#where they’re a typical disgusting teenage boy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lmaoplsdontlookatme · 3 years

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local sweaty dumpy gas station man stirring up kicks idk

(🚫 minors, 🚫 sfw)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

so this would depend a lot on how long youre in a relationship and the kind of sex youre having.

in the start of your relationship, when bo kept you chained and locked away when he was out, he didnt really give any kind of thought to aftercare. you were his to use as he pleased, why would how you feel matter??

later on, the longer youre together and he gets more and more comforted that youre not going to leave him, he will show that he cares by tossing you a damp towel and asking if you wanted a beer while he was up <3 how kind

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

our boy bo is an ass man ! that extends to hips and thighs and waist and belly. he has a preference for a partner with some pudge, but honestly bo isnt picky lmao.

he loves using your midsection as a pillow, he loves slapping your ass and watching your thighs shake while you bounce against him, he loves sinking his fingers into the pouch on your belly while he fucks you, he LOVES to eat your ass out while he jerks himself off🖤🖤🤌🏻

as for you, look at the mans hands. all he does is crack them and fiddle with his ring and youre like, addicted. theyre veiny and massive and bo knows how much you like them and uses it to his advantage. he likes to grab your throat along the underside of your jaw when youre not expecting it and shove his fingers between your lips and against your tongue and down your throat and gets hard when you gag around him 🥴🖤

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

okay so lets be real. ambrose probably isnt that well stocked with real food and we never get an insight to like, the boys diet. other than lester saying he takes home fresh roadkill because meats meat lmao SO bo probably lives on a diet of gas station snacks that are shipped in and,, whatever meat lester brings home and cooks up

which means this man does not taste good haha hes bitter and salty and it took a long time for you to convince him to change up his diet and shower after long days.

his cum would be thick white stretchy gobs that are typical ‘porn movie cum shots’ (aka cetaphil lmao) and while he loves to cum inside of you and watch himself leak out, he doesnt care where he finishes, as long as its on or in you!

(the first time he came on your face when you were chained in the basement, he Blushed)

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

bo sniffs your used underwear. he probably keeps a pair with him and sniffs them throughout the day, or wraps them around his cock and uses them to roughly jerk himself off. youll never be allowed in there again, but bos picture wall has MOSTLY evolved into you - pictures of the two of you together, pictures of you sleeping, your nudes and pictures of you through the windows that you didnt know he took

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

so we know from the boys childhood that bo was wild - he had to be strapped down just to eat meals lmao. he grew up a lot and is more civilized, but im sure his teenage years he was pretty unhinged. he likely did whatever the hell he wanted whenever and wherever he wanted, which resulted in him having girlfriends and boyfriends and experimenting around.

also, look how many people there are in the town. bo has definitely gotten laid before.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

bo loooooves taking you from behind. hell pull your hair into his fist and slap your ass harshly while he fucks you deep and raw and hard and hell use your hair to pull your head back to keep you loud and from behind able to muffle yourself while he pounds you out

https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph5ee446aa390d7

this is how bo fucks, but WAAAYYYY more handsy and desperate. a lot louder and rougher too - its about him, not you.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

again, i think this is really going to depend on the length of your relationship and how comfortable bo is around you. hes cheesy and as typical as it gets so of course hed do something like covering his dick in whipped cream or wanting to role play in full costume and shit. if you were to laugh, hed smile along and chuckle with you

but also get to the point lmao bos catch phrase is ‘it aint gonna suck itself’

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

out of the three, i think bo is the best well kept and groomed. he has a thick pad of hair across his chest and around his tits, and his happy trail lightens just over his belly button and then darkens again further down his body. he keeps his pubes trimmed and he has soft, curly, light hairs down his thighs that get darker and thicker down his legs. hes hairy 😏🖤

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

bos idea of romance in the start of your relationship isnt uhhh conventional lmao. while youre chained to his chair under the garage, he would bring you a bottle of water and stare at you, wiping the sweat from his palms against his coveralls before groping you, telling you how pretty you are and how happy he is to have you all to himself

obviously he gets better the more youre together lmao,, like i said before, hell roll off of you after sex and kick the bathroom door open to piss and while hes in there, hell bring you a warm damp towel and ask if you wanted a beer while he got himself one <3 hes romantic <33

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

can we say testosterone lmao bos hands are constantly at his crotch, hes always down to fuck. if hes not home or youre busy or whatever reason, bo has absolutely no issue jerking off. there were only three other people in the town so he could pretty much pull himself out of his pants and work himself off as he pleased. he sniffs your underwear or uses the rough fabric to wrap around and fist at himself

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

😏

he watches you through the blinds in the windows. he watches you sleep. he jerks off onto your skin while youre sleeping and sometimes, you get unexplainably tired and when you wake up, your hips are sore and you have bruises in the shapes of bos fingers and teeth against your skin and youre sure he fucked you while you slept. he loves to leave marks on you to claim you, even though the only other people that would ever see his marks would be his brothers and they know far better than to even look in your direction wrong.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

theres nowhere particular that bo prefers - hes going to fuck you everywhere and anywhere

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

everything turns him on lets be real

you could drop a piece of paper and bend over to pick it up and bo is there standing over you with hungry black eyes and a shit eating grin

you could tell bo that you made spaghetti for dinner and hed groan and pull you into a deep kiss with his hands at your throat

he gets turned on by everything

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

theres absolutely no way bo is ever going to share you. other than that, i dont see anything being out of his realm of things hed try 💁🏻

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

like i said before

it aint gonna suck itself

bo also really likes to hear you come undone as he eats your asshole from behind, one hands pressing the fat of your cheeks against his face while he goes to town on himself with his other hand

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

usually youre taken fast and rough and it drives you wild and you crave it and bo knows what he does to you, because you do the same for him and he fucking loves it. the two of you can get into a rhythm where youre moaning loud and bouncing back with each of his thrusts, skin slapping together just as loud as your moans and hes fucking you so deep that you imagine his cock bulging out through your belly and hes grunting hard behind you, a fist in your hair and the other crushing at your hips to pull you back onto his cock

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

he loves quickies 🖤 theyre not needed because yall have the most privacy in the world, but he likes to fuck you fast and hard and harsh

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

bo doesnt actually have a lot of stamina, which is fine because he fucks you in short, quick bursts that leave you panting and wet with shaking legs

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

bo doesnt have any toys, but he doesnt mind them. if they were introduced into your relationship, bo would gladly stuff you overfull while he fucks you, a gag keeping you loud and drooling with a vibrator between your legs. if you were to offer to use them on him, hed probably go with it too. theres nothing the man wont try 🙏🏻🖤

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

bo isnt really a teaser. of course he has his days, but all he really cares about is getting his dick wet

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

baby is so expressive. he pants and grunts a lot and isnt afraid to show how good hes feeling. when you wrap your lips around his cock and take him down to the root with his thick length down your throat, hell choke and let out a gasp and give airy chuckles of your name while he fucks your throat and takes as he wants <3

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

bo is very much a family man, and that translates to you spending a lot of time around his brothers. every night the four of you sit together for dinner and every morning, you have coffee and breakfast together.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

hes not the longest, but bo excels in girth. hes about average when soft, a grower rather than a shower, but when he gets hard, he gets fucking thick and veiny and he swells so much that its almost intimidating. hes uncut and his head gets a dark purple when hes hard. hes got huge heavy balls too because,,, he just does.

BDE

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

again, testosterone. bo wants to fuck all the time !

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

it depends 🖤 sometimes you fall asleep and watch as his face looks younger while he snores lightly. you can see where he matches vincent and the features he shares with lester, and you love watching his chest rise and fall. alternatively, bo will wait for you to fall asleep so he can stare at your nipples harden in the cool air of the room, how your brows furl in your dreams, and so on. 🖤

#bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #house of wax #gender neutral reader

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hufflepuffhollander · 4 years

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off limits: tom holland one-shot

a/n | this is my submission for @chloecreatesfictions’ 1k writing challenge! i’ve never done the “brother’s best friend” trope and i def got a little too excited and carried away! real talk, this might be the cutest thing i’ve ever written

summary | as harrison osterfield’s younger sister, you’d always just seen his best friend tom as an annoying older brother. until, one day, you didn’t.

cw | tom x osterfield!reader. contains language, alcohol, recreational use of weeeed, teenage angst, sexual tension, fluff n’ stuff. 5k words.

For as long as you could remember, Tom Holland had been a stitch in your side that you could never get rid of.

Growing up as your older brother’s best friend, he was always at your house when you were children— and his favorite pastime when Harrison was boring him was to break into your room and mess with you, stealing your toys or running his hands across the piano keys when you were trying to practice in peace. No matter how many locks you put on your door just to keep Tom out, he was always able to pick them.

As you all got older, he grew to annoy you in a different way, blasting loud, grungy music through Harrison’s bedroom walls late at night or eating things out of the fridge that clearly had your name on them. Once he’d started to garner some attention as an actor, his ego skyrocketed, and somehow he became an even bigger nuisance. He dragged Harrison away from you and took him all over the world while you had to sit idly by and love your brother from a distance.

When Tom would come over now, he would talk of nothing but hollywood parties and getting drunk with the biggest a-listers when he knew you were listening. He would ignore you when he breezed past you in the hallway, and even had the audacity to go into your bedroom when you were out and smoke a blunt on your bed so your whole room smelled like a music festival when you got home; and worst of all, it was your weed.

It was sufficient to say you were Tom Holland’s least enthusiastic fan. And it was rather unfortunate, because you were a big stan of the MCU—and secretly loved getting high and watching and re-watching the spider-man movies the most. Okay, don’t make that face. They have a good storyline.

It was a regular Friday night, you were aimlessly scrolling through your phone while Harrison and Tom were getting ready to go pub hopping. Harrison always invited you, but you never took him up on his offer because you knew how flirty you got with alcohol in your system and wouldn’t dare feel that way around Tom. He was notorious for taking anything nice you said about him and rubbing it in your face for at least a week after.

“You know you secretly love me, babe.”

You hated when he called you babe, and he knew it. But since you’d both grown up, time had done you both a favor, and there was always an air of something you couldn’t quite place your finger on whenever you interacted...the pet name just made it more interesting.

“Hey, y/n, are you sure you don’t want to come out with us?” Harrison yelled from outside your bedroom door, and you peeked your head out to respond.

“Nah, it’s fine, Haz, go have fun. I have enough uni work to keep me busy.”

“It’s a Friday night, nerd.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and smiled. “Sorry I’m not a budding alcoholic like you, big bro.”

He laughed, blew you a kiss, and he and Tom were off.

Only about an hour later, you decided to take a break from studying and light up a joint, turning on your go-to movie for background noise- but were snapped out of your vibey trance when you heard the front door swing open, and your brother’s loud, drunk voice.

“W-why are we h-home, you div,” he slurred, as his heavy footsteps start to climb the stairs. After a long moment, you heard him collapse on his bed through your thin walls, still stammering out his words. “Thomas, I promise you, I am fineeee...”

“Mate, you’re sloshed. Go to bed.”

You decided to leave them be. This was a typical occurrence- one of the boys went too hard too early, and the other had to babysit until they made it home to pass out cold, usually on the bed, or the couch, or on a good day, the floor.

A few minutes passed while you hotboxed your room, feeling amazingly relaxed, until you saw your doorknob wriggling out of the corner of your eye. Your door was locked, so you ignored it. But the knob kept twisting and falling back in place, making the whole frame shake. After a long while of witnessing a ghost try to make its way into your room, you watched your lock turn slowly and click out of place, the door creaking opened to reveal Tom, swatting at the air when a cloud of smoke greeted him.

You snapped your laptop closed before he could hear his own voice flowing out of your speakers. “Tom, for the last time, stop picking my fucking lock!” You beamed your nearest pillow at him—which he caught before it struck him—and he threw it back, hitting you square in the face. Of course.

He flashed a cocky smile. “Why? It’s so easy.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m serious! I could’ve been naked or something!”

He just stood in the doorframe, giving you a once-over in your thin cotton t-shirt and yoga pants, and kept that smug expression locked on his face.

“Ew, Tom, you’re disgusting. Get out.”

He decidedly did not get out, instead closing the door behind him and hopping up next to you on your bed, the divot in your mattress leaving your bodies pressed much too close together. You were met with a strong whiff of his cologne and the gin he must’ve been drinking earlier. “I’ll take that,” he muttered as he lifted your joint out of your fingers and took a puff, sucking his breath in as his lungs filled.

Your stomach filled with a dull fire and you narrowed your eyes. “Do you mind?”

He turned to face you and blew a big puff of smoke directly into your face, the notorious smirk making its reappearance. “Not at all, thanks for asking though.”

You groaned aloud. “What are you doing in here?” he took another draw and handed you back what was rightfully yours, smoke dissipating from his mouth as he spoke.

“Haz is pissed and I’m bored.”

You relit the bud and inhaled for a long while, figuring you’d need to be pretty intoxicated to not smack him in the face if he tried to talk again. “Well, go be bored somewhere else. I was busy.”

He cocked an eyebrow at you and reached across your lap for your computer. “Doing what?”

Oh shit. “Dude, can you not-?!” you yelped, but he had swiped it too quickly out of your grasp, and opened it up to find himself paused on your screen. You laid back on your bed so he couldn’t see your cheeks now flushed with embarrassment and grabbed your lighter from your nightstand. It was going to be a long evening.

He leaned himself over to catch your eye and had the stupidest, most prideful look plastered across his face. “Gotcha.”

You punched him in the arm as he erupted into laughter—but the anger inside you had been dulled by the weed and replaced with a childlike silliness—and you started to giggle, too. You looked up into his eyes, pupils now wildly dilated and tinted red around the edges.

“Shut up, Tom, you’re high,” you said in between chuckles.

“Yeah? Well so are you!”

You poked fun at each other for a while, suddenly in a mutually fantastic mood. You knew in the back of your mind that none of this would be happening if you hadn’t gotten stoned together, but you enjoyed the warm company anyway.

“Well, you gotta finish it, don’t you?” he said, settling back down and fixating the computer on his lap so you could both see it.

“You really want to watch your own movie?”

“Doll, it’s my favorite thing to do.” he smiled at you.

“God, you’re the worst.” you felt some butterflies make an entrance in your chest that had never been there before.

He pressed play and cozied up on your bed, lying back against the wall with his arm lazily draped behind you. You pulled a blanket up onto your lap and had really no choice but to lean on him for support, neither of you admitting out loud that you were full on cuddling and not angry about it.

“Hey, aren’t you gonna share?” he whined, pulling at the corner of your blanket.

“Get your own,” you responded, internally high-fiving yourself for finally getting the chance to sass him back. Sure, you had your head comfortably resting on his shoulder, but that didn’t mean you were suddenly friends.

You let the movie play, the two of you blowing through the joint until it was a dwindling nub. The scene where Peter has his big kiss with MJ started, and you stifled a snigger as their lips met on the screen.

Tom had clear offense laced through his words. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you shrugged.

He sat up to look at you, eyebrows knit together in an angry pout. “Tell me.”

“I just...feel bad for Zendaya, that’s all.” you covered your mouth to keep from laughing, and his eyes rolled so far back into his head you were sure they’d be stuck that way forever.

“You’re such a brat,” he started, his ego finding its old place back in his voice. “I’m an amazing kisser. She told me herself.”

You looked away from him, taking a heavy exhale. “Yeah, whatever, dude.”

He sat even more upright and paused the movie, taking hold of your shoulder to make you turn to him. “What, you don’t believe me?”

You realized then how physically close you had gotten, as you could feel the syllables of his words in his breath hitting your face. He was doing that thing boys do, when they’re thinking about kissing you but don’t- their stares going back and forth between your lips and your eyes in a not so subtle way. It freaked you out to see him that close and personal, and you whispered back exactly what you knew would irk him the most.

“Nope.”

He moved his face impossibly closer to yours, and you felt his soft lips lightly brush over your own. You weren’t sure if this was real, or just a high hallucination, but you didn’t move away. This was entirely uncharted territory.

“Tooommmm!” you heard Harrison yell out from the other side of the wall. “Where are yooouuu?! I’m so thirsty!” Tom immediately jerked his head away from you and shook himself out of the moment. You brought your hand up to your cheek and shuddered at how hot it had become- your own body was betraying you.

“God, he’s gonna be the death of me,” Tom said, shoving himself off the bed and walking out of your room, glancing back at you for a moment and then closing the door behind him. Just like that, he was gone, and you were left trapped in your own psyche wondering what the hell had just happened.

Over the course of the next week, things has become exponentially weirder between you and Tom. He seemed to be spending much more time at your house than he normally did, even sleeping a few nights there instead of driving the five minutes back to be in his own bed. One unsuspecting morning, you knocked on your bathroom door, annoyed that it had been shut for such a long time.

“Haz, if you use up all the hot water again, I’m gonna kill you,” you said in between knocks. You were taken by surprise when it swung open, steam billowing out into the cool air.

“Whoops,” you heard a voice say, immediately realizing it wasn’t your brother. You took a step backward to see Tom emerge, wearing nothing but a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. His hair was damp and clinging to his forehead, and he looked like some glowing magazine model.

“Uh, sorry,” you stammered, accidentally inhaling the yummy smell of his soap and shampoo emanating off of his skin.

He noticed you eyeing him and a sly grin appeared as he rolled his bottom lip under his teeth. “Shower’s all yours, babe,” he said, bumping your shoulder with his own as he walked away. You were stuck in place and didn’t see him glancing back at you as he wandered down the hallway.

Another day after that, Tom and Harrison were looking for a certain record to play, but it was nowhere to be found. “It might be in y/n’s room,” Harrison said, sitting back in his lounge chair. “Wanna go grab it?”

Tom coughed. “Why do I have to get it?”

“Because I’m comfortable.”

Tom felt a mix of annoyance and nerves in his chest as he walked the short distance down the hallway to your room where the door was already cracked open. He invited himself in—excitement faltering a little when he saw you weren’t in your usual spot on your bed—and started to sift through your bookshelves.

You had been in the bathroom getting dressed after your shower, but realized you left your shirt in your closet- and seeing that Harrison’s bedroom door was still shut, you figured it was safe to run across the landing into your room without anyone seeing you. In just a bra and spandex shorts that left little to the imagination, you swiftly made your way across the hall and walked through your door that was still open a crack to see Tom kneeled down as he shuffled through your record collection.

He heard your small gasp when you entered to find him, and swiveled around to you standing only a few feet away from him in the least amount of clothing he’d ever seen on you. He abruptly stood up but didn’t move, eyes sparkling as they rolled down your body.

“What the fuck! Why are you always in my room?!” You were too shocked to think about finding something to cover yourself with, and put your hands over your face, trying not to die of embarrassment. Tom remained glued to his place on your carpet, clearly at a loss for words.

“Tom, can you leave please-”

“Right, yeah, okay, uh, bye-” he hurried out of your room, swinging the door almost shut but leaving just a crack so he could speak into it.

“...I like your shorts.”

“TOM!”

He chuckled and closed the door, and you slumped against the wall, still holding your head in your hands. What was this sudden hold he had over you? And why did you love the way that he was staring at you?

That night, you had a big paper to complete, and you were perched in your bed typing away as it got dark. In between two songs on your playlist, you heard the familiar jiggle of a doorknob. Looking up over your screen, you watched as the metal turned in its socket, and heard a soft “crushed it” as the lock undid itself. Your door opened steadily and slowly, a familiar face peeking in at you.

“Hi.”

“Oh sweet jesus,” you mumbled.

“You busy?”

“Clearly.”

“Cool.” Tom let himself into your room, shutting the door behind him and sauntering over to your bed, sitting down next to you, bouncing like a little kid and singing his words. “Whatcha doooin’?”

“Homework,” you said, continuing to type and trying your best to ignore the way the sound of his voice was waking up something electric inside of you. He leaned into your body to peer at your computer screen, pretending to be interested in whatever you were writing about. His elbow got in the way of your hands, and you had to stop typing.

“Thomas, is there something I can help you with?”

“Haz is asleep,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder like it hadn’t been a week since your almost-kiss and you hadn’t been actively avoiding bringing it up.

You felt jittery. “And?”

He gently pushed your hands away from the keyboard and closed your laptop shut, giving you a sheepish smile. “Wanna get high?”

Honestly, you did.

You turned on your lamp and turned off the overhead light, put on that record he finally found, lighting a candle and then another hand-rolled blunt. This time, Tom sat upright with you perpendicular to him, your legs swung over his lap. When he made a joke, he’d give your leg a little squeeze- and whether it was purposeful or not, you were filled with schoolgirl nerves every time it happened.

All the angsty barriers built up over years of a sibling-like rivalry had come down between the two of you as you smoked together; you suddenly found all of his bad jokes funny, and he couldn’t peel his eyes away from the cute way you scrunched your nose when you laughed. Every time you exchanged the blunt, you couldn’t help but think about how his lips had just been on it a moment before yours. The night came and went, and you ended up falling asleep wrapped in his arms as he dozed off with his chin pressed to your forehead.

You both woke up at the same time in the dead of night, unsure of how late it had gotten. Still nestled into each other, you exchanged sleepy glances and no words, taking a moment to realize the position you had put yourselves in.

Tom grazed your jawline with the back of his hand and lifted up your chin with his thumb. You let your eyes flutter shut and he kissed you in the dark for one long, everlasting moment. He pulled back from you hesitantly, leaving you breathless. Did that really just happen?

“We...we can’t,” he whispered, his words tinged with sadness.

Your heart broke for him just hearing his voice. “Why not?”

“You’re my best friend’s little sister, y/n.”

“And you’re my brother’s best friend. So what?” you were almost upset with yourself for being so vulnerable; so visibly pining after him.

“So, you’re off limits,” he said, resting his forehead against yours.

“Says who?”

That prompted Tom to meet your gaze again, and this time you took initiative, moving your face to his and taking his bottom lip in between yours. He took a sharp inhale as you kissed him and seemed to let all inhibition go as he put his arms around your back and pressed you into him hard, all of his pent up feelings for you suddenly flowing out of him. He kissed you in a needy, desperate kind of way, and you loved every second of it. You ran your fingers through his hair, traced his jawline, using your hands to feel every bit of him that you couldn’t before. The strangest part of it all was how natural it felt- like you had been practicing for this very moment all your lives.

Your record had stopped spinning a while ago, the room now filled with just the breathy noises of your kisses, your contented hums and his tiny mews when you bit his lips. You were both still barely lucid, and after countless minutes of nothing but innocent kisses, you were on the brink of falling asleep again, serotonin whisking you away into dreams. Tom sighed into you, and clasped his hand around yours.

“I have to go.”

“What? Why?” you felt your heart preeminently sink in your chest; like you should’ve known this was too good to last.

“I don’t want him to wake up and find us here,” he trailed off, staring down at your intertwined fingers fiddling together.

“So that’s it?” you tried to swallow back the sudden upwell of feelings inside you.

“No, no...” his eyes filled with some type of emotional strain you’d never seen. “I- I don’t want this to be it. But I don’t want things to get...messy.”

Unfortunately, you couldn’t blame him, because you understood.

“Can you come back tomorrow night?” you whispered, very not ready to let his spot next to you grow cold.

“I don’t know...”

You looked up at him doe-eyed, cooing. “Please?”

He nodded, looking away from you before he completely caved and stayed there forever. “I’ll come back.”

He pressed one last kiss onto your lips and slowly got up, reluctantly letting go of your hand as he left your room. “Goodnight, babe.”

Hearing him call you babe, finally free of demeaning sarcasm, made your heart soar.

“Goodnight, Tom.”

The door shut and you were left alone, the stillness of your room sticking out in sharp contrast with how quickly your heart was racing.

For the next few nights, Tom spent the evenings at your house with Harrison, waiting until he fell asleep to make his way next door to you. You’d smoke together, watch his movies—and in heated moments got a little handsy—but you never went past kissing, though you both desperately wanted to. It was too risky having your brother right next door; and you knew all too well how paper thin your walls were. But in those secretive hours after solar midnight, just being able to exist next to Tom and letting him hold you, you were the happiest you could ever remember being. The second night he left your room to let you sleep, he placed a light kiss on your forehead after he stood up that made the whole thing feel a little too...real.

The next day, you walked into the kitchen and found Harrison at the fridge. You were in a great mood for obvious reasons but couldn’t let it show. “Hey, got any fun plans today?”

He turned around after shoving a handful of grapes in his mouth. “Nope, got some admin stuff to do and gonna turn in early.”

“Oh, Tom isn’t coming over?”

“No, I told him to take a night off. He’s been smothering me, y’know?” he laughed and ate a few more grapes, but then turned to you, confused. “Since when do you care if he’s coming over?”

You swallowed, unsure of what to say. “Just want to know if I need to stay out of the way,” you faked a laugh and blinked hard, hoping he wasn’t paying too much attention to your facial expressions.

“Uh, alright then. You two are always so fuckin’ weird around each other.” He seemed to feel that was a good way to end your exchange and walked out of the kitchen, throwing a grape at you.

You rolled your eyes at your brother, but then felt the sadness bubble up upon registering that you weren’t going to see Tom tonight. But really, how long did you think you could keep this up? The feelings you were developing for him scared you, you didn’t know what to make of them; all you knew was that your days suddenly seemed much grayer without him.

Nighttime came around, and you couldn’t sleep, so you did the unthinkable and sent Tom a text. Your thumb shook as you hit send, knowing that there was now tangible evidence of the connection you’d developed, that it wasn’t just some invention of your mind.

hey, are you awake?

T: yeah, can’t sleep. you?

obviously, i just texted you.

T: shut it.

A minute passed...

T: got room for one more over there?

You smiled like an idiot at your phone.

maybe.

Less than 10 minutes later, you heard the familiar wriggle of your doorknob. You don’t know why you even bothered locking it anymore.

“Hey you,” he whispered, carefully shutting the door behind him.

“Tom, you know you could’ve just knocked and I would’ve let you in- you don’t have to keep picking the lock.”

“Old habits die hard.”

You chuckled and stood up to greet him at your door as he unexpectedly wrapped you in an amazingly tight hug. He rested his chin on top of your head and started to sway your bodies back and forth. You laid your head on his chest and said hello to his heartbeat.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but it was almost hard to fall asleep without you,” he murmured, placing another one of those domestic kisses on your scalp.

“Well, now you don’t have to.” you smiled. He waddled you backwards to your bed and you sat down as your legs hit the bedframe, prompting Tom to fall onto you as you giggled into his body that was now covering your face.

“Okay, goodniiight,” he said, refusing to move. You poked at his sides making him jump, and he grabbed your waist and rolled you on top of him. You instinctively leaned down so your lips could clash together in the way you were so used to, trying hard to not confess that you’d completely fallen in love with him when you finally had the breath to speak. He pushed your hair to cascade to one side of his face, and nuzzled your nose with his own, closing his eyes and humming with a smile. “Mmm.”

“Hmm?”

“Just happy.”

You rested your sleepy head on his warm chest, and fell into a deep sleep, letting the steady drumming in his chest be a metronome to breathe to.

“Oh, shit. Shit shit shit.”

You woke up abruptly, the bright light of day blinding you as you tried to open your eyes to the string of expletives you’d just heard come from a familiar voice. Once you’d opened them, though, you wish you had kept them shut so you hadn’t seen who had spoken.

“Harrison?!”

He was standing in your room, peering at you with hands half covering his eyes when you realized that there was a sleeping Tom underneath you.

Your brother paced in a circle and exhaled loudly. “Tell me I’m not seeing what I’m seeing.”

You nudged Tom awake with your elbow and immediately rolled off of him, trying to hide the very obvious fact that you had slept together all night. You never let him stay the full night for this exact reason, but he had been so ridiculously happy holding you in his arms that he forgot to set an alarm to wake him at the crack of dawn and leave. You sat up straight in your bed, twisting your hair in your hands, bracing yourself for the inevitable tirade.

Tom picked his head up to see Harrison standing there with his arms crossed, and flopped his head back on the pillow. “Fuck. Hey, mate.” He tried to play it off like this was the most normal thing that could happen on a Thursday morning.

“Is this why you’re always such bumbling fools around one another? You’ve been, what, fucking each other when I’m not around?” Harrison looked like he wanted to throw up at the thought.

“Haz, no, it’s not like that,” you said, but he didn’t seem convinced. “It’s just been smoking together and cuddling, really, that’s it,” you were torn between wanting to console your brother and admitting to both him and Tom that this was more to you than that. But Tom already knew that, because it was for him, too.

Tom looked like a deer in headlights. “I’m so sorry, dude-”

Harrison walked out of the room, and the two of you were left sitting in your bed, worry filling your eyes. Only a moment later, your brother reappeared in the doorway.

“Look, you idiots, I don’t care that you’re snuggling off the clock—you’re my two favorite people in the world, and to see you together, honestly, it’s about damn time,” he started, making both your and Tom’s jaws fall slightly agape. You exchanged a knowing look. Wait, is he not mad? Wait, about damn time??

“But I wish you would’ve told me so we could all hang out together. I don’t appreciate the sneaking around.”

You cocked your head at him, sending him a loving gaze for always just wanting what’s best for you.

“I’m just mad you aren’t including me in your hotbox sessions, really.” He laughed and ran his hands through his hair, pulling his face back to make a wild expression.

All three of you started to chuckle out of sheer awkwardness and relief.

“Come here.” Harrison held his hands out and you both gave a mutual aww as you ran into your brother’s arms, squeezing him tight.

“I love you, big bro.”

“I know. Now I’m gonna get out of here before you start kissing in front of me, or worse,” he moaned, swiftly exiting your room. “This is gonna be the grossest thing I’ve ever seen...” you heard him say to himself as he left.

You turned to Tom, still shocked at how well that had gone considering what he was assuming would happen. You swallowed the butterflies that you’d welcomed as friends and stepped back to him still sitting on the bed, putting your arms around his neck.

“And you,” you started, swinging your legs over his lap to straddle him. “I have to confess something.”

Tom placed his hands back on your hips where they rightfully belonged and smiled at you. “I’m listening.”

“I don’t mind you calling me babe anymore.” you grinned at his face drop, obviously assuming that you were going to say something else.

“Oh, and why’s that?” he prodded.

You looked up and off to the side as you squeezed his shoulders. “Maybe because I’m just a tad bit in love with you,” you trailed off, stiff as a board at what he could possibly say next.

“Well, babe,” he put emphasis on the pet name, “That’s a relief, because I was worried I might be the only one falling here.”

You grabbed his face and kissed him, kneading his soft cheeks under your thumbs, whispering exactly what you knew would get him the most.

“Nope.”

#chloe1kwritingchallenge #tom holland #tom holland one shot #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland blurb #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #best friend's brother #enemies to lovers #osterfield!reader

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discotreque · 3 years

Text

LwD 2.05: An Embarrassment of Dooplers

So I was a little nervous about this one! I hadn’t heard any spoiler-spoilers, but screeners have been out for weeks now, and I’d heard a bunch of individual, vague, non-spoilery hints about (1) big character moments, on the scale of a mid-season finale even though the show’s not taking a mid-season break; and (2) an ending that would make me cry.

I guess I imagined something relatively serious and dramatic, like “No Small Parts”? This show makes me cackle with laughter and giggle with nerdy glee and “d’awww!” at heartwarming friendships every week, but it’s only ever made me cry once—and then I was impressed that they were going to get there from the wacky hijinks we saw in the brief teaser.

The lack of a cold open made me apprehensive too—in my experience, that’s typically a sign that there’s so much plot in the rest of the episode that they need that extra scene—but after ~21.5 minutes of aforementioned hijinks, I was having so much fun that I’d completely forgotten about the alleged tear-jerker at the end…

…and they were not the tears I was expecting.

I didn’t think I’d be smiling and crying!!!! That was wholesome as SHIT!!!!!

I almost can’t believe they earned that—but they totally did.

After a Mariner–Tendi episode and a Boimler–Rutherford episode, we’re back to the “usual” Season 1 pairings… except the relationships between these characters have changed since Season 1. Mariner still feels thwacked in the abandonment issues by Boimler bailing for the Titan, and Rutherford’s having a tiny little existential crisis about losing an entire year of his life.

Both of which are extremely understandable and very heavy situations—and both of those situations get resolved because everyone in them is vulnerable with each other and honest about their feelings—AND that honesty and vulnerability brings both pairs of friends closer together. Are you kidding me?? I would watch SEVENTY seasons of that shit. Put it in my veins.

Onto the notes:

So basically Dooplers are Tribbles, but for cringe comedy instead of slapstick? Ohhhhh boy.

Look at Ransom the diplomat, tossing his own fork on the floor! I like that he’s actually a pretty competent Starfleet officer, despite also being a completely ridiculous person.

Wait a second, is that—OH HOLY SHIT, THE DOOPLERS ARE VOICED BY RICHARD KIND.

It makes sense that B. Boimler would find William annoying—who likes seeing their own flaws reflected back at them? And who could be a better reflection of one’s flaws than one’s literal duplicate?—but most interesting to me is that it implies on some level, Bradward knows the stick up his butt is a flaw. (Does William?)

Why does the Cerritos model have working phasers?!?!

I’m loving hot pink as the currently en-vogue colour for “dangerous sci-fi energy” in animation (cf. almost every previous episode of this show; Into the Spider-Verse; other stuff I can’t remember right now). As a former child of the 80’s, I’m living for it… but as a former teenager of the 90’s, I can’t help but wonder if it’s going to age as poorly as the harsh neon green of The Matrix, every Borg appearance on Voyager, and like 80% of the websites I made in high school…

SKANTS! SKANTS! SKANTS!

That fake-out joke with the fly-by over the Cerritos model was in the season trailer weeks ago, and I was so enthralled by that handsome lady that the sticker coming into frame still got me good 😂😂😂

BECKY Mariner????? omg yes

Some top-quality Boimler screams in this one. Poor Jack Quaid must drink gallons of throat-coat tea when he records.

One of the great things about Star Trek to me is that you never know what you’re going to get from any random episode. A murder mystery? A road trip? A spooky thriller? A cheesy romance? Broad comedy? Body horror? Didactic political screeds shrouded in tissue-thin science-fiction metaphors? Brain and brain, what is brain??? And after this many years of watching, you’d think I’d be hard to surprise. But if I ever told you I thought I’d see a Blues Brothers–style car chase through a frickin’ shopping mall on an episode of Star Trek, I would have been straight-up lying to you. I loved it, it worked for me, my jaw was on the floor and I was clapping with joy—but I’m definitely comfortable calling this one “unexpected.”

It’s CAPTAIN SHELBY!!! And an ancient babydyke crush rose from the depths of my childhood subconscious… (Also I think her Number One is based on the original makeup—eventually deemed too complicated—for Saru? Now that’s a deep cut.)

In 20th-century Trek, you almost never got to see what was going on inside a starship from the outside. Even after they switched from physical models (where it was next to impossible on a single episode’s budget) to CGI (which was still in its infancy, still not exactly cheap, and still broadcast in SD anyway), it was a rare thrill to see any meaningful interior details in an exterior shot. Disco’s modern VFX have given us some tasty, tasty treats in that department, but nothing quite as sublime as all the pink Doopler light glittering through the Cerritos’s windows.

Mariner says she’ll take her contact Malvus down with her, and threatens that they’ll end up “in the same cell.” Malvus is a Mizarian, a species introduced in TNG’s “Allegiance,” in which Captain Picard is held in a mysterious prison with one. I think I see what you did there, McMahan?

Bartender… so hot… lesbian circuits… overloading…

The Tendi and Rutherford C-story was, well, a C-story within a 22-minute episode, so there wasn’t much to it, but the one scene that mattered actually mattered a lot. I’m ambivalent on whether they should end up romantically involved—I’d prefer they don’t, but they’ll be one of the cutest couples in Trek history if they do—and as long as they keep that pure, sweet friendship between them at the heart of whatever else happens, I’m on board.

Carol Freeman was already one of my favourite captains before this season, and she’s been steadily moving up the list. The quiet throughline about her ambition to be on a better ship has been fascinating so far, and it’s starting to actually make me feel a little conflicted: I’m of course rooting for Captain Freeman to recognize her worth, make Starfleet recognize her worth, and become the ass-kicking captain of a hero ship that she’s clearly ready to be—but that almost surely means she’d be kicking ass off-screen, because LwD isn’t about those kind of adventures, and I’d be devastated not to have Dawnn Lewis on the show every week. So I’m kind of on the edge of my seat about this one!

I had so many favourite jokes this week I put them in a separate list:

“Even the replicated water on the Titan tasted better” is a low-key brilliant dunk on people who can’t shut the fuck up about the cooler places they used to live.

“Ooooh, they have a Quark’s now! That used to just be an empty lot where teens would make mistakes!” ← That’s literally me every time I go back to where I grew up. I felt so Seen™ I almost hid under a blanket.

“I would never go down the stairs!” (evil grin) (goes up the stairs)

The “well, shit” expressions from Mariner and Boimler as their crashed car sank right into the water… which started to bubble innocuously… and then the bottles of Data bubble-bath popped up, paying off a joke I thought had already been paid off—that was the one that woke up my poor cat this week. Just exquisite timing.

“YOUR PAGH IS WEAK, AND IT DISGUSTS ME!” “I don’t even know what that is, but I don’t like your tone!”

“Okona’s in there? He’s not even Starfleet! This is outrageous!” made me shout “NO!” at the screen like I was scolding my cat for scratching furniture. (She did not wake up that time.)

Best background joke: the neon sign at the dive bar advertising FREE SHOTS & BEERS. (Get it? Because they’re on a Federation starbase? Where nobody uses money?)

And of course Quark merchandised DS9.

This wasn’t just a standout episode of Lower Decks, this was a brilliant episode of Star Trek, period. The Dooplers, though extremely silly, are nevertheless also a clever sci-fi metaphor for real and relatable personal/interpersonal issues, and an effective plot catalyst for meaningful character growth from all four of our ensigns and the captain.

The jokes were hilarious, the action was kinetic, the A-, B-, and C-plots linked up thematically, the visuals were consistently and thoroughly gorgeous, the character beats—between Mariner and Boimler, Tendi and Rutherford, Mariner and Capt. Freeman—were all genuine, heartfelt and wholesome, and the references to other Trek canon were both deep and deeply affectionate.

Only 15 episodes in, and this series knows exactly what it is, exactly what it wants to do, and knows that it can knock our socks off doing it. Mike McMahan has said in recent interviews that the back half of S2 (and the apparently almost-fully-written S3) is a straight line uphill in quality from here—which surprised me at first, because McMahan seems like a pretty chill dude who doesn’t normally brag about his own work like that.

But then the Prophets sent me a vision of my space dad Ben Sisko, who reminded me of the words of 1930’s baseball player Dizzy Dean:

“If you can do it, it ain’t bragging.”

[Thanks to cygnus-x1.net for the screenshots this week—I was too lazy to do my own.]

#star trek #star trek lower decks #lower decks #lower decks spoilers #lwd spoilers #amy's episode notes

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dorki-c · 3 years

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My Guardian Demon |Chapter 1, Part 2: Two Dreams

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya X (Reader)

Rating: 16+

A/N: Hey! Hey! Hey! Everybody! I just wanted to let you all know that in the beginning of this series like prologue story arc wise, I will only be highlighting the main points of said story arc.

TW: Suffocation and depiction of injury!

[Masterlist] [<--- Previous| Next --->]

(Song reccomendation for this chapter: Feeling Good by Michael Bublé)

PROMPT QUESTION FOR THIS STORY ARC: Are all demons ‘bad’?

When leaving the school gates with a silent warning that he gave to (y/n), there were a few minor details bothering him when traversing through the empty streets leading home.

At least he was able to walk alone to clear the commotion of todays events.

Sure, Izuku was used to Bakugou’s harassment towards him. For the most part, his mind always filtered out the nasty phrases that were thrown at him for the longest time.

However, what Bakugou had said was completely out of line.

Telling Izuku to commit suicide? Wow, what a great friend he was (if you could even call him that…).

Though the green-haired boy could easily say that about (y/n) as well. Even though its him and his stupid demon against society.

Was he sure that something may happen today? No, absolutely not. Even when turning a corner of the semi-suburban area that was closest to Aldera Junior High school, Izuku isn’t clairvoyant to anything that involves him.

Nope, not at all.

Even when making his way under the dark tunnel (to which he ignores his demon trying to hold him back from going in there, saying something along the lines of “W-w-wait! I don’t want to go down this way…”), Izuku still holds his head up high and ventures down the tunnel.

Like I said before, the green-haired boy isn’t clairvoyant that involves around him.

Plus, that shouldn’t exempt him from being cautious about what might lurk in the shadows.

Until this point, (y/n) only spoke in short sentences, though the only thing that caught Izuku off guard was the shaky utterance of “Izuku…L-Look behind you!”

He regrets looking behind him; A thing manifesting as a large murky green glob, paired with two large eyes and razor layered teeth (that scarcely resembled shark teeth), loomed over the 14 year old’s body.

I-I-It’s a villain!

As soon as Izuku blinked, one moment he was free and scrambling to his feet (fearful of the sludge villain) and the next, his body was trapped in something slimy… The green sludge body dripped with viscous thick globs as it wrapped like a vice around the boy. With a waterfall of pleading cut short and shown through desperate green eyes as Izuku squirmed annoyingly to the villain, there was no chance of escaping because he would be dead “in a minute” tops.

In a vain attempt to free Izuku from the grasps of the villain, the demon’s futile attempts to scratch away at the slime, only resulted in their misty hands to pass through the slime like their hand was non-existent.

Fuck—If a damn hero isn’t going to save Izuku, then it has to be his demon’s duty to do so.

Though it’s quite challenging for (y/n) to grip Izuku’s shoulders and pull him forward, it doesn’t have enough energy to stall for time.

Was fate cursing (y/n) again? The sun was up high in the sky, yet it always deceived the unguarded and weakest of them all. Didn’t it? If it wasn’t for the saving grace of a frisbee object hitting the villain in the eye, the sludge villain recoiled backwards and (thankfully) released its hostage, where the boy’s limp body met face first into the pavement.

Staying close to Izuku’s unconscious body, (y/n) watched as the pro-hero blatantly invaded their owner’s space and didn’t hear their screeching of something along the words of “DISGUSTING!!!” and “AAAAAAAH BEGONE! BEGONE! BEGONE!!” And the boy wasn’t woken up because of the cheek slaps, it was because of (y/n)’s obnoxious protests of the pro-hero’s cheek slaps.

Let’s not forget the loudest sigh released by the demon when one, Izuku (finally) woke himself up, and two, when that (god forsaken flimsy, annoying, outrageous) hero, was actually the number 1 hero, has retracted his hand from the demon’s owner.

(And (y/n) definitely called the number one hero “a filthy maggot that is followed by an equally filthy contra-” before they were tuned out of Izuku’s ears.)

“Ah! Thought we lost you there!” Announced the hero (to nobody in particular).

This, unfortunately, caused Izuku to pale- where it practically looked like his whole face lost all of its colour, including his eyes- and for (y/n) to think (if they even have thoughts in the first place…) that if there was a camera pointed straight at their face, it would show the most horrifying deadpanned expression on the demon’s non-existent face which would break the camera lens.

Screaming and scampering backwards, Izuku only managed to utter the words “C-C-CAN I HAVE AN AUTOGRAPH!!” before seeing his notebook (which was coincidently fish food a couple of minutes ago) signed by the hero and bowing to said hero out of gratefulness, although knowing their owner; (y/n) figured that Izuku would obviously cherish this autograph as a ‘family heirloom’.

(Izuku may or may not have blurted that out in the moment. Oh well. You can’t take everything you say back.)

“I have a question…” Murmured the green haired boy as the hero turned tail to “deliver this villain to the police station!” Sadly, the hero didn’t hear him and was about to leave the boy, where his demon was shaking their head in disappointment- “Why bother asking him?” Whispered (y/n), leaving the faint trace of their empty temperature to scarcely brush his cheek, “The man in front of you is a mere façade of bravery.” - it’s not like Izuku cares about his demon’s opinion.

Even when it’s in situations like this.

(And by situations, I mean when Izuku and his demon are clutching for dear life on the infamous hero’s legs when flying more than fifty feet above the ground.)

Looking below his feet, Izuku is always reminded that great power also has a greater price to it.

And well, All Might would probably agree (if it weren’t for being airborne).

Additionally, why did it look like you were enjoying him scream in fear for his life, when you know that if he dies, you die too.

(Was his demon secretly a sadist?!)

The landing was rocky and rough, but at least his feet managed to stand on their own after a few moments of wobbling and the small rub of your hand against his to beckon him to stand “tall and proud for being uniquely him”.

Glancing towards the hero, (y/n) scoffed in disgust at the retreating soldier whereas Izuku only begged him to “Wait,” continuing along with an unspoken prayer casted off to the sky and “one second!” to remain.

“No!”

It’s typical of a hero to say that word, but situations like this aren’t.

“I don’t have any time.” --- “I have to know!” --- “Why do you bother with him, Izuku?”

The years of quirklessness weren’t new to him. Though he wanted more.

“Even if everyone thinks I’m useless…” Izuku wanted more fulfilment for himself.

“Despite what anybody thinks.” (Y/n) wanted freedom for themself.

“I need to know.” The two of them had dreams.

“Is It possible to become a hero, without a quirk?” Even with a fearless grin, the man before the aftermath was the symbol of peace.

Well to put it simply, the embodiment of peace was secretly a human coat hanger. Now, how would the murky red demon and green haired boy react to said human coat hanger?

Uh…Yeah, they’re both screaming; Izuku was doing it out of horror, (y/n) was doing it out of disgust.

(This is a typical occurrence.)

“WHERE’S ALLMIGHT?!” The worn-down skeleton of a man looked like a couple of popsicle sticks were stuck together with Elmer’s glue as the artist called it a day. Looking left to right, then again, and finally- just for good luck- glanced left and right, as society always said, “Third time is the charm”.

“You! You’re not him!” Izuku profoundly screeched, where in fact both his demon and scrawny adult rolled their eyes. “Izuku, you don’t even have his birth certificate to prove that he—” Though poor (y/n) got cut off by Allmight proclaiming “You know how guys at pools like to suck in their muscles and flex at the same time?” The flaxen haired male then said “I’m kind of like that…” which did nothing to soothe the teenager’s shock.

“What! No! Allmight isn’t some scrawny—old—depressed looking human being!” Oh boy, your owner was as stubborn as an old mule.

“Izuku, stop what your—” Again, (y/n) was cut off by another person, “All Might’s is a hero with a fearless grin who beats every obstacle!”

“Kid, there’s plenty of fear behind a smile. Don’t be fooled.” The rustling of a white shirt caught the attention of the demon and human alike. And what it revealed…well…it was pretty nauseating.

“Pretty gross, isn’t it?”

The merged sickening stitching of skin pulled together in a makeshift attempt to preserve as the hero’s body, at the epicentre of the wound was a thick encircled glob of pink that seemed to allow an abundance of conjoined violet speckles to extend outwards in an attempt to infect the rest of his body.

“I got this in a fight around five years ago.” Relaxing his body, and moving the shirt downwards, the hero continued, “My respiratory system was destroyed, I lost my stomach, and the rest is history.” Even if his shitty joke didn’t lift the depressing tone of reality, all Izuku could do is stand there in shock—maybe a tad bit of horror— however he would’ve never thought that the one and only top hero of Japan had an injury!

(Izuku’s naïve thinking always rubbed his demon the wrong way sometimes.)

“W-wait! Does that mean Toxic Chainsaw gave you this injury!” Chuckling and turning his glance to the side, All Might shook his head. “I’m impressed, you know your stuff- however, that punk couldn’t land a couple hits on me, even if they wanted to.” “Most of the world wouldn’t have known about this fight, regardless of how much you dug through any news articles.”

(And most of the world would’ve never known about the deadly purple miasma growing on their precious hero’s body.) .

“This job isn’t easy, and to be nice—” At least Izuku would listen to All Might, whereas he ignored you at least 50% of the time, “—I think you would be better off picking a better profession, like a Police officer!”

------------------------------------------

“I mean he is right…” (Y/n) said to Izuku, as they continued their trek back home, with the boy loathful to agree at the red mist’s statement.

“Heroism isn’t easy.” Maybe he should give up his dream?

“You saw how disgusting his wound was.” He could be horribly injuried like All Might if he tries. “It’s practically oozing with miasma.” But Izuku can’t bring himself to give up his dream.

And if Izuku ever asked you to give up your dream of freedom, you would answer back with defiance.

“I know it isn’t easy (y/n).”

“I know I could die or get a wound like that.”

“But I’m not giving up on my dream, if you aren’t going to give up on yours.”

Alas, the gloriously golden sun highlighted the features of the old dusk that was soon turning into their new dawn.

(And might I say, if society got in their way, they will pay their dues the hard way.)

Taglist:

@glitterfreezed, @izukubabe, @sweater-weather-seven, @nyanyabisjjj, @quietlegends, @dragonsdreamoffire, @candybabey, @honeylavender13

CREDITS:

All content and art used within this story belongs to their respective owners. PLAGARISM WILL NOT BE TOLERATED!

Art credits: Dorki-C and @glitterfreezed

[MASTERLIST OF “My Guardian Demon”] [MAIN MASTERLIST]

#Izuku midoriya bnha #Izuku midoriya mha #Izuku midoriya #Izuku midoriya x y/n #Mha Au #Bnha au #Toshinori Yagi #Toshinori Yagi mha #All Might bnha #All Might mha #mha x reader #Mha x y/n #bnha x y/n #bnha x reader #Izuku Midoriya X Reader

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solarwindswriting · 3 years

Text

Bubblegum Bitch

Pairing: Platonic!Bakugo x PlusSized!Reader

Word Count: 870

Summary: Inspired by Bubblegum Bitch by Marina. Reader is a Class 1-B transfer student from America and gets paired up with Bakugo in a joint class training day.

Warnings: Cursing

Y/n sits next to Tetsutetsu where class 1-B typically sits for lunch.

“Hey, Y/n. How was the visit with your parents? You showed them around the campus right?” Tetsutetsu asks while eating.

“Yeah, they got weirdly excited with how my name is written in Kanji outside of my dorm. They saw your name and were confused why the same word was written twice. That was an odd one to explain to my dad” Y/n laughs, sipping her juice.

A few class 1-A students walk past the table, talking to themselves when one turns to Tetsutetsu.

“Hey Tetsu! I hope our teachers put us together for the training today. We can finally find out who is more manly.” The red haired boy smiles wide, his fist connecting with his other hand.

“Ha! I hope so too!” Tetsutetsu raises his fist, which is immediately met with the other boy’s fist.

The students pass the table and conversations resume as normal.

“We’re training with class 1-A today? I haven’t scoped any of them out yet. I don’t even know most of their names!” Y/n looks at the rest of the table with wide eyes.

“Oh, you’ll catch on quickly. Besides, Mr.Aizawa will probably match you with Bakugo with the hope of tricking that monster to calm down for once in his life.” Monoma cuts in, leaning the two front legs of his chair back.

***

“Okay, everyone. Today, we will be splitting up into groups of two, one from each class-” Mr.Aizawa starts as students start looking around to who they want to team up with. “Which we have already picked for you.”

Mr.Kan laughs as the students are visibly displeased with this idea. “I will now start reading out teams; Tenya Iida and Ibara Shiozaki, Eijiro Kirishima and Itsuka Kendo-”

Y/n losses focus on what her teacher is saying and looks at the different students of class 1-A. Kendo had given her a basic rundown of them, but pairing faces with the vague descriptions she gave was harder than Y/n thought it would be.

“-Katsuki Bakugo and Y/n Y/l/n-”

Y/n looks up when her name is called and looks over at class 1-A to make eye contact with who she assumes is her partner. She sends a small smile his way but is only met with a glare. Soon, the rest of the names are called and everyone is standing next to their partners.

“We are going to do Heros vs. Villains. Now, remember who your partner is. Today, you will train in your hero uniforms. So, hurry up and get changed.” Aizawa looks over the crowd of teenagers. He still finds it hard to believe they're in their third years already.

Y/n follows the girls to the dressing rooms and changes into her hero costume. A tight white v-neck that she spills out of just a bit too much, dark pink parachute pants and pauldrons were the most obvious pieces to her costume. She quickly finds her way back to the training arena and next to Bakugo with a loud huff. He’s looking at her with a disgusted look on his face.

“Why is it so loud?” He glares at her.

“My outfit? You’re one to talk,” Y/n turns to face Mr.Aizawa who had started to talk.

“We are now going to pull names out for a hero team, then a villain team. You could be either. First Hero’s up are… Eijiro Kirishima and Itsuka Kendo.” Mr. Aizawa speaks in his monotone voice.

“And our first villains are… Katsuki Bakugo and Y/n Y/l/n!” Mr.Kan says with much more enthusiasm.

“Hell yeah! You’re going down Kirishima!” Bakugo loudly proclaims, walking backwards towards the arena and pointing at his classmate.

***

Y/n and Bakugo are led by Mr. Kan to the item they would be protecting and are given 15 minutes to hide it.

“I’m going to hide it. Stay out of my way.” Bakugo starts, picking up the small statue before turning and making eye contact with Y/n.

Bakugo’s vision becomes blurred and when it refocus’ everything is tinted light pink. Y/n voice seems to echo around his ears as she takes his chin in her hand. He tried to pull back but he couldn’t make himself move. A smirk pulled across her face as she watched his internal struggle.

“This is a team game, Pop Rocks. So, why don’t you act like it? We are villains, after all, we have a common goal.” Y/n whispers into Bakugo’s ear before pulling away and taking the statue out of his hands.

Bakugo hadn’t actually asked Y/n what her powers were, so she assumed he knew. She was very wrong. When she dropped her powers, Bakugo came up behind her, pushing her from behind.

“What the fuck was that, Bubblegum Bitch?” Bakugo was fuming. He hadn’t been mind-controlled like that before.

“My powers. Now let’s go, we just wasted a bunch of time,” Y/n says, breaking into a sprint deeper into the faux town that was set up. “You did just gave me an idea though. How gullible is Kirishima?”

A/N: I ended this seemingly suddenly, let me know if y’all like this and want me to continue it! If you do, Should this turn into a romantic Bakugo x Reader? Or maybe she should be paired with someone else?

#bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha #my hero academia #bakugo imagine #katsuki bakugo imagine #solarwindswriting

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lassieposting · 3 years

Note

💘💘💘💘 + ghasdug

send me 💘 + A SHIP and i’ll tell you—

where they first met and how

So Skug says they stowed away on the same ship, but this is...not exactly true.

He stowed away on that ship, because he was running away from home and he was a snobby little lordling who'd never had to fend for himself a day in his life, so the furthest ahead he'd actually thought to plan was "they won't want to turn around and drop me off once they're underway".

Ghastly was not stowed away at any point during that trip. Ghastly was signed on for the journey as a deckhand, because Ghastly's mother told him he needed to, and it had to be that particular ship. Ghastly gets seasick, and did not want to go to sea in the slightest. But Ghastly's mother has visions and so Ghastly does as he is told. Apparently there was something important waiting for him on that ship.

Anyway Skug pops out once he thinks they're far enough away from shore that they'll leave him be rather than take him back to port, and he is incredibly mistaken. The captain is in favour of turning him around right there and then, because he's clearly some rich lord's brat, and whoever his father is will probably pay handsomely for his safe return. Ghastly manages to talk the ship's crew into letting him stay on, provided he pulls his weight like the rest of them.

Needless to say, even before they're attacked by pirates, that voyage is a rude awakening for poor Skug, and good lord does Ghastly hear all about it. He has blisters. His feet hurt. This shirt was expensive and now it's all sweaty. His hair is in his eyes all the time. He's tired. The guy in the next bunk snores. Some of these people look like they have lice. He didn't realise he'd be doing manual labour, this is servant stuff, how dare they.

Ghastly does. Not realise at that point what he has let himself in for.

how long their ‘flirting’ phase was before feelings got involved

Poor Ghastly gets to pine for years. Baby Skug isn't a great boyfriend. He's less invested - he loves Ghastly, but they have two totally different outlooks.

Ghastly is ugly. He's always been ugly. He's got a face he believes only his mother could love. He's never believed he'd find someone who saw past that or loved him regardless. So as soon as he gets Skug into bed, he's over the moon and ready to commit. He's like 17, and would absolutely settle down there and then given half a chance.

Skug, on the other hand, was a weird-looking child who only recently grew into an attractive adolescent and he is loving it. For the first time in his life, girls are noticing him. He doesn't want to settle down, he wants to play the field and sow some wild oats and have fun. So there are periods of exclusivity with Ghastly, interspersed with periods where Skug basically drops him to chase after the latest pretty bit of skirt.

who fell for who first ( if applicable )

Ghastly's smitten by the time they make it back to Ireland - Skug is a bit soft and allergic to hard work and a pain in the arse, but he's flashy and charismatic and funny and pays attention to him without gawking at his face (past the initial "good god, what happened to you?") - but Skug is well and truly settled into living with Ghastly's family by the time he actually gives Ghas the come-on.

where their first date was and what it was like

They went to the local tavern and got drunk, and then rode home in the pouring rain once it kicked them out at closing time.

When they got home, Ghastly's parents had long since gone to bed, but that wasn't necessarily unusual - once Skug, who has a considerable allowance, is old enough to start drinking, Saoirse institutes a rule that if they're not home by the time she and her husband turn in for the night, she'll leave blankets in the barn and they can sleep there instead. She's not having them barging in, wasted, at all hours of the day and night, waking her up after a hard day's work.

So they put the horses away and give them a quick rub down, and Ghastly is trying to look anywhere but Skug because Skug's shirt has gone kind of see-through and poor Ghastly is an awkward, horny teenage boy, but he keeps shooting him these furtive glances over the horse's back and Skug notices because Skug notices everything and lowkey teases him about it. "Want me to sit for a portrait? It'll last longer," sort of teasing, and Ghastly tries to laugh along but he's also vibrant red because he's been caught staring, so obviously Skug realises something's up

And he's precisely as tactful about it as he ever is about anything, and jokes, "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you wanted me," and Ghastly's ears burn and he doesn't deny it quick enough and now Skug's eyebrows are inching towards his hairline and Ghastly panics because like, he's ugly, Skug is going to be disgusted or laugh at him and he can't cope with either, so he just? Freezes?

But like. Skug was a weird-looking, unfortunate child who very recently grew into an attractive adolescent, so he fucking thrives on attention. So his response to this awkward not-quite-a-confession is actually a moment of silence while he mulls this new information over (this feels like an eternity to poor Ghastly) followed by an early attempt at using The Hot Voice and, "If you want me, have me."

So, they end up having sex in the hayloft on the blankets Ghastly's mom left out for them. Ghastly has never even been kissed and doesn't admit that he has no idea what he's doing until he realises Skug is expecting him to take the lead. He also blurts that he loves Skug when he nuts, so like. It's your typical painfully embarrassing virginity loss.

It can't be all bad though, because Skug's up for doing it again.

who asks who out and how ( with a sign? spelled out on a cake? just a simple ‘will you go out with me’? )

So in my endgame-ghasdug AU, they get back together post-TDOTL. Ghastly survives being stabbed, but the blade nicked his spinal cord, so he's in a wheelchair for quite a while, and then has to do A Lot of physical therapy to relearn how to walk. Skug shows up at the hospital/facility where he's recovering every day unless there's an emergency, because Ghastly is very depressed and struggling with survivor's guilt over Anton and doesn't see the point in doing his physio because it hurts and he's exhausted and he shouldn't be alive anyway. And Skug annoys him into doing it, mostly by heckling him from the other side of the room, because he's not great at the whole emotional support thing. Ghastly will mutter, "Christ, I want to hit you," and Skug will tell him, "Well, if you come over here to do it I won't even duck." And if Ghastly gets his ass up and uses the walking frame support thing to cross the room, well, then Skug will take a punch like a man and be happy about it because Ghastly walked.

They also talk a lot during this period. Ghastly feels like shit, and he reminisces a lot about the good old days and how he never saw Ravel's betrayal coming and memories he has of Anton, and sometimes that veers into memories they share from when they were young men. And Skug, at this point, is old enough and has been through enough to admit that he wasn't great to Ghastly when they were boys. He was flighty and selfish and high-maintenance, and he would've hated to be treated the way he treated Ghastly. And he tells him that, at one point - that he's sorry, and if he could go back and do it differently, he would, assuming Ghastly was daft enough to be willing to put up with him a second time.

And Ghastly laughs and tells him, "I'd still have you now, you stupid bastard."

who proposes first

Ghastly. They're 19/20. Skug thinks he's joking.

if they keep / kept their relationship secret or let everyone know right away

Neither - they don't announce it, but it's not exactly a secret either. Ghastly's parents notice pretty much straight away, but other than a few parental pointers on what is and isn't appropriate, it's not really a topic of conversation.

where the proposal happens and how ( kiss cam at a baseball game? on a hillside surrounded by ducks? at a disney park? )

Skug's sister Confelicity accepts the first proposal she gets at the age of 16, because she's desperate to get out of their parents' house and away from their toxic relationship and controlling behaviour. Their father disapproves and refuses to attend the wedding (and, of course, their mother is not allowed her own opinion), and Carver is out of the country, so Skug stands in to a) pay and b) give away the bride. He takes Ghastly for moral support, because he doesn't like most of his relatives and also doesn't like the groom (Thurid Guild - their relationship doesn't improve when Confelicity divorces him a few years later to marry a baronet). While they're watching the couple say their vows, Ghastly murmurs, "We should get married."

Skug is right in the middle of his hoe phase and does not realise Ghastly's serious.

who’s more dominant

Generally, Skug. He is one hell of a force of personality and Ghastly does get steamrollered quite a bit, although he does eventually learn how to say no. Skug always gets things his way, always does whatever he likes and be damned to the consequences, and Ghastly is always there with a handful of the back of his shirt, pulling his ass out of whatever fire he started.

In bed, though, it's Ghastly.

how into pda they are

As teenagers, Ghastly's mother has to reprimand them occasionally for being too all over each other, but teenagers be rabidly horny. As grown men, they're just sort of casually affectionate. Comfortable with each other. When they're relaxing in camp after a day of travelling, Skug will lean against Ghastly to read a book or put his head on Ghastly's leg while they chat. They can have a silent conversation just by reading each other's faces. They'll nudge each other when something reminds them of an in-joke. They have that easy intimacy that comes with having known each other forever.

where their usual ‘date spot’ is ( if applicable )

As boys, Ghastly has a particular flowery meadow he likes to take Skug to for picnics, because he's a romantic. Skug at that age is considerably less so, and more interested in whether they can screw there without getting caught.

In the modern day, they go to see old movies. Ghastly was very into the early films of the late 1910s and the 1920s, after the war finished. He associates them with a time where he finally got to just set up his shop and live the life he always wanted to live. Skug hasn't seen most of Ghastly's favourites, because he spent that period of history fighting the truce and then spiralling into a black hole of trauma and misery, but he got very into the noir detective era to the point that he's still clinging to the aesthetic like 80 years later, so they'll alternate who picks the movies and catch each other up on their favourites.

who’s more protective

They've both spent their fair share of time fretting in the chair beside a hospital bed. After Ravel's betrayal, though, it's Skug. Ghastly retires as soon as he's considered fit to make the decision, and decides he wants to go back to Dublin to reopen his shop and just sort of try and forget Roarhaven exists. And Skug is absolutely adamant that he gets to do it. There's a lot of interest in Ghastly for a while - groundbreaking healing magic was used to fix what should've been a permanent injury, people want to know if he suspected Ravel, they want his advice on how to rebuild after Devastation Day. He's more approachable than China, and a lot more popular. But he can't cope with it all, and anyone who tries to hassle him in Dublin will have Skug to deal with.

how long it is before they sleep together ( can be as in ‘had sex’ or as in ‘shared a bed’ )

The first night Skug stays at Ghastly's family home. Ghastly is an only child, and his family isn't wealthy - their house doesn't have a guest room. It's sleep with Ghastly or sleep on the floor, and Little Lord Priss isn't going to be sleeping on the floor.

Honestly, he's relieved there isn't a spare room for him. He's never really slept alone before. Like most children of very wealthy families back then, he grew up in a nursery with his four oldest brothers and sisters, and when he was too old to live with The Children, he shared a room, first with Carver and then with Francis. The thought of being on his own in a strange house is pretty intimidating.

He moves to his own bed as soon as they get him one, but he stays in Ghastly's room, and he's perfectly happy with that.

(Ghastly is less happy. He's very much crushing on Skug and he's terrified he'll say something incriminating in his sleep.)

who steals whose clothes and how often

Skug gets to steal Ghastly's clothes for a year or two after he moves in with Ghastly's family. After that, they're built too differently. Ghastly is built like a brick shithouse of muscle. Skug is lean and toned and tall. When they're younger, he can more or less wear Ghastly's clothes as a nightshirt, but after Skug's final growth spurt, Ghastly's clothes don't sit right on him at all, and he's gotten too vain and fashion-conscious by that point to just wear them anyway.

what their usual coffee / tea orders are

Ghastly is fussy about his tea. Plenty of milk, two and a half sugars, leave the teabag in.

Skug just inhales it black, which Ghastly thinks is an abomination.

if they ever have any children together

Ghastly thanks his lucky stars every day that they have a 0% chance of accidentally spawning a skuglet. One of him is plenty.

He's very involved with Skugbab when he comes along, though. He's godfather and a very present uncle.

if they have any special pet names for each other

Skug doesn't do nicknames, and would rather not be given them, either. Ghastly gets away with "Skul", primarily because he's the only one who's known Skug since he was all of 16, but also because "Skulduggery" is a mouthful when all your blood is rushing to your downstairs brain and it's his own damn fault that he didn't think of that before he picked it.

if they ever split up and / or get back together

So many times. They're on and off again more frequently than Saracen's clothes. Every time Skug spots someone new, he ends it with Ghastly to pursue them, and then comes back when he loses interest or it doesn't work out.

what their shared living space is like ( messy? clean? what kind of decor? )

Ghastly's family home is an old farmhouse on the outskirts of Dublin. It's simple, but cosy, and Ghastly's dad is incredibly houseproud, so it's very well-looked-after. Skug prefers it by miles to his own palacial, but cold and unwelcoming, family home, and he tries to replicate the vibe later on with Wifey. It's pretty small compared to what he's used to, so it sort of feels like they're all living on top of each other, and he has to get used to not having any servants and drawing his own water to heat his own bath etc, but he's loved there, and that makes all the difference.

what their names are in each other’s phones

They're both old-ass men about some things, and this is one of them. So no emojis or anything - they're "Ghastly Bespoke" and "Skul". How romantic.

who falls asleep first and who wakes up first

Ghastly wakes up first: he's used to rising early to get started on his chores. Skug is absolutely not a morning person at this point in his life and Ghastly frequently has to turf his ass out of bed by pulling his quilt off/dumping water on him/yelling in his ear.

Reversed with modern day ghasdug: Ghastly still wakes at a sensible time, but damn it he left the army a century ago and now he likes a lie in. Skug never really stopped being a soldier and still has most of his military habits, so he's up with the sun.

who’s the big spoon / little spoon

Ghastly is the big spoon. Skug likes to be Held.

who hogs the bathroom

Skug. The boy is vain as all fuck. There is a grand total of one cloudy looking-glass in Ghastly's family's home and Skug spends a good chunk of the morning hogging it to fuss with his hair and peacock at his reflection. Ghastly is under strict orders Never to mention this to Fletcher.

#skulduggery pleasant #ghasdug #sp headcanons #long post

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bauslut · 3 years

Text

ii. what makes a man?

pairing: aaron hotchner x rowan rivers

word count: 3.840k

warnings: canon typical violence -- blood, gore, mentions of murder, discussion of murder, discussion of weapons, cursing, trauma, dealing with trauma, death of children

prev. | next

“here you are,” jj bore a kind smile as she slid a manila folder towards the brunette, “here’s your official welcome to the bau. i’m sorry it wasn’t on more.. positive terms.”

“oh,.it’s quite all right,” rowan’s eyes widened, “this is what we’re here--”

“she’s sitting in my spot,” rossi chuckled, “but i don’t mind.”

“are you sure?” rowan stammered, a rosy blush painting her cheeks, “i-i can get up and move--”

“don’t sweat it,” rossi nodded curtly, “there are plenty of open seats.”

“hey baby girl,” a wide, jovial, grin painted morgan’s lips as a woman entered the room, her blonde locks intricately woven into an up-do, “don’t you look delicious today?”

“as always,” the woman scrunched her nose, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose, “how are you this morning baby-cakes?”

“hey there!” a chirp startled rowan, sounding from her left, “i’m emily, but around here, i’m referred to as prentiss.”

she was met with kind eyes, a warm mocha hue. they were bright, glimmering as they followed every minute movement as rowan studied her features. the woman was gorgeous without a doubt, with full lips and an oblong face. her hair was luscious, parted down the middle, styled into bouncy curls.

“hi,” rowan breathed, sticking out a hand, “i’m rowan riv--”

“i am afraid we do not have time for introductions,” a stern voice echoed through the space, “we are fbi agents, not kindergartners. we can have icebreakers or whatever it is you’re doing on the jet.”

rowan choked back a sharp retort as hotch strode towards a whiteboard, his spine straightened, chest puffed out slightly. sliding into her seat, her hands settled on the armrests, a puff of air exhaling from her lips. she was sandwiched between two seasoned agents, as morgan was munching on a bag of cookies on her left, prentiss sifting through papers to her right.

maybe if she just shut her mouth, she would blend in and he wouldn’t pay any sort of attention to her. which, wasn’t such a bad idea in the moment. the less he focused on her and berated her, the better.

“cookie?” morgan rattled the bag.

“not right now. thank you though,” rowan whispered, lips curving into a small smile.

“i’m about to begin discussing the case,” hotch shot rowan a glare, words barbed with venom, “so listen up.”

he pinned several images on the board, bile rising in rowan’s throat as her focus transitioned to the pictures. prentiss sucked in a shaky breath, while morgan muttered a strand of incoherent sentences.

the images progressively became more grotesque as they spanned across the board. mangled, beaten, and bloodied corpses were presented, the bile approaching the back of her mouth as she realized the age range.

the bodies were children, their jugulars slashed, lacerations and bruises littering their tiny frames.

“there has been a surge of murders in the rural farm town of homer, illinois. in the past week, there have been a total of five. all of the victims were children, with no specific physical attributes,” hotch cleared his throat, “however, all of them bear one aspect in common.”

“they’re all boys,” reid murmured, “from the images it appears as if they’re about ages eleven or twelve.”

“then they are pre-pubescent boys,” rowan’s voice was clear, pairs of eyes falling on her as she spoke, “i’ve seen something like this before, when i was working in columbus. we had a ring of traffickers who preferred this age range.”

“and?” morgan arched a brow, “why pre-pubescent boys?”

“hotch,” rowan nearly trembled as the supervisor’s cold gaze shifted on her, “i-if i may ask, were there any signs of assault or rape?”

“the severity of sexual assault varied on each victim.”

“you said that they have no physical attributes in common but looking at these photos,” reid shook his head slightly, “the brunettes are the only ones who have lacerations covering their entire bodies. the blondes, the only sign of violence demonstrated is the murder itself, the incision along the jugular.”

“could it be that our unsub has something against brunettes?” morgan inquired.

“potentially,” rowan blinked, scanning over the text, “it also says here in the autospies that the only boys who were sexually assaulted were the brunettes. i may be going on a whim here, but i think our unsub is lashing out on the brunettes for a reason. it could be power, dominance, you name it. perhaps the hair color is a stressor, or was the initial stressor. he might be reliving a traumatic event from his childhood.”

rossi whistled, “look at you, rivers. already building a profile and we’ve only met for five minutes.”

“sadly i’ve seen a lot of this before,” rowan let out a sigh, rustling through papers, “it also says here that the bodies were all found at homer lake forest preserve. i have a strong premonition that our unsub is male.”

“and what makes you say that?” hotch countered.

“by the way the bodies were handled,” rowan shrugged, “they were beaten, mutilated, and dragged through the woods. the amount of physical strength to do that is just an inherent trait males have."

“how were the bodies discovered?” jj bit her lip, a trace of fear glimmering in her icy blue depths.

“they were found by a new fisherman every morning around dawn, in the same location. they were located about half a mile from the entrance of the preserve,” hotch tossed the file onto the table, “our unsub is bold.”

“he wanted the bodies to be found,” rossi added, “he’s arrogant.”

“or he’s sloppy,” rowan remarked, “he’s devolving. he could be killing just on that need burning within him, with no remorse or any sort of emotion within him at all--”

“we need to get to homer as soon as possible,” hotch interrupted, glancing at his phone, “it’s ten o’clock in the morning. it’s only a matter of time before another body is found.”

“where’s the closest airport?” jj folded her arms across her chest.

“willard airport in champaign-urbana,” reid piped up, “other than that, the other closest one is in bloomington-normal.”

“and how do you know that?” morgan’s eyes widened.

“champaign-urbana is the home of the university of illinois,” reid swallowed thickly, “i’ve been there a few times. it’s an exceptional school for engineering, truly one of the greatest in the country--”

“all right, all right,” morgan stuck out a hand, “you answered my question.”

“wheels up in thirty,” hotch announced, plucking the file off the shiny wood.

rowan followed the others in suit, filing out of the space. trailing reid, she was the second last to leave the room, hotch right behind her, deep, smooth, voice filling her ears.

“i need to speak with you agent rivers.”

“yes?” she swiveled on her heel, facing the supervisor, folding her arms across her chest.

“i hope you’re aware that i do not tolerate any sort of childlike behavior. we’re not teenagers reuniting on the first day of class. i did not appreciate the interruptions in my conference room. you can socialize on your own time.”

“you’ve never once interrupted anything in your entire life? wow, you really must be mr. perfect. i mean look at you, all put together. i doubt you’ve even done anything wrong in your life you’re so per--”

“you realize you’re speaking to your boss with this tone, right?”

“i don’t fucking care,” tears brimmed rowan’s eyes, “this is my first day and it’s even worse than i could have ever imagined.”

“excuse me?”

“you’ve really made sure i’ve had a warm welcome to the bau, mr. perfect,” rowan scoffed, rolling her eyes, “it’s been an amazing first day, i’ll tell you that.”

for just a moment, hotch’s tough exterior cracked, a flicker of sympathy flashing in his gaze, “i’m sorry.”

“‘i’m sorry’?”

hotch paused, inhaling a deep breath, “i was going to write you up. however, i may have been a little too harsh on you. after all, this is your first day. strauss put in a good word for you, and i want to see your skill set out in the field. come on, we’re going to be left behind.”

******

“gotta love the midwest,” morgan placed his hands on his hips, chest rising and falling.

“you love it?” reid’s lips curled in disgust, “it smells like manure.”

“it smells like home,” rowan giggled, shouldering her way through the men, “c’mon, let’s go.”

“well she’s eager,” rossi chuckled, turning to hotch, “where are we setting up?”

“there’s the local p.d. in homer,” hotch slung his bag over his shoulder, “the station is only about four miles from the forest preserve.”

“i was doing some reading on the village of homer,” reid stated, “there’s only about one thousand people who live there. it’s such a tiny place, and as hotch mentioned, it’s only four miles from the preserve, surely the unsub lives there.”

“or he lives close to the lake,” rowan pointed out, “there are so many homes out there surrounding the lake in the countryside. with these rural communities, your neighbors could be a mile down the road, or miles away. it gives him the perfect opportunity to make frequent trips to the lake without being noticed.”

“you make a good point rivers,” hotch remarked, “we’ll have to keep that in mind when we investigate the lake and the surrounding woods.”

“this murder isn’t going to solve itself,” rossi cleared his throat, nodding his head towards the cluster of suvs, “we need to get to the police department and we’re losing time.”

stepping into the vehicle, rowan slid into the back seats, figuring that hotch would take the wheel, while rossi would sit shotgun. yet, curiosity buzzed in her mind as rossi took the wheel, while reid settled into the passenger seat.

“you’ve got to be shitting me,” she muttered as hotch thrust open the door, “rossi, are you usually the one who drives?”

“typically, no,” in the rearview mirror, rowan snorted when she noticed the shit-eating grin plastered on the agent’s face, “but i figured that you and hotch would love to get to know one another on the way there.”

“can i pick the station?” reid bounced in the seat, hands flying to the knobs and levers.

“pick something good, find an oldies station or something. maybe they’ll play back in black,” within seconds, the suburban was in motion, rossi revving the engine, “i plan on racing morgan, jj, and prentiss to the station. whoever loses has to buy dinner.”

“this is ridiculous,” hotch rolled his eyes, the vibration of his phone piquing rowan’s curiosity.

“by the way,” reid turned in his seat, facing hotch, “who’s been calling you so frequently today?”

“haley,” rowan tilted her head as the name spat from hotch’s mouth, “it’s not important.”

haley. from the sound of it, she was hotch’s significant other, girlfriend, fiancee, even a spouse, maybe. rowan’s eyes drifted downwards to his lap, where his hands rested on his knees. in the light, a golden band gleamed on his left ring finger.

so, hotch was married. he had a wife.

but there was something in his tone that was unsettling. were they fighting? having the typical lover’s quarrel? maybe that’s why hotch was so distant and cruel, he was constantly dealing with his marriage.

“so tell us a little about you, rowan,” rossi was far ahead of the other suburban, shades resting on the bridge of his nose, “i never got an icebreaker.”

rowan scoffed, fidgeting in the leather seat, “there’s not anything too riveting, i can spare you guys the details.”

in the corner of her eye, rowan felt his eyes pierce through her, digging deeps within the confines of her psyche. he was profiling her, desperate to get some sort of read. perhaps he was well aware of how uncomfortable she was by rossi’s query. the way her palms were slick against her pants, sweat prints clinging to the fabric. the way her cheeks were tainted pink, her jaw tightened, throat dry.

“didn’t you go to ohio state for undergrad?” reid licked his thumb, scouring through some novel or book.

“yeah,” she nodded, “i’m from a tiny town in ohio, called tiffin. i went to ohio state for an undergrad in psychology, along with a few minors in criminal justice, linguistics, spanish, so on. i stayed there for grad school since i loved the city, and the university. from there, the bureau picked me up from the academy, and i was thrown into the infamous case.”

“the child sex-trafficking bust,” hotch murmured, “i remember glancing over that in your file.”

“how long did that case go on?” rossi turned the radio dial, lowering the volume.

“longer than it should’ve been,” rowan brought a hand to her temple, a dull pain seeping into her skull, “hey, does anyone have ibuprofen?”

hotch’s eyes softened, concern painting his features, “i think i have some in my briefcase. hang on.”

rowan brought a bottle of water to her lips, sipping as hotch placed a couple of pills in her open palm. as he set them in her hand, skin grazed skin, her heart skipping a beat.

for someone as rough and callused as hotch, his hands were so utterly soft.

“thank you,” she whispered, “i appreciate it.”

“of course,” he murmured, “do you usually get frequent headaches?”

“yeah,” rowan admitted, a new wave of blush spreading, “i’m just prone to them i guess.”

“the humidity is also high today,” reid remarked, “and from the way the wind just picked up, along with the darkness of the clouds, i think it’s going to storm. your headache could be from the low pressure.”

“fantastic,” rowan threw her head back, squeezing her eyes shut, “you know reid, that’s kinda a myth.”

“actually research has been inconclusive.”

“how many did you take?” hotch nudged rowan, inflections of concern within his inquisition.

“six.”

“jesus christ,” rossi’s lips pursed, “are you trying to kill your liver?”

“we’ll see about that,” a giggle bubbled up in rowan’s throat.

as the suburban sailed down the interstate, her lashes fluttered, sleep threatening to pull her into its clutches. she blinked, rubbing soothing circles onto her temple, lips falling to a frown as a dull pain seeped into her forehead.

biting her lip, she fought back tears, inhaling a shaky breath. this was no place to show any weakness.

not with him around.

*****

“good afternoon, chief sellers. i’m supervisory special agent hotchner with the fbi,” hotch stated, his voice ringing with authority as he shook an officer’s hand, “and these are my colleagues.”

“thank god you’re here,” the officer’s voice was hoarse, wavering as he spoke, “it’s been a living nightmare these past few days.”

“i can only imagine,” jj murmured under her breath, “there’s someone out there killing little boys.”

“he looks so shaken up,” prentiss exhaled, folding her arms across her chest.

“we had most of the state p.d. flock out here once the second body was discovered,” chief sellers cleared his throat, his focus directed on hotch, “we’re all doing the best we can, but of course, as other duties call, we tend to be short-handed at times.”

“we’re going to do everything in our power to help,” rossi’s words were warm, brimmed with sincerity, “we’ll catch this guy, i promise.”

“and we’ll help you all in every way we can,” chief sellers nodded curtly, “anything you folks need, let us know.”

“should we start by heading out to the crime scene?” hotch inquired, “it might also be best to split some of us up.”

“of course,” chief sellers strode over to a pair of state officers, “these men will escort you to the scene. what else do you need?”

hotch’s eyes flickered over to his team, “i want morgan, reid, and rossi to go investigate the scene. prentiss and jj, would you speak with some of the locals? we need to gather as much information as possible in order to rule out anyone or gain essential details about our unsub.”

“what about me?” rowan coughed.

“you’re staying with me here at the station,” he commanded, “and you’re going to answer every phone call we get from garcia.”

“good luck newbie,” rowan rolled her eyes as morgan teased her, his breath hot against her ear.

“you might want to listen to morgan,” rossi shot her a wink, “you’re going to need it.”

“thanks,” the reply was a deadpan, the agent’s shoulders slumping as hotch approached her, “putting me on a short leash, are we?”

“you’re the one who understands the profile of our unsub the best,” he retorted, “and before you fire back with another verbal assault, think before you speak. this is your big girl job now. act like it.”

“don’t you think it’s interesting that the unsub stopped killing?” hotch murmured a few words of gratitude to an officer who handed him a coffee, cocking his head as he took a sip.

“do you think that there’s a reason behind that?”

“possibly,” rowan shrugged, denying the same styrofoam cup, “hey, where’s the closest gas station?”

“about half a mile away,” the officer replied coolly, “would you like a ride? a few of the guys and i are going to pick up pizzas for lunch.”

“i’m okay,” she paused, running a hand through her hair, “thank you, though.’

“you don’t like hot coffee?”

“i prefer iced,” the agent muttered, surveying the empty desks, “i assume they cleared some space for us?”

“indeed,” hotch huffed, “if your phone rings, assume it’s garcia.”

“i feel like i’m at columbus p.d. all over again,” the brunette slid into the seat, rolling a few inches as she plucked the file out of her briefcase.

“well this is nowhere near that,” hotch rolled his eyes, leaning against the wooden surface.

“well it sure feels like it,” his throat tightened as her eyes drifted upwards, locking with his, “it sure fucking feels like it. now, if you don’t mind, i’m going to look over the file.”

“would you like some company, agent rivers?”

“i’m sure you have ‘unit chief’ matters to tend to,” the words were barbed, hot and venomous as she spat them out, “hovering around your new recruit like she’s some child is quite ridiculous don’t you think?”

“i should have you turn in your badge right now.”

“you seem like you’re all bark and no bite. you scolded me only only hours ago about the conference room, threatening to write me up. that tough exterior of yours is only an act. or at least, i think it is. you’re not going to write me up until you have a valid reason to. also, like you claimed earlier, ‘strauss put in a good word for me.’ i know you won’t terminate me. plus, you just went through all of that paperwork to get me here. do you really want to go through all of that again?”

“you piss me off.”

“good,” she puckered her lips, “maybe you should chat about that with strauss hmm? she’d probably just tell you to suck it up and that i’m here to stay.”

hotch’s jaw clenched, prepared to retaliate, yet the vibration in his pocket distracted him momentarily, the shrill ringtone piercing through the air, “yes?”

biting her tongue, rowan glanced back at the file, bringing her hand to her cheek. part of her was wailing, screaming and kicking, fighting the urge to study those horrid images. but the other part was driven, adrenaline coursing through her veins, pumping into her body.

even the slightest detail that she hadn’t noticed initially would be immensely helpful to building the profile, piecing together who this deranged individual was. flipping through the photos, rowan’s eyes narrowed.

although the team held a short briefing before departing from headquarters, there was one minor aspect about the way the bodies were laying in the shrubbery. the boys were all on their backs, dried blood coating sliced flesh. not a single article of clothing framed their bodies, just the thin layer of briefs or boxers.

her heart lurched as one arm was pressed tightly against their sides, while the other was raised. right hands pointed upwards, three fingers: the index, middle, and ring. yet, the pinky connected with the thumb, almost as if the children were purposely holding up three fingers.

“garcia called with an update,” his voice floated into her ears, “with the bits and pieces fed to her from jj and prentiss, we still have a lot of ground to cover. are you up for a drive?”

“wait,” rowan held up a hand, “hotch, were you ever a member of the boy scouts?”

his brow furrowed, confusion settling across his features, “what?”

“just look,” she huffed, gesturing to the images, “look at the way the unsub left their bodies. it’s a clear message, almost like how he dumped the bodies in clear sight. his arrogance blinded him, goading him to taunt us. but little did he know i would see right through his bluff. i think he stopped the killing spree because he knew we’d be looking for him. it’s like he wants us to find him.”

leaning over, hotch’s chest hovered above her shoulder blade, a hand settling on the desk. the ghost of his badge hung over her cheek, a speck of white in her peripheral vision. a hum rose in his throat, “you’re onto something here. let me call garcia.”

“did i make a break in the case?”

“perhaps, but don’t let that get to your head,” the supervisor brought his phone to his ear, “hey, garcia, i need you to run something for me. how many boy scout troops are in champaign county?”

*****

“you up for some drinks tonight?” prentiss giggled, wrapping her jacket around her shoulders, “it’s all on me, especially since we should be celebrating your first case with the bau!”

“i’m fine,but thank you,” rowan beamed, “i still have a forty minute drive ahead of me. i shouldn’t stay out too late.”

“oh come on,” jj groaned, “we won’t be out for long. just a couple rounds.”

“pleaseeee?” garcia practically pranced over to rowan, jutting her bottom lip out, “we don’t know a single thing about you. hotch had you under his watch all day.”

“okay,” she exhaled, “a few drinks, and then i need to get to my apartment. i’ve barely finished unpacking so i’ll have to rummage for my towels and pajamas when i get back.”

“you have an apartment?” prentiss queried, “do you have a roommate or do you live alone? did you bring a boyfriend with you, by chance?”

rowan blinked, “uh, no. i live alone.”

“good thing you’re a fbi agent huh?” garcia winked, “c’mon, we know the perfect bar.”

“maybe we’ll get you loosened up and you can spill some secrets,” jj chuckled, the sound airy and light.

“sometimes,” rowan felt the corner of her lips tug into a wide grin, “sometimes i truly wonder what i’m getting myself into working with all these other profilers.”

*****

{feel free to ask for a tag or let me know what you think! :))}

tagging: @tempus-ut-luceant @daffodin @kleinbluu @inlovewithaaronhotchner @spencerreidsbitch @art-and-thoughts @criminallminds @ethade3

#hotch #hotchner #aaron hotchner #criminal minds #cm

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milknette · 3 years

Text

chapter 01 - au

lights out solo in the blue, but now i’ve found you.

tumblr month: @adrinetteapril

links: ao3 | ff.net chapter: previous | next

HUMANS suck.

Marinette bites back the need to scream, instead settling for a cold glare pointed at anyone who dares look at her— some even having the audacity to laugh .

This is a terrible idea.

Why did she think this was a good idea in the first place?

Her mind races back to last summer, where Alya was animatedly telling her about the wonders of the human world: how it was filled with knowledge and treasures that she could never find back home, where the people were so interesting and diverse, pointing out that she’d likely never get bored with the sheer amount of things they could do way up there.

“Come with me, Mari!” Alya had begged her. “This was literally the best summer I’ve ever had and I can’t imagine going back to college without you. I swear you won’t regret it.”

But as she stands in the middle of the quad, soaking wet from head to toe, Marinette only finds that she wants to curse her best friend’s name; to grab Alya by the shoulders and shout, “I regret it, you land mammal— how do you live like this!?! ”

She really should’ve just stayed at home.

Her dad was right, after all. Marinette doesn't belong here.

(Not with creatures like them.)

The mermaids are a proud people; ever since they had shown themselves to the humans (though the land people insisted they ‘discovered’ them— Marinette has to roll her eyes, humans could be so selfish and egotistical. ), active attempts to integrate and create peaceful unions between the two species were being implemented.

It was one step further into blurring the line between the real and the mythical— though really not all that noticed, as most mermaids didn’t care about the world on land in the first place.

Only a handful were actually interested in human life, and even fewer made an attempt to live within it.

Marinette, to her deep regret, happens to be one of them.

After a fair amount of begging and convincing, her parents had allowed her to take a kind of ‘exchange program’, where she’d be attending university with Alya on land for the next year.

It's exciting, at first.

Walking on her own two feet is a struggle ( really , how humans survived with these two weak limbs, she'll never understand), but decides that it’d be worth it if Alya had been telling the truth.

Sure, there are times Marinette misses her mermaid tail.

Though, at this moment, she really could be doing without it.

Marinette growls, looking irritatedly down at her scales, gleaming pink as they reflect in the sunlight. Her tail serves her well underwater, definitely, but it has become completely and utterly inconvenient on land: flopping uselessly as she tries to make her way to her next class.

She has no intention of transforming back to her original form, of course, but some other students thought it would be oh-so-funny to force her to do so— attacking while Alya wasn’t with her, so they knew Marinette would be stuck without being able to do anything about it.

After all, it's common knowledge that a transformed mermaid exposed to water would automatically revert back to her original form, and stay like that until they dried up— which meant one thing:

Because of a couple of immature college kids with water balloons, she’d miss her next class.

Again.

They're only too lucky that a mermaid using their powers is illegal, or they’d be in a whole new hell of trouble.

The sudden ring of Marinette’s phone distracts the mermaid from her thoughts, as she quickly retrieves it and answers the call.

“Girl, where are you?” The voice asks on the other line. “I dropped by Mme. Mendeleiev’s class and you’re not there yet? You know she’s tired of you being late all the time.”

Marinette groans, running a wet hand down her face. “Water balloons.” She only responds, flatly.

“Oh.”

From the static of the phone call, she can hear a hiccup, evidently her friend's poor attempt at trying to hide her laughter.

“It’s not funny, Alya!” Marinette cries, hissing as a few teenagers point and take out their phones to record her. “I’m stuck in the middle of the goddamn quad because of you land mammals ,” she spits. “Your species sucks.”

“Hey, not all of us!” Alya protests back. “I’m a great land mammal.” The line suddenly goes silent, as Alya pauses if in thought. “Why don’t you just dry up? Where’s your towel?”

“Sure you are,” Marinette only drawls. “And it’s still wet; this wasn’t the first attack I got today.” She snarls, tightening her grip around her phone. “Now get over here and help me out. It’s hot and if another teenager tries to take a video of me, I’m going to end up breaking more than a few laws, and that’ll get us both in trouble.”

A gasp. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

From the other line, Marinette hears sudden scuffling and books being thrown into her bag. “Fine, fine, give me fifteen minutes. I’m on my way.”

“Hurry up,” the mermaid responds curtly, before hanging up the phone.

She sighs, putting away the gadget, and looking upward. “This is so annoying,” Marinette complains, squinting as the sun shines down on her. Muttering to herself, she grabs at her tail in an attempt to drag it to some place that was shadier, with little to no success.

Marinette glares at her lower half.

Betrayal.

Humans are the absolute worst.

She decides that the next person who even attempts to look, much less talk to her, would understand why mermaids remained as creatures to be feared.

— And as it turned out she didn’t have to wait long, a cautious tap on her shoulder sending a sudden shiver down her spine.

Who the hell is dumb enough to touch a mermaid without her consent?

“What?” Marinette finally snaps, turning (with great difficulty) to the guilty party.

Only to flounder as bright green eyes meet her icy blue ones.

“I’m sorry,” the boy says, an awkward laugh escaping him. “I just thought you might need help,” he begins, clumsily gesturing at the lower half of her body, “with… all that.”

Marinette squeaks, a high-pitched sound of disbelief, before laughing— a notch too high for it to be considered genuine. “Oh, this? ” She asks, awkwardly patting at her tail. “This is nothing! No big deal! I’m cool, I’m cool, it’s cool… because I’m a mermaid, get it, it’s always cool underwater, haha …”

An awkward pause.

She cringes.

Did she really just say that?

Marinette wants to swim into the deepest trench in the ocean and stay in there.

Until she hears laughter.

The mermaid looks up, and to her complete surprise, the boy is laughing: amusement evident in his expression.

“Yeah!” He smiles ( a toothy grin that rivals even the rarest pearls she had scavenged back at home ), then continues. “That’s really funny, Marinette.”

She pauses, looking at him in disbelief. “You know my name?”

“Of course!” He replies, that same kind look in his eyes. “You did make quite a splash when you got here,” he winks.

That's corny.

Really corny.

So why in Poseidon’s name does she find that absolutely adorable?

“And I’m also studying mythology,” the apparent student continues. “I see you around the building sometimes.”

So the very pretty human boy who reminds her of sunshine (the good kind— warm and comforting, the kind of sunlight that reminded her of home; not the heated and dry sun that‘d been constantly beating her down as soon as she started living on land) knows her name.

That's nice.

Marinette continues looking at him, dumbstruck.

As if only realizing something, he smiles, offering his hand. “I’m Adrien, by the way. Nice to meet you.”

She stutters, awkwardly taking it.

His hands are smooth — nothing like the rough and calloused hands of the land people she’d met thus far.

“I— uh— Marinette.”

The corners of his mouth tilt upward. “Yes, I know.” He laughs.

Oh.

Right .

Why is she so nervous? This isn’t like her at all.

“So, about my offer?”

“Huh?” Marinette asks, still reeling from the sudden attention.

The mermaid isn’t used to his attitude, after all, knowing that most humans typically don’t take all that kindly to her species.

Friendliness, Marinette isn’t quite used to yet.

(Alya being the sole exception. If she arrives in the next five minutes, at least.)

The amused smile never leaves the human’s— Adrien’s face. “You’re a literal fish out of water. I don’t think you’re stuck here because you want to, right?”

She nods, the joke easily going over her head, as she remembers what happened. “Some girls thought it’d be funny to force me to transform back here.” Marinette growls. “You humans are all the same —.”

A pause, as she looked at the friendliness in his eyes.

There's no hostility, fear, or disgust in them.

It's a nice change of pace.

“Well, most of you are, anyway,” she amends, then gestures down the rest of her body. “I’m stuck like this until I dry up.”

Adrien hums, sympathetic. “That’s pretty inconvenient.”

“It is,” Marinette agrees. “But my friend’s on the way, so don’t worry— I mean ," she pauses, "not to say that you were worrying about me or anything, I’m just…”

The mermaid fumbles on her words, before resignedly just shutting up. “That is to say, I’ll be just fine.”

Adrien quirks an eyebrow, before looking around. “Really? Your friend’s nowhere to be seen, are you sure you‘ll be okay?” He pauses. “And don’t you have class with Mme. Mendeleiev right now?”

Okay, now he has to be some kind of mind-reader, right?

(Not all that farfetched, considering the co-existence of humans and mermaids in their world.)

“Wh— how do you know that?

“I’m actually her TA,” he explains. “I keep track of all her students and classes. So helping you would actually be doing my job.”

“No, it’s really alright—”

“I have some papers to give her anyways, so it’s on the way,” he points out, patting his messenger bag. Then, his lips quirk upward. “And besides, I’m pretty sure you’re in danger of being dropped from her class if you’re late again.”

She gulps.

Of course he’d know about that, wouldn’t he?

Marinette sighs, defeated. “Fine,” she began. “There should be some towels in the restrooms; it’s a little far, but if you could—”

“No time,” Adrien only states, suddenly kneeling down in front of her. “I think you only have five minutes before you’re late, and it’s a ten-minute walk to our building.”

He grins, before suddenly scooping his arms under her tail and waist, raising her up.

Marinette can’t stop the surprised squeak escape her throat, as she feels herself get lifted off the ground.

The cute boy is carrying her.

And not just any carry, but a princess carry .

“What are you doing put me down I’m gonna scream …” Marinette rushes to say, swatting helplessly at his chest.

This is so undignified for a mermaid, to have some human’s filthy hands on her —

Adrien smiles.

Marinette feels her mermaid-equivalent of a human heart skip a beat.

Then, he winks.

She's sure she's the color of her tail, now.

“Let’s go!” He only says, before running with surprising speed, so light and quick on his feet that she feels like she's flying. His hold on her didn’t falter either, carrying the mermaid with both strength and gentleness.

It's a strange feeling, being in his arms.

But as he easily runs into the building and up four flights of stairs, she decides that it's not entirely uncomfortable, maybe .

Marinette shows up in the nick of time, only a few minutes before she’d officially be considered late.

Mme. Mendeleiev looks at the two as they burst into her classroom, hands crossed against her chest. “Late again, Marinette?” She asks, evidently unamused.

The mermaid is about to protest, until Adrien decides to speak up:

“Actually, ma’am, Marinette’s just in time.”

“I take attendance at 10:15 sharp, Adrien.”

“And she got here at,” Adrien exhales, out-of-breath, as he looks at his phone, showing the lock screen. “10:14,” he states.

Mme. Mendeleiev pauses, eyes narrowing at the two, before sighing.

“Fine,” the professor sighs. “There are towels at the back. Dry yourself up then take your seat, Marinette,” she states, then pointedly looks at Adrien. “And you,” Mme. Mendeleiev stares at the floor, dripping wet from their entrance. “Go get a mop and clean up this mess…”

The sudden “woah!” from outside following a crash makes her frown.

“... before anyone gets hurt.”

Adrien has the decency to offer a sheepish smile, before immediately nodding, helping the mermaid to the back, then setting her down.

“Sorry for getting you in trouble,” Marinette mutters, apologetic, taking the towel in her hands. “And giving you extra work to do.”

He shrugs, visibly unbothered, as the kind smile remains on his face.

“You didn’t get me in trouble, I decided to do this myself.” He responds. “I couldn’t leave you alone helpless like that.”

“You’d be the first,” she points out, using the towel to wipe her hair. “I guess humans aren’t all that bad.”

“Yeah,” Adrien chimes, a bright laugh escaping him as he runs a hand down his wet hair. “Not all of us land mammals suck, I can promise you that.”

Marinette manages to look the slightest bit embarrassed. “You heard that, huh?”

He smiles. “Yup,” he responds easily, before leaning over to her ear. “But I get you. Some humans really stink up here.” He wrinkles his nose, then scrunches his nose up in a way that she can only describe as absolutely adorable. “Must be because they aren’t taking a bath 24/7.”

Marinette feels herself laugh, ready to reply, when—

“What’s taking so long?”

Mme. Mendeleiev finally barks, glaring at the two.

The two look at each other, then burst into laughter.

“Guess that means I have to go,” Adrien says lightly, then bends down, kissing her hand. “I’ll sea you around, Marinette!”

He runs out, and for the first time, Marinette feels like she's falling.

Or sinking , if she's being technical about it.

#hey hi hello #comeback?#adrinetteapril2021 #adrinette april #adrinetteapril #adrinette #adrienette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ml #miraculous ladybug #milk writes #ml fic #ml fanfic #sandbar nine

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kylosupremeimagines · 4 years

Text

Charlie Barber NSFW A-Z

(Special thanks to @driversmutbucket for lending me a helping hand with this! I think that the things we did with this turned out great, especially what they wrote!)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex) Charlie loves to bask in post-orgasm bliss with you. Just laying together silently, drawing soft patterns on your skin. If it isn’t in the bedroom/home (which sometimes it certainly isn’t), a post-shag cigarette (a social smoker only since Henry was born) or drink at a bar where he can hold your hand and whisper sweet sentiments in your ear.

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s) Charlie is a breast man. He loves grazing his fingers over your clothed breasts discreetly in public. He loves coming up behind you at home and creeping his hands up your top and just cupping them. When you sleep he will spoon you and cradle your tit. When you have sex his mouth and hands are all over them, kneading, sucking, squeezing and flicking your nipples. He will run his cock over them and between them - almost cumming on the spot if you let him titty fuck you. Charlie doesn’t look in the mirror often, he isn’t egotistical about his looks. His favorite body parts of his own are his hands, how big they look against yours, how one splayed covers a lot of your stomach or your ass. How much of your breast he can fit into his grasp. He is very visual, after all.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person) Charlie prefers his cum inside you, your mouth, your pussy, your ass, he doesn’t care. But he prefers not to cum on you, or on himself. A neat and tidy person by nature, this extends to his bedroom preferences, having to clean up cum ruins the post-orgasmic bliss.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs) He would love to have another woman join you in the bedroom but doesn’t know how to ask, just yet. It’s a matter of time before you come across his pornhub history and figure it out. Maybe he will just leave it up purposely for you to find... E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?) As much as any typical guy in their mid-30s. He certainly gained experience when he studied performing arts, before meeting his ex-wife. He knows what he is doing, his confidence growing when you give him feedback. F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual) Any position where he can get his hands, or mouth on your breasts. Particularly fond of any variation of cowgirl, on the bed, sofa, chair, floor… G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc) It can go either way with Charlie, sometimes you’ll laugh and giggle like teenagers, especially if fooling around in a public or semi-public place. Other times Charlie can be very serious, whispering sweet declarations of love and affection.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.) Trimmed, neat and tidy, no fro’s to be found here. I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…) For the latter years of his marriage, he felt as if his sex life was lacking, and since then he didn’t get much action as he prefers not to have one night stands with people he doesn’t know. But when he gets to know you enough and grows close to you, as soon as you get involved with one another, he’s going to treat you as perfectly as he can. Charlie will fulfill your every sexual need and desire, making sure that you’re as pleased as can be.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon) Charlie had to rely on masturbation for a while, seeing as how Nicole barely - if at all - satisfied him for about a year before the divorce started. And as soon as it did, he couldn’t really rely on others doing it for him. Thus he resorted to masturbation. He’d mostly do it when Henry isn’t with him at his apartment, and will get really into it. Why not treat yourself right? He’d do everything to get into the mood, such as turn down the lights and put on some of his favorite porn. As he’s actually doing it, it’ll pretty much be what you expect.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks) Charlie isn’t heavily into any kinks in particular but is partial to switching, age play, light BDSM and breeding kink.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do) Not that he’s too mum of a traditionalist, but Charlie prefers to have sex in his bed, or somewhere around the house when Henry isn’t around. It allows for privacy so that you can get as wild as you want, and there’s no risk of anyone walking in on you. M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going) You caring for and nurturing his son, Henry, does things for him. Parenting is important to Charlie because his own parents were absent and problematic. When you treat Henry like your own, it makes Charlie want to rip your clothes off and show you how much he appreciates you. Not to mention knock you up with your own baby.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs) He would despise someone who is too self centered and mostly cares about their own sexual needs, and not his own as well. He thinks it’s only fair to be concerned with what you both want. With that being said, he also doesn’t like when his partner is too demanding of him. Of course he wouldn’t mind if you get a bit dominant, but if you don’t let him have any say from time to time, that’s when he’s going to be turned off. O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc) Oh boy, Charlie loves receiving oral,especially with its unexpected and you suddenly are on your knees and pulling at the waistband of his trousers. He also loves eating you out, how his whole mouth can fit over your vulva and your reactions to his tongue. He is skilled at oral sex, especially once he learns what you like. P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.) It all really depends on the mood. Sometimes he will be on the slower side when he just wants to show his love for you. He will cherish every second, being more romantic than usual. Other times when you both really just need it, he will be fast and rough enough to leave you sore in the morning. However, most of the time it will be a good mixture of both.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.) Sometimes you’ve just got to settle with a quickie. When it’s needed while either of you are in a rush, then he’s more than happy to do one with you. Even if it’s just quick, he’s still going to be doing wonders to you that will have you wanting more. R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.) After spending the majority of the few years before meeting you in a rocky, mostly sexless marriage, Charlie was making up for it now. Role playing, different fetishes - he would try it, if it wasn’t for you, you would usually fall in a pile in raptures of laughter (like the time you tried to play teacher/student and you couldn’t keep a straight face when you forgot basic times tables). S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…) If Charlie is really into it, then he could go on for a while, no matter how many rounds you want to go for. His desire to satisfy you is more than enough to keep him going in bed. T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?) Charlie doesn’t really like to use toys on himself, because he can handle good old masturbation when it’s just him. However, when it comes to you, if you have any toys of your own, then he’s more than happy to use them on you. If it’s something common like a dildo or vibrator, he probably would know how to use it. If it’s something a little less common, then he may need you to explain how you like it to be used on you. But no worries, in no time he would be able to get the hang of it! U = Unfair (how much they like to tease) He’s teased his son for years to entertain him when things got boring or he wanted to make him laugh, but he can translate that into sexual teasing for you. He won’t ever become too overbearing with it to the point it turns you off. While out in public, he may whisper things to get you in the mood for sex later back at him. Or he’ll teasingly make you wait for intimacy to see how long it takes for you to cave in for it. V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make) When Henry is home, of course he’s going to try to be quiet as to not lead the boy to figure out what’s going on. But when it’s just you two in the apartment, he isn't’t going to hold back. Charlie will moan with every little pleasure, signifying that he’s enjoying what’s happening. He’ll also grunt while he’s the one pumping in and out of you. He’ll also say things such as “you like that?” in a low voice, just barely loud enough for you to hear. W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice) At first, he was worried that he would not be good enough in bed since nicole was the last one that he was intimate with, and it wasn’t the best in his last year of marriage. He was self conscious at first but after the beginning of your sexual relationship, he got right back into it and was more than confident with pleasuring you beyond belief. X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words) He is l o n g. Uncircumcised. To be honest he has a really pretty dick, never had you found a penis so blimmin’ appealing. He is the first person you have slept with who has been able to hit that sweet spot. You tell him that all the time, usually in between moans. Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?) Especially after the time he had been without much sex during the last year of his marraige as well as until he got together with you, he’s going to havea pretty high sex drive for a while. He won’t get too crazy and demand it, but you’ll be having sex at least a few times a week if you can manage it; and boy would it be so worth it to be intimate with him.Z =

ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards) After Charlie has satisfied you enough, he will want to hold you close and take in the soft moment after having gone full in with sex. Content himself, he will end up falling asleep as long as you’re in bed together, knowing how well things went.

#Charlie Barber #Charlie Barber Headcanons #Charlie Barber Reader Inserts #Charlie Barber X Reader #Adam Driver

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xfandomwritingsx · 4 years

Text

A Diamond Tint - Lee Christmas - Part One

-gif source-

Description: Learning Christmas is engaged was not part of your evening plans.

Warnings/Labels: None really

Approx. Word Count: 1,800

A/N: So this is something I've kept hidden away for quite a while. I'm throwing this first part out here to see if there's any interest.

You hear his motorcycle from a few streets away, the familiar rev bringing a smile to your face. You finish tying your hair back and shimmy into your jeans, leaving your t-shirt untucked. You’d only arrived a few hours earlier, this being your first chance it change into some relaxing clothes for the evening. You’re looking forward to the night, always happy to be back with the guys, just drinking and shooting the shit. There’s not much else that feels straight-up like home.

You wait until you can hear the garage door opening and his motorcycle pulling in before you make your way back to everyone. You pause at the top of the stairs, looking over the railing for him. He’s already pulled his helmet off and swung his leg over his bike, walking to approach the guys.

“I thought I heard Christmas was coming early this year,” you called to him. He looks around for a moment, surprised by the sound of your voice. When his eyes land on you at the top of your stairs, there’s a smile on his face. You start to descend, letting your hand slide along the rail as you keep your eyes on him.

“Darling, every woman knows I never come early.” The innuendo in his voice is clear and brings a wide smile on your face while the rest of the guys holler or whistle in response. They’re no stranger to your flirting. Hell, you’ve been doing it for years. Barney, however, still cringes.

“Hey now,” he scolds. “Still my daughter, yeah?” You roll your eyes at him, but Lee doesn’t even turn to acknowledge he said anything. Barney just takes another drink from his beer with an annoyed look on his face.

“It’s good to see you, Christmas,” you tell him in a more conversational tone. You come up to him and throw your arms around his neck.

“You too, slugger.” He returns your hug and the woodsy smell of his aftershave fills you senses. Another familiar sensation of home. The leather of his jacket is chilled from the ride over, but you can feel the heat of him seep through when the hug lasts a little longer than it should. “What are you doing here?” he asks when you finally break apart. You motion over to Barney as you step away.

“Pops needs my help,” you explain.

“Hold on a minute,” he chimes in, holding up his hand. “Who came to who?” You cock your hip out and smile playfully at your father.

“I brought you a target and told you that you’d need my help if you went after him. And you are. So you need me.” This time it’s his turn to roll your eyes, knowing better than to try to argue with you. He raised one hell of a smart and stubborn ass woman. It has both its benefits and downsides. You turn your attention back to Lee with a tilt of your head. “Ready for a drink?” He gives a nod.

“Always.”

The first part of the night passes easily just like it has every time you remember. You’ve been around these men since you were a teenager and officially got into the business, popping in and out on jobs in your twenties. These nights are a lot of alcohol and a lot of casual bullshitting. Knives get thrown. Trash talk gets spewed. And occasionally there’s some light to heavy flirting between you and Christmas.

You grew up with a crush on him. Everyone knew it because as a typical young girl, you didn’t exactly hide it well. He was always polite about it, never harshly shooting you down, but also never leading you on. And then you weren’t around for a couple of years. You’d gone out on your own, training and doing some solo jobs to prove yourself to your father, who still tried to push you away from this life. When you came back, you came back a different person; matured with some blood on your hands. And suddenly he wasn’t looking at you the same as he did before.

You bonded easily, quickly. Instead of refusing your requests to teach you to throw knives, now he’d offer without prompting. You stayed up late a lot of nights just talking. You gelled together during jobs. You were friends as much as you were family. The flirting just followed naturally with your personalities.

Everyone believes it’s a harmless habit and doesn’t bat an eye at it, except Barney once in a while, but that’s mostly out of obligation. For the most part, they’re right. Nothing’s ever happened between you and you never suspect it will, but for you, at least, there’s still that deep rooted desire for it to come to fruition. There are some nights where you think that just maybe, he does too. Like when you’re alone and he drops the too-kid-like nickname of Slugger in favor of the slightly-inappropriate Babygirl.

Tonight though, the subtle winks across the room and blatant smiles back and forth are interrupted by the mention of Lacy, whom he’s apparently still seeing. You choke down the beer you’d been swallowing and wave a hand to stop the conversation from moving on as you take your propped up foot off the table you’re perched on.

“Hold on! You’re still with that woman?” you ask in disbelief.

“Yeah.” You can hear the slight defensiveness coming out. “So what?”

“God, Christmas! Why?” It’s hard to keep your disgust from your voice and the little smiles at the ground from the rest of the team don’t escape you. “She’s one of those girls that just thinks it’s cool to have a bad boy boyfriend.” You cringe at just the thought of her and take another swig of your beer.

“Fiancé,” he corrects just a hair quieter than before.

“Shit!” Is he kidding? “You’re really going to marry her?” There’s a pit in your stomach now and your disbelieved smile starts to fade, the humor bleeding away.

“That’s the plan,” he confirms. You chew your bottom lip and look away, unsure what else to say. You’re still trying to process the very idea of him marrying that woman if you’re honest. “What’s with the look?” he asks pointedly. “The hell’s your problem?” You take a second and simply shrug.

“Look, you’re family just like the rest of these upstanding gentlemen.” You wave your hand holding your beer out to room. A couple of them chuckle and raise their own drinks to you. “I don’t like when family’s being stupid and you? You’re acting pretty fucking stupid right now.” You hop off the table and chug the rest of your beer, ignoring the way his face scrunches up. “Anyone else need a refill?” The question works to break the tense silence and move the conversation elsewhere.

His eyes still watch you and there’s an uncomfortable tension that replaces the light, friendly feel you normally have. You try to ignore it, but at the end of the night when the music’s died down and you’re gathering glasses and bottles into the kitchen sink, he comes up behind you.

“What’s wrong with Lacy?” You sigh heavily, but don’t turn around to face him. You think about it for a few moments, trying to find the words you want. Once you’ve gathered your thoughts, you spin on your heels and place your hands on the counter now behind you.

“Does she even know you?” you ask softly. You’re trying really hard not to sound aggressive or accusatory, which is hard to do after consuming alcohol.

“Of course she does!” he scoffs and throws his head back. His defensive reaction irritates you.

“Yeah? Does she know your kill rate?” That seems to stop him and the answer is clear on his face. You continue before he can refute you. “She ever see you after a mission gone wrong? Patch you up?” You suspect the answer to that is also no because he’s been known to show up at the door of your apartment regularly to have you help patch him. “She ever see your face after you got the shit beat out of you in Slovakia or did you hide that from her?” His face is stiffening, his jaw starting to grind, but you’re not done. “She know that your left ankle pops all the damn time because you broke it being a show off and jumping off a waterfall in the jungle in your twenties?” You point down to the offending appendage and he tries to resist the urge to roll it. You pause as he soaks in your words and when he doesn’t come back at you, you try again a little softer. “You want a partner in life but she can’t be that when she doesn’t know you. She seriously believes her badass boyfriend-”

“Fiancé,” he corrects and you roll your eyes.

“Whatever. She thinks you just go on exotic trips and punch bad guys.”

“Sometimes I do that.” It’s hard not to laugh at him being a smartass, but you manage.

“Don’t be an idiot,” you tell him, the words half a plea as much as a demand. You don’t want him to make a mistake and you can feel it in your gut that she would be. “Do you know what she does when you’re gone for months at a time?” His face snaps back to the angry, defensive and points a finger at you.

“She’s not cheating on me.” It sounds harsh, demanding, like he’s telling himself, reminding him as much as he is trying to convince you.

“Bullshit,” you spit. “Pops has said it, now I’m gonna say it. It’s in her blood.” Why can’t he see this? All the signs are there in his face and instead he buries his head in the sand and buys a damn diamond ring. “You ever come home early and she ain’t there?” He looks away from you and the look in his eyes answers the question, just like it always does. “Never wondered where she was?” you press gently.

“Ya know,” he breathes heavily before turning his head back to you. “You shouldn’t be such a bitch just because you got a little crush on me.” There’s not nearly as much bite and malice in his tone as there are his words. You throw your head back and scoff at him anyways.

“Do you really want to stop and examine who checks who out when I’m in town?” He tries to hide a smile, but it cracks through and he tilts his head with a shrug, not really having a defense for that. It allows both of you to slip back into a less prickly atmosphere. “Look,” you start again. “I’m not trying to be a bitch.” You reach forward and grab his arm, curling your fingers around his bicep and squeezing gently. “I just care about you and this girl is nothing but trouble.” He rolls his eyes away from you, but doesn’t move away from your grip. “Everyone knows it, I’m just the one saying it.” You can tell the conversation is over when he doesn’t offer a response and doesn’t turn his eyes back to you. So you give his arm a pat and go to leave.

#lee christmas #lee christmas imagine #the expendables #the expendables imagine

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movedkagen · 3 years

Text

right back at ya, @guroshi !

He’d never been caught before.

Despite his very obvious restriction regarding cursed energy, Toji Zen’in ( ‘Fushiguro’ was a name that would come later ) had never been caught by a person he was pursuing. He moved soundlessly, like a panther in the nocturne jungle, and struck precisely. It was the one reason why despite his lack of ability, calling him weak was a sore mistake. They therefore treated him like he were a curse himself; they loathed him, they were disgusted by him, but they dare not say his name lest he appear in their midst. Toji Zen’in had a tendency to appear like a bad omen. When people caught him, it was only when he wanted them to, and it rarely ever ended well.

It turned out that being the boogeyman paid pretty well; he’d made a living out of that rejection. And maybe, just maybe to a certain extent he felt a sense of vindication whenever he closed in on a sorcerer. Outwardly, thriving off of the disdain was a survival tactic. I’m just not a likable guy, he’d say, usually with a sardonic laugh. But inwardly … sinking his blade into the flesh of someone who he knew thought him worth little more than an animal brought him a slight sick sense of pleasure. The jobs mean nothing to me: truth. But it would be a lie to say that he didn’t like fucking up the order of the food chain just by drawing breath. When his very existence served as a shameful thorn in the side of his family, Toji made sure to do so with an expertise that made it so that even ridicule was too dangerous an acknowledgement. If you’re going to be bad, be the best at it. If he was hopeless as a Zen’in, he would therefore be a source of hopelessness to them in turn.

In nearly all other things, Toji was a man who lived aimlessly; fighting, fucking, food, fortune. Those were the only motives that propelled normal men, and for Toji his motives were no different. So, when his phone rang and revealed the voice of his uncle, Toji nearly hung up. They’d provide him no benefit, after all.

“Toji?” The voice echoes again when his initial greeting doesn’t earn a response.

“Ojisan.” His voice is groggy, but the snide way he calls him uncle is still palpable. “If you’re calling me because my old man finally decided to kick the bucket, save your breath. I’ve no interest in his funeral.”

He can hear the way his uncle grimaces on the receiver. “That’s not why I’ve called. We want you to come to the estate.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“We have a job for you ------”

“Not interested.”

“------ and we will pay.”

Toji paused at that. His family was shit, sure, but they were also swimming in cash. Inversely, looking over his shoulder at the woman he’d been sleeping with in exchange for a bed in January, he couldn’t be any less liquid. “...How much are we talking?”

“Name your price and we’ll negotiate.”

It was the right answer; he knew if he went, strong - arming the amount he wanted would be easy. “I’ll be there in an hour. You waste my time, I walk.” Without waiting for a response, he hangs up and pushes up off the bed, disappearing to shower.

He arrives at the estate feeling tense. He’s got bad memories of this place; being born without an ability meant he’d spent most of his early teenage years serving the family, but looking at the other servants, it could have been worse. I could have been born a woman, he thought, watching with morbid horror as a cousin he barely spoke to struggles to soothe fussing children as her husband glances at her with annoyance without daring to lift a finger to help.

The Zen’in estate was like a sepulchre; opulent and pristine from the outside, but filled nothing but rotting stench and decay internally.

He hides his unease well, despite it all. Bile builds in the back of his throat, but in the room appointed to be their meeting place, Toji stands with a bored expression and seems as though nothing bothers him at all. The door slides open, and he smirks when only his uncle walks through. Typical. His father didn’t show.

“So … what did you do for them to dump this meeting on you? They must not like you these days. Have you fallen out of favor, Ojisan?”

His uncle ignores his comments, taking it as an obvious ploy to provoke him. Instead, he simply sits and folds his arms. “You’re a man who always has his ear to the ground. Have you heard the rumors?”

“You’re going to need to be more specific.”

“About the Gojo clan.”

The mention of the Gojo surname reaches deep into a past Toji barely remembers; not only is this history old, but it’s also near inconsequential. It’s only ever been mentioned in the story of their great victorious ancestor who killed the vengeful spirit that fathered that clan, and how while the Zen’in clan grew in glory, the Gojo clan continued to fall from it. But oddly enough, Toji does recall something he’d heard, which he only remembers because it’s odd to mention the burnt - out family in the first place. “I heard they have a new kid.”

His uncle gracefully pulls out a kiseru and lights it, then puffs on it lazily before continuing. “...The rumor is that he possesses both the limitless and the six eyes technique.”

Toji frowns. The longer he’s here, the less he understands why he’s been called. “Get to the point.”

“It’s been years since you’ve left, Toji, but you surely can’t forget one of the most prolific battles of our family history. The ten shadows shaman versus the limitless many - eyed spirit.”

“Spare me the lecture, old man.”

“We want you to verify the rumor.” Seeing Toji pause, his uncle doesn’t need to wait for him to ask ‘why me?’ before continuing. “Your lack of cursed energy means that if it’s true, you’d be able to get in easily without being noticed. Since the birth of this boy, the family has been in utter seclusion. It’s almost as though they’re trying to hide him from the world.”

For a moment, Toji is silent. But slowly, he chuckles. The chuckle builds until it’s a booming laugh, bordering on a cackle.

“Is this funny to y ------”

“Oh, this is rich! A little kid has you all shitting yourselves, is that it? What’ll happen if the rumors are true? Will you all go sick with grief because you don’t have anyone with the ten shadows ability? Is that it? Are you sure you want to know, old man? After all, if it’s true, then your prolific battle story means dog shit. Unless … you’re asking me to off the kid? Because if that’s the case, I won’t do it. Not because it’s a kid, but because watching a primary schooler ruin your entire dynasty just by being alive is too funny to let pass by.”

Clear irritation is written across his uncle’s expression, but he forgoes an argument. “No one is asking you to kill anyone. We are confident the perfection this family produces is enough to rival one person. The Gojo clan can’t be rebuilt on the shoulders of a single man.”

“------ But?”

“But, that hasn’t stopped them from trying. They’ve managed to weasel their way back into the upper ranks based off of these rumors alone. If they’re a threat to our own influence, we must know.”

Toji waves his hand dismissively. “I don’t care about any of that. How much are you offering?”

“Five million yen.”

“I want twenty.”

“And yet you’ll only get ten.”

Toji pauses. Ten million yen. He would have walked with the five, but to give him this much … they really were uneasy about this, weren’t they? It didn’t matter. These politics didn’t matter to him; it was a job, and it paid well. With ten million yen, he’d never have to sleep at that dingy apartment in Kabukicho again. “...Deal.”

This all brought him back to the beginning point: being caught for the first time. Sneaking into the estate was so easy it was almost comical, and dressed properly, he was easily believed to be a servant himself. The Gojo estate was different from the Zen’in estate. The Zen’in clan was big, lively compared to this place, where he could hear a pebble being kicked across the gravel he walked upon. This place was a graveyard. If the Zen’in estate was like a palace of bones, the Gojo estate was like the temple of a god that had died centuries ago. Big, but brittle. Quiet. Prayed to only by the wind that passed through it, as if out of pity, echoing the hollowness of it all.

But it would seem that god had returned at long last.

He made sure to keep a safe distance behind the boy; he was followed by two men on either side of him at all times, who Toji deduced to be bodyguards. If that was the case, he could only assume the rumors were indeed true. Why else would a child need to be guarded in his own home? As he walks behind him, Toji feels something unpleasant. Pity is too noble a word; but it was like gazing upon a lovely bird in a zoo. Did it know that it was captive, or was it content with the magnificent cage it lived in?

This kid is going to be one hell of a puppet, he thinks.

It is at that moment that the boy stops walking, then turns and looks at him. There’s no mistaking it. His eyes lock with Toji’s, and Toji halts in his tracks. It’s not like him to stop like that, but his body freezes of its own accord. Fighting, fucking, food, fortune. He’d always believed those were the four things that motivated the average man, but he forgot the last motive; maybe because he didn’t remember the last time he felt it, if he’d ever felt it at all before this moment.

Fear.

The boy’s face is pale and listless, nothing like that of a child. His hair and eyelashes are bone - white, and his eyes, large and owl - like, are a crystal clear blue that shimmers in a manner that makes it seem as though his irises swirl, like pools of fate. Toji shouldn’t be able to see that from here, but for some reason distance doesn’t seem to matter between them. He is several feet away from the child, but he sees him as though he’s inches in front of his nose. Curse … sorcerer … those words didn’t suit this boy at all.

This child is a demon.

The child doesn’t blink. The guards beside him seem to keep walking, but the boy also never seems to move from his place. Did he stop time? Did he pull Toji into another dimension entirely? The boy gazes at him with neither curiosity nor contempt; he simply looks at him, looks through him, and Toji feels as though his soul is being stripped bare. There’s no doubt. This boy knows everything; Toji wasn’t a paranoid man in the slightest, but he felt as though this child had known about it all ------ the zen’in’s, the exchange, the ten million yen, the rumors and the eyes on him, and the task to verify it all.

Well?, his eyes seemed to say. Have you seen enough? You have someone waiting for you. Go and tell them.

Toji would never forget that boy again.

He’d never been caught before.

As the knife is pulled from his flesh, Satoru feels the strange, unfamiliar sensation of being unable to support himself enough to stand. Is this what weakness felt like? He falls to the floor, finding himself incapable of processing that this attack even happened in the first place. He watches his blood pool around him ------ strangely enough, he feels no pain. As his vision goes dark, he knows the truth; the shock is preventing him from feeling a thing. Maybe he wasn’t as untouchable as he thought. “Su …” The name is not even half spoken before he falls silent.

He must be dead.

He stands in an expanse that extends forever, an endless void of vantablack that is maddening to look at. Didn’t people get a rush of endorphins before they died? Why, then, did he see a past that only made him miserable? He watches his life flash before his eyes; he sees his own birth. He sees the countless days he spent in his family estate, learning mathematical theory and physical nonsense all because they hoped he would awaken this latent infinity within him. He sees his arrival to Tokyo tech ------ his first time away from the prying eyes of his family. His first time meeting kids who weren’t hand selected to be his friends. The thrilling sensation of being disliked, being a delinquent. Breaking rules and laughing from his chest. It was a fun way to end things, he thought. I just wish I’d gotten to have a lot more of it.

He’s shown the moment of his demise, and Satoru grimaces. Ugh, how uncool. He looks like a deer with its throat in the maw of the wolf; helpless, surprised a second too late. He sees the horror in Suguru’s expression, and he feels just a tinge of guilt. The strongest duo’s broken up. Sorry I couldn’t stay and help you in the end.

He wants to look away ------ really, who wanted to watch themselves die twice? ------ but just as he thinks to, Satoru’s eyes stop on the face of the man who killed him. Why does he look familiar? He looks at his life laid before him, and watches a bright white string extend from this image and go back, back, back into a very peculiar day in his childhood. He sees himself, six years old, turning and locking eyes with him.

No. Not him. This man.

He met him before.

Great, he thought bitterly. So I was more perceptive when I was a first year.

But then, all of the images hit him at once. They condense and slam him with such force that Satoru feels pain all over his body, like the wind has been knocked out of him. He’s drowning in this knowledge ------ this infinity. Maybe that means in the physical world, his lungs are taking their last shallow breaths. The images continue to condense until they make a small orb; the single source of light in this place. Slowly, the orb opens and reveals an iris that reflects his own: too blue to be human, dimly shimmering in a way that makes them seem like a flowing spring. Satoru feels his own gaze turned upon him. His own voice echoes in his ears. Get up, it says. Or are you really that weak? If you can’t get up, you were never strong. You deserve to die here. Satoru’s hand extends towards the orb.

Get up, dickhead.

Satoru wakes up with a gasp, bolting upright with a shock that could wake the dead. And hadn’t it? No … he looks down at himself, and sees the still - warm blood staining his shirt. Satoru realizes in that moment, he never died at all.

Gojo Satoru had touched infinity for the first time.

He stills himself and thinks. Or, more accurately, perceives. He allows those six eyes to see for him. He’d forgotten that so much of his power worked without his effort, if he let it. Riko is dead. Suguru is alive. He’s still bleeding from his leg. And Toji is …

The rest is a blur.

“Yo. Long time no see.” It’s all he can say, when he’s intercepted Toji. Why is he here? The job is done. They failed. There’s no reason for Satoru to come here.

Ah, that was a lie. He was here to kill Toji. Infinity … he’d touched it and seen it; he’d be the strongest, now. No more goofing off, no more avoiding his own holiness. But the thing about being a god is that gods can’t be killed. And if there was someone who could kill him, that person had to fight him. Yes, that would be his true trial of divinity; he and Toji would fight here and now until one of them died, and whoever left standing would be the one truly bound to heaven.

The shock on Toji’s face doesn’t matter to him at all. ... Are you serious?, he says, but Satoru hears it like a dull echo. He’s barely listening to him.

Toji is weak, after all. And he hates weak people.

The shock is enough to make Satoru giddy, however, so he grins and pushes his hair up to show him the healed wound to his head. “Oh, yeah. I’m alive and well.” His eyes are owl - like and large again, though they don’t shimmer like quiet pools. They churn like a riptide, and they focus on Toji with malicious intent.

“A reverse technique,” Toji breathes, more to himself than to anyone else.

“Correct!” Satoru chirps. “I gave up on fighting back when you crushed my throat. I poured my all into perfecting this technique. Cursed energy uses negative energy. It can fortify the body, but it can’t cause regeneration. That’s why it’s necessary to multiply it with more negative energy to create the positive. That’s the reverse technique!” He laughs and his grin widens, and he can tell his elation is too much for Toji to understand. But it can’t be helped ------ this isn’t about Toji. He’s giddy because all along, the secret to reverse technique was math. Simple math, whereas Satoru had mastered complex number theory ages ago. All this time, the ability’s secret had simply flown over his head. If he had known it was just the application of a basic mathematical principle, he could have used reverse technique ten years ago. “The theory is easy enough, but I couldn’t do it at all ... until now. The only person I know who could do it can’t explain for shit, either. But I finally got it when I was on my deathbed … the core of cursed energy.”

Satoru grins and sighs euphorically before continuing on. “You lost because you didn’t cut off my head, and because you didn’t use a cursed tool when you stabbed me in the head.” Doesn’t Toji understand how funny that is?

Apparently not. Toji’s eyes flash all of a sudden. “Lost?” He says, pulling a cursed blade from the throat of his worm of an accessory. “The fight has just begun.”

“------ Huuuuuuuuuuuh?! Ah, yeah, I guess so!” Satoru realizes he’s right; he’d already seen the end of this in infinity, but he supposed he couldn’t say it happened until it did, right? He was getting ahead of himself. It’s not like Toji could see the future. He starts to laugh. “I guess you’re right!”

Toji gives him no time to even finish his sentence. He’s a real warrior, Satoru will give him that. He flies at him with the same beast - like grin from before, only this one is different. They both fight with the full intent to kill, and it’s not a matter of work. It’s a battle for the crown; one that Toji was for better or worse proud to have, and not willing to give up easily. Good. Toji understands.

He slashes at Satoru with terrifying force, but he has evolved since their last fight. The once devastating prowess of the sorcerer - killer is little more than a mild inconvenience to him, now. By the time Toji’s slash reaches the end of its arc, Satoru is in the sky above him, and even more terrifying than when he gave him that maddening smile, he looks upon him with a wide - eyed, barely perceptible grin. Though he’d already reached a new height, it would seem he was evolving again, right before Toji’s eyes. He was fortunate to witness it.

The positive energy that is born from the reverse technique … that energy is channeled into the infinity technique I’ve carved in myself. He understands, now. Reverse rotation technique.

“Red.”

It repels Toji back hundreds of feet, through a building and into the side of the concrete.

One: “The power to stop.” The neutral infinity jutsu. Up until this point, an ability that required vigilance and effort, and why he’d fallen to Toji.

Two: “The power to attract.” The reinforced infinity jujutsu, “blue”.

Three: “The power to repel.” The reverse jujutsu, “red”.

Satoru watches him attach his blade to a chain and create a vortex with it. Toji believes that he can fight this. And why wouldn’t he? Satoru had the power to stop from the start, and Toji circumvented it. The power to attract, he could negate either from afar with the spear, or he could outrun it. The power to repel could be blocked with the spear, so long as he got the timing right.

But Satoru still appears on the rooftop with the same peaceful grin from before, appearing madder than ever. He knows all of Toji’s thoughts already. He knows his heart. He knows that unease is slowly settling into his foe, but that despite that, Toji believes he still has a chance.

“No,” Toji tells himself. “It’ll work.” Satoru knew that Toji would say that. “------ I’ll kill you!”

Satoru knew he’d say that, too.

Time seems to go still, for a moment. Satoru reigns himself in, a sobering clarity coming forward in the midst of it all; he would not be a foolish god, after all.

I’m really sorry, Amanai, he thinks. I’m not angry on your behalf. I don’t hate anyone. All I’m feeling right now … Is the pleasantness of this world.

Satoru grins again, and extends his hands forward. This would be the final blow. “Throughout the heavens and earth, I alone am the honored one.”

Toji whips the bladed chain at Satoru, but it’s less effective than flailing a cotton rope at him, at this point. You don’t understand what’s going to happen yet, he thinks. That’s okay. I saw it in the void. You’re going to die here, Toji. Thank you for sending me into myself. I understand everything, now.

The good thing about jujutsu techniques that have been passed down over generations is that the instructions on their usage are clarified by the predecessors. The bad thing is that the information about the technique can be leaked much more easily.

You’re from one of the three great clans … the Zen’in clan, am I right? Satoru recalls the day he met Toji, all those years ago. The man who came to see him for ten million yen. How could he forget? He’d seen infinity before.

You know about “blue” and “red” … and everything about my infinity, I’ll bet, Satoru thinks. But this … even among the Gojo clan … only a select few know about. When the infinity collides with the forward and reverse rotation techniques … this is born. The expulsion of imaginary mass …

And I’m using it to kill you. You should be honored, Toji.

“Imaginary Technique: Purple.”

It is spoken like a final rite; like the decree to end all decrees. The opposing forces converge and destroy everything in their path … Toji, and anything unlucky enough to be behind him.

Satoru fixes that impenetrable gaze on him again. That soul stripping, all - knowing gaze. “I don’t wanna work for free.” ------ you’d usually just have said that and ran away. But the person in front of you is a user of the infinity jutsu, who probably just became the strongest shaman of this generation. You wanted to deny it. To go against it. Against the Zen’in clan that denied you, against the apex of the jujutsu world. In order to reaffirm your identity … you warped your usual self.

You already lost at that point.

“I thought I had discarded that pride …” Toji breaks the silence for them, finishing the thought that Satoru had heard from the depths of Toji’s soul.

Satoru heard every thought leading up to that declaration, but he feels strangely peaceful in the moment. He’d made this prophecy come true; Gojo Satoru emerged victorious, conquering death and the god - killer himself. There would be a new era from now on; for better or for worse, Satoru would be the head of it. “... Do you have any last words?”

“ … Nah.” The look on Toji’s face says he knows that Satoru’s seen everything. But, just in case … “In two or three years, my kid will get sold to the Zen’in clan.” Why was he telling him that? Maybe because he was understanding that if anyone could fuck up the natural order of things, it wasn’t him at all. It has always been this kid. Maybe it was because, in his final moments, he realized that he’d left behind nothing, and given his blessing to the very place that had sculpted his demise. Maybe it was the “regret” those damn shamans never shut up about. Whatever it was, Toji couldn’t bring himself to beg, even on Megumi’s behalf. “... Do whatever you want.”

Before the light left Toji’s eyes, Satoru watched something else die first. What broke then … was the heart. What, did he think he would go and right his wrongs? That he would protect his kid? It seemed his six eyes hadn’t anticipated him doing that. Honestly, what was Toji thinking? It was too late to ask that now, but Satoru only knew one thing for certain.

Satoru would never forget this man again.

#* GOJO » study.#* HOWL » saved.#i have to give u a tag now.#guroshi #* GOJO » rel : guroshi.

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