa likes to say.” Flashing quick air quotes, Sukuna revs up the machine and fiddles with the buttons. “Alright, you ready for this? Won’t have virgin skin anymore after this.”

“Yes!” Clenching and unclenching your fist, you pushed a deep breath through your mouth.

“If you start to cry, I won’t stop. And if you pass out, I’ll just wake you up.” That was his final warning before he leaned forward, using one large gloved hand to spread the skin of your arm taut.

The first prick of the needle against your skin made you jolt, sucking in a sharp breath and making your eyes fly open. Sukuna snorted, wiped your arm with a towel and kept going. Honing in on the marks and exposed pipes in the ceiling, you tried not to twitch from the needle anymore.

“You’re doing pretty well.” Sukuna mumbled, briefly sitting up and dipping in for more ink.

“Really?” Taking a look at the tattoo, you were surprised to see only one line had been done. It felt like at least three were placed into you.

“Yeah, don’t screw it up.” Sticking his tongue out at you, Sukuna went back to work. Transfixed on watching him, you saw the lines go into your skin, overflowing with ink and being wiped away repeatedly. You were also watching the way Sukuna’s arms flexed, the muscles in his body all on display right in front of you.

“Tell me about yourself while you stare at me.” Sukuna said, not looking up from your arm. Immediately, your head whipped away from him and a deep burn ran over your face. Sukuna laughed at your embarrassment, patting your arm with the paper towel a few times.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you’re not the first one to do it.” That didn’t make it any better. Slapping a hand over your face, you let out an unintelligible noise from the back of your throat.

“Just great.”

“It’s okay to say you have a crush on me, a lot of people that come to the shop do.”

“Sukuna!” Laughing through the shame, you glanced over at him.

“Hey, it’s the truth.” He shrugged nonchalantly.

“Well can you blame them when you’re built like that?” Feeling emboldened by the late night hour, you took a rather obvious look at Sukuna’s body. With only a pair of sweatpants on, you could see nearly all the tattoos he had.

“Aw thanks doll, I work out.” Sukuna shot a wink at you, briefly flexing both arms and making you blush again. “But enough about me, what about you? What made you come here so late at night?”

“My friends and I wanted to do something spontaneous.” Returning your gaze to the ceiling, the ache from the tattoo gun was beginning to settle into your skin. “And what better way to be spontaneous than to get a tattoo?”

“Ha, I hear that.”

“Why’d you get the ones on your face and stuff?”

“Thought they’d make me look cool, and I was right.” Giggling at his honesty, you quickly nodded in agreement.

“The ones on your face, did they hurt really bad?”

“The ones near my eyes yeah, those hurt the most. But thankfully Choso has a steady hand, so it didn’t last too long.”

Absentmindedly, you ran your fingers over your own face, drawing along the edge of your jaw and eye socket. There was no way you could get your face tattooed as heavily as Sukuna had, if at all ever. You had only just now gotten used to the pain of the needle on your arm and you were still twitching every so often.

“How’re you holding up so far?” Sukuna whispers close to your ear ten quiet minutes later. He’s completely focused on tattooing you yet his face is close enough that if you leaned up a little, you could graze his hair with your nose.

“Fine.” You whisper back, suddenly feeling awkward with the low tone of his voice.

“That’s good doll, real good.” His voice dropped even lower, overcompensating for the song ending over the stereo speakers. Trying not to stare at his serious expression, you look over at the other stations. Gojo is chatting up your friend excitedly, and there’s a number of colorful inks laid out before him. Choso and Geto are hard at work as well, with Choso pointedly not speaking, and a blonde man you’d noticed drinking a large mug of black coffee earlier with his button up sleeve rolled up to reveal two dragons on his forearms.

Just as the pain in your arm was starting to truly burn, the tattoo was over. Sukuna washed it down gently, patting your arm and humming to the song playing. Sitting up with a short grunt, he flicked his head to the mirror.

“Go ahead and take a look.”

Sliding slowly off the table, you held your arm out awkwardly and stood in front of the mirror. Your arm was slightly swollen and stinging, shoulder stiff from being in the same position for so long, but a smile spread on your cheeks.

“I love it.” It looked exactly like the picture: a crayon style drawing of a brown haired girl in a giant green frog, a big pout on her lips while the frog sat on a lily pad.

“Lemme snap a couple quick photos before I wrap you up.” Already with his phone out, Sukuna was quick at taking pictures, posing you like when he’d put the stencil on. “I’ll run down the aftercare stuff with you, also give you a card in case you forget any of it.”

You didn’t hear a thing he said about aftercare. Standing nearly chest to chest with Sukuna while he rubbed ointment on your skin and wrapped your tattoo up, the way his arms nearly wrapped around you to put the cover on, the gentle touch of his fingers pressing medical tape to your skin, even the way he was breathing softly and looking at you - it all had you distracted.

“Alright, you’re all done.” Sukuna patted your arm, breaking you from your trance.

“Thank you so much!” Looking down at your tightly bandaged arm, you could feel the intense heat radiating out of it. You quickly snapped your own picture of the bandage as Sukuna dug around in a drawer.

“And since I could tell you were zoning the fuck out just now, I wrote my number down on the aftercare sheet, so text me if you have any questions.” Holding the paper out to you, Sukuna had indeed scribbled his phone number on the paper in thick black marker.

“Can I really just text you?” Taking the paper hesitantly, you fiddled with it in your hands.

“Of course! I want your tattoo to heal well!” Sukuna nodded, throwing his arms out dramatically. Waiting for you to gather your stuff, he walked you to the front of the shop. “Text me anytime doll, I stay up late.” He whispered right before you got to the front counter, making your jaw drop and ears burn.

“(Y/N), you really got a girl in a frog?” A friend laughed, a bandage wrapped around their thigh.

“It’s cute!” You defended it, holding your arm close to your body.

“The cutest fucking one.” Sukuna added on, slapping the counter and pointing at everyone.

“Aren’t you cold without a shirt on?” Choso mumbled, typing away on his phone in the corner.

“No ‘cause I’m not anemic like you are.”

“It’s still cold outside.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s cold in here!” The two of them quickly devolved into petty squabble, giving each other light hearted shoves in the shoulder while Geto collected the money from everyone.

“Bye, thank you so much!” You all called out as you left, waving goodbye and shrugging your jackets back on.

“I’ll be waiting for that text, doll!” Sukuna shouted right as you stepped out, blowing you a kiss when you whipped your head over your shoulder in shock.

“Text? Were you flirting with him?” A slew of curious looks were thrown your way, making your shock even worse.

“N-no!” You stuttered and immediately grimaced at it, face getting warmer as you climbed into the car. “We were just talking while he tattooed me, he just wants to make sure it heals right.”

“Mhmm, whatever you say. Let’s go to the drive through now, Geto told me to eat something after getting tattooed!”

“Hey check Sukuna’s Instagram story, he already posted your tattoo (Y/N)!”

“Really?” Rushing to pull out your phone, it was indeed true. Sukuna had posted one of the pictures he took of your arm, a few silly frog gifs surrounding it, with the caption ‘painted a pretty doll with a pretty frog, hope they come back for more xx’.

“You two were definitely flirting!” Shouts resounded in the car, everyone giggling wildly at the caption. Giggling along with them, you quickly typed a message to Sukuna.

(Y/N): hey Sukuna this is (Y/N). Thanks again for the frog! And the picture you posted on your story looks really good :)

(Sukuna): no problem doll

(Sukuna): next time you want a tattoo, text me and i’ll draw up whatever you want

“Sukuna said he wanted to tattoo me again!” You announced to your friends, all of them oohing and crowding around your phone. “What should I say?”

“I’ll do it!” Someone snatched your phone before you could say anything, rapidly shooting off a message and tossing the device back to you.

(Y/N): are you free tomorrow?

“He’s not gonna-” Right as you were beginning to shake your head and type another message, he replied.

(Sukuna): for you? of course

#jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #jujutsu kaisen scenarios #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen imagines

[tulsa-trash]

Book Swap

Request: could you do a modern!pony x reader imagine where you're both in 9th grade and meet at the library, and one day you finally have the guts to ask for his number, so you guys start texting and then you start crushing on him and then you have to figure out how to tell him, so u ask two-bit and johnny for advice

WARNING(S): N/A

You sighed deeply as you began to reread the same sentence in your book for what felt like the twentieth time. It seemed as though you were reading but not even comprehending the words. To be fair, it was impossible to get lost in a book when a familiar cute boy was sitting a table over from you.

Ponyboy Curtis. How does one even begin to describe the amazing human you had the honor of being within five feet of? Unlike most guys in high school, Pony was something special. He was kind and very smart, you knew this because you have English with him. You've never seen someone so into a class before, he also appeared to have an interest in literature, like you. The both of you were nothing but mere acquaintances, and you secretly wished you could change that.

It didn't help that you found him absolutely dreamy. His brown hair was always a little messy, but it still managed to make him even cuter. You always feel your heart skip a beat whenever your eyes would meet his sparkling green ones in the hallways. You'd smile whenever you'd see him laughing with his friends, it showed off his dimples that sunk into his cheeks. Ponyboy Curtis was the boy of your dreams, and the young man was completely oblivious.

Your phone vibrated on the desk you were sitting at. Glancing up from your book, you seen that it was a text from one of your friends. After placing your bookmark in between the pages you unlocked your phone.

Evie: So? Did you talk to him yet?

You rolled your eyes after reading the message, your fingers quickly tapped at the screen as you typed your response.

Y/N: No obviously not. Now leave me alone.

Kathy: Girl go for it! He's a nice kid you said so yourself.

Y/N: Uh nope. Much rather stare at him from afar and not make a fool of myself attempting to talk to him.

Kathy: Well if you don't not only will I embarrass you in front of lover boy, everyone in this library will see me screaming at you and we'll both probably get kicked out.

Y/N: Wait what? How do you know I'm at the library?? Are you here right now???

Kathy: Look over at the fantasy section you nerd. You being you I obviously knew where YOU would be on a Saturday afternoon.

You looked up, eyes widening in shock as you saw your friend hiding behind a bookshelf watching you with a sly grin.

Kathy: Make a move now or I'm coming over there.

With already shaking hands you put your phone in your pocket and grabbed your book. You sent Kathy a pleading look, but all she did was shake her head and point towards Ponyboy violently. Taking in a deep breath, you got up. The chair scraped against the floor, creating a loud noise which made at least five people look up at you... including him.

"Oh god." You mumbled under your breath.

In your peripheral vision you could see Ponyboy's gaze return to his book, taking that as your cue to move you slowly crept to his table. You had made it to the chair directly across from him, he was so caught up in his book he didn't even notice your presence. You smiled softly, his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration while his eyes scanned the pages back and forth. You awkwardly cleared your throat, not too loud to disturb others but just enough for him to tear his attention from his book to notice you.

"Oh, hey." Ponyboy said, "Can I help you with somethin'?"

"Um..." Jesus this was going to be way harder than you thought. "W-Would you mind if I sat with ya?"

"Not at all. Go ahead." He sent you a friendly smile as he gestured to the chair you were at.

His smile. Your legs already feel like jello, you could've sworn you were going to collapse right then in there.

"Y/N, right?" He asked as you sat down.

"That's me. And you're Ponyboy."

"Yep, couldn't forget a name like that if you tried." He joked.

You giggled as you opened your book, Ponyboy returned to his. Curiosity got the better of you when you looked back up to see what he was reading.

"Gone With the Wind." You read aloud.

"Have you read it before?" He asked.

You shook your head, "I haven't, but I've heard only good things about it. I saw the movie about a year ago and thought it was great."

"The book is amazing!" He gushed, only to be shushed by the librarian walking by. "This is my fifth time reading it." He told you in a more hushed tone.

You snickered, "Must be really great."

"What ya got there?"

You lifted up your book from the table to reveal the cover to him, his bright eyes scanned the cover.

"The Boy in Striped Pajamas?"

"I know the title seems a bit odd, but trust me this is a good read." You told him, "This being my third time reading it."

"Well what's it about?" He asked.

You went on to tell him about your book, and he went on to tell you all about his. The both of you began to talk about anything and everything, you were beyond happy that things were going well. You were having so much fun you completely forgot about Kathy spying on you, before either of you could realize it two hours had gone by.

You peaked at your phone and cursed under your breath, the lock screen had a reminder that your shift at work was starting in less than thirty minutes.

"I really hate to end this... but I gotta go." You said.

"That sucks." He said disappointedly.

You couldn't help feeling a little giddy inside to see that he was upset you were leaving. While you got up and gathered your things, you remembered that you wanted to get his phone number badly. You just had to figure out a way to get it without making things awkward.

"Hey, Pone?"

He hummed in response.

"What do ya say we swap books... and numbers? Thats only if you want to. I just figured since we read them already and it was cool talk--"

"I'd like that." He stopped your rambling, only to send you a warm smile while doing so.

You blushed as the both of you swapped phones to put in each others information along with handing each other your books. With a final wave goodbye you left the library, your best friend of course followed after you. She interrogated you with thousands of questions and the both of you walked to work, you gladly answered them all in an almost dazed state. You felt as if you were walking on air for the rest of the day, and you couldn't wait to text him later on.

-

Two weeks had gone by, and let's just say those two weeks have been the best ones of your life. You and Ponyboy had been texting every single day. At first you just talked about each other's books, but then your conversations started evolve to anything and everything. You knew you had liked him before, but your feelings for him have grown drastically. It was beginning to get unbearable holding in how you truly felt, and you weren't sure if you wanted to tell him.

The fear of rejection was one of the main reasons why you've been thinking of just repressing your feelings. Sure, he seemed to like you, but it felt as though he only liked you simply as a friend. Another reason being you were afraid that it would ruin things between the both of you. You had finally become good friends, the last thing you wanted was for everything to end up being awkward all because of you and your silly crush.

After a lot of thinking you decided you needed some advice, and by advice you mean advice thats not only from Kathy. She keeps telling you to go for it, but she doesn't really know Ponyboy well. That's why you got the idea to ask one of his buddies on their opinion. Luckily Pony invited you to watch him and his friends play football. You ceased the opportunity, not only would you be able to watch the boy of your dreams get all sweaty and tuff looking, you could also get one of his friends alone to talk about how you felt.

It was a warm, Sunday morning in Tulsa. The sun was high in the sky and beat down harshly on the group of boys tackling each other in the giant field. You sat under a tree with a notebook in your lap, a cool breeze would rush by every now and then, cooling you off the slightest. You doodled randomness on the blank pages, sketching pictures and honing your writing skills. Every now and then you would glance up and watch the game for a few, sometimes cheering the boys on or laughing when they began to goof off and wrestle each other on the ground.

There was a particular drawing you found yourself enthralled in, as the pencil in your hand smoothly ran across the paper you found yourself sketching a picture of Ponyboy's face. You were so focused you didn't even notice someone come over and take a seat right beside you.

"Nice drawin' you got there." A quiet voice spoke.

You quickly slammed the notebook closed and snapped you head to the right, it was Ponyboy's best friend, Johnny. A tiny smirk was tugging at his lips as he looked at you with one eyebrow raised.

"T-Thanks." You stuttered nervously.

"You like him, huh?" He asked you.

You stood silent as you played with the grass below you, pulling it from the Earth and rubbing it between your fingers. Your gaze was straight ahead watching the game, you were afraid to meet Johnny's gaze that was burning holes into the side of your head.

"Yes..." You hesitated a bit, "I do."

"Does he know?"

"No!" You said hopelessly, "And I'm not sure if I even want him to know."

"Why not?"

"Because he probably doesn't feel the same..." You trailed off.

"Hey now, ya never know." Johnny said.

"What are you two kiddies doin' over here?" A loud voice bellowed.

It was none other than Two-Bit, he staggered over to the both of you before plopping down to your left. He was breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his forehead and trickling down his neck.

"You tryin' to make moves on Pony's girl or somethin', John?" Two asked playfully.

Your heart fluttered, 'Pony's girl.'

"No way, man. Trust me." Johnny chuckled.

"Pony's girl?" You repeated to him questioningly.

"Oh yeah! I see the way y'all look at each other I ain't blind."

You let Two's words sink in, was it that obvious that you liked him? He even said that Pony looks at you a certain way as well. Maybe there was a chance he shared your feelings after all.

"You think he likes me or somethin'?" You asked casually.

"Oh I don't think, I know."

You smiled softly, butterflies erupting in your stomach. In the back of your mind you worried that you were getting your hopes up a little too high, but you couldn't help it.

"I like him too." You admitted.

Two-Bit scoffed, "Tell me somethin' I don't know."

"Well... what should I do?"

"Tell him." Two replied.

"I agree." Johnny piped up.

Both nerves and excitement began to bubble up inside you as you got up and gathered your things.

"Where are you off to?" Johnny asked as you began to jog away from them.

"Gotta head home. Tell Ponyboy I'm sorry I had to leave but I'll text him later!"

"See ya later lover girl!" Two-Bit hollered after you while preceding to make kissing noises.

You laughed to yourself and shook your head, "Idiot."

-

Y/N: Whats up Pone-bone?

Ponyboy: Nothing much lil lady, and yourself?

Y/N: Same. Btw sorry for leaving so soon today, had some things to do.

Ponyboy: It's alright.

Hey what were you, Johnny and Two talking about? They didn't try to tease you or nothin right?

Y/N: Nooo ofc not they were just chattin

But thats actually what I wanted to talk to you about...

Ponyboy: Well... Go on then

Y/N: Okay I'm just gonna say it

I like you

like a lot

Ponyboy: As a friend or?

Y/N: No silly, like more than friends...

Ponyboy: Wait actually?

Y/N: Yes Pony

Ponyboy: Seriously??

Y/N: OMG YES!!

I LIKE YOU A LOT!

... im sorry if it weirds you out

Ponyboy: NO! NO IT DOESN'T.

SORRY

... Just wanted to make sure this isn't a prank or whatever.

But in all seriousness yes, I like you a whole lot.

Y/N: Are you sure?

Ponyboy: Positive doll

Do you wanna grab some milkshakes at the Dingo next weekend?

Y/N: Are you asking me out onna date Curtis?

Ponyboy: Yes, I am ;)

Y/N: Well I would love to :)

#the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders ponyboy #the outsiders imagine #the outsiders fanfiction #the outsiders fic #the outsiders fluff #the outsiders fandom #ponyboy curtis #ponyboy michael curtis #ponyboy x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #ponyboy curtis imagine #ponyboy curtis fanfiction #ponyboy fic #modern!ponyboy #ponyboy curtis au #c thomas howell

[slasherhaven]

How would Bo, Thomas, Michael, and Brahms react to seeing their fem s/o getting kissed and hit on by a male friend? Luv u and ur writing btw 🧡💛🤍

Thank you so much! ❤ They’re kinda long so I put them under the cut. Enjoy!

Thomas Hewitt:

You were a member of the Hewitt family not a captive so you were allowed to keep in touch with old friends, as long as they knew you were loyal to them. And you were.

But when your friend since childhood said that he wanted to visit, you were sure the family wouldn’t allow it. You brought it up away.

Hoyt had been dead against it but Luda May said she would consider it. She and Tommy didn’t want you to feel trapped in the house, like you couldn’t have a life at all, but they knew the risk.

Finally Luda May said your friend could visit but laid out some ground rules. He could stay for few days maximum and you had to make sure he didn’t see anything suspicious. During that time, the family would be on their best behaviour. You appreciated her for that.

And so your friend came to visit, greeting you with a hug and telling you how he missed you since you moved away.

You introduced him to the family. Warning him that Hoyt and Monty could be a little difficult but to just ignore them. Luda May was welcoming enough but you knew that she would be watching him like a hawk, she had to watch out for her family after all.

Then you introduced him to Thomas, the man you had been telling him about for so long. You had forewarned him about the mask, just telling him not to comment on it, and he politely shook his hand. 

It all seemed to be going well.

The few days went by quickly, catching up with your old friend.

But the other members of the family weren’t so optimistic about the whole thing.

Thomas had noticed it almost instantly, the touches and smiles that your ‘friend’ gave you. But he tried to shake it off. He trusted you and loved you, he just wasn’t sure about this man. But then he convinced himself that it was his own insecurities messing with his mind.

But...other’s had noticed it as well.

Luda May noticed it instantly, she could be observant like that. Your friend seemed to be straight up flirting with you, even in front of the other family members (including Tommy). The looks your friend would give you and Tommy when you showed any sign of affection towards him.

She also noticed that you seemed completely oblivious to it.

The whole thing definitely bothers Thomas. He already thinks that you deserve better than him and what if your friend was that better thing? And what if you realised it?

He’s likely to become more distant towards you during those few days. Though he will be glaring at your friend whenever they’re in the same room.

He’s more likely to grow distant when Hoyt teases him about it, saying that you were going to run away with your friend. He didn’t want to believe it but if he was right?

It all comes to a climax on the day your friend is supposed to be leaving. You walk him to his car, giving him a hug goodbye and telling him to let you know he got home safe. The family watching from the house.

But before you can pull away, your friend holds you in place.

Before you can question him, he starts talking, asking you to go back with him. He tells you how he missed you and how you belong back ‘home’.

Of course you’re protesting, telling him that you’re staying here with the people you call family.

Speaking of the family, they’re all ready to act. Luda May ready to send Thomas out there. Even Hoyt is getting a little protective, you are family now after all.

And then, in a last attempt to convince you, your friend kisses you.

The front door is already opening and the family is coming out.

The whole thing saddens Thomas. All the flirting had been hard to watch but you never responded to it. Now, seeing another man kiss you, it was just breaking his heart. For a moment, he really thought that you might just leave him.

Yet he also found his fists clenching protectively, knowing that you hadn’t welcomed the kiss. If somebody made you comfortable, he’d kill them. Or at least he’d want too.

Luda May can’t help but smile when you push your friend away, chastising him for kissing you like that.

But you were still kind. Telling him that you didn’t have those feelings for him, that you were happy here, that you loved Thomas, and telling him that he should just leave.

Your friend went to argue with you but you insisted that it would be better if he just left.

Once your friend’s car disappeared out of sight, you headed back up to the house, where the family was waiting for you.

Luda May ushered the others away, letting you and Thomas talk alone.

Thomas has seen and heard everything. You saying that you were happy here and in love with him, unashamed of him and even proud of him, would warm his heart.

The sight of that man kissing you still hurt him. If you hadn’t pushed him away, Thomas might have just killed him for touching you against your will like that.

Thomas is going to need some love and affection, just some reassurance that you meant what you said. You are so happy and so in love with him. Just give him some hugs and kisses, making sure to remind him that you’re here with him because you want to be. 

In away the whole thing was a little reaffirming to him. That you had been given a way out, another (and in his eyes, better) option, but you so quickly and confidently chose him.

God, he loved you and was so glad that you loved him too.

He’ll wrap his arms around you, holding you to his chest. 

Your friend had told you that you should go home with him but you and Tommy both knew that this was your real home, the Hewitts’ were your family.

Just make sure to show him lots of affection, holding his hand, lots of hugs and kisses. Compliment him, make sure you tell him how much you love him. He’ll be feeling much better real soon.

Michael Myers:

Michael was bored and you weren’t home. You had gone out to meet a friend and he didn’t know when you would be back.

So what was he to do? It didn’t take him long to come to the rational conclusion that was to find you and follow you around time. It’s just something that he does when he’s bored, since he couldn’t just walk through town like a normal person. You knew about this hobby of his and didn’t mind so much.

It didn’t take much searching before he found you, walking beside your friend you had mentioned but name that Michael had forgotten.

The two of you are talking and laughing like friends do but Michael can’t really make out the conversation from how far away he is.

Then you seem to check the time and come to a stop, turning to tell your friend that you should be heading home.

Now your friend seems nervous, rubbing the back of his neck and shifting his feet. Michael isn’t interested in him but is curious as to what he seems to want to tell you.

Then the man says something that makes you frown, your face softening sympathetically. You apologise and shake your head.

Then, in a fast but gentle gesture, this friend of yours is kissing you.

Michael has never felt this feeling before. He’s furious, his possessiveness skyrocketing...or is that jealousy? No, it can’t be.

Either way, his fists are clenching and he’s moving towards the two of you. He is going to kill a man right in the middle of the street, he knows he is and he isn’t even going to try to stop himself.

But then you push the man away, looking more annoyed than sympathetic now.

And Michael comes to a stop, a little...curious?

You chastise the man and now Michael is close enough to hear some of what you are saying.

You reiterate that you aren’t interested and that you are already with somebody.

Your friend apologises but you tell him to just go home.

As you turn to head home, you spot Michael’s looming figure hiding among the shadows. You had become extremely good and seeing him where others wouldn’t even notice him. 

As usual, you can’t tell what he is thinking or what he is going to do.

You slowly start making your way home, checking over your shoulder to make sure that he is following you and not your friend.

You knew that he had seen everything and you worried that you would kill the poor man. You might be angry with him but that didn’t mean you wanted him dead.

Luckily, Michael follows you all the way home.

What really angers him is when you plead for him to spare your friends life.

Why? Why should he spare him when he would put you in that position even then you told him that you weren’t interested? He deserves what he gets, Y/n.

But you explain that it would complicate things, draw too much attention to you both. It’s not worth it. He won’t be a problem anymore, you promise.

Reluctantly Michael agrees. But if your friend pulls another stunt like that, he will kill him.

Affection and discussing feelings can be very difficult with Michael. But you’ll remind him that you’re only interested in him anyway, that you love him. 

He’ll accept the affection you give him but he’s processing a lot of complicated emotions right now.

It may turn into possessiveness so what I’m trying to say is that you’re in for one hell of a night. A lot of gruff “mine”s coming from him. He’s got to prove a point, you know?

Brahms Heelshire:

Most of your socialisation outside of the manor was done on the phone with old friends.

One of your friends finally decided that he wanted to visit you, joking that you must be going crazy all alone in that huge house. Of course, you had told your friends about the job that brought you to the house. They just thought you were caring for the house while the owners were gone.

You had actually discouraged your friend from visiting but he insisted, pretty much leaving you with no choice.

So then you had to tell Brahms and he wasn’t impressed. One of the rules was ‘no guests’ so of course he wasn’t happy about it.

You had told him that it would be a week at most and that you could introduce him as your boyfriend. 

With enough convincing, Brahms finally gave in but he wouldn’t really want to meet your friend. He doesn’t want anyone other than you knowing about him so he decides to head back into the walls for the week. 

And he is watching everything.

As soon as your friend arrives and greets you with a hug, Brahms is already fuming. He’s selfish and wants you all to himself, even he knows that, but you’ve been making progress on these issues of his so he isn’t quite as impulsive. He will wait and see what happens...

Everything bothers him.

Your friend is really...friendly. Too friendly by Brahms’ standards. Why does he always have to be touching you.

Still, Brahms can’t help but smile when you tell your friend about your new boyfriend. He knows you can’t give him too much information but Brahms is glad that you’re talking about him.

But that doesn’t seem to be deterring your friend...

Still, every night, Brahms will join you in your bedroom, getting your full attention then. 

He expresses that he doesn’t like your friend but that doesn’t surprise you at all. You promise him that he has nothing to worry about and that he’ll be gone before he knows it. 

Then your friend started talking about how you should quit the job and move back home, that you were missed and you belonged back home.

Brahms was furious but relaxed a little when you protested. Saying that this was your home now, that you had a relationship here and were happy here.

And, as if in an attempt to convince you of his argument, your friend kissed you.

Brahms burned with anger. If you didn’t act quick enough, Brahms would have done something. And he probably would have hurt your friend for two reason. 

One being: this man just came into his house and is trying to take you away. 

The other being: you didn’t want him to kiss you and how dare he do something that you didn’t want? How dare he lay a finger on you?

Luckily, for your friend, you pushed him away and put some distance between you both. 

You knew that Brahms must have seen that and that your friend was now in danger, so you told him to pack his bags and leave.

Of course your friend tried to argue and explain himself but you knew that you didn’t have the time for that. 

You had to get him out of the house before Brahms did something.

Brahms watched even closer than usual, making sure that the man left without a fight. 

You showed your friend to the front door, telling him that you just aren’t interested in him and that it was wrong of him to do that when you had already told him you were in a relationship.

You closed the front door and locked it, just in case he tried to come back and explain himself again.

When you turned back to begin your search for Brahms, you almost collided with his chest. He was already there, staring down at you silently.

The first thing you thought to do was tell him not to worry and to just let your friend go, he wouldn’t be bothering either of you anymore.

You promise him that you aren’t interested in your friend at all, that you’re still here with him because you really do love him.

Brahms is definitely mad at your friend but he’s also in need of some major love and attention. It had been almost a week of sharing your attention and then...that happened. 

He’ll wrap his arms around you and you instantly return his embrace, letting him bury his masked face in the crook of your neck. For a moment there, he thought he was going to loose you.

But this doesn’t last long. He is still a cheeky little shit and will find an excuse to make reparations in the bedroom. 

Either claiming that he has to show you why you chose him or, if he’s feeling more bratty, that you have to show him just how much you love him.

In the end, Brahms is going to sulk about it for a while but also feels smug about you choosing him so quickly.

If your friend shows up again, it’s going to be difficult to convince Brahms to spare his life for a second time.

Bo Sinclair:

You lived in Ambrose with the three brothers and you were happy there but you still kept in touch with people from your old life.

Then your childhood best friend said that he wanted to visit.

You knew that Bo would be against it, just because of protecting the town and his family. He couldn’t risk an outsider coming in like that.

But you finally managed to convince him. He told you that he was your responsibility, you had to make sure that he didn’t see anything suspicious. If new people showed up, a new bunch of victims, you had to get your friend out of town so they could work. But most importantly, if your friend did find out their secret, you had to be prepared for how the brothers would have to handle it.

So, your friend came to stay with you for a few days.

Your friend greeted you with a hug, saying it was good to see you.

You introduced him to Bo and he was polite. Bo knew how to put on that charming and polite persona.

Your friend never meets Vincent, he stays away from you all. He might meet Lester once or twice if he drops by for something. But mostly, it is just the three of you.

Bo knows when somebody is flirting and he can see it in your friend straight away. He knows that your friend has come here with the intention to convince you that he would be the better option for you.

And he just can’t let that fly.

When you’re talking to your friend, Bo will come up to you, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into him. Telling you that he’s going down to the garage and he’ll be back soon, giving you a kiss that is a little less than decent before pulling away and heading out.

It’s like Bo knows when your friend is about to walk into the room, and he always makes sure that when they step into the room, he has you in his arms or in a slightly compromising position. Just to drive the message home. You’re taken.

Bo really does like rubbing your relationship in your friend’s face when he realises that he has feelings for you.

He can deal with it when it’s just little things, just a bit of flirting that you don’t reciprocate. Bo can handle that and even play with it, like he is doing.

But if your friend gets a little too close, he doesn’t like that at all.

If your friend is handsy, there will be threats made when you aren’t in the room.

But all in all, the visit goes well.

That is, until your friend crosses the line way too much.

He thought Bo would be down at the garage, that the two of you would be alone for a while.

That’s when he started talking about how you shouldn’t be spending your life in such a little town in the middle of nowhere. You should go home with him, back to where you grew up. He’d start talking a little bad about Bo, and now you’re questioning his intentions of coming here.

You tell him that he’s wrong, that you’re happy here but appreciate his concern.

But he is persistent. So, he cups your face in his hands and kisses you, just as Bo walks into the room.

You push your friend away, too shocked to formulate a sentence or a question. 

Bo saw what happened and he can see that you hadn’t expected the kiss. He’s seeing red but even he can see that you aren’t to blame here.

It doesn’t matter how long your friend had been planning on staying, it’s time for him to leave.

Bo orders him to get his things and leave, though he probably adds a threat to that.

You know that it’s for the best. If your friend doesn’t leave, he just might get himself killed.

Just before your friend leaves, you make sure to tell him that he had no right to act the way he did. You’re happy in Ambrose and you’re in love with Bo, he isn’t going to change that. 

Bo is giving him a smug ass look from behind you.

You and Bo watch him leave the town, knowing that Lester will make sure he actually leaves and doesn’t end up stumbling upon anything that would put him in danger.

Once the car is out of sight, you and Bo head back into the house. Where Bo lets out the tension he was holding on to.

All he wanted to do when he saw that man kissing you was kill him but he held himself back to not upset you, even if he didn’t deserve it.

But now he’s ranting about the audacity of that man. How dare he think he can come into his home and try to steal you away from him? He’s lucky that he didn’t kill him.

Best thing to do is just grab him but the collar and pull him down into a passionate kiss. Reminding him that you were here with him, that you chose him, that you want him.

That pretty much does it. But he will pick you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, before carrying you back to the bedroom. Reminding you who your man is.

#thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #michael myers x reader #michael myers #brahms heelsire x reader #brahms heelshire #brahms x reader #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair #slashers x reader #Slashers #slasher #the boy #the boy 2 #the texas chainsaw massacre #ttcm #tommy hewitt #halloween #house of wax #my writing

[lazywonderlvnd]

Hi, if you are still taking prompts; A magically powerful Harry not noticing that his magic does things to make Draco happy. This can be pre-relationship or established relationship. Like it starts of with his tea being exactly as he likes and always the right temperature. Then evolves to rooms changing colour or weather changing or people being unable to invade Draco’s personal space due to an invisible barrier or something ridiculous. Btw Draco doesn’t notice as well.

anon.....you really killed me w this one. i’ve been so emo over this wyugeahrwiw might end up writing smth longer tbh bc this concept is literally the only thing that matters to me!!!!!!! i hope u enjoy i had so much fun with it ❤️❤️❤️

“Harry, you do it. Please.”

“No.”

“Please!”

“We’re fucking watching something, Draco!”

“So just pause it!”

Harry grabs the pillow on his lap and slams it onto the sofa next to him. Hermione can see dust rise in its wake. He pauses the telly. 

“Are you doing it?” Draco asks hopefully. Harry scowls at him. 

“Well you won’t shut up until I do, will you?”

“Definitely not.”

Harry disappears into the kitchen and Draco sits there looking smug.

“It’s kind of sick how you get off on bossing him around,” says Ron, his tone one of simple observation. His fingers are idly playing with Hermione’s hair, but she doesn’t think he notices he’s doing it. 

“If I’m not mean to him a few times a week I break out in a rash, Weasley,” Draco says blithely. “Besides, he makes it perfectly. I don’t know how he does it, it’s always exactly the right temperature and sweetness and all that. I s’pose his years as a house-elf for those Muggles gave him plenty of time to perfect the art.”

“You’re a twat,” says Ron. “And my mum makes tea better than him.”

“Well you’re just a pitiful little mummy’s boy, aren’t you, Weasley? We can hardly trust your opinion.”

“Hark who the hell’s talking,” Ron scoffs. “Least I’m not twenty-three and still calling my mum ‘mummy’ like the world’s biggest bloody ponce.”

Draco splutters but before he can retort Harry’s coming back into the room hovering four cups of tea that float placidly to each of them. Draco looks exactly like a satisfied cat as he takes his and Harry drops back down onto the sofa next to him. Not too close, but certainly not too far, either.

“Literally exquisite,” Draco declares after he’s taken a sip. Ron rolls his eyes.

“It’s just tea, Draco,” says Harry, and he grabs for the remote to turn the film back on. “You’re such a demanding little brat. Merlin’s fucking tits.”

But Draco looks happy and Harry looks suspiciously content as well. Ron turns to her and makes a silent gagging face. Hermione snorts and puts a finger to her lips. They’ve decided not to say anything yet.

*

“Wasn’t this place a lot … uglier last time?”

“What?” Harry says absently. He’s not listening — he’s got all his attention zeroed in on a stack of parchment he’s holding. They’d only barely dragged him along to lunch; earlier the captain of the English National Team had apparently owled him a great number of brand-new Quidditch plays and required Harry’s extensive thoughts and notes before their next practise, which was tomorrow morning. 

“Uglier,” Draco says emphatically, and Ron mutters something she doesn’t catch. “Remember? The walls were that tragic egg-yolk colour.” He shivers. Hermione thinks it might have been an honest-to-god shiver of revulsion. She also thinks she knows what’s happened, even though the extent of it surprises her.

“Maybe someone heard you whingeing and changed it,” Ron apparently can’t stop himself from saying with a snigger. Hermione elbows him hard and he shoots her a glare, mouthing, he doesn’t know!

Harry would usually be the one to take the lead and get them a table when all four of them go out to eat together but today he’s too wrapped up in his Quidditch plays, so Ron steps forward and does it, which makes Hermione’s chest flutter pleasantly. He’d blush down to his bones if she ever said it aloud but he’s quite capable of being a leader in Harry’s absences. 

“Whatever happened,” says Draco pointedly as they’re led to their table, “it’s a great bloody blessing, I was genuinely unsure I’d have the mental fortitude to survive another assault like that on my delicate senses. And, I mean, this —” he gestures to the walls, which are now an admittedly pleasing dark teal above a white trim “— is stunning. It’s my favourite colour.”

“Is it? So weird they picked your favourite colour completely by coincidence,” Ron says, and Hermione elbows him again. Draco notices nothing and neither does Harry, although he does finally set the plays aside once they’re seated at the table.

“Are you complaining about the wall colour again?” he asks drily. They would both be extremely displeased to know they sound like an old married couple. Draco snatches haughtily at the paper napkin on the table and unfolds it to place over his lap. The first time he’d ever done this at a regular, decidedly not upscale restaurant Ron had taken it upon himself to spend the entire meal adopting a posh accent to match Draco’s and saying things to the waiter like “Don’t you have crystal?” while holding up a glass cup full of Pepsi and then commenting “These aren’t real silver, you know” after making a show of inspecting the titanium utensils. 

“I can complain about hideous design choices if I want to,” Draco tells Harry with his nose in the air. “Thankfully they’ve rectified it this time.”

On the other side of the restaurant, Hermione sees two employees talking, one of them gesturing at the wall with utter bewilderment. She doesn’t point it out.

*

“Twelve o’clock,” says Ron, nodding past Draco’s shoulder. “Some bloke staring you down hard, Malfoy.”

Draco looks excitedly behind him, but what Hermione takes more notice of is the way Harry’s face falls a little. She can’t help but wonder if he even realises it’s happened. She’s almost certain he’s aware of his feelings for Draco even though he still hasn’t said anything to her (and she’s been waiting months now, the effort of holding her tongue growing only more difficult by the day, and she knows Ron’s always seconds away from shouting at him) but she doesn’t think he knows how obvious he is. Draco doesn’t seem to know either, but she thinks that’s because Draco feels exactly the same way. She’d have called them morons, but she remembers too well how long it had taken her and Ron.

“What the fuck, Weasley,” Draco hisses, turning back around with a scowl that makes Ron laugh and Harry perk up again a little bit. “He looks like he hasn’t washed his hair in weeks.”

“Now, now,” says Ron, “mustn’t judge books by their greasy covers.”

“Then you go shag him if you think he’s so fit.”

“Maybe I will,” Ron says airily, as if he really is considering it, and Hermione can’t help chuckling and kissing his cheek. Then his expression changes to one of wicked amusement, which makes all of them look round to see the bloke coming their way. Hermione glances at Harry to find that — oh yes, he looks flustered and vaguely upset.

“Hullo,” says the greasy bloke to Draco as he comes up beside him at their table. He’s really not terrible-looking, but if she’s learned anything about Draco in the last couple years it’s that his standards amount to models and Harry Potter, so this man has almost no chance.

“Hello,” Draco drawls, reminding her fiercely of his younger self at Hogwarts. “I’m not interested.”

“Right little narcissistic bugger, aren’t you?” the man says. And now, finally, he’s begun to look as revolting to Hermione as he’d done initially to Draco — a repellent personality can do that. “Maybe I just wanted to come and have a chat.”

“Then why aren’t you looking at any of the rest of us?” Ron asks, sounding halfway between amused still and a little put off.

“Can you leave, please?” Draco interjects, cringing away from the man encroaching slowly on his personal space. And suddenly, as he looks on the verge of antagonising Draco further, he shifts his feet and slips, landing right on his bum with a yell of surprise. All four of them get to their feet to see, but there doesn’t seem to be any liquid or even slimy food for him to have tripped on.

“The fuck ...?” the man says, getting back to his feet. But when he moved towards Draco, he only slips again, on absolutely nothing at all. Something clicks and Hermione looks at Harry: he seems as confused as anyone else (if obviously pleased).

She looks at Ron then, who catches her eye and lifts his brows like he’s thinking the same thing.

Draco’s suitor gets up once more and steadies himself, looking a bit dazed. Some deep animal instinct seems to tell him to stop trying, and with a wary glance at Draco he finally leaves.

“Well that was a bit of a fucking scene,” says Harry. Draco, coming out of his own startled daze, laughs.

“Yeah,” Ron says sarcastically, “wonder what could’ve possibly happened.”

*

“I really thought it was going to rain,” Draco mopes where he’s standing at the window. It’s grey outside but it definitely doesn’t look like rain and Draco appears so upset about it that Hermione actually feels badly, even though she’s quite glad for the clear weather. 

“Just shut the curtains,” Ron suggests from his place on the floor. He’s sorting through Harry’s collection of VHS tapes, trying to decide on a good Halloween movie. Not that he’s ever seen any of them, and Hermione suspects he’ll end up choosing whichever cover he likes best.

“It’s not the same!” Draco wails. “The thunder and lightning is all part of it, you uncultured pillock! The atmosphere is all wrong.”

“It’ll be just as good when we shut off all the lights and draw the curtains,” she assures him, but it doesn’t remove the look of disappointment from his face. It’s a pouty sort of thing that echoes the brattiness of his youth; she imagines a five-or-six-year-old Draco giving his parents similar looks when he wasn’t getting what he wanted.

 At that moment the front door opens and Harry walks in carrying two grocery bags, one of which contains alcohol, which Hermione can tell by the way the plastic is bulging around the cans.

“The fuck are you all doing here?” he says by way of greeting.

“You said eight o’clock, fuckhead,” Ron tells him without looking up. “But it’s fine, I’ve had time to pick a film and Malfoy’s had time to moan about the weather.”

“What’s wrong with the weather?”

“I wanted a storm!”

At that exact moment, a flash of lightning lights up the sky behind Harry where he hasn’t even closed the door yet. Seconds later a downpour begins, and then there’s a rolling crash of thunder.

Hermione’s eyes widen and once more she finds Ron’s gaze, who looks about as shocked as she feels. Draco, meanwhile, has his hands over his mouth and looks like a child on Christmas morning.

For the first time since his magic had begun picking up on Draco’s wishes and granting them of seemingly its own accord, Hermione sees Harry look suspicious. He peers behind him at the storm suddenly raging outside his house before slowly closing the door. When he turns back he looks directly at Hermione, who looks away quickly.

They set up the food Harry had gotten — all kinds of Halloween-themed sweets — and once everyone has their drinks (“Make mine,” Draco tells Harry, “you do it best”) and is comfortable on the two sofas in the room (Harry and Draco are, as usual, as close to each other as they can get without actually touching) they start the movie: The Thing, which Harry swears is one of the greatest horror films of all time.

Funny thing is, an hour and a half into it she looks over and, with a jolt, realises the two of them are kissing half-covered beneath a blanket. She elbows Ron, who positively beams when he notices.

“Fucking finally, dear sweet Merlin,” he whispers, the sound muffled by the continued rain and thunder. “I nearly hit him upside the head when he made it rain, are you fucking kidding me?”

“Shh!” Hermione hisses, though she’s smiling. “They’ll hear you. We’ll rag him about it tomorrow.”

A soft sound of laughter comes from the other sofa that Hermione identifies as Draco’s, and when she risks another peek after a moment she sees that Harry has a hand on Draco’s jaw, and that he’s smiling.

#anna writes #this prompt rly sent me into a tailspin of emotion #Anonymous

[keigosbirdie]

I love your way of writing and despite language barriers (German potato) I can read your texts well and fluently! ♡ you can tell that you put a lot of work into it and I don't have to start with your drawings they are awesome !! ♡♡ my first fail question was answered nicely by you ♡ I wanted to ask if you can give my day a good start with a few lovely words from Hawks in your style so that I can go to work motivated ♡

Thank you so much !! Ahh! Im so happy you could read my story despite the language barrior! I try to write bluntly, so to speak- to the point, you know? Im glad my style of writing works for you!! A few words from hawks? Well, since you sent me such a sweet message I wrote something for you! Its short and I wrote it on my breaks at work so i hope its okay ;u;

---

Morning Coffee

The morning was cold. Flecks of snow fell lazily from the blackened sky above you, so you pulled your scarf up over your nose to keep warm. You were alone at the train station, just like every morning before. The world was engulfed in darkness beyond the reach of the buzzing lights above you. Used to, the dark of early morning felt ominous and frightening. Especially walking in it alone to the station, but it became a comfort when it became familiar. The rest of the world was excluded from your early morning train rides to work. It was the only time of day that truly belonged to you. When you thought of it that way, the blackness all around you felt more like a protective blanket from the world beyond it than something to be feared.

But it was still lonely.

You clasped your coffee cup tightly in your palms as you waited for the train. Well, it wasn't your coffee cup. Your favorite thermos was forgotten on the counter in the rush of the morning. Your only alternative was a paper cup filled with whatever elixir the gas station peddled you that morning. It helped warm you against the chill of winter, but it did little for your soul.

You clasped your coffee a little tighter and glanced up at the world above it's brim. It was so early in the morning in your rural town that you were the soul occupant of the train station. There was no casual chatter of strangers or the shuffling of other people living their lives separate from yours. There was only you and the faint buzz of the lights above you.

The loneliness was an excuse for your mind to wander to thoughts of those close to you. Close, but not close enough. Friends you only saw during friday outings. Your mother, who lived a few hours away. Your husband, who moved in with you just a week prior, but it hardly felt like it. He had little time for domestic bliss in the midst of his own busy troubles. It was fine, you were incredibly busy yourself, and just having him there more often was a comfort.

The memory of the night before warmed your core up better than your cup. He came home a little early, and you stayed up way past bed time to build a pillow fort, per your request. The rest of the night you laid together in the makeshift hovel. His familiar voice filled the tiny space with gentle, nostalgic words that set sparklers off in your chest.

He was still in bed when you awoke for work, which made leaving even more difficult. It took several minutes of mental preparation to climb out from beneath his warm plumage, and he chirped and rolled in his sleep at the loss of your warmth. You decided not to wake him, —sleep was a rare luxury for the overworked hero— so you left with a worldless kiss and a note on the fridge. It made standing alone at the station all the more bitter, though, knowing he was at home keeping the sheets warm.

Your chest quaked gently under the weight of your loneliness, but only for a moment before you straightened your back out to stand a little taller. It would be fine. You'd be home again after your shift, and you'd see him again when he eventually made it home after his.

You reached into your coat pocket and fingered the top of an aluminum can. It was also coffee, but his coffee. The too sweet, triple shot canned stuff he sipped on to get through the day. You'd buy one for him when you stopped by a gas station. And sometimes for yourself, simply because the shiny yellow can on your desk gifted you with thoughts of him through the day.

"It's quiet out here," a voice resonated from behind you. Right behind you.

"F-Fuck!" You jolted. The paper coffee cup that'd been comforting you was crushed in your startled fist. What little was left of the hot liquid gushed out and burned the knuckle of your thumb.

The redness on your hand was pale in comparison to the flush of your cheeks, however, when you realized who'd landed behind you. Hawks. The man you'd abandoned in bed. He was dressed for patrol in his hero get up. He lifted that yellow visor of his atop his head, the same one that sat on your bedside table at night. He looked down at you apologetically. His wings folded tight against his back as if to make himself appear smaller; less threatening.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you-"

"Oh, no, you're fine-" you blurted as you straightened yourself out and rubbed the ache of your hand against your thigh. "You just startled me, Jesus, why don't your wings make any sound when you come swooping in? At least give a gal a warning."

He offered the smallest smile.

"I wanted to catch you before I took off," he said, though his expression was still a bit solemn as he eyed the hand you'd burned. "You left your thermos on the counter."

He reached into his thick jacket and pulled the thing from his pocket. You blinked, and you suddenly didn't feel cold anymore. With a long, contented hum you dropped the crumpled paper cup into the can behind you, and then he placed your thermos into the cradle your hands made. The metal was hot. He must have made you a fresh cup.

The gesture shook you just a little. He'd been in your life since you were children—he grew up to be your husband, for God's sake—but you never stood beside him in a public place. He was too protective, and the thought of you being outed as his spouse brought on his anxieties. Yes, the eagle eyes of strangers always made him nervous when it came to you, but there wasn't another soul in sight that morning.

"You'd risk being seen with me just to bring me my coffee?" You pondered as you popped off the cap and breathed in the familiar, healing aroma of your favorite brew.

"And to get my goodbye, since you ran off without one. I was worried," he added. His eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't lose his playful grin when he tacked, "You butthole," onto the end of his sentence.

You snorted at his childish insult. It was so like him to peck at you gently. "You never get any sleep- I was trying to be nice! And you know when I leave for work, Birdbrain. I even left you a note on the fridge."

"Ah, I didn't see it," he said. His gloved hand scratched at the back of his head as he tried to hide his small tinge of embarrassment. He came to bring you coffee, yes, but he also came just to double extra check that you were safely on your way to work and not a corpse in a ditch somewhere. "Sorry."

He worried. A lot. It was one of those things he was trying to work on, but it didn't bother you as much as he thought it did. He lived a treacherous life. The secrecy around your relationship and the anxiety he harbored for your safety always made sense to you.

A small cloud expelled from your lips as you let out the smallest laugh. "Don't be. I'm glad you came. Waiting out here is the crummiest part of the day, usually. Company is nice, especially if its yours."

His face softened. His lips quirked up into the faintest of grins, and his narrow eyes crinkled gently at their dark corners. It was the same smile that made your heart flutter when you were a little girl. His face was rounder and a bit more pudgy, then. His eyes were dowey, his voice was high, and he'd yet to be ripped apart and put back together into someone else. That little boy faded more and more as years and hardships passed, but you still saw him every time Hawks wore his smile.

"It is pretty cold," he said, and a wing unfurled from behind him. It draped around you like a heavy coat, battling away the chill in the air. Your smile grew a little wider as you stepped into him.

You fingered the edge of the can in your pocket before pulling it free from the confines of your coat.

"Here. We can have a little coffee before my train gets here," you offered.

His head tilted at the offering, as if startled by it. But then he took it graciously from your hands. You huddled close together under the canopy of his wings to keep warm as you nursed the edges of your drinks. Soon your train would come, and he would fly off into the darkness that became so familiar to you. You'd be on the tram alone once again, but the warmth of your thermos would keep you good company the rest of the way to the commission.

"Thank you," you managed to say. You were huddled so close together you could feel the fur trim of his coat brush against your cheeks. Warm puffs of your intermingling breaths chased the cold away from your cheeks and the loneliness from your once tight chest.

"For the coffee?" He asked before taking a noisy sip from his own elixir. "I knew you'd be lost without it."

"For everything."

#my fic #idk i just was inspired by your ask so !!! #i hope you like this little drabble i made for you! #hawks #keigo takami #hawks x y/n #hawks x reader

[cluelesslesbian]

i'm gonna have to apologize in advance for this one

but say this is a klance high-school au

• school has let out for the day and teens are rushing out of the building

• in more of the front of the crowd is lance, along with pidge and hunk

• lance is doing his daily ranting about mullet head who doesn't even care about his existence

• suddenly, pidge pulls them both aside, giving hunk a look

• he nods, grabbing at his phone without saying a word

• lance is just asking a million questions

• "what are you guys doing?"

• "why is no one saying anything??"

• "why are you pulling out your phone?"

• "is this revenge for what i did last week?"

• "i said i was sorry!"

• pidge shushes him, pointing over at keith, who's walking out of the school with his hands shoved in his pockets, head tilted down

• hunk starts playing a song on his phone

• but not any song

• he plays call me maybe

• pidge explains: "get your ass over there and give him your number all while singing along to the lyrics."

• "what?! you're insane!"

• "you wanted us to help, so we're helping."

• "...are you sure this'll work?"

• "trust us. it will."

• "like trusting you guys got me anywhere good."

• but, lance is curious and is willing to at least make some sort of attempt at asking him out

• it's better than nothing

• and at least anytime someone would ask them how they met, they'd have an interesting story to tell

• the music draws attention to more kids as hunk turns up the volume, giving lance a thumbs up as he walks over there

• keith looks over to see his crush walking up to him, wearing a nervous smile

• before he can ask what he wants

• or make an excuse to get the fuck out of there

• lance starts singing along to the main chorus

• along with hand gestures to go along with the lyrics

• he hands a folded up sticky note to keith after, his phone number scribbled inside

• giving keith a wink before rushing back over to his friends, trying to snatch pidge's phone to stop recording

• keith just stands there

• not noticing that shiro was honking the horn at him

• he snapped out of it when hearing his name getting called

• lance was relieved to see that keith had texted back

• it only took him three days to gain the courage to send a simple "hi."

• now keith and lance will never look at call me maybe the same

• even when years passed as they're together

• the song playing always brings them back to that one moment that started it all during high-school

again, i'm not sure what this is. hopefully it's kind of entertaining?

— 🌙 moon anon

OK FUN FACT?? I ADORE HIGH SCHOOL AUS?????

Teenagers are just so dumb I love how easy it is for you to do spontaneous (read: iconic) things just because your friends encourage you to 😌👌👌👌

also ok ok I JUST REALLY LOVE THIS??

Pidge and Hunk devising crazy strategies for Lance bc they've been studying Keith's reactions to songs that play over the PA system/in their gym class (idk my school did both)

Pidge: waitwaitwait Hunk look- Keith's nodding his head to Party In The USA... I THINK HE LIKES POP MUSIC!

Hunk: GASP- Lance loves singing pop! *turns to Pidge* We can use this!!

and thus the garrison trio shenanigans ensued...

Flashforward to the scene you've described:

Shiro honked that horn to save Keith from embarrassing himself even more. That kid looked like a deer in headlights and he had to help...but that doesn't stop him from teasing Keith endlessly for making friends and wooing what seemed like a nice kid <3

In the car:

Shiro: Soo who's your boyfriend? He's pretty smooth if he managed to get you to freeze like that lol

Keith, flustered: asdSDFJHLK-SHUTUPYOUSAWNOTHING

Shiro, very casually: Ooooh yeah no. I totally didn't see you checking out his ass when he left-

Keith, a lil hysterical tbh: I WASN'T STARING AT HIS ASS

Shiro, smug af: But you admit you were staring. Exposed.

___

ALSO ALSO?? KLANCE JUST SUITS SO MANY SONGS???? Oh man it's no wonder I have like 3 drawings already that were inspired by songs 😩 also u lowkey have me thinking of an idea where keith sings to lance now bc I've drawn lance singing to keith asdhlkl THE POWER YOU HOLD OVER ME RN

@lesbianklance come look at this!!! >:OO

#also the spontaneous things im thinking of rn?? i left my hs english class by jumping out the window (on the first floor) bc a friend just- #AGREED that i could fit through these small rectangular windows that lined the classroom and I was like 'ok bet- time to test this' 💀 #hmm this is kinda lengthy looking at it rn #long post #🌙 moon anon #sweeter than honey #I DECIDED I LIKE THAT TAG BC I DOUBT ILL REMEMBER TO TAG ANYTHING ~FUN & UNIQUE~ #klance #klance headcanons #vld headcanons #vld #voltron #voltron lance #voltron keith #voltron pidge #voltron hunk #voltron shiro #garrison trio #lance mcclain #keith kogane #pidge gunderson #hunk garrett #takashi shirogane #highschool au #uuhhhhhhh i think thats everything yeah? yeah #ask

[internalsealpanic]

Camp Crystal What?

summary: Camp Crystal Lake is a fine and dandy place to spend your summer, said no one ever. You are inclined to agree with that and so are Damian and Jon. 

a/n: I am back from retirement with a REEEEEEAAAAALLLLY long crack fic. (This is long as shit by my standards. Leave me alone.) This  was co written and edited by my wife @littleredwing89. She was also the biggest enabler for this. I tried to give reader some executive dysfuction but I don’t think it worked out well. We’ll see. This is my first super sons fic please feel free to roast it. 

warnings: This really self indulgent and really long. You would think I would have more gore in a slasher film based fic. No. Apparently not. 

masterlist

Jon cackles, his chin lifting only slightly from its perch on your shoulder just enough for you to fully hear the petty sound. You tilt your switch, sticking out your tongue in a vain attempt to avoid Damian’s blue shell. You cry out, throwing your arms up in exasperation as the shell hits you just as you were about to cross the finish line. Your outstretched prosthetic arm nearly hitting Jon in the process, not that you felt too bad about that considering…

 “Yeah! Got ‘em, Dami!” Jon says, high fiving a smug-looking Damian beside you.  You glare at Jon, who was still leaning against you like you weren’t about to bite his head off. “Whose side are you on?”

 “Justice!” This draws a snort out of both Tim and Jason who were both sitting in the back. 

 “No, you’re not!”

 “Yes, I am!”

 “He is, (l/n). You needed to be cut down to size," Damian declares, subtly brandishing his screen showing Rozalina doing a little victory lap in her kart as her little star guy floated around her. You pout at him, puffing your cheeks like an unruly chipmunk as you cross your arms over your chest. This only serves to make Damian all the smugger and Jon all the more gleeful at your loss. 

 You turn the full force of your ire on Jon who was smiling innocently at you, big blue eyes sparkling reminding you of your husky, Yoohoo. You’re about to say something scathing but stop instead deciding to stew in your loss and sulk as you hand Jon your Switch. You’d think he would be more prepared since he was the one who insisted on coming with you to this camp. Now that you think about it, why were they here? All you remember is telling Jon that you couldn’t go visit him over the summer because your parents were sticking you in a summer camp while they go abroad for something and the next thing you know is that you’re in an SUV with Jon, Damian, Damian’s older brother’s, and their friend(?). Whatever she was to them Damiam never adequately explained like everything else. Though you suspect she was Dick’s wife judging from how little they cared whether the other invaded their space. The lack of a wedding ring made you unsure. 

 You let out a little huff, melting into your oversized Gotham U hoodie, letting Jon lean on you despite your sour mood and touch aversion. You lean against him in return and watch as Yoshi zips past Rosalina in mild petty satisfaction. 

You all file out of the car, drowsy and irritable. You muss Jon’s bed head into an even more tangled mess. Neither of you tells Damian about the streak of drool on his face. Tim shuffles the three of you towards the convenience store while Jason politely explains to the mechanic that he’s wrong, Dick orders lunch at the diner and makes a call back to Gotham presumably to make sure Wayne industries isn’t burning down. 

Over your shoulder, you can see Jason’s form working hard not to look threatening. It’s not working or maybe the mechanic was shaking because Faust isn’t even trying to hide the irritation wicking off of her. 

 “He wha-” Tim pinches the bridge of his nose muttering something about Mr.Wayne. He looks pained. Tim hands you a wad of one-dollar bills as his voice takes Timothy Wayne's public speaker pitch. All of the Wayne’s seem to have three voices. Their Wayne voice, their vigilante voice, and their normal voice. Mr. Wayne has the most distinct voice. Dick’s was honestly really hard to distinguish.  

 You count the wad of cash in your hand as Jon grabs a basket from the pile. You note, with amusement, that at least five of the bills had variations of ‘don’t buy cereal’ written on them in distinct handwriting. 

 “Kent, are you planning to put the entire store in the basket?”

 “Nah, just the good stuff.”

 You marvel at the amount of food Jon managed stockpile in your basket while you were distracted. 

 “Uh, Jon, we don’t need that much.” Plus, I don’t think we can eat all of that. 

 “They’re right,” Damian chides, making Jon pout. 

 After a healthy amount of debate, two almost food fights, a near fistfight, and your attempt at puppy dog eyes, you finally narrow the snacks down and even have enough money left for slushies. You shrug at her, adding more blue than necessary. There weren’t rules against this. Plus, it was tastier this way. 

 “Dami,  what flavor do you want?” Jon shouts from the slushie machine.  Beside him, you swirl a mix of red, green, pink, and blue slushies. The lady at the counter was wrinkling her nose at you the way Dami is wrinkling his nose at Jon.

 Jon’s big cup of neon blue smoothie dropped to the floor in a loud clatter. 

 “You’re all doomed! He’s coming. He’s coming! That place is cursed!” The scraggly man screams as he shakes Jon. Damian’s lip tries not to curl in amusement as you both watch the scene unfold. Out of context, this was horrifying. In context, it was hilarious especially considering how badly Jon is acting. The clerk at the counter looks appropriately horrified. You look at Jon, feeling a twinge of worry. He’s not in danger. You know that but you can’t help it.

 Your concoction flies into the man’s face in no time flat and Jon scrambles to your side as soon as the man drops him. You step in front of him bracing for further confrontation but the man simply walks off muttering about something you couldn’t hear over the beating of your heart. 

“Exactly, why am I in the back?” Jason whines, unfolding and refolding himself, not quite sure where to place what limb in the cramped back row of the SUV. You let out a giggle which earns you a rather harsh glare from an already irate Jason. Damian glares back at him for you, in an oddly protective gesture, and you can’t help but feel strangely smug about it. 

 They glower at each other for a few minutes. Jason, probably knowing this was a stalemate, turns his attention towards the front of the vehicle, sharp green eyes narrowing at the rearview mirror. “Shouldn’t Faust’s short ass be in the back with Timbo and the Three Tiny Terrors?” 

 You hear an amused huff from the front along with the loud crinkling and shuffling of the map. Faust glances over her shoulder, the bright mischief in her eyes contrasting with the rich brown of her skin. You wonder if everyone in Damian and Jon’s lives were all this pretty. An almost smile quirks on the edges of her lips as she says “You didn’t call shotgun~”

 Jason hisses something colorful behind you. Tim, beside him, is chuckling either from Jason’s misery or, based on the defeated cry coming from Jon, having just nailed Yoshi with lightning. Could be both. It was likely. 

 Jason, looking positively annoyed, unfolds himself and violently settles his feet on Tim’s lap. Tim yelps then says something close to a swear word. Jason grins lazily looking more like a cat as he leans back. This time Jon cries out in joy, the victory music blaring from your switch. Again, Tim hisses something edging towards a curse word. Jon wriggles out of his seat and fist bumps Jason who returns the gesture enthusiastically. In the reflection on the windshield, you can clearly see the amusement in Dick’s smile. Even to your right, Damian seems amused if not outright gleeful at seeing Tim’s misery.  You couldn’t quite tell. You weren’t a master of reading Waynes yet. You would turn to Jon but he wasn't fluent either. Faust told you that it would take a while which just meant that you would never master it. Reading people was hard enough as it was. There was always something difficult about interpreting social signals. It was so easy to get them wrong and when you add in the complication of being a vigilante you just found yourself frustrated. You slump into the seat feeling the frustration writhing under your skin. Jon noticing your frustration eases up and gives you a little more space. 

 "So, what's with the map?" Tim asks, throwing Jason's feet back at him and handing you his switch. Faust wrinkles her nose at the offending piece of paper. "Well, Dicktopus here insisted on the authentic road trip atmosphere complete with bad cell signal, a map, and oh right, getting lost." Dick gives her a look which Faust just shrugs it off. 

 "Like what? The Goofy movie?" Tim asks incredulously, his brows wrinkling in the rearview mirror as he gives Dick a withering look. 

 Faust snorts in confirmation. Jon’s face crumples in confusion. You make a small hiccupping noise mimicking the noise that passes for Goofy's laugh and you see as the bleary memory clicks into place. "You mean the old movie we watched last night?"

 "It's old but gold," Dick defends fervently, earning him an indulgent smile from Faust and a withering look from Damian. Damian shrinks into his seat unwilling to expend too much effort defending his mentor's taste in movies despite him enjoying the movie. You did too but you wanted to see how this would play out. Behind you, Jason shifts, a shark-like grin plastered across his face. " Just because that's the movie you modeled your life after, Big Bird, doesn't mean it's good."

 Dick makes this affronted noise that makes him sound a little like he's squawking. "It's a good movie and you know it!" Dick says earnestly, scowling at a still cocky Jason through the reflection in the windshield. You see Damian, Jason, Faust, and Tim's eyes meet in the rearview mirror, all shining conspiratorially. You and Jon give each other a look, each looking like you're bracing for disaster. 

 "Dunno, Dick, I think the second one was soooo much better," Tim pipes up finally. It sounds like the spark lighting a trail of gunpowder towards a powder keg. 

 "I have to agree with Drake," Damian says honestly sounding pained. 

 Faust rewards him with a conspiratorial smile which makes Damian ease a little. The gesture from what you understood roughly translated to 'it was for the greater good.' "So much for your taste in movies, Dickens," Faust teases, poking a finger at Dick’s shoulder. 

 "You're one to talk!" Dick says, rolling his eyes childishly. 

 Faust twists her body to look at all 5 of you, winking at you and Jon as if she was about to perform a magic trick, which wasn't off the table since she could actually pull weapons from her tattooed skin. "You guys loved Lake Placid, right?" 

 Playing along, you each gave varying sounds of agreement til Dick finally threw his hands up in exasperation. "HEATHENS!" Faust looks pleased as punch at this reaction. You giggle as Dick groans into the steering wheel as you slow to a stop in front of a cross-section. 

 "Traitors all of you," Dick says, resting his arm on the back of his seat and giving all of you a halfhearted scowl. He kind of looked like Yoohoo when you refused to give him treats. 

 You all bask in Dick’s misery. You even catch Jon giggling at Dick’s frown despite himself. The rest were completely unrepentant. They don't even bother to hide the self-satisfied smiles on their faces, least of all Damian who vehemently protested to being subjected to such drivel. This is, of course, ignoring the fact that he had watched the movie with the same rapt attention as you and Jon. You all enjoyed the movie just as much as Dick did but it was much funnier to gang up on him. 

 Dick continues to argue his point as all of you offer, frankly, bogus arguments that you say with as much conviction as Dick levels against you. The banter continues in a rather jaunty rhythm until a fallen tree forces the car into a rather abrupt stop. 

 "Shit!" Jason hisses at full volume as his knees hit the back of Damian’s seat which draws out a soft 'oof' from Damian which quickly reshapes into a snarl. Tim and Damian give Jason a look of mock sympathy. Jason raises his middle finger in a vaguely familiar gesture. 

 "Jason!" Dick says, cutting off your train of thought much to your frustration. You contemplate hissing some colorful words yourself. 

 Jason grunts, probably rubbing his shins. "They've heard, said, and done worse." You hear Jon protest beside you but it's quickly cut off by a 'not you' from somewhere. 

 Then it hits you. "Oh yeah! Dami did that hand thingy when he drop-kicked someone during lunch," you admit conversationally. 

 "Dami!" 

 Damian gives you an absolutely betrayed look. You shrug at him not entirely sure what was wrong. You shrink a little and Damian pulls back a little but still glares. 

 "Didn't you hear him say the F-word?" Jon adds. You blink at him, running through your memory like a film reel and turning up nothing. "Some of us don't have super hearing," you supply with no real anger behind it. 

 "Ope, sorry, (y/n)." You shrug at him congenially as he smiles sheepishly at you. No harm no foul. 

 "Kent!"

 "Oh- Uh, sorry, Dami." 

 Damian doesn't look appeased at all by this. 

 “Ok, so we’re just gonna skip over the fact that he drop-kicked someone?” Tim asks, raising a brow and you find yourself thinking, “Well, yeah. He’s Robin. That’s kinda his thing.”

 Jason snorts beside him, seemingly less irritable now that Dick’s attention was directed elsewhere. “He didn’t get caught soooo..”

 “Jason!”

 “Jason, we’re not supposed to be obvious about being terrible influences.” Faust jokes, now redirecting Dick’s ire to her. You can’t tell if that was intentional or not but either way she seems to be enjoying how Dick’s expression makes him look like a carp gasping for air.

 “Why did you tell them?” Damian hisses, albeit softer than he normally does. You frown at him confused. You thought it was spectacular and you really don’t know what was wrong. You really wish they’d explain it. Maybe you should speak up but would that be rude? You stare at Damian trying your hardest to convey your confusion but you’re having trouble shaping your face into the correct one. You try to keep in mind the face Jon makes when Damian tried to explain quantum physics to both of you. 

 Turning away from her argument with Dick, Faust looks at you pityingly before speaking and putting her hand up to Dick’s face lightly pushing him back. “Relax, Baby Vamp, I would’ve gotten it out of them sooner or later,” Faust says, looking at you with the same stern look Mr. Pennyworth gives you when you try to steal cookies. It kind of reminds you of the Penance Stare from Ghost Riders but with less flaming skulls and more implied disappointment. 

 “Tim was the one who ate the last few pieces of the brownies Mr. Pennyworth made for Jason.” The words flow out of you like water from a cataract. Faust waves her hand theatrically as if she had just demonstrated a magic trick. Again, you’re pretty sure this was one. You wince fully expecting Tim to have the same caustic reaction as Damian. But when you turn to look at him to apologize, Tim already had his hands up in front of him defensively. On the other side, not far enough away for Tim’s liking, Jason looks livid, steam coming out of his ears. 

 “Those were mine, asshole!”

 “You eat them every time you’re at the Manor!”

 “When I’m at the Manor! Which is what? Once every three months?”

 “Two,” Tim deadpans, holding up two fingers. 

 That was the wrong thing to say, you realize. From the way they’re staring at each other, you’re a little afraid they’d come to blows as Jason surges forward. 

 “Tim, Jay, I will turn this car around if you two don’t stop.”

 “Please, continue.” Dick shoots Damian a ‘you are not helping’ glare but Damian simply answers with a warning one. They all look ready for a brawl and all you want to do is curl up into your oversized hoodie. You play with the frayed edges of your hoodie hoping you’re radiating your discomfort.

 And like an angel of mercy, Faust clears her throat. “(Y/n), Jon, help me clear the road.” The statement leaves no room for argument and you and Jon breathe a collective sigh of relief. 

Jon lifts the tree with ease. It was an oddly healthy tree, freshly cut. Something about it made your stomach turn. “Jon could have done it alone. Why bring me?” You ask, distracting yourself from the strange feeling by fiddling with the joints of your metal hand which only made you more conscious of how pointless it was to bring you along. Faust glances towards the car. The boys are still bickering. She then glances down at you with a wry smile. “Waynes bickering is really funny from a distance.” Your eyes glance at the light scar on her running down her clavicle, disappearing into the line of her shirt.  You doubt it’s from any of them. You really doubt it. The Wayne kids were chaotic, especially the girls, but they’re never- Well, they can be hurtful but not that way. Not that you’ve seen anyway.   You shake your head and glance at the car and watch them argue. Their gestures are animated and loud enough that you could almost hear the bickering going on. This liveliness settles your stomach. 

 You spend a few minutes out there waiting for them to settle down. It was long enough for you and Jon to start debating the existence of Gummy Bear shaped aliens and for Faust to weigh in with her humble opinion. Dick honks at the three of you to tell you it was, relatively, safe to come back. Tim, Damian, and Jason were all sulking in their respective corners while Dick gives you and Jon an apologetic look. Jon simply shrugs as if to say it was normal for brothers to argue but you found it hard to picture Conner ever being that mean to Jon or vice versa for that matter. Faust rolls her eyes at the sulking birds, a fond smile quirking on her lips.  Dick gives her a look that was usually followed by the words ‘I miss not being the adult’ which she graciously answers with a smile that plainly says ‘me too.’

 In the corner of your eye, you see something- a shadow- move in the woods as you drive off, Dick’s story about space aliens falling away into the background. You turn to Jon who looks at you confused and a little concerned. It was clear he didn’t see it, whatever it was. You turn to Damian but see he’s still stewing. You blin and the shadow is gone. A sticky feeling of dread settles in your stomach. 

 There's pressure in the car. 

The camp is, well, loud. 

 Louder than you were expecting and full of rowdier children than promised. You wince slightly, ears ringing. You and Damian sigh already knowing that you were both going to be absolutely exhausted by the end of this. You turn to Jon, shoulder slumping, only to find him beaming as he watched the other kids run around. There were alot of days you envied Jon and this was one of them. Damian looks at Jon with utter disbelief. You shrug at him as he wrinkles his nose at both Jon and the hooligans running around. Your lip quirks into a scraggly smile fully understanding.

 “This is going to be repulsive,” Damian hisses.  

 “Lighten up, Dami.”

 “Nah, he’s gotta practice being dark and brooding, so when he gets to be the big bad bat he can do the whole brooding thing all-natural,” you joke, using your finger to mimic the ears of Batman’s cowl. 

 “Please, say that louder. I don’t think the supervillains heard you,” says Damian sarcastically, nose upturned.  

 Jon grins at you in a challenge. You raise a brow, crossing your arms. Your brain cell takes a vacation. 

 “HE’S GOTTA-” Damian clamps a hand on your mouth. You glare at him. His eye flicks to Jon who is sucking in a breath. Damian is throwing his other hand over Jon’s mouth when one of the counselors waves you over. All three of you blanch at the color of the shirt. 

 You all stand in an odd misshapen circle. Damian looks incredulously at the tacky camp T-shirt he’s been forced into while Jon does not contain his laughter. You joke about how a bowtie would definitely class it up which earns you a rude gesture that just makes you laugh harder. 

 “Alright kiddos, it’s time to introduce ourselves!”

 Damian froze under the weight of their collective gazes, the hint of a smile on his face fading. Sometimes being around you and Jon made him forget. Well, not really forget. It was just easier not to think about it when you two were around. Damian feels himself shifting, realigning himself to 5’ 2” of cold arrogance.

 It should have scared you just how easily the warm fondness on his face smoothed out giving way to this cold calculating face. It did on some level; on some level, the efficiency of Damian’s face muscles scared you. Sometimes you had to wonder if it was just him or if his brothers had the same knee-jerk reaction. 

 You roll your eyes as if nothing worrying had happened and bump your shoulder against his. A smile twitches on his lip and the ramrod shape of his spine curves a bit.  Jon snickers, not trying too hard to hide it, which earns him the full force of Damian’s ire but you and Jon know all too well that Damian’s just being prickly.  You step forward, shoulders broadening, nudging a glaring Damian behind you redirecting everyone’s stares towards you. It’s uncomfortable but you don’t mind. Damian huff behind you but doesn’t protest any more than that. You smile amicably or as amicably as you can. You need to remember the correct shape.  

Introductions go off without a hitch. 

 Jon, like always, has no trouble stirring the crowd. 

  You make an impression when your introduction careens into a tangent about angelfish.

 Behind you, Damian scoffs and  crosses his arms over his chest. Contrary to popular belief, Damian did have a tendency to be nervous, especially around new people. This is compounded by the fact that Damian wasn’t really versed in dealing with people his own age which just put him on edge. 

 Thankfully, all three of you get sorted into the same cabin. The cabin is chaotic in a familiar, childish sort of way with pillows flying everywhere and kids jumping up and down their bed. Jon immediately jumps into the fray. Damian follows soon after Jon hits him with a pillow square in the face. 

 “Woman up and face me, Kent!”

 You look up to the sky and smile in amusement.  This is going to be an interesting summer.

The room is solid. 

 Your eyes incandescent in the darkness. The air crackles in anticipation of the storm.  

 A silver streak of lightning tears down through the heavens and crashes down into the lake. 

 A strange dislocation in the universe has emerged.

 Your eyes shut. 

 Your ears pop. 

 You do not hear as something mangled rises from the water. 

You wanted to say this was a horrible idea. Though, you’re not sure how to phrase that without implying they’re idiots. You’ve been hanging out with Damian too much. He’s starting to rub off on you and you’re mildly concerned. 

 You’d told them that the whole fight was your fault. Ok, not entirely. You simply told the kid off when he was making fun of Jon and you were not gonna stand for that. The kid shoved you, Damian 'accidentally' broke his nose, and the next thing you know is that you’ve been shoved into a random group of campers.It’s been a week but you still weren’t familiar with a lot of the people in the camp. The man with kind eyes said this would be good for you.  You really would have preferred staying at the campgrounds, cleaning and doing whatever with the people in your cabin. 

 “Alright, kiddos, you guys can go swim while me and Jos go check something out in the woods.”

 “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t!”

 You sniff and bite your tongue, playing with the hem of your shirt. 

 "You sure they're gonna be ok?"

 "What you think they're gonna disappear like Cat?"

 Your ears perk up at this. 

 "Well, I mean-"

 "She probably just ran off with one of the town boys." 

 This was probably the best time to bring up child endangerment protocols or the fact that you’re not even dressed for swimming. By the time you string the correct combination of words,  they’re gone. You sigh and huddle yourself into a tree. It’s not like you’re dressed to swim anyway even if you wanted to. 

 You hug your knees as you flatten yourself against the tree, making sure your prosthetic limb is tucked beneath your normal one. You watch the others as they horse around looking like they’re really enjoying themselves. They probably didn’t realize you were there or did they even notice you join the group. Doesn’t matter really. Right now you would prefer to sit under the tree than risking your arm. Mr. Fox had explained that since it was still a prototype it was delicate. 

 “HEY!”

 You jump. Your skin feeling very confined. You turn to the voice. Jesse, you think. 

 “Sorry. Could you- can you say that again?”

 She rolls her eyes at you and you suddenly doubt the politeness of your speech but no you were pretty sure that was the correct way to say it. 

 “I said ‘can your arm go in the water?’.”

 Oh.

 “No?” You were half sure it couldn’t. You haven’t really tested it since it was easier to bathe without it. She gives you a skeptical look and yanks your arm towards her. You yelp. “Hey! What are you-” Your throat tightens when you find yourself at the dock. It’s shaky. The slightest shifting made it move. 

 You turn your heel mumbling an apology but your arm is yanked back. The grip is stronger now. You look back and see two people holding on to it. “Let go!” you say, trying to wrench yourself free. “It’s- it’s not a toy,” you add but they don’t budge.

 “You’re being a baby!”

 “C’mon (y/n)!”

 “Let’s see how well robots can swim!”

 You scream as they throw you into the water. 

 You thrash your limbs around, grasping for something, anything but all you can feel is the viscous emptiness deforming and reforming with every splash. 

 You cry out. 

 The water muffles your screams along with the distant sound of laughter and heckling. 

 Your mouth is filling with water.

 Your lungs. Your lungs are burning. 

 Your chest aches. 

 You can’t breathe. 

 Help!

 Help!

 Please!

 Someone!

 It hurts. 

 Your vision is pulsing. The edges are going dark. 

 Your limbs are going numb and falling to pieces. 

 The world is sinking. 

It’s so dark. 

 It’s too cold. 

 Why are you alone?

 Where are they?

 You don’t want to die like this. 

 .

.

.

.

.

.

You feel a large hand fish you out by the scruff of your shirt. It tosses you onto the shore; the force as you hit the ground knocks the air (water?) out of your lungs. You heave, gasping like a fish. A large silhouette hangs over you, cold dread licks up your spine but you note a lack of panic. Maybe it was the lack of oxygen. 

 Your vision comes back in pieces and by the time the world puzzles back together, you’re alone. You’re alone and shivering like a wet rat. You look around, brushing wet hair out of your eyes and you realize you’re not entirely sure of the way back. You curl in on yourself. It does nothing to warm you but you were desperate to feel whole and safe and ok. 

 You aren’t entirely sure how long it is before Jon and Damian find you or just how they managed it but you’re thankful when someone drapes a heavy towel over your head, muffling the scattered sounds around you. Shakily, you pull the towel over your face. It hides the tears well enough. Your loose hanging limbs tighten around you. You want to shrink, small enough to smooth over the trembling in your body. You know they’ve saved people from drowning before. They’ve saved people from far worse. Heck, they’ve been through far worse. You desperately don’t want them to think of you as weak, as less but here you were trembling. You’re unable to steady your own breathing. Frustration rises in the back of your throat. It is a welcome change from the nonstop medley of panic that’s been shoved on you. 

 A hand settles itself on your head, the movement stiff, light, and controlled. The pressure increases a touch when you don’t protest. Damian radiates awkwardness as he attempts to ruffle your still-damp hair. You smile up at him through damp hair. Damian simply grunts as he continues to avoid eye contact by staring out at the empty lake. 

 Jon plops down next to you kicking his feet out in front of him. He gives your space but he’s just close enough for you to lean against if you wanted to. On his shoulder was your ratty oversized hoodie. You tug at his sleeve to ask for it. He hands it to you. You slip it on, not caring that you were still soggy. The familiar, loose weight of fabric against your skin made you feel whole and safe and marginally ok. 

 Jon presses a hand onto your back mimicking the experimental way Damian had patted your damp hair. He listens to the steadying rhythm of your heart, his own easing back into a calmer rhythm. Damian raises a brow at him and he gives him a thumbs up. Damian’s shoulders loosen and Jon can’t help the snort that comes out of him. You look at him startled and Damian gives him the ol’ Damian glare which makes him laugh out loud. Your eyes flicker to Damian and then roll your eyes, crow's feet wrinkling in the corners of your eyes. You twist your mouth into a weird squiggly line in an attempt to smother a laugh in fear of incurring Damian’s wrath. Jon highly doubts you’d be able to. Damian was, in fact, a big old softie. Sure, he acts grumpy all the time but spending so much time with both Dick and Faust has made him pretty mushy by bat standards but Jon wouldn’t dare say that out loud, at least, not when Damian looked this close to throwing him into the water. 

 You spend a long time soaking up the quiet before heading back. Jon slings an arm around you but pulls it back when he hears your heart stutter. You pinch and tug at his sleeve and mumble an apology.  You see Damian shoot Jon his version of the Pennyworth look. 

 “Sorry, (y/n).”

 “‘S ok,” you rasp quietly. 

 You three walk along the shore towards the cap. You feel too tired to even blanch at the odd feeling of wet socks as you pad along the path. You walk in silence which is interrupted by a bird call here and there with either you or Jon occasionally asking Damian to translate. He does but for some reason some odd reason, they keep calling you idiot or imbeciles. You watch Damian’s eyes flick here and there. You know he feels it too. The odd feeling of being watched. The rustle of leaves echoes eerily in the stillness. 

 The counselors, mercifully, let you skip out on the rest of the afternoon’s activities. You curl up in your cabin, warm and very comfortable in the pool of fabric created by one of Mr. Kent’s hoodies which Jon ‘accidentally’ packed. You rolled your eyes at him but accepted it gratefully. You make a mental note to thank him with the mill house cookies you ‘accidentally’ bought at one of the rest stops. 

 You flip through the yellowing pages of the book in your hand. You aren’t quite sure how to describe how inappropriate it is to give a drowning victim a book on the complete works of H.P. Lovecraft. Then again, it was better than reading Moby Dick. Plus, you’re enjoying yourself trying to find a man who is about as stealthy as a Green Lantern. You’ll have to ask Damian or Jon. Damian’s more likely to have met a Green Lantern but he’s also more likely to give you a boring and entirely inaccurate answer. 

 You go back to the fish people. Do Atlanteans walk like that? Maybe.  It feels odd somehow moving around without your prosthetic limb. Lighter but infinitely more unstable.  

 “Do you think they’ll find Cat?”

 Your ears perk up. Your eyes flick to the window and you see two counselors leaning against another cabin. You shuffle awkwardly somehow moving the mass of cloth quietly. You squish against the wall making sure they can’t see you. 

 “Cat just ran off. You know how she is.”

 “That’s what Raz said.”

 “Yeah, where is he?”

 “Who knows he’s probably just fucking around in the woods. Doing Bear Grylls shit or something.”

 “Hope he comes back soon.”

 “Do you really wanna deal with that horny jackass?”

 “No but he’s the only decent cook. Do you really wanna taste what awful concoction Ratty has for us?”

 Your stomach curdles remembering Ratty’s terrible improvisation of Doro Wat. Ratty said it was their grandmother’s recipe but you doubted it. Unlike the one Jason made for you one time, it was bland. It wasn’t even close to spicy. The vegetables were overcooked while the chicken was somehow undercooked. In short, you had nearly died twice since you got here. 

 “Nope. I’d rather starve. Isn’t their cooking like a human rights violation?”

 Starvation would be a kinder death. 

 “Yeah. Anyway, I tried asking Jos. Apparently, Raz and a bunch of the other Lil shits have been fucking around in town.”

 “Is that where Jackie disappeared to?”

 “Probably.”

 Ok, so the counselors have been dropping like flies and you have yet to notice. You should probably tell Damian and Jon. Something about this seems wrong. 

“Are you ever gonna stop glaring at them?” you ask, plopping on to the log letting your empty sleeve hang loosely off to your side. 

 “Depends, have they apologized?”

 “Ye-”

 “Sincerely?”

 “Well-”

 “Then no.”

 “Ok, but does Jon have to pout at them?”

 “I’m not pouting!”

 “Wait… That’s your glare?”

 “Yeah?” Jons says furrowing his brow. 

 “Batcow’s given me better glares!”

 “Again, (l/n) is right.”

 “Thank you!”

 “Dami, who’s side are you on?”

 Damian’s lips curl into a cat-like smile, the kind you saw on Selina. “Justice.”

 Jon throws his hands up defeated. You give Damian a low five as he settles beside you. Jon takes the seat on your other side still pouting. 

 "Do you kids know the rules to surviving a horror movie?" 

 The chattering dies down and you all fall silent, turning your full attention to the counselor. Your counselor lets out an absolutely delighted squeal, clapping their hands. You don’t miss the absolute dread on your other counselor’s face. 

 “Ok so, rule 1: Be a virgin-”

 “Ratty!” Dawes, the counselor with dread on her face, squeaks elbowing Ratty, Ratchet. “Couldn’t you have worded it differently or you know, not at all?!” Ratty, the horror enthusiast counselor, rubs their arm and sticks their tongue out at Dawes who looks like she’s going to age ten years during this conversation. 

 If you thought Dawes was pale before, she nearly turns transparent with the next few words that leave your mouth. “What’s a virgin?” you blurt out. You desperately want to curl in on yourself. It wasn’t that you didn’t know. It was just your mouth runs faster than your mind.  The kids around you snicker and one of the boys behind you claps you on the shoulder, laughing loudly. You lean on Damian, hiding behind him slightly. Damian shifts so he’s shielding you more.

 Dawes sputters out her answer.  It’s hard to understand. You watch the others searching for clues for an appropriate reaction. 

 “It’s a person who’s never had intercourse,” Damian deadpans and you nod quietly. 

 Dawes’ face lights up like a Christmas tree while Ratty’s twists into pure joy. Damian rolls his eyes as the other kids laugh even louder. It takes a moment but your cheeks heat up realizing the gap in your reaction must have given them the wrong idea. You pinch the bridge of your nose and you sigh. You see Jon snort at you and you stick your tongue out at him. 

 “See, Dawes, they know.”

 “What about keeping them innocent?!” 

  “I’m not getting paid to do that,” Dawes drags her hand over her face as Ratty shrugs,” ’sides, this is life skills.” Dawes slaps Ratty on the shoulder again making them whine at the impact.  “Ok. Ok. Fine. Fine. Jeez, you hit like a son of a- Oh wait, have any of you heard about Camp Blood?”

 This gets you all to quiet down. 

 “Camp Blood? Isn’t that like a video game?”  

 “It’s like a local ghost story isn’t it?”

 “Wasn’t that the one with the fish-”

 “It’s not the fish people.”

 “Let me tell the story!”

 “Ratty, you never tell the story well. You keep making weird voices and you can’t even keep a straight face.”

 “SLANDER,” Ratty shouts, throwing up their hands. 

 “Pffft, you also gonna tell us you can cook a 5-star meal?”

 “Ok. Ok. Fine. I’ll just tell it to them straight.”

 “What? As straight as Dawes?”

 “Pffft, we’d go in circles.”

 “Hey!”

 “It’s true!”

 “You don’t have to say it.”

 “What’s the thing about Camp Blood?” Jon pipes, putting a hand over Damian’s mouth probably sensing the sharp remark he’s about to say. Damian licks his hand and Jon pulls away waving his hand like he’s been burned.  You snort then blanch when Jon rubs the spit on to your hoodie. 

 “Gather round children-”

 “Ratty, they’re in a circle get on with it.”

 “I AM TRYING TO SET THE MOOD.”

 “Jesus, ok. So, a looong time ago there was this kid named Jason Voorhes. When two counselors were fu- OW! Jeez, Dawes- Ow! Ok, fine. While two counselors were distracted, he drowned-”

 “Sounds familiar,” snipes Damian. An apologetic look crosses Dawes’ face, a confused one on Ratty’s, and sheepish one on Jos’. You squeeze his and Jon’s shoulders. 

 Ratty shakes their head. “Anyway, they never find the body so his mom comes back and hacks the new counselors into pieces as some soft of demented justice for her kid.”

 “That’s a bit of an overreaction,” Jos laughs awkwardly. The glares on them do not waver. You elbow Damian and kick Jon’s foot. Damian ignores you while Jon gives you a look of mock hurt.  You roll your eyes at him and attempt to elbow Damian a second time. Again, nothing.

 “The thing is one of the counselors actually manages to decapitate Mrs. Voorhees. She disappeared two months after though. Legend has it that Jason still roams the grounds of Camp Blood seeking revenge for his mother.”

 The air is humming, thick with the roll of thunder and  the premonition of a storm. 

 There is a dislocation in the universe. 

 Your ears pop. 

 You look at Jon who looks vaguely like his mother when she’s sniffed out a story. You look at Damian who is already sussing out every detail of the story. Your eyes meet and you all nod. 

“It has to be someone using the urban legend as some sort of cover. Or! Or maybe they’re using the urban legend to mythologize their killings,” you say, through a mouth full of contraband chocolate chip cookies. 

 Damian snatches the package from you taking a piece.“(l/n), that’s ridiculous-”

 “Yeah, we don’t even know if they’re dead yet,” Jon protests, snatching the bag from a scowling Damian. 

 “What are the odds they’re still alive?” 

 You all fall silent. “We assume they’re still alive until we see proof of the contrary,” Damian says firmly. You and Jon nod. The movement feels heavy.  

 “But what if the Jason ghost is a real thing?”

 “Possible.”

 “(l/n), don’t indulge him.”

 “Jon is literally part alien,” you protest

 “Jason has come back from the dead and Faust literally has moving tattoos,” Jon adds.

 “YOUR DAD IS LITERALLY BEST FRIENDS WITH A 5000-YEAR-OLD AMAZONIAN AND A DUDE WHO CAN LIFT BUILDINGS.”

 “Ok, fine but we should eliminate the more mundane explanations first,” Damian concedes accepting another cookie. 

 “I think we have. It’s too rapid and obvious to be a human trafficking operation.”

 “We should find the counselors first.”

 “Yeah, that’s a start.”

 “Where should we start?”

 “Abandoned cabins would be a good start,” you suggest trying not to perk up. 

 Damian glares at you and you wither. “(l/n), you’re not coming with us.”

 “You say this like (y/n)’s gonna listen,” Jon laughs. 

 “ET has a point,” you say, grinning and opening another packet. You offer Jon the first cookie as thanks. 

 “Can’t I at least be a cool alien?”

 “Nope.”

 “Will you two focus?”

 “Yeah. No.”

 Damian pinches his nose. You completely understand why people think Damian makes a convincing fifty year old. “(l/n)...”

 “Ok, fiiiine. I’ll stay out of it.”

 “Don’t even think about sneaking out.”

 You frown and nod. 

 You tiptoe through the brush, one metallic arm wrapped around you, the other hanging limply to your side flashlight clasped tight in your metallic hand.  Camp Blood isn’t too far. You silently survey a few cabins finding nothing particularly interesting aside from cobwebs and potentially dead animals. The air is musty and decayed. You sniff and rub your nose as you walk through the camp guided only by strips of moonlight. If you were to run into a murderer now, you would only have your flashlight to defend you. You didn’t like those odds. 

 You’re a deer in headlights. 

 Dry mouth. 

 Skin going cold. 

 A scream burbling in the back of your throat. 

 The lumbering figure is coming closer. 

 You know he can see you. 

 Your feet are fused to the ground. 

 The light of the machete winking at you from a distance. 

 The world turns into a blur when your back hits the rotting wood of the abandoned cabin. 

 “What did I say about sneaking out?” Damian hisses, arm pressed on your neck. You blink. A flood of relief crowds your chest. 

 You sling your arms around him and he stiffens. You explain away the surprised little yelp as something animal and not something from your friend. “I didn’t sneak out. I went to the bathroom then I wandered off,” you mumble. 

 “How exactly is that different?” 

 “Less tiptoeing.” 

 "Funny."

 "It is."

 "Have you seen Kent?"

 "Sadly no."

 "Shit- Don't tell Grayson."

 "The fact that you swore or the fact that you somehow lost Superman's kid" 

 He glares at you and you can't help but shrug. 

 "Both." 

 "Fair," you say, pausing for half a breath.”Did you find the hostages?”

 Damian’s face falls then hardens then you know better than to ask him.  

 “We should find Jon,” Damian says finally. You flick your eyes and shake your head pushing down the urge to make fun of his slip. You’ll tell Jon later. 

 You two walk together, shoes in hand. It was easier. Maybe after this, you’ll ask Tim to teach you how to sneak around. 

 The sound of crashing wood fills the still night air. You and Damian freeze. 

 “JON.” Damian is the first to launch himself towards a cabin. You shamble behind him, plodding through the muddy earth as fat droplets of rain splashing down.   You would have blanched at the squishing but all you could think about was Jon.  

“Jon!”

 “Dami! (y/n)!”

 “Are you ok?”

 “I’m in a hole. What do you think?”

 You look him over as best you can in the dark. Damian seems to be having a better time. “You’re not in pain, so yeah.”

 Jon huffs, shifting around in the pile of clothes. His nose wrinkles.“This jumper smells like something died in it," he says holding up a particularly old looking sweater. It's blotchy with various stains around the neck. 

 “Check for a pulse!” you shout, earning a sharp jab to the rib from Damian. You glare and rub your chest.

“Guys, I don’t wanna alarm you but I’m pretty sure there’s a decapitated head down here”

 “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” Damian asks incredulously. Your skin drains of all color and warmth. 

 “Do you want the good news or bad news?”

 “That’s not-”

 “Where in that pile of bloody clothes did you get good news?”

 “Good news is he’s not here,” Jon says, eyes sweeping around.”Bad news, he’s actually real.”

 “Stop messing around and get out of there, Kent!”

 “Jon, come on! Fly or something!”

 “My powers are going-” Jon jumps. But only manage to just fall back down. “I can’t fly.”

 Damian groans. He pinches his nose and goes off to look for something to pull Jon up with.

 “Why do you think your powers aren’t working?”

 Jon shrugs. “Magic?” This place is cursed. 

 “We are dealing with a ghost,” you shrug back. You all freeze. The sound of distant footsteps making your heart race.

 “Dami!” you hiss, over your shoulder. 

 “I can’t find anything!”   

 “Wait,” you say, unfastening your arm and reaching down to Jon. Damian grabs hold of it with both hands and you two start pulling Jon up. 

 The footsteps are getting louder, closer. 

 "Hurry!" you hiss quietly. 

 Your hearts are racing. 

 You pull, Jon getting closer. 

 He’s almost in arm’s reach. 

 The man is getting closer. 

 You can hear his breathing. 

 You pull Jon up, feet kicking. You wrestle him into a hug with one arm, making a little happy squeal into his hair low enough that only they can hear. Damian nudges you with your arm. 

 “Well that was scary,” Jon whispers into your shoulder. Damian smacks him upside the head. You laugh but cut yourself off when you see Damian stiffen. “RUN!”

 You all scramble up and begin to dash away. You look back over your shoulder, machete winking at you, hockey mask visible in the dim light. 

 You stumble, feet getting tangled in roots. You yelp,  bracing for impact and possibly dying.  You feel arms scoop you up. You squeak. “No one gets left behind, soldier,” Jon says grinning. 

 “How are you still a goof when we’re about to die?” you laugh incredulously. 

 “He clearly gets it from his father.”

 “ Pfffft, probably or maybe it's an alien thing.”

 “Are you really gonna make fun of me, right now?” Jon protests, shouting over the rain. 

 “You two! This way!” Damian points to a small hole in the hillside.

 “I’m too tall for that!” Damian glares.

 You snort. “Just duck.” Jon scowls at you then sighed. 

 You all slide into a small crevice and hunched together. 

 “What’s the plan?”

 “Jon, are your powers working?”

 “Kind of?”

 “Ok, that’s one thing we have going for us,” Damian hands you a phone. "You call while we distract him." 

 "Why do you have to distract him?" 

 "Ask him yourself, (l/n)."

 Your eyes sweep up to the tall figure. Your mouth goes completely dry. 

 "Fuck." 

 Jason brings his machete down in a swift arc light. You grab Damian by the scruff of his shirt. The machete embeds itself into the wall, getting caught in the process. Your moment of relief doesn’t last long when Jason lunges for you.  You scream as he catches your arm. With a soft click it detaches and you scramble away and out the hole into the pouring rain. He’s hot on your heels. You hear a loud thud. You look over your shoulder. Jon’s resting against the wall, head slumped. You see him throw Damian to the ground. You call 9-11 as you hurl your shoe at him. The dial tone is ringing. When you look up again, Jason is heading towards you. You stumble barefoot trying to get away. Predictably, you fall, foot catching on another tangle of roots.  

  “Hello? Hello? Is anyone out there?”

 “Please help,” you whisper as Jason raises your arm to the sky. Your life flashes through like a film reel. Your breath is caught. Lightning flashes. 

 You watch the lightning cut through the heavens. The silver streak of light connecting might your arm and by extension Jason.  The arm explodes. Shrapnel flies everywhere. Jason bursts into flames. The smell of burning flesh cutting through the air. You watch in open-mouthed horror as another bolt of lightning hits. He falls body fried to a crisp. You wretch the smell still strong. 

 "Kid! Kid! Are you ok?" 

 "No…" you gasp, bile lining the back of your throat, "please,hurry. We're at Camp Blood." 

You’re cold and wet and forced to huddle into one blanket since the officer who responded only had one on hand.  Damian is talking on the phone. It’s hard to make out amidst the pouring rain, so you settle in letting Jon rest his head on your shoulder as he drifts to sleep. The officer said the rest of the force is coming to collect the bodies. The camp is most likely gonna be shut down for the summer. You weren’t keen on spending the entire summer with your cousins. 

 “I’ve informed father that you’re staying with us for the rest of the summer.”

 “Informed?” you laugh, relieved, ”good luck telling Jon that.”

 You both eye him. Jon snores into your ear and you can’t help but smile. “He’ll be fine.”

   Bonus

 The map in Jon’s hands crinkles loudly as he shuffles through it trying to find the correct route. You know the route. You memorized it before you even set off. You did it instead of studying for finals. It was certainly more entertaining than studying for a US history final when you already knew it was just gonna be about the American Revolution, World War II, and probably the Vietnam war. You hold back the snicker threatening to spill from your lips when, with each crinkle of the Dollar Store map, Damian’s brow twitched. Yes, this was the purpose of the map. It was most certainly doing its job well. 

 “You think they’ll still have the same dumb camp activities?”

 “You say this like you weren’t squealing to try all of them.”

 “Was not!”

 “Dunno,  Jon,  Dami has a pretty good memory.”

 Your car rolls to a stop in front of a cross-section. You drum your fingers against the steering wheel before you let curiosity override your self-preservation. 

 “How did you convince Dami to come along?”

 Jon tilts his head at you in question. “I didn’t,” he says slowly, “I thought you did.”

 Your passenger goes deadly silent. You both twist your bodies to look at him. Jon gives him a knowing smile while you give him a reassuring one that says ‘it’s ok you can tell us’. Damian avoids all eye contact like the plague, glaring at the window like there’s a particularly interesting speck of dust on it.  

 His eyes narrow. And you have the odd urge to follow his gaze. 

 The trees shift. 

 The pressure in the car builds. 

 Jon’s laughter stalls. 

 A shape flickers in the distance. 

 Your ears pop. 

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

a/n: THANKS FOR READING! Yes, reader has a prosthetic limb because I was reading 3 birds. Also, this can be treated as pre-slash. Epilogue is up for interpretation. Probably. Also fun fact, Faust is the basis for merc reader. I could not resist putting her in. 

Tag list:  @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes,  @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x you #jon kent imagine #jon kent x reader #damian wayne imagine #batboys x reader #batfamily x reader

[spacecatchako]

home (sfw)

daichi x f!reader

you and daichi start your morning planning your lives together

wc: 938

contains: tooth rotting (and i mean TOOTH ROTTING) fluff, talks of marriage, talks of babies, reader and daichi are engaged, timeskip daichi, sweet nothings, a lot of kissing but nthn more than that, so many petnames (doll, princess), labels husband and wife are used

a/n: im cringe shaming myself for this. u can tell what my desires are just from reading this fic. also is me using 1st person pronouns better or worse for fics idk anyways enjoy

"what are you thinking of, honey?"

he and i lay together in bed. his gorgeous brown eyes gaze dreamily at me as he shifts to his left side to look at me. daichi lays on his side now, hand on the pillows. all of his attention is on me. this beautiful man is looking at me like im everything in the world to him. it feels divine. he feels divine.

i turn to him too, my body curled into his like we're made for one another.

"everything. thinking about marrying you. all the things that we'll do." i murmur wistfully. i take his hand from where it lays on the pillow and compare his to mine. his hands are so much bigger than mine. i feel so small next to him. but in a safe way. like im meant to be with him. his hands are calloused in some places but his palms are soft. i trace the lines and swirls on his skin and plant a kiss on his hand. daichi is watching me, relaxed. his eyes are still weary from sleep but he looks like he's at peace right now.

"oh yeah? like what?" he questions, a smile gracing his soft lips. with his other arm he pulls me closer so that im tucked right against his barrel chest.

"wanna marry you, daichi. i want a big house somewhere in the countryside. far away from the noises of the city. i want a puppy and a big dumb garden and a nice kitchen. i want to wake up to the sound of your voice. i want to spend my days and nights with you. i-"

i stop here because im rambling, but daichi doesn't seem to mind at all. hes stroking his hand up and down my back now. it's a thoughtless gesture, but, regardless, it is one born of intimacy. it's his way of saying that its okay for me to be weird and honest and saccharine with him. im allowed to be soft and vulnerable here.

i continue from my place against his chest.

"i want to have a baby with you daichi. they'll be a little bit of you and a little bit of me. we'll walk them to school and hang up all of their drawings on the fridge. i wanna practically spoil our baby. set up a cute nursery and go through the baby books and love them the way that they deserve to be loved. i want it all with you, daichi. no matter how stupid or domestic or sappy it seems."

he hums as he cradles me to him, only to pull away a little to look at me. there's that same gentle smile in his eyes. he cups my cheek and gives me a forehead kiss.

"i want that too, doll. none of it is too much. we'll get that nice house and that cute puppy. im so far gone for you, princess. we'll have that baby and get married a million times over if you want to. none of it is too much for me at all. i want it too. just say the word." he strokes my hair as he speaks, love shining in his eyes. maybe we're both weary from just waking up, maybe some of this is nonsensical and just a silly, far-off dream. but it feels wonderful to fantasize. it feels wonderful to imagine it all. i can see it now- our little family, with our baby in a stroller and our dog walking beside us. we fall asleep in a big, cozy house every night. we're all safe together, and as long as daichi and i have each other, we're home. daichi is my home.

i snuggle into his chest. "i think that im ready."

"ready for what, doll?"

"just the first step for now. whatever that is to you. i want to get married. now. we're just engaged, and we haven't told our friends, but i want it to be official. we can have a big, fancy wedding later. for now, i just want to call you my husband. is that okay?"

daichis face is so close to mine. he leans in to kiss me and i reciprocate whole-heartedly. he's being so soft with me. he pulls away, nose against mine.

"of course doll. we'll go down to the courthouse and get it done today if you want."

i nod, and he grins, leaning in to kiss me again.

"i can't wait. my wife. my princess."

i giggle, and he kisses me. he shifts to pin me to the bed and i squeal. daichi peppers kisses across my lips and my face and im giggling and laughing ecstatically as he does so.

"mmm i love you princess. you can ask almost anything of me and id give it to you. you're mine. and im yours."

he leans down for another peck, and i smile and kiss him back from my spot laying down on the bed.

"i love you daichi. my husband."

"and i love. mmm-" i squeal as he kisses my neck "my. wife." more kisses.

he gets up, straddling me. "i say that we start our day by getting ready. I'll make you breakfast and then..." he clambers off of me. "we can get married." another peck to my lips. "how does that sound?"

i smile at him as he gets up out of bed.

"that sounds phenomenonal, daichi."

we go off to start our day together. by this time tomorrow, we'll be married. the sawamuras, ready to start the next chapter of their lives. together.

i bother my moots so tagging- @honeybunny-sawamura @ceo-of-daichi @goldenshoyo @yamadashii @daichis-kitty

#are courthouse marriages only a thing in the US #idfk #daichi sawamura #daichi sawamura x reader #daichi x y/n #daichi x you #daichi fluff #fluff #haikyuu fluff #sawamura daichi fluff #sawamura daichi x reader #sawamura daichi x you #hq fluff #daichi sfw #hq fic #daichi fic #timeskip daichi #timeskip haikyuu #also not edited bc fuck that shit #also i immediately wrote and posted this bc if i edit I'll cringe too hard and it'll never get posted

[shoichee]

Hello! Can I perhaps ask for no. 28. “Make me” from your prompt list for my beloved Imayoshi? It's so nice seeing him here on your theme and avatar and that pERFECT url, it feels like I finally found my people.

HELLO HELLO, and YES I WAS SO SURPRISED THAT NO ONE TOOK THIS URL... considering that it was just an alternative spelling of shoichi and its a rlly short handle too mwehe // im sort of a particular person when it comes to how something looks, whether itd be outfits, drawings, coloring, and the UI of a blog, u name it.... i may have spent hours trying to have the perfect colors for this theme PLEASEEEE, but without further ado here is our man, our little shit, Imayoshi

@knb-kreations howdy! another new work posted here!

Imayoshi x Reader

28. “Make me”

Word Count: 2331

prompt list here

»»—————　☼　—————««

Imayoshi doesn’t exactly know how he feels about you.

Scratch that, he does know. He’s quite amused at the shenanigans you pull on others around you, and a lot of times, you actually elicit a few dry laughs out of the guy. Other times though, he’d wish that you would just shut the fuck up, especially when all he hears amidst his studying was your loud “whispering” and “hushed” jokes. How you were always nearby no matter where he is was still a mystery that he casually ponders about from time to time. Perhaps your natural tendency to project your voice creates the illusion that you were near when you really weren’t?

No matter, such trivial thoughts can’t occupy his mind when college entrance exams loom closer. Then again, they weren’t particularly difficult; they were simply a hassle to secure near-perfect scores, especially when his chances of admittance rely critically on how well he does.

“That’s an awful drawing of a samurai,” Susa comments, snapping Imayoshi out of idle thought.

“Ho? Is it really terrible if you were able to tell what it is?” Imayoshi chuckles. “The point of a drawing is to convey the right idea or emotion. It seems that my drawing skills hit a bulls-eye with this sketch, no?” He playfully spins his pencil around, patiently waiting for his reply to goad him.

All Susa does in response is to roll his eyes before he turns his full attention back to his notes. He knows better than to try a comeback against Imayoshi, who can easily make it backfire against the person with a pleasant close-eyed smile. Imayoshi, seeing Susa’s nonverbal resign from engaging further banter, also looks down back to his book of scribbled notes and chicken-scratch drawings before he exhales an inaudible sigh.

School just doesn’t cut out to be mentally stimulating for him. It’s a little too repetitive and mundane for his taste.

“Argh!! Oh no!” your voice rang out, despite your poor attempt to be reasonably quiet. “I forgot applications for the Coca-Cola scholarship are due today!”

Coca-Cola… what?

Everyone looks up to warily eye you, and your few friends, who are currently rushing to pull you down and slap their hands over your mouth to mute you, were panicking at the new attention you managed to garner. Even still, your mind seems more fixated on whatever was on the laptop’s screen, rather than what they were doing to you.

Imayoshi can’t help but stifle his audible mirth from how you manage to change the mood of the entire library within seconds.

“How do you even forget something as important as a huge scholarship like that?” Susa says in dismay. “Makes me kind of wonder how (l/n) would handle life after graduation, to be honest.”

“Well,” Imayoshi begins. “I wouldn’t worry too much. It’s best not to underestimate (l/n)-san. Surely we’ve learned our lesson with Seirin?” He toys with the pencil grip before he sporadically draws some lines loosely resembling another sketch.

“Drawing again?” Susa raises a brow. “Have you even been studying?”

“Well,” he replies. “There’s still plenty of time before exams—months to be exact. Could you even study with the current distractions in here?” At his own words, he nudges his chin in your direction.

“It’s not just any exams though, it’s—”

“Whether they have more importance or not doesn’t really concern me. After all, standardized testing isn’t worth stressing out for when we’ve taken essentially the same thing all our lives.”

“What most are worried about is the content inside the exams, Imayoshi,” he said, carefully treading into dangerous waters with Imayoshi’s tendency to take all replies as mind-game challenges for his own amusement.

“‘If you have been paying attention consistently throughout the year, you wouldn’t be having much trouble…’ that’s what you once oh-so-wisely said to Wakamatsu yesterday, hmm?” His mimicking tone drips a hint of arrogance. “Unless you mean to tell me my ears do not work? But by all means, please feel free to correct me.”

“That’s different,” he sighed, his face clearly evident that he was done with Imayoshi’s shit. “That exam only tested content for the past year, not your entire academic repertoire over the courses of middle and high school.”

“I’d like to think that the logic still applies the same way.”

“Well,” Susa heaves with a languid stretch. “You generally score better on the exams than me, so you’re probably right. Still, don’t neglect your studying.”

“Right, right, Susa-senpai~”

“... Please don’t call me that again.”

“... If you say so,” he said, but his smile blatantly showed his real intentions of never stopping his irritable quips. Susa gets ready to pack up his book bag before he heads out the door with a friendly wave. Imayoshi half-heartedly returns the gesture with a casual wave of his own. He immediately notices you also packed up and about to leave with a worried frown, and of course, while audibly mumbling your concerns and makeshift schedules to accommodate time for last-minute essay writing. By now, all of your friends have left for home.

“Ah, biology lab due next week, kanji worksheets due tomorrow, hmm, um, how would I finish this on time… ah, calculus test is tomorrow too, ah shit… should I ask someone to tutor?—ah, but it’s super last minute, and there’s still that scholarship… argh, fuck!” Your voice peaked in volume at the end, and the librarian immediately shot daggers at you.

“Shhhhh!”

“A-Ah! S-Sorry, sorry!”

Imayoshi was watching you with his chin on his arm propped up on the desk, unable to control the smile that escaped his lips. You really were entertaining to watch, and you never cease to bore him.

He turns away to crack his neck and roll it around before methodically packing up his writing utensils and notebooks. Soft shuffling filled the air as he rearranged the items inside his bag. As he turns to pack the last thing on the table, which happened to be the notebook filled with his idle doodling, his face slightly softens at the drawing he did after the samurai. Yes, the one Susa chastised him for when he could’ve been studying. Yes, perhaps he was right when he was terrible at drawing after all; your panicked face and wild hand gestures didn’t really translate well into paper, and it looked a little too much like a horror comic and less than a sketch of you. Still, he’s oddly proud of it.

Imayoshi promptly pushes the chair in and leaves the library, but when he rounds the corner of the adjacent hallway, he bumps into you.

“Er—hi! I mean, please, uhhh… if it isn’t too much to ask—canyoupleasetutormeforthecalculustesttomorrowbecausemyfinalgradedependsonthat?”

Imayoshi winces at the sheer volume of your voice and plugs his ears in out of habit to block out some of the decibels. Wakamatsu was eerily similar to you in that regard. Only difference between the two of you was that you were deceptively intelligent. Extremely so.

“My, my, if it isn’t (l/n)-senpai!” He fakes a surprised look, earning him an eye roll on your end. “You need someone like me to teach you the works?”

“I—what? We’re literally in the same calc class, Imayoshi,” you retort. “Besides, drop the ‘senpai’ honorific. It feels so slimy when you say it so disingenuously… Aren’t we both 3rd years too?”

“I’m so hurt,” he mocks. “What if I was really genuine with you?”

“Look, right now, no remarks from you, Evil Glasses,” you say. “It’s really, really urgent and I don’t know how to grasp the material for the class lately, plus my essay, ugh…” You rub your fingers against your temples in an attempt to make the stressful headaches disappear while Imayoshi simply watches with his eyes slightly open.

“... You usually do well on all your exams, no? Unless my eyes and memory fail me.” It was true; even though you were as loud-mouthed as Wakamatsu, you would often shock a lot of people when your name always appeared in the higher percentiles of exam results. Apparently most students and teachers associate your rowdy personality with an expected subpar academic performance. He has you to thank for when your score reports always cause reactions of utter disbelief from the teachers. You really do liven up the school and make it a lot more unorthodox.

“I guess…” you mumble. “But I really wanna do especially well for this one because math is my weakest subject, and you always score the highest for these types of exams, so…”

“It may be my best subject,” he says, leaning slightly closer to your face. “But I’m not the one with the highest scores in any math subjects throughout these years, and we both know that quite well, don’t we, (l/n)? Why don’t you come clean about the real reason why you’re here?”

“Oh my literal fuck—Imayoshi, you’re one of the best students in calc right now regardless of exam results,” you petulantly huffed, not backing down from his intimidation. Imayoshi notes your cheeks reddening, and he figured it was either because of the close proximity between your faces or the fact you were frustrated… perhaps both. “And you’re the only one around here on campus who I could ask!”

“Really now,” he chimes, moving closer to whisper in your ear. “Are you sure?” With incoherent stammers, you backed away from him, slapping your hands against both of your ears to protect them.

“W-W-What the fuck are you doing?!”

“Looks like I won this one, (l/n)-san,” he purrs, relishing the fact that only he could render you this quiet. “Ho? What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?”

“I—Shut up!” you lamely shoot back. “You can just say no if you really don’t wanna do this—urgh, I’m leaving, I’m not gonna waste any more time—”

“How hurtful,” he dryly remarks, standing up straight again after leaning for a quite a while. “It’s almost as if you’re rejecting me~” He knew you would always take his bait and quip back (unlike Susa), regardless of whether or not you tell him that you weren’t going to engage further.

“As if,” you snorted, making another exaggerated eye roll. “You’re the last person who would ever be hurt from this.”

“Dear me!” he exclaims. “Have you ever considered that perhaps I don’t help out people for free? Did you think I would be a gracious, selfless person who would help you like a saint?”

“Okay, fine! Perhaps I didn’t think that far ahead, okay? You just were the first person that came to mind, and I thought asking you wouldn’t hurt.” His smirk widens almost maliciously at your words, lips already opening to deliver another irritating quip before you immediately spoke again to stop him. “Okay, Imayoshi, you little shit, just shut up—I don’t wanna hear anything from your mouth right now.”

“I don’t see any reason why I should listen to you at all,” he muses. “Why don’t you make me?” He has a shit-eating grin plastered across his face, eagerly eyeing your next move, and as he expected, you let out a frustrated noise that prompted passerby students to shoot pointed looks towards the both of you.

What he didn’t expect was for you to take a huge step towards him, unceremoniously pull him down to your level, and press a reverberating smack on his lips. His eyes are immediately blown wide open to look at your embarrassed, but determined face. His fingers unconsciously move to touch his warmed lips.

“... That was quite romantic, wasn’t it, (l/n)?” he dryly says, recovering almost immediately from the shock. All the other students fled from the blatantly bold scene to save face. Not that Imayoshi really cared.

“Okay, you know what? Bye, I’m not gonna play anymore mind games with you,” you grumble. “Essays and studying aren’t gonna be done by themselves—wah!”

Imayoshi gently tugs you back to reciprocate back a kiss, meticulously slipping his hands behind your head and on your waist to accommodate you. Your eyes are completely open from the shock that the Imayoshi Shoichi was actually kissing you. You don’t close your eyes from the sensation, completely entranced when you make eye contact with his half-lidded eyes watching your every reaction closely. The kiss ended all too soon, and Imayoshi separates himself from you, secretly admiring your dazed look.

“That was quite a strong reaction to just a simple kiss.”

“I—that was not just a ‘simple kiss!’”

“Now would you like to tell me the true reason why you approached me?”

“You’re… insinuating that you know something.”

“Well we wouldn’t know unless you come clean,” Imayoshi purrs. “I can sometimes be wrong too.”

“Ugh, what the hell—fine, I am quite enamored by you, and uh, I… find it infuriating to be with you, but it also gives me butterflies… so I thought I could be with you more… if I asked you—don’t get it twisted, though! I still need your help to study!...” He covers his mouth to suppress a laugh at your honesty.

“Was it really so hard to say that in the beginning, (l/n)-san?”

“Okay, that’s it! I’m really, really leaving! Fuck off, Imayoshi, I swear to—”

“Ho? Just a minute, darling~” he tuts, reaching to hold your hand. “Perhaps if you offer more kisses as an incentive, I’d be more inclined to offer my expertise.”

“How quaint,” you dryly reply. “It’s almost as if we’re in a relationship.”

Imayoshi can’t help but bark out a genuine laugh. You even managed to pick up some of his mannerisms so quickly.

“That’s an interesting proposal, (l/n),” he murmurs. “Should we try that?” You tut at him irritatedly as you tug your interlocked hands while speed-walking ahead.

“Hurry up, or I’ll consider breaking up with you right now.”

“Ah ha!~” he chuckles at your attitude. “How mean, (l/n)-san! Too bad that we both know that’s not going to happen anytime soon.”

#ask #narnvaeron #knb #knb scenarios #kuroko no basket #imayoshi shouichi #imayoshi shoichi #imayoshi x reader #imayoshi #knb fic #knb fluff #100 followers #100 follower milestone

[bailey-reaper]

How about a drabble of Barok serving as Klint's judicial assistant in his younger years, before he officially studies law to become a prosecutor? I like the idea of him becoming interested in and familiar with law from his brother. "Judicial Assistant van Zieks" has a certain ring to it.

Work Experience

Notes:

Oh that's a lovely idea, anon! I'd imagine that by the time he's promoted to 'Director of Prosecutions', Klint would most likely have been a very senior barrister known as a Q.C. ('Queen's Counsel'); they're also known colloquially as 'silks' because they 'take silk' (i.e. acquire a robe made of silk) upon attaining this lofty rank.

When a barrister becomes a silk/QC, they often only handle the most difficult (and expensive) work, but they will usually have a junior barrister assisting them (i.e. doing all the work, though I doubt Klint would conduct himself like that).

I can very much imagine Klint taking Barok as his junior and allowing himself to be 'led' by the latter. The term 'leading' basically means the barrister in charge of conducting the case where there's more than one involved.

Content Warnings: legal gubbins (that's the technical term btw... it's not); I take liberties with all things van Zieks, as usual...

──────≪⊰✥⊱≫───────

Klint's office was the very best place to study as far as Barok was concerned - the vast table in the centre of the room allowed him to spread his books out while the peaceful calm was greatly conducive to reflective reading. It was as good as, if not superior to, going to the university library. "Barok!" Klint said as he entered his room and shrugged out of his formal scarlet jacket, tossing it haphazardly on a coat rack, "What a pleasant surprise-- drink?" "Good afternoon brother," he looked up and nodded in greeting, "Mm, yes please. How was court?" "Fairly standard stuff," Klint sighed as he took two glasses and poured a measure of whiskey into each. Truth be told it was yet more of the depressing hypocrisy that grew ever-apparent to him day by day, but there was no need to sour a visit from his brother with such things. He set the glass down beside Barok and held up his own in a toasting gesture. Their glasses chimed melodically before both took a sip. Barok coughed a little, still unaccustomed to way whiskey punched the back of his throat when he swallowed it, "I imagine you were splendid, as always." "Oh?" Klint chuckled, his brother truly did worship him. Then, while he leaned against his desk, an idea came to him, "Hmmm! That's a thought..." "Huh?" "How about you take on a little work experience by my side, hm? I'm sure it would be fun to have you as my junior counsel for a while." "What? Really?" Barok looked simultaneously shocked and delighted, "I'd very much like to learn at your side, brother, I imagine there is much you could teach me about court etiquette and procedure!" "Then it's settled! I'll write to your professor and tell him you're to undertake a period of practical study beside me. After all, you're planning to become a prosecutor are you not?" he knew full well his brother intended to follow in his footsteps, which was incredibly flattering-- though he did have his reservations about what such a career might do to his darling brother's character. The younger nodded, "I should very much like to become a prosecutor." "Very good," he set his glass down and sat at his desk, taking a sheet of paper and his quill in hand, "We'll have that letter sent out today!" ──────≪⊰✥⊱≫─────── Barok had been to court many, many times but mostly to observe by way of the public gallery when safe to do so, or from a corner of the courtroom once he started being targeted due to Klint's ever-growing renown as the 'bane of criminals'. This, however, was on an entirely different scale: today he would be assisting with the proceedings -- a participant rather than a spectator. "You look nervous," Klint remarked as he stood beside his younger brother. "What... what do you mean?" "Your eyes," he said, chuckling behind his fist, "They're darting all over the place like a furtive rabbit's" "....O.. Oh..." he took a deep breath and shook his head, "I... didn't sleep much last night, my mind seemed to want to go over the case details again and again." "Mmmm, I had forgotten how it felt to be quite that nervous in court... still, it's good you feel that unsettled sense in the pit of your stomach. One should never be blasé about standing in this sombre hall of justice. It should always create a sense of disquiet, that is how you know you yet hold the essence of what it means to be an officer of the court," Klint took a glass and a decanter from under the bench and filled it with a small measure, "But, here, it doesn't hurt to settle your nerves." "Is that... whiskey?!" Barok uttered. "Yes, go on, for your nerves, little brother." He took a sip as directed, and choked again; still not used to that fiery punch in his throat, "T...thank you." Suddenly there were three loud knocks at the door followed by the court clerk's booming voice: "All persons who have anything to do before my Lords - the Queen's Justices - at the Central Criminal Court, draw near and give your attendance. God Save the Queen!" the clerk bowed to the judge then took a seat in the corner so as to record a transcript of the proceedings.

The Judge sat down, "In the name of her Majesty, Queen Victoria, I declare this court to be in session. God Save the Queen," the middle-aged man, whose hair was starting to fail him, though it was hidden under his white wig, cast his gaze over the persons in attendance, "Lord van Zieks, I see the prosecution has a junior member today." "Correct, my lord," Klint replied with a smile, "This is my younger brother, Barok, he desires to become a prosecutor, so I thought it only proper for him to accompany me on a few excursions so as to get a feel for the thing." "Quite right and very good," the Judge nodded, "I bid you welcome, young man, I hope you will learn much from your older brother, he is a skilled prosecutor and an invaluable asset to this court." "Y... Yes sir!" Barok said, standing straight to attention. Klint chuckled before placing a hand over his heart and bowing, "Thank you, my Lord, you honour me." "Now, Counsel, your opening statement, if you please." "With pleasure, my Lord..." ──────≪⊰✥⊱≫─────── Barok dutifully passed evidence and case notes to his brother as the case progressed, while also taking notes of things that struck him as important in terms of procedure, witness testimony and the general way in which matters progressed. He also made a few notes on Klint's control of the courtroom and general demeanour; the way he eloquently developed his arguments and appealed to the Jury with a seemingly effortless, poetic grace. It was a true masterclass in courtroom conduct and he longed to commit every second of it to his memory so that he might mimic his brother's style in the future. "I already told ya!" snapped the witness in the box, "I ain't never had nothin' to do with the gobshite!" Klint sighed while removing a handsome goblet, fashioned from silver and crystal, from under the bench and filling it with a measure of whiskey, "I'm going to overlook your use of a double negative, no doubt you'd have no sense of what that actually means, and presume that you're trying to deny all knowledge of the accused." "Double wot?" "Never mind all that, " Klint took a sip, startling Barok-- was his brother drinking in court?! The Judge didn't seem remotely bothered by it, in fact no one said a word. Did he do this often?? His brother continued, "You say you don't know that man in the dock." "That's right!" "Are you sure about that?" "W-Wot?! Why'd you keep askin' me that?! If you got somethin' to say about it then say it!" the witness looked flustered and vaguely guilty to Barok's untrained eye. "I'll do better than that," Klint said, setting his goblet down, "I'll show that you're lying to me, to this court and these fine men and women of the jury." "... U..urk..." the witness bit their bottom lip, "Yer lyin'! There ain't no proof to be had!" "I don't play games of bluff, good sir. Like any lawyer worth his salt: when I assert, I go on to prove what I'm saying," he held up a document, "Do you know what this is?" ".... Looks like a bit'o paper..." "It's a contract, signed between you and the accused. A... 'gentlemans' agreement of goods and for services rendered –– you, sir, would receive the stolen property from the accused and his associates, then sell it on for them via your Pawnbrokery!" "W-Whaaaaat?!" the witness recoiled, "W...Where'd you get that?!" "It was well hidden, I'll give you that," Klint replied with a smile, "But not well enough to escape my notice. You're as involved in this intricate criminal fencing enterprise as the accused!" The court descended into a shocked furor... ──��───≪⊰✥⊱≫─────── "I think this is a good place to adjourn proceedings for today," the Judge observed after the breakdown of the witness, "Bailiff, have that man arrested and handed over to the Yard so he can answer questions about his involvement in this sordid affair!" The bailiff did as ordered and apprehended the witness.

"Thank you to both Counsel's, and our young junior, for their assistance today. We shall continue again first thing on Monday. Court is adjourned!" the Judge rose, nodding to the courtroom once before leaving.

Klint turned to his little brother and grinned, "Well? How was your first real day in court, brother?" "It... it was amazing!" Barok replied, eyes practically twinkling, "I was so awed by your performance! You truly are an exceptional legal mind and practitioner, brother!" He laughed, "Stop it... you'll make me blush!" "It's true! Though, I must say... I had no idea one could drink in court or kick the prosecutor's bench... those were most flamboyant and striking displays!" "Most people can't," Klint conceded, "But, well, it seems I have a flair for the dramatic. It must run in the blood... Our lord father was a similarly passionate man when it came to matters of court –– even when he occupied the bench as a Law Lord. Many a lawyer would refer to him as 'Good Lord Kicking' behind his back!" he laughed at the thought. "Wow... really?!" "Yes, really!"

#klint van zieks #barok van zieks #request

[confused-stars]

I saw your tags for the Sign AU, and I can't stop thinking about the possible interrogation. Shigaraki is preparing himself for hours of grueling questions about locations, members, quirks, and plans. But then his favorite hero shows up and asks how he knows his sign name? It's been two hours and Shigaraki still doesn't understand why they are asking about this. He is confused. Aizawa is confused. And AFO has no idea about all the chaos a sign name has caused.

*clears throat* may i-

It must have been hours at this point. Tomura is sure, from how drained he feels and how tight his stomach is with hunger. They’ve offered him a sandwich, sure, but he wasn’t about to accept it. Especially since the handcuffs around his wrists were clearly created with him - or touch-based quirk users - specifically in mind: rather than hold his hands behind his back, or loosely in front, they force his palms together, fingers pressed against each other as if he’s praying, secured together with five sets of dual rings that wrap around his joints. It’s not uncomfortable, but it also leaves him just a little more helpless. If he wants to eat, someone will have to feed him, and he absolutely refuses to even entertain the notion.

Kurogiri is still out there. The League is still out there. They’ll come for him if only he waits long enough. They’ll find out where he is. He’s not being moved to Tartarus, he knows that much, because Sensei is there and they don’t want them close. 

He almost wishes they would move him. That they'd just give it up already. He hasn't said a word since they brought him in.

Well... that's not entirely true.

When All Might was here earlier, tired and skinny looking and... and pathetic, with no right to keep his head held high like that, and he called Tomura by a name that's not his (it's not, it's not, it's not), Tomura did snap at him to shut up. To 'fucking stop it'. He hated the kicked puppy look. the gentle words that felt like poison to Tomura's ears, because who does All Might think he is? Tomura Shigaraki is still a villain. Tenko Shimura is dead. When he spat that out, All Might's resolve hardened, and he began a more traditional interrogation. At that point, Tomura couldn't have answered even if he'd wanted to. He still can't speak, now. They obviously don't know that. It’s a weakness he’s not just going to admit to.

Tomura’s head jerks up when a set of steps actually stops outside the door. He shakes a loose strand of hair out of his face, hating that he can’t even brush them aside himself. Who is it this time? The detective with the lie detector quirk again? Or someone who can actually force Tomura to speak? How far are these heroes willing to go?

But the door opens, and it’s the one person Tomura can’t help but be shocked to see. Eraserhead.

Tired-looking as always, the scar underneath his eye a new addition from when Tomura last saw him in person. What’s he doing here? Tomura wishes he could ask. Instead, he just settles for a somewhat confused glare.

Eraserhead looks him up and down, expression unreadable. All underground heroes must have good poker faces, Tomura thinks. He wishes he had that ability. Tomura is not a good liar. He never needed to be.

“When’s the last time you had something to drink?” Eraserhead asks, hands moving to sign along, and, okay, is he here to play good cop? Playing off the begrudging respect Tomura has for him?

Tomura doesn’t move. He keeps glaring. Eraserhead sighs and approaches the table, dropping down in the chair opposite Tomura. He fumbles with a pouch on his belt for a moment, and eventually pulls out a juice box. It’s almost enough to make Tomura laugh at the absurdity - it’s the same brand Kurogiri buys. Eraserhead stabs the straw through the little hole on top and pushes it over on the table. Tomura looks down at the juice box, then up at him. He is thirsty. His throat is dry enough that swallowing hurts a little, and the sugar in the juice will definitely be helpful, and when the League comes to break him out, he’ll need to be in the best shape he can hope for. 

He sinks down in his seat the best he can, and stretches his head forward until he can catch the straw between his lips. It’s still humiliating, though better than someone holding it for him, and he looks anywhere but Eraserhead as he empties the juice box within seconds.

“Well, that’s a start.” Eraserhead slumps in his seat and sighs, sounding very world-weary. Tomura knows the man is only in his early thirties, but he seems to have been aging rapidly lately. That’s probably due to Tomura’s own actions. He wonders what Eraserhead sees when he looks at him. A victim to be saved, like All Might apparently thinks? Just a too skinny kid who is in over his head? Or is he actually smart enough to understand that Tomura doesn’t want, doesn’t need saving? That Tomura is the monster they should all be afraid of and he lives for it?

Maybe Eraserhead sees a little bit of both. Those eyes of his are very sharp. Tomura should have had the noumu take them, back at the USJ. Then his quirk wouldn’t have been a problem anymore either.

“I’d love to know what you’re thinking,” Eraserhead tells him, voice dry as Compress’ favored liquor.

Tomura raises a brow at him. Shrugs. Looks away.

Eraserhead is silent for a little while. The seconds tick by, though Tomura can’t be sure that his count is correct. There’s no clock in here. No window, either, of course. He has no way of telling how long he’s really been here. If he ends up falling asleep eventually, he’ll be completely lost. Hopefully his rescue comes before that.

“... Shigaraki,” Eraserhead says finally, slowly, “If you wanted to talk to me right now, would you be able to?”

Oh. Oh, no. Tomura knows they're being watched, but he doesn’t know how the detective’s quirk works, if he can detect a lie when it’s just communicated through a gesture... but even if he can’t... Tomura nodding right now would kind of prove Eraserhead’s point, wouldn’t it? So he sighs and gives a jerky shake of his head.

Eraserhead nods, clearly Tomura just confirmed what he suspected. Because unlike most heroes, Eraserhead actually has the brains to back up his quirk and fighting skills. "Detective, I'm going to need the key to those cuffs."

There's a crackle from the speaker in the corner of the room. "That doesn't seem like a wise idea."

Ah, arguing right in front of him. Tomura smiles lazily, even though he hates having his face exposed like this. They took Father and the others, of course. He's going to have to find them before they leave.

"I'll erase his quirk if he tries anything. You want him to communicate, don't you?" Eraserhead asks, a tad snappy.

There's a long pause, then the door opens and the detective steps through. He doesn't take his eyes off of Tomura, even as he hands Eraserhead a single, tiny key. Tomura returns his gaze with an outward calm that he's not feeling at all. He can't make them go back on this decision, he wants so desperately to have his hands free so he can scratch that incessant itch that's been growing worse and worse with each passing minute.

"You're going to let me take these off you without trying anything, right?" Eraserhead asks. They have no replacement cuffs, but those would be a farce anyway, wouldn't they? And if they want Tomura to sign, he'll need greater range than a standard set of them would allow him. He rolls his eyes and nods, presenting his folded hands to the hero. The detective watches for another moment or two, then steps back out, undoubtedly to continue observing.

It takes a little fumbling on Eraserhead's part to get the cuffs off, with all their little moving pieces, and he's either being very careful so he won't hurt himself on accident, or, less likely, so he won't hurt Tomura. Tomura's own eyes drift to his elbow and he wonders about the massive scar that must be hidden underneath that sleeve.

Finally, his hands are free, and gently glowing red eyes turn to his face.

Tomura ignores him for the time being in order to scratch at his neck, deep and thorough until he tears skin.

Eraserhead makes an aborted movement, as if to stop him, but then seems to change his mind, fist clenched atop the table. Good. If he wants Tomura coherent, he'll need to let him fight off the onset of another episode that's been looming for a while.

"Did All for One teach you sign language because of your nonverbal phases?" Eraserhead asks. It makes Tomura very aware of the fact that he doesn't usually do interrogations. This is none of the usual bullshit, talking around the point for ages. This is blunt and straight to the point.

Tomura gives a headshake.

Eraserhead waits, expectant.

Tomura thinks the hero is lucky he's bored and his is an innocent line of questioning and he actually respects Eraserhead. That's why he pulls his hand away from his neck and signs 'Sensei doesn't speak sign.'

"Who taught you, then?" Immediate, no hesitation. Why does he want to know this, of all things? Literally anything else would be more important. He may as well be asking how Tomura got so proficient at darts.

He sighs, and spells it out. 'K-U-R-O-G-I-R-I'

Eraserhead's brows draw together. "He taught you things? How long has he been around?"

Tomura presses his lips together and glares. Like hell is he giving them anything on the rest of the League. Especially Kurogiri.

The hero sighs. "Look, kid." Tomura scoffs.

"... Shigaraki. Back at the USJ, you used a name for me that's different from my official hero name. It's a name very few people know."

Now it's Tomura's turn to frown. He knows what the separate signs of Eraserhead's name mean, of course, and he's often thought they were odd, but seeing as his own sign name is also anything but villainous he didn't think he had room to judge.

'Your sign name?' he asks, 'Eraserhead?'

"No." The hero shakes his head and makes a series of signs. "Eraserhead." He then repeats the signs Tomura just used. "Shouta."

Oh. Well, that's awkward. Tomura gets the entirely absurd urge to apologize.

Having his sign name used by an enemy who very nearly killed him must be pretty uncomfortable for Eraser. Tomura would never want his enemies to know his own. It's private, and it was a gift that Kurogiri gave him. Even the rest of the League doesn't know it, they only know the one Tomura made up for himself, reusing the name of his quirk for it.

'Not many people know?' Tomura questions.

Eraserhead huffs. "Do I look like the kind of person who goes around sharing information like that?" Probably not, no.

Tomura nods. 'That's why you're here?'

"There's a lot that's odd about you, ki- Shigaraki. A lot that doesn't add up. This, in particular, is something that's been causing me some problems."

Oh.

Oh. Tomura can't help the laugh that breaks out of him, his voice returning only for the giggles that shake his shoulders. Eraserhead thought one of his trusted few had betrayed him. Had given the information to Tomura. That's too good. He almost wants to make him keep believing it. Or even tell him a lie, but, again, the detective is on the other side of the two-way mirror.

"I'm glad this is funny to you," Eraserhead says dryly, "Care to let me in on the joke?"

Tomura is still giggling when he signs, and maybe that's why he makes the mistake.

'Kurogiri taught me,' he says, 'But good to know I created some mistrust among you.'

Eraserhead is frozen in his seat. Even his quirk is inactive now, as Tomura suddenly realizes. He's held out pretty long. His eyes have got to hurt. Maybe Tomura can make him overextend himself. But there's too many guns nearby. Tranquilizers, no doubt. He wouldn't get very far, even if a kill or two would be satisfying.

'Can I have another juice box?' he asks, just to be difficult.

Eraserhead jerks out of his stupor. "Who... who did you say taught you?"

Did Tomura use Kurogiri's sign name on accident? Huh.

'K-U-R-O-G-I-R-I. Sign name: Kurogiri.' His hands form 'fluffy' and 'cloud' like they have a hundred thousand times. It's a cutesy name for someone who is not cutesy at all. But so is 'Dust Bunny' and so is 'Sleepy Cat'.

Eraserhead takes a shaky breath. His fingers are trembling when he signs 'Fluffy Cloud' himself. "Oboro," he says, "That's... what that... who that name belongs to. Shirakumo Oboro." He looks like he's very far away, but at the same time couldn't be more in the moment. He's pale, but his eyes are focused and dark. "Shigaraki. Tell me about Kurogiri."

It's in that moment that the door gets blown into pieces by a blast of blue flames.

And the shouting and running and destruction that follow don't really give them much more room for idle chit-chat.

#elflynns-horde-of-stuff #this has been sitting in my drafts for ages im so sorry #sign au #eraserhead is really going through it #man needs a break