#it would be a good way for him to get closer to [redacted] and [redacted] though

[starbuck]

i’m totally 100% on board with an AU resurrecting him again But Worse because his friends who desperately wanted him back would NOT treat him well and that is soooooooo interestinggggggg

[kunareads]

how you talk so sweet when you're doing bad things

actor!satoru x popstar!reader

you and satoru fulfill the prophecy (he picks you up, pulls them down, turns you around).

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series masterlist / full masterlist

wc: 4.7k

satoru "filthy mouth" gojo!!! i had to stop writing this multiple times because of what he does to me. PART 3 VALENTINE'S DAY (comment for taglist)

content: fluff and SMUT! even more tension, you and satoru are once again the subjects of internet speculation, making out, 69, oral (m! and f! receiving), fingering, unprotected p in v sex, pronebone, cowgirl, he's very much in control here

18+ please <3

the internet does what it does best: fill in the blanks.

neither of you say anything. no statements, no denials, no acknowledgments. but speculation spreads like wildfire.

it started small. the blurry afterparty photos, the red carpet chemistry dissection, the think pieces about hollywood's most unexpected flirtation. the usual.

then you post an instagram story.

nothing special. just a close-up of a wine glass, city lights blurred in the background. no context, no caption. but the fans? they think they know.

twitter erupts.

@/satorumess: not to be crazy but i mapped out their locations based on timestamps and—

@/fulltimeshipper: this is worse than when the CIA redacted half that UFO document

@/ynupdates: y/n posting a cryptic story the same night satoru is spotted downtown… oh we are in the trenches forreal

then, satoru likes a tiktok.

a slow-motion edit of you in your red carpet and afterparty looks, set to some dramatic song, captioned this woman is dangerous, your honor.

he doesn't comment, doesn't follow the account. just leaves one single like. and the internet implodes.

@/fandomedits: nah this isn't pr this is a man down BAD

@/popcultupdates: GOJO SATORU LIKING THIRST EDITS IN THE DEAD OF NIGHT WE HAVE LOST HIM COMPLETELY

@/ynstan: this man saw a slo-mo thirst edit and said "yeah let me cosign that"

but it gets worse.

an old clip resurfaces. a red carpet from last year. you and satoru, near each other but never interacting. a moment that meant nothing—until now.

fans slow it down, zoom in, analyze every tiny detail:

satoru steps onto the carpet, and your eyes flick toward him, barely noticeable.

he glances in your direction.

there's a beat where he exhales, seems to collect himself—something no one caught before.

and suddenly, it's evidence.

@/fathergojo: why do their interactions feel like deleted scenes from a romcom

@/yninvestigator: guys. GUYS. what do you MEAN she looked at him FIRST. what do you MEAN HE TOOK A BREATH AND LOOKED AWAY.

@/stanwars: suddenly i believe in fate. suddenly i understand greek tragedies.

apparently, none of this is new.

you and satoru are just catching up.

+++

+++

satoru isn't good at waiting.

patience isn't exactly his strong suit, but when the reward is this good? he doesn't mind.

you walk in like the last week never happened. like the chaos never even registered.

the rooftop lighting catches the silk of your dress, the shine of your jewelry, the sheen of your lips. it makes you look untouchable.

attention follows you effortlessly. heads turn, backs straighten. someone says something, you smile—polite, charming, distant. you're impossible not to watch.

and satoru watches.

he's become acquainted with the effect you have, but it hits harder tonight than it did a week ago.

because now he knows how you taste.

the glass in his hand is cool, condensation falling between his fingers. he takes a sip, tracking you, cataloging details no one else would catch.

the way your shoulders shift, subtle, as you get closer.

the flick of your gaze toward him before you fully reach him.

you stop beside him, close enough for the scent of your perfume to settle between you.

a pause before you meet his eyes.

"so… how's your week been?" you ask, tone light, a smile gracing your features.

satoru exhales a laugh, tipping his glass like a toast. "surprisingly quiet. you?"

as you talk, your fingers trace the rim of your glass. he watches. you let him.

he leans in when he speaks. you don't move away.

he notices the way the waiter lingers, the way you dismiss it with a polite, distant smile.

you notice the way his expression shifts at that, just slightly. neither of you acknowledge it.

"you're kind of a nightmare," you tease.

satoru grins, unbothered. "funny. some people call me a dream."

you laugh and roll your eyes at him. he takes his time with his next sip, letting the tension settle. you're watching him watch you.

it would be easy to let you play this game, to see how long you can act like you're not as impatient as he is. but he leans in, voice quiet, just for you.

"you gonna make me wait?" low, taunting.

you could, but you don't. instead, you lean in too, meeting him halfway. you set your glass down carefully. he mirrors you.

someone—a bartender, another guest—tries to pull you into conversation, but you don't reply.

you lean into him, your voice calm but sure.

"let's go."

+++

streetlights skim over sleek black paint as the car pulls up, satoru swinging the door open. you barely take a step before his hand finds the small of your back, fingers pressing just enough to guide you.

he grins lazily. "last chance."

you roll your eyes as you step in. "so dramatic."

he closes the door after you and circles the car, the driver pulling off.

the backseat feels too small.

you cross your legs. his knee brushes against yours, and he doesn't move away. his hand rests on his thigh, relaxed, too close to yours. deliberate.

you pretend not to notice, but he knows better.

the silence is louder than words. the city blurs past the tinted windows, neon bleeding into the dark. the hum of the engine, the distant murmur of traffic, the faint pulse of something unsaid.

satoru exhales slowly, gliding his tongue over his teeth, thinking. he pushes a button, the partition rising.

you're both quiet, but it's a silent signal: stop pretending.

the second it clicks into place, he moves. or maybe you do. it doesn't matter. he's closer now, facing you, and you're already leaning in.

a beat. a sharp inhale.

his fingers skim your thigh, higher this time.

"i was trying to be good," you say quietly.

his voice drops, tight with restraint, and your breath catches. "don't."

the second the word leaves his lips, you're on him. a hand finds the back of his neck, drawing him in.

the first kiss is slow, but not reluctant. he drags it out because he can. he tilts his head, deepening it. he hums against your lips when you press closer, pleased.

his fingers tease higher. yours twist into his hair, nails scraping just enough to make him sigh into your mouth.

the car rolls to a stop.

neither of you move. not right away.

satoru's grip tightens, like he's considering pulling you onto his lap. like he could keep you here a little longer, let the city blur beyond the tinted glass while he takes his time.

instead, he drags his lips down your jaw, then lower. he breathes you in before murmuring, "upstairs."

+++

the door clicks shut, sealing you in. no music, no distant hum of the city, just quiet, dense and charged.

neither of you break the silence.

satoru steps in first. the air seems to crackle around him here the same way it does everywhere else.

you hold his stare, challenging. he waits.

a test. a game.

then, finally, you reach for him. his grin is lazy, knowing. like he was waiting for you to break first.

this kiss is purposeful. his lips brush yours—once, then again. a silent question, just the slow press of his mouth, the barely-there slide of his hands down your waist.

your fingers slip under his shirt, nails grazing skin, just enough to pull a slow, amused breath from him.

his hands find your hips, insistent, pulling you in until there's no space left. the shift makes you gasp into his mouth, and he drinks it in, looking smug, like he expected it.

like he's been waiting for this all week.

his grip tenses, like he's about to pull you closer—but then he's gone. his heat vanishes, his lips just a ghost of pressure before they disappear completely.

he barely moves when you chase him a bit, just tilts his chin, smiling. like he knew you wouldn't let him go. like he was counting on it.

you inhale, frustration sparking low in your chest, and you move before you think. your hands find his shirt, tugging him back in—but before you can, his fingers close around your wrists, catching you with ease.

his grin is knowing, his grip firm but teasing. he tilts his head, amusement spreading across his face.

"easy, princess," he murmurs, voice low, eyes flicking to your lips. "what's the rush?"

you arch a brow, fingers flexing in his grasp. "you did haul me out of the car."

his grin widens. "not like you put up a fight."

you push.

you press into him, backing him towards the wall. he lets you. lets you kiss him deeper, hands still wrapped around your wrists but relaxing, giving you room to move.

for a second, you think you've won.

then the world tilts and your back meets the wall with a gentle thud, your head tipping back slightly as he crowds you.

he smiles at you, eyes sparkling, enjoying himself too much. his hands settle at your waist, keeping you where he wants you.

you should be annoyed. instead, you match him and smirk right back.

you like the way he handles you.

his touch is maddening.

his fingertips skate over your ribs, your stomach, but never where you need them. it's intentional and exploratory, like he has all the time in the world.

and he does. his apartment is a sanctuary from the mess of the last week. no prying eyes or a disgruntled kento to interrupt here.

you shift, trying to lead him downward, but he only chuckles, barely making a sound.

"you can be patient for me, can't you?" his voice dips lower, "or are you already too far gone?"

he's mocking you, and reflex kicks in—your thighs squeeze together, and you feel the heat creep up your neck when he notices.

his fingers ghost up your inner thighs, teasing warmth into your skin before retreating. every near-touch is calculated, just enough to remind you of how easily he could give you what you want.

he watches as impatience builds in your expression, as your breath stutters when his hands graze your waist again.

your nails press into his shoulders, a silent dare. before he can smirk, before he can gloat, you roll your hips against him, slow, deliberate. the response is immediate.

his breath falters, a groan through gritted teeth. his jaw tightens like he wasn't expecting you to test him. for a split second, he stills entirely.

you smile at him. message received.

"if you wanna ruin me, do it right, satoru." a taunt disguised as a whisper, just enough to chip at his restraint.

his hold turns bruising, like he wants to leave something behind. the teasing tone vanishes, his smirk dissolving into something darker. your breath catches—not in surprise, but excitement as something kindles in your stomach.

because suddenly, it's not a game anymore.

the realization barely registers before he has you pinned, wrists above your head, mouth at your ear.

"hope you know what you're asking for," he murmurs, hips flush against yours. his voice is different now—rough, heat twisting through every syllable. you shudder at the sound, your body responding. he makes good on his words immediately.

his hands find the backs of your thighs—then, suddenly, you're weightless, gasping, clutching at his shoulders. your legs draw around his hips, heat pooling fast.

a startled breath leaves you, but he's already moving, carrying you across the room like you weigh nothing at all.

he drops you onto his bed, grinning at the glare you send him when you bounce.

you don't even get the chance to scold—his hands are already on you, pulling your panties down.

his teeth graze your inner thigh before he bites down, sharp enough to make you whine, hips squirming. he exhales with a smile. "thought so." his tongue follows—slow, indulgent, a promise to ruin you.

you've barely found your breath when he shifts, broad hands pressing into your thighs, spreading you open. his gaze lifts, dark and teasing.

"comfortable?" he asks, lips skimming the inside of your knee.

you roll your eyes, about to retort—but your fingers curl into the sheets instead when his mouth finds your core, hot and devastating.

your hips shift, back arching, and he hums against you, content.

you move the moment he adjusts—quick, decisive, hands pushing into his shoulders. he lets you shift the balance, rolling onto his back, breath catching when he opens his eyes to find you above him.

your fingers work fast, tugging at his belt, yanking it free with a sharp pull. you work on the button, the zipper, pulling the fabric down just enough to free him.

he was so fucking cocky a second ago. now, he's not even breathing right, body taut under your hands. so you stroke once, then twice, then take him into your mouth.

no warning, no reluctance.

his grip tightens on your thigh, breath punching out like you knocked it loose. his head tilts back, jaw tensing, a soft "fuck—just like that, baby" escaping him.

you hum around him, pleased, tongue teasing, and he swears again under his breath. his hands fist into the sheets, trying to ground himself.

but satoru doesn't like being outmatched.

his fingers skate up your thigh, squeezing. and then his mouth is on you, tongue dragging through your folds, slow and deep.

you gasp against him, body tensing, and he grins.

"that's better," he mutters against you, lips brushing sensitive skin before his tongue circles once, twice.

the sound you make is muffled around him, and he groans in response, the vibration rolling through you both.

you try to keep a rhythm, fingers curling at the base as you sink down, but every time his tongue moves just right, every time he sucks at your clit, you falter.

he notices, and he loves it.

his hands tighten on your hips, keeping you still as he buries his face deeper, determined, fucking into you with his tongue, sending you to the edge without mercy.

you try to keep going, try to keep your lips wrapped around him, but every nerve in your body is on fire, pressure winding as you moan around him.

he grins against you. "that's it, princess. lemme hear it."

his fingers dig into your skin, tightening as he licks into you with purpose, drawing desperate sounds from your throat.

it's too much. you pull your mouth off of him, panting, lips slick and hips twitching against his face as the bliss hits all at once, unraveling you from the inside out.

"satoru, fuck," you gasp, the words nearly unintelligible through your moans. you can't do anything but let it consume you, your body seizing before the release finally drives through you.

you gasp, sharp and unsteady, his name tumbling past your lips again, voice cracking into a whine.

satoru doesn't stop until you're shaking, your legs weak, pleasure rolling over you in dizzying, tormenting waves.

only when your thighs twitch, too sensitive, does he finally pull away. his face is wet, and he's breathless. he presses one last kiss to the inside of your thigh before looking up at you, eyes dark and lazy.

"you're fucking perfect," he murmurs, voice hoarse, before flipping you onto your stomach, pressing you into the mattress.

you're still coming down when he lifts your hips, tucking a pillow underneath them.

his breath is warm against your shoulder, steady and grounding. his lips trail down your spine, flirting, savoring the way you squirm. a hand settles on your hip possessively, making sure you don't slip away.

his other hand trails lower, sliding between your legs, fingers pressing in—gradually, unhurried, teasing the mess he left behind.

"fuck, baby—you're dripping for me." his voice is all rough edges and satisfaction, murmured against your ear. you shiver. his fingers slide through your folds, spreading your slick, teasing the spot he knows will make you gasp.

"been thinking about this all week," he mumbles, kissing the curve of your neck. his fingers dip lower, pushing inside, slow and deep. "bet you have, too."

you whimper, and he smirks against your skin.

"should've had you like this that night. should've fucked you right up against that wall."

his fingers move at an unbearable pace, curling, pressing into the spot that makes your knees weak. your hips jerk, but he holds you still.

"needy, huh?" his breath is burning against your ear, teasing, smug. "tell me how bad you want it, baby."

your fingers clutch the sheets, patience fraying. you should fight him— push back, make him work for it—but you're too far gone for games.

"satoru—"

his fingers stall. "mm, not good enough."

"want you," you gasp, growing desperate. "need you inside me."

he groans like you just hit him where it hurts. he pulls his hand away, leaving you empty for barely a second before the thick of him replaces them.

he slips the tip through your folds, slick and teasing, but doesn't push in. "this what you wanted?" he asks, rougher now.

"yes."

"say it again."

your breath stutters, but you give him what he wants. "yes. please," you gasp.

his hands flex against your hips, keeping you still as he pushes forward, stretching you open with an unrelenting drag that knocks the air from your lungs. it's almost too much—almost—but you want all of it. you take all of him.

he moves in slowly, and a shaky gasp escapes as he bottoms out, deep inside you, holding himself there, letting you feel it.

his breath is ragged now, his exhale hot against your skin. "fuck."

his hands slide up your sides, guiding you, holding you where he needs you.

"you feel so fucking good," he breathes, voice dipping into something ruined.

his hips roll, deep and slow, like he wants to feel everything. like he wants to make this last.

you think for a second that you won't survive at this pace.

satoru brings his body lower, pressing his chest flush against your back, all heat and tension, breath ghosting over your shoulder as he sinks in.

his arms slip under yours, palms spreading over your shoulders, drawing you into him. not just pulling you back, but owning the space between you.

hi thrusts are indulgent, stretching, coating himself in you. his breath is uneven, satisfaction humming in your ear.

you push your hips back into him, matching his rhythm.

satoru exhales a sharp breath, fingers digging in. "you trying to make me lose it?"

you don't answer, just push back harder on instinct.

his response is immediate—a sharp, precise thrust that knocks the air from your lungs, ripping a moan from your throat before you can swallow it down.

"thought so," he murmurs, lips grazing your shoulder.

his pace turns deep and steady—controlled, measured. he brings his face close to yours, wanting to watch you react, to feel you tighten around him with every movement.

but you're impatient. you shift, pressing up onto your elbows, angling your hips just enough to take him deeper.

his pace stutters. he swears under his breath, voice raw, and one arm locks around your waist. he holds you in place as he fucks into you now, hard enough to leave you trembling, helpless against the bed.

his name leaves your lips, breathless and desperate.

"fuck—it's so good," he groans, half-choked, messy. his face buries into your neck, hands gripping like he's holding on for dear life. "let me hear you, baby."

you can barely think, barely breathe. his hand slides between your legs, fingers finding that spot, pressing slow, teasing circles.

"satoru—"

he chuckles, low and smug, but there's an edge to it now, a tension in the way his hips stutter, his movements losing their precision.

and then you tighten around him, body seizing, pleasure cresting all at once—

"fuck," he bites out, breathless, grip tightening like he's trying to hold on.

and then—he pulls out.

a sharp inhale, the loss making you gasp, but before you can even form a thought—

he flips you over.

"not done with you yet," he mutters, voice rough, gaze dark as he hovers over you.

and just like that, everything shifts.

his hands find you the second he pulls out—a sharp, dizzying shift as he flips you over, settling beneath you. his hands slide up your ribs, brush over your breasts, then slide back down.

his fingers splay wide on your hips, steadying you, but it's his gaze that pins you in place. "wanna see you like this," he murmurs, voice low, still rough from before.

your lips part, but the way he looks at you makes it hard to tease. instead, your nails drag down his chest, unhurried, feeling his abs tense beneath your touch.

"yeah?" you breathe.

his fingers flex, tightening just slightly. "yeah, baby. show me how bad you want it."

you wrap your fingers around him, stroking once, slow and teasing, just to watch him squirm.

his jaw clenches, but he doesn't push. he lets you take your time, lets you set the pace, struggling to hold back.

you don't make him wait long.

you line him up and sink down, savoring the stretch—the way he exhales, sharp and shaky, fingers digging in.

"fuck," he breathes, watching you, eyes dark, half-lidded, all heat.

one of your hands finds his shoulders, nails scraping lightly as you start to move. the other moves down to where you're connected, feeling just how far he spreads you open.

at first, it's slow—like you're figuring each other out all over again. a careful roll of your hips, tension simmering, teasing at something deeper.

but it doesn't last.

his grip firms, guiding you down, matching your rhythm. he thrusts up to meet you with a force that knocks the breath from your lungs.

"you feel me, princess?" he asks, pulling you down harder, deeper.

you answer him with a desperate little whimper that makes him melt.

both of your movements are messy, desperate—like you both know exactly where this is going and you need to get there.

your fingers tangle in his hair, nails scraping, tugging just slightly, and he hisses, eyes squeezing shut for a second.

his hands slide up your spine, pulling you closer, his forehead pressing to yours, breathing hard.

"you feel so fucking good," he murmurs, almost a whine. "so wet for me, so fucking perfect."

you can't even speak. your thoughts blur, pleasure winding tight, breath coming in short, uneven gasps.

he shifts beneath you, angling deeper, hitting exactly where you need him. the sudden jolt of pleasure makes your whole body tighten, makes you let out a sound you didn't mean to make—

a loud, broken moan, breathy, helpless.

his head snaps up, eyes wild, something cracking behind them—like he just lost his last thread of control.

"oh," his breath shudders, grip tightening. "oh."

and then he's gone.

he snaps his hips into yours, his hands gripping, guiding, setting a pace that's relentless, that has you gasping, nails biting into his shoulders.

your vision goes hazy, body tightening, winding up unbearably fast. you try to tell him you're close, but all that comes out is a shaky, broken "satoru—"

"oh, fuck—there it is," he breathes, voice dropping, eyes dark and triumphant. "knew you'd sound so fucking sweet falling apart for me."

his hand finds your clit, pressing just right—teeth gritting as he holds on, watching you break first.

and you shatter.

it slams into you, sharp and consuming, a shockwave rolling through your body. your breath stutters, a broken gasp stumbling free as you tighten around him, locking him in.

he feels it—the way you pulse around him, the way you tremble, how your moans dissolve into something helpless. it undoes him. his arm slides your waist, his other hand finding the back of your neck, and he pulls you closer like he needs you.

he curses as you tremble against him, holding you close, burying himself deep in you as he falls apart.

your name leaves his lips like a prayer, breathless, reverent. he groans against your skin as he finally spills into you. pleasure crashes through him, and for a moment, all he can do is feel **the heat of you, the way you throb around him, the way your body takes him like you were made for this.

for a second, you both stay still; the only sound between you is the sharp, uneven puff of breath.

your hands shake against his chest. his fingers are still locked around your waist.

he exhales a wrecked laugh, warm and lazy against your temple.

"so fucking worth the wait," he murmurs, voice low, sated. he kisses all over your face, palm smoothing down your spine. "knew you'd be perfect for me."

+++

morning light spills through the curtains, golden and soft, warming tangled sheets and bare skin. everything is still. quiet, but not empty. satoru is warm against you, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. at some point in the night, your leg found its way between his, one of his arms draped lazily over your waist.

you shift, stretching slightly, and his fingers flex at your hip, like some part of him refuses to let you go.

he murmurs something unintelligible, voice low and drowsy. then, with a slow, easy smile against your skin, "stay."

you huff a quiet laugh. "clingy."

"mmm," he hums, voice is thick with sleep. "you're warm."

he still hasn't opened his eyes. he just shifts a little, nestling deeper into you. his fingers pressing idly into your hip, like he's memorizing the shape of you beneath them.

you stay like that for a while.

you steal a button-up from his closet when you finally get up, slipping it over your shoulders before following him into the bathroom. he doesn't comment, just flicks his gaze over you, lips twitching, before rummaging through a drawer. a moment later, he presses a spare toothbrush into your palm.

"definitely took you for the clingy type."

he grins, stretching lazily against the counter. "not my fault you're so soft."

you brush your teeth side by side, bleary-eyed in the mirror. he stands just a little too close, bumping into your arm like he can't help himself.

and when you head back to bed, he follows, catching your wrist just before you climb in, guiding you back under the covers with ease.

"wait." his lips brush your shoulder. "just stay there."

"i am staying," you point out, amused.

"good," he hums, pressing one last kiss to your head before disappearing into the kitchen.

satoru returns minutes later, two mugs in hand. he sets yours on the nightstand before wordlessly disappearing back to the kitchen.

you wait until you smell breakfast, then you get up and follow the scent out to his kitchen island.

he doesn't ask if you're hungry. he just plates your food and sets it in front of you without a second thought.

you steal sips from his juice between bites, and he lets you, just watching, amused, eyes flicking toward you over the rim of his glass.

soft touches happen naturally, thoughtlessly.

his palm finds the small of your back when he moves past you, warm and steady.

your fingers brush when you both reach for the same thing.

his knuckles graze your thigh when he leans back against the counter.

none of it feels unfamiliar.

you stay longer than you expected to. he doesn't call you out on it.

the goodbye is unserious, drawn out in a way that makes it obvious neither of you is in a rush.

"try not to miss me too much," you tease, pulling on your shoes with a grin.

he smiles, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed. "oh, i will."

his tone is playful, but something about the way he says them makes you hesitate, just for a second.

and as you step out, just before it closes behind you, he calls after you.

"i'll be thinking about you, y'know."

tags (ongoing): @moonchhu @httpstoyosi @lavnder311 @harryzcherry @perkypeony @katecupcakekate @hellicify @oh-my-god-donald @jupiterbinnie @i88b0nten @satxoru @chuuminn @moncher-ire @r0ckst4rjk @flwerie @raendarkfaerie @pinksdump @blkmystery @pearlessance @satoruxsc

[bunny-jpeg]

black ink & pink french tips

captain john price

cw: retired!price, tattooed!price, smut/pwp, sub!reader, dom!price, bimbo!reader, age difference (20s & 40s), power play, daddy kink, baby trapping

bunny says: happy 3,000 followers to me (and right before my exam)!

price remembered his retirement party. he remembered the pat on the back he got from higher ups for his service. he was supposed to be proud, but now in his mid-forties, what legacy did he have to show for it? his name was more often than not redacted, he entire career was in the shadows.

no wife, no kids, not even a fixed address.

so life outside of the military became aimless. that was until he found you. while most would frown at a twenty year ago gap, but you were an adult who could make her own choices. price felt protective over you, he needed to keep you safe.

you were an adult, but you had a lot to learn. and what started out as companionship quickly turned into mind-blowing sex. price could man handle you like no other man could dream of.

"men my age are simply too nice." you sighed as you examined your nails. you looked at him, "pussies."

he simply chuckled and went over to him, shirtless with a cigarette in his mouth. his walk was almost seductive as he got closer. he looked down at you and cupped your face, “well, love. daddy will take care of ya. ”

did he rile up your daddy kink? yes. did he often use it as an excuse to tease you? yes. did you almost rip his hair out when he asked you about your relationship with your father in the middle of sex? yes. 

price loved you on your knees, in his bed, over the couch, he loved on your side, back and stomach. he loved how his cock just sank into the sweetness of your cunt. it riled him up when he felt his tip poke at your womb. you were just perfect, he couldn't imagine himself with any other woman. you were his princess. 

he was laid out beside you on his side while you were on your stomach trembling on the bed. there was a bullet vibrator inside of you and he had turned the setting on to high. he heard your small squeaks and watched you squirm as he palmed your ass. he grabbed your ass roughly as he watched you come apart. 

tonight he was determined to get you as lust-drunk as he could get you. he had plans for you tonight. 

the night prior he had proposed to you, and you rejected him. you told him that you didn't want to get married! was he crazy? so he had to go an unconventional route to keep you firmly by his side. it meant going from lacey bralettes to cute nursing bras in a years time. you could still be your hyper pink self while pushing a stroller, right? 

at the time he shrugged it off, but his ability to plan started to form in his brain. so now he had you laid out as he touched you. his broad, strong hand groped your sweet ass. he watch it jiggle when he gave the cheeks a few smacks. he leaned into your ear, his facial hair touched your flushed skin, “how does it feel, baby girl?” 

you whimpered, “why did you turn it on so high?”

he chuckled, “because when i'm too gentle you turn into a brat.” he slapped your ass and leaned in closer. he kissed your cheek softly, “you kick your legs and whine until you get what you want.”

you whined, “i'm not always a brat.” you buried your face deeper into the pillow. you could feel price's scent cloud your head as he made you feel good. 

price reached down between your legs and started to rock the vibrator in and out of your pussy. you kicked out yours legs and he closed the gap between you, his other forearm across your lower back, “stay still, love.” his voice was low. 

his tattooed fingers lingered around your hole, his thumb even touched your clit which made you feel like you were on a live wire! but price kept you pinned down. he loved watching your little movements, everything about you was so delicate. with your glossed lips and the clips in your hair, the way you pouted at him earlier. 

he licked his lips and slid his fingers into your tight hole up against the vibrator. you moaned and arched your back. the pleasure raced through your body as he pleasured you. he knew you were getting more wound up the more he touched you. his naked little angel, all soft and vulnerable for him. 

you didn't know much, when he asked you hard questions you got confused. but your confusion was just the sweetest thing he had ever seen. now he was going to have you as his wife. you'd make a beautiful mother. the thought made his cock twitch, it was already at full attention. ready to fuck the living daylights out of you. 

you clawed at the mattress under you and arched your back. your noises was music to his ears. you made a deep noise when he pulled the vibrator out of your pussy. you went limp onto the bed, your head felt like a haze as you felt him roll you onto your back, your pussy glistened in the heated bedroom.

  “aren't you such a treat. dirty girl who wants to be fucked by her daddy.” he got between your legs, he rested his weight against you, pinning you to the bed. your hands found his shoulders as he hoisted your hips against his. his hard cock pressed against your entrance, “silly little things like you need to be kept safe. that's why your home is in the arms of an older man.” he pressed his forehead against yours, he felt the sweat against his skin. 

you moaned, “price, please.” 

he grabbed you by the face and moved back to he could stare at you. the look in his eyes was clouded by lust, but stern. stern in a way that showed that he was hardened by war.  he said, “price?”

you pouted “daddy…”

  “i should punish you for that. make ya wash your mouth out with soap for that.” he smirked at you, “or maybe ten minutes in the corner? or maybe i should make sure you don't get to orgasm?” 

you whined, “please, daddy! i'm sorry! my head feels all heavy.” you were running on the high of pleasure. you were barely thinking. 

  “it's alright.” he purred, “I can forgive ya tonight. you're always so good for me.” he said as he let go of your chin and kept you pinned to the bed by his broad chest. you could feel his chest hair tickle against your chest. it felt nice against your nipples. he took you by the legs and pushed his cock into you slowly. 

you were so relaxed and soaked that he slipped in with ease. he bottomed out into you and you jolted it. you clawed at his back, nit enough to draw blood but rough enough that it left the skin irritated. price had a few tattoos since he retired, the ink skin contrasted nicely with the prettiness of you nails. 

black ink and pink french-tips. 

he rubbed up against you as he thrusted into you. he loved the warmness of your sex, he could feel your heartbeat against his skin as he moved you up and down on his cock. he exhaled deeply, “that's it, baby girl. daddy loves that cunt of yours.” 

  “please, daddy.” you whimpered as you held onto him tightly. 

  “you feel amazing.” he groaned, “it was like you were made for me.  mind, body and soul. all mine.” 

you tighten your legs around his waist. you moaned into his shoulder, you almost bit into the meat of it as you felt him. every thrust felt like a nudge against the end of you sex. like he was in your stomach. 

  “so good for me. you felt so perfect around me. my baby girl.” he rocked his hips quickly. he slammed his cock deep into you. he held onto you as tight as he could, he knew it was going to bruising. 

  "please"." you whimpered, "it feels so good!'

  "that's what i like to hear.' he fucked you hard, your pussy clenched around his cock. your noises encouraged him as he moved against you. he sloppily made out with you as his pace started to stagger. pleasure clouded both of your mind. his stomach did flips at the idea of getting you pregnant. trapping you with his baby. 

he held onto you tightly, tattooed hand in your hair as he fucked you with vigor. with a few hard thrusts later, you both climaxed at the same time. you kicked out your legs pathetically as you clenched around his cock. you went limp after as you tried to catch your breath. your head was too fuzzy to notice that price was finishing off inside of you. 

spurts of cum hit against the back of your cervix and you felt like you were going to melt into the bed. but price continued to thrust into you even as he grew softer. he loved the feeling of your gummy, soft cunt around his length. it felt like home.

he whispered as he pulled out eventually, he laid out beside you and teased your cunt, “good girl.” he purred, “my good girl.” 

your were unaware of most things. you didn't even notice that price had eagerly seeded you. and his mission was a success <3

[soluversworld]

You, Serial Killer - Ren/Redacted x G.N Reader part 1~

14 days with you! is a 18+ visual novel Minors don’t interact!

Genre: G.N Reader (Angst!)

Summary: You're the Corland Bay Butcher, The Serial Killer, you heard in the news, Bodies, dead, gone, You're nuts! What if, someone was helping ya back to keep you safe, Will you see through his act after all, You met him first. NOT HIM

Trigger Warnings (TWs):

Violence & Gore – Mentions of knives, blood, and killing.

Mental Instability – Implied unhinged thoughts, intrusive urges.

Obsession & Fixation – Thoughts circling around a past encounter.

Content Warnings (CWs):

Dark Poetic Themes – Romanticization of violence and chaos.

Self-Awareness of Morality – Internal conflict about killing/mercy.

Shakespearean-style Poetic Bullying – Intense self-deprecation with a dramatic, lyrical flair.

You're a killer.

Not just any killer—a serial killer.

Why? Could be justice. Could be fun. Could be nothing at all, just a way to kill time. Could be money—blood-soaked bills stacking up in your pocket like trophies. It’s on you. But no matter the reason—you’re a fucking serial killer.

A name whispered in alleys. A face nobody remembers. A shadow in the wrong places at the

You're a killer.

Not just any killer—a serial killer. The kind that gets headlines, Netflix docuseries, and edgy teenage fans who call you “misunderstood” while painting their nails black. Maybe you do it for justice (sure). Maybe for fun (closer). Maybe for nothing at all, because boredom is a worse death than whatever you dish out. Or maybe—just maybe—for money, ‘cause even murderers gotta eat.

You, though? You’re a special breed of fucked. You don’t just kill; you curate. A gallery of ruined bodies, each arranged with a shit bow and a shit-eating grin. You're the scum of the earth, and you know it. Flaunt it, really.

They’ll try to psychoanalyze you. Daddy issues, mommy issues, the whole trauma-riddled spiel. They’ll say you’re broken. That you snap at the world because the world snapped at you first. They’ll search for meaning where there is none. You don’t care to distinguish truth from the real—two entirely different beasts.

You probably fake-hate black holes because they’re cliché but would style yourself after one with a smile. Suck the light out of the room, leave nothing but a cold abyss.

And yet.

You are a fucking liar.

A cute little library assistant by morning, shelving books with a saccharine smile, whispering “shhh” to old ladies and college students. By night? You’re a fucking scary-ass serial killer in a raincoat, dripping something that ain’t just rain.

Crowbar, knives—hell, anything sharp enough to carve flesh from bone. Baby, it’s your choice of weapon. You love blood. Live it, breathe it, bathe in it like it’s a second skin. Your love language? JK, no. You don’t need love when you’ve got arteries splitting open like pages in a well-loved book.

Turn the page. Who’s next?

Also—sadly—an anime fan. A shit living show called Attack on Giant owns a piece of your rotten little heart. You know it’s bad. You don’t care.

And worse? You have a fictional husband. Haruki Haruko. The timid, sympathetic, air-headed (but in a good way), people-pleaser type. Cotton candy in human form. The kind of guy who’d apologize for bleeding on your knife.

How the fuck does a blood-soaked abomination like you love a walking pink marshmallow like him?

It’s fictional. STOP.

And it gets worse.

You and your online friend MOTH? Howling for Haruko like a couple of rabid fangirls. CAPS LOCK ON. ESSAYS IN THE GROUP CHAT. “HE DESERVES THE WORLD” “HIS LITTLE SMILE” “I WANNA PROTECT HIM” — all while your hands are still sticky with blood.

MOTH doesn’t know you’re a killer. Shut up. They think you’re normal. That you just have “dark humor” and a really convincing way of describing knife wounds.

“omg if haruko was real i’d die for him <3”

You? Staring at your body count. Thinking, buddy, I don’t even die for me.

Life was fine. Whatever fine means for someone like you.

Then two idiots fucked up. Bad dudes. Real pieces of shit. The kind that makes even God wanna look away. They got your eyes—metaphorically or literally, who cares—and suddenly, you had a reason. An excuse.

You were already a killer. Now you’re a haunting.

They go first. Before the others. Before the side quests and the casual bloodshed. You want them to know. To feel it. The way your presence clings, the way their shadows stretch too long at night.

They look over their shoulders. They see nothing. For now.

You don’t just kill them. You ruin them.

The first one goes slow. Too slow. You take your time, peeling back skin like wrapping paper, watching them twitch, eyes rolling like marbles in their sockets. You laugh. You LAUGH. It bubbles out of you, high and breathless, like this is the funniest shit you’ve ever seen. Because it is. Because they thought they were untouchable, and now they’re meat.

The second one? Screaming. Begging. Doesn’t matter. You’re an artist, and their body is just another canvas. You make something beautiful—ugly—perfect. A mess of red and twitching limbs. Your hands are soaked, your raincoat is dripping, and you feel fucking alive.

And then.

Someone’s watching you.

The air shifts. The hairs on your neck rise.

What the fuck.

You pause. The feeling lingers—someone watching, something just out of sight. But you? You just shrug.

Eh.

Not your problem. If they saw, they saw. If they didn’t, they’ll wish they had. You wipe your crowbar off on what’s left of them, let the sticky warmth seep into your gloves, and turn on your heel like this was just another Tuesday.

Footsteps. Yours. Handprints. Also yours.

If the police are slick enough to find you? Good for them. You’ll make it fun.

You’re gone. Vanished into the night like the walking crime scene you are.

And then—he arrives.

A man, moving like he’s got all the time in the world. A black hoodie, mask pulled up just enough to hide what matters. Black hair, messy but intentional, like he ran his hands through it one too many times. And his eyes—blue. Too blue. Like the kind you’d see in angel paintings before they ruined you. Too bright. Too sweet.

If you were still there, you’d think, No fucking way.

But you’re not. And he? He’s got cleaning supplies.

Because it seems like you left.

He starts to clean. Like it’s routine. Like he’s done this before.

But you didn’t leave.

You grab him from behind—hard. Slam him down, pinning him with your weight, breath hot against his ear. He barely fights back.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” you snarl, pressing down harder. “What are you, some undercover cop? Finally found the killer? Corland Bay’s sweet psycho serial killer?”

His eyes—too fucking blue—widen. Stunned. Mouth slightly open, like he’s trying to form words but forgot how. And something about the way his face flushes—**soft pink, creeping up his neck—**is wrong.

You don’t notice. You press the knife against his throat. Harder.

“Talk.** Now.**”

You keep him pinned.

Knee digging into his ribs, knife pressed against his throat, eyes narrowed. "What kind of detective—police—whatever the fuck are you?" You hiss, pressing just a little harder, feeling the faint hitch in his breath beneath the blade.

But then—his breathing.

It changes. Too heavy. Too shaky.

Like... ahhhh???!?!!?

AH—????

Your grip tightens. "The fuck is wrong with you?" You growl.

And him? His pupils are blown, his cheeks are flushed, and his breath is ragged in a way that’s not fear.

Oh.

Oh, what the fuck.

You press the knife a little deeper. Not enough to kill, just enough to scare. Or maybe to feel the pulse beneath the blade—fast, uneven, a little too eager.

"You’re gonna die here, you know that?" you murmur. Cute. Like this is just conversation. Like you’re talking about the weather. Another collection. Another body. You grin, sharp and mean.

But he’s still fucking flustered.

Still breathing all wrong. Eyes shining. Like he wants to say something. You peel his mask up, slow, deliberate. His fingers twitch, reaching like he’s gonna stop you—no. You shove his head back down, hard.

Almost makes him faint. Almost does.

You glance around. The mess. The streaks of red. The bleach.

Oh.

What the hell was he trying to clean up?

You look back down, and his eyes—too blue, too bright—are glassy, struggling to focus. He tries again to speak. You don’t care. You push his head down again—too hard.

He goes limp.

You sigh, irritated. Tear the mask away.

And pause.

Tall. 6’5”, easy. Sleeper build—lean but solid. Hands covered in marks. Scratches, burns—old, deep, childhood scars. Piercings that gleam under the shitty streetlights.

And his face?

...Pretty.

Too pretty.

And somewhat familiar.

What the fuck.

He was trying to clean up the mess. Your mess. The blood, the gore, the little bits of art you left behind like a signature.

A serial killer fan? A wannabe? Some poor, mentally ill fuck who thought you were some kind of idol?

Hah.

Darlin’, he was being nice.

Nice enough to clean up after you, to make sure your ass stayed off the radar. And you knocked him out.

Killing him now? Sad. Kind of a waste. But it’s tempting. The way his throat is right there, the way his too-pretty face would look even prettier painted red.

Nah.

Life’s shit. He’ll grow out of it. Probably. Or he won’t.

And wouldn’t that be interesting?

Too hot to kill.

That’s the excuse you land on. Not the stupidest one you’ve made, not the worst, but damn if it isn’t pathetic. You. Showing mercy. Saint Y/N, patron of dumbasses who clean crime scenes.

You almost carry him—almost. He’s fucking heavy. Dead weight in every sense of the word, and your arms are not built for this. You drag him instead, yanking him into another alleyway, gritting your teeth at every awkward shuffle of his too-tall, too-pretty, too-stupid body.

He could wake up. Could see the sun. Could get scared, maybe. Maybe he’ll take the hint. Maybe he’ll run. Maybe he’ll get the fuck out of Corland Bay and out of your life.

Oh, Y/N.

You showed sympathy.

You’re a saint, aren’t you?

Why the fuck was he trying to clean the mess?

Weird-ass serial killer fan? Some freak with a savior complex? Someone worse?

You don’t care. You won’t care.

Your work here is done. Corland Bay sleeps. So should you.

You yawn, stretch, crack your neck. Good night, dumbass.

You need to sleep. For your work.

You had… a dream.

A little child. Small hands, soft voice. He tries to give you a ring.

Innocent. Loved you.

And you—you looked. You can’t remember your own expression, but your face felt warm, felt happy. Like he was everything. Like he was your darling. A sweet boy.

You can’t see his face.

"Do you wanna marry me…? Angel! I'll take good care of you…"

His voice—soft, bright, hopeful.

You don’t get to answer.

Because Leon, your ass of a friend, grabs your hand, pushes the boy’s away. The ring falls. The boy stumbles.

He’s crying.

"He's a freak! I told ya! Why did you hang out with him? Look!"

You couldn’t say anything.

You didn’t.

Leon—nah. He took your hand. You let him.

And you watched.

Watched the boy cry. Watched him pick up the ring.

Your older self watched.

Watched your kid self. Watched the way your little hands twitched, how your feet stayed planted, how your mouth—silent.

You felt something. Like you wanted to remember. Like if you just reached a little further—

Then—

A sound.

Loud. Jarring. A kick to the ribs of your dream.

Yeah. You woke up.

Congrats.

You’re the beauty of gore.

Coffee. Black, like your soul or whatever. Bitter, like your mornings.

You flip on the news. Same shit, different day.

"Yet another body was pulled from Bluemoss this morning. Authorities believe it was the work of the infamous Corland Bay Butcher—"

What a fucking name.

Hideous.

You hate it. If you were gonna be branded a legend, you’d at least give yourself a name with some style. But no. The public loves their sensationalist, overcooked horror movie bullshit.

And this case? This crime?

It’s years old.

What the fuck.

Maybe people are just dumb.

It’s like that one show, Dexter. The whole Bay Harbor Butcher thing. Lame. At least Dexter got a name with a little bite—this? This sounds like something a washed-up true crime podcaster would spit out between sips of pumpkin spice.

People should’ve named you something cool. Something with presence. Something that rolls off the tongue like a whispered threat.

You sip your coffee, scalding hot, burning the tip of your tongue. Whatever. You like the pain.

The news anchor drones on, their voice that usual mix of forced solemnity and thinly veiled excitement. Because that’s what this is, right? The public eats this shit up. Blood and bodies and mystery.

And the dumbest part? This case is years old.

They’re still talking about it, still digging up corpses like long-forgotten relics, still pretending they care.

But you know the truth.

People don’t care about the dead. They care about the thrill. The spectacle. The fear.

You roll your eyes and take another sip. Yeah, whatever.

You do like Dexter, though. Good show. But come on, at least his name had branding.

Moth texts. Buzz, buzz. Your phone screen lights up.

You flick open the keyboard, thumbs hovering. Moth is sweet. Thoughtful, even. Different time zones and all, but they still check in. You shoot back a quick "Thank you!" because you’re a saint.

Grey bubble. They’re typing.

Moth

"btwww! did u see the latest AoG ep?? i heard Haruko got an outfit change!!!!"

Moth

"spoil it for me. did he really change his hairstyle as well?"

You scoff. Baby stays the same.

You type back so fast your screen almost cracks.

"HHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE"

He didn’t. Still the same. Still cute. Still sweet. Still the most lovable little cutie to ever exist.

You hammer it into the keyboard like it’s gospel.

Moth

"LMAOOO bless. also. shouldn’t u be at work rn."

…Oh. Oh, shit.

FUCK.

You throw the phone. You bolt. Clothes? Shitty. Aesthetic? Somewhere between 2018 emo-core and 'I let a Tumblr gremlin dress me in the dark.'

WHY?

Fuck it. You’re emo.

You catch yourself in the mirror. Oh. Oh damn.

You look hot. Like feral raccoon meets 2018 Hot Topic cashier meets 'I definitely bite.'

Self-confidence? SKYROCKETED. You are an icon. A menace. A walking, talking Tumblr sexyperson if Tumblr had any taste.

Oh shit.

Work.

Oh no.

Oh no no no.

You can’t be feeling yourself this much and then drop a fucking uwu. That’s a war crime. That’s illegal. That’s—

…You wink at yourself in the mirror anyway.

"Time to cause problems."

Door swings open. The world outside assaults you with daylight. Gross.

"Oh! Hey there, Angel! Looking good!"

Violet’s standing there, all sunshine and soil-stained fingers, practically glowing in the morning light. Sickening. If it were anyone else, you’d gag. But it’s Violet. So you deal with it.

You flick your eyes to her hip, where yet another potted plant balances like a permanent attachment. Her whole apartment? Basically a jungle. If you didn’t know better, you’d swear she was growing a sentient vine army in there, plotting to take over the world with nothing but greenery and kindness.

You? Not complaining. The air always smells fresh, floral, and earthy as hell whenever she’s around—a perfect mask for the lingering traces of smoke and death clinging to you.

"New plant?" you ask, because duh.

Violet grins, fishing for her keys. "Mm-hmm! This one’s a rosemary bush! Thought it’d be nice to have something useful."

Useful? You know fifty different ways to kill someone with rosemary. You smile.

"Nice."

Violet eyes you up and down, her expression turning downright delighted.

"Loving the look today, Angel! Very... 2018 Tumblr emo."

You snort. "You wound me."

"No, seriously! I kinda wanna raid your closet one day." She nudges you playfully, still grinning like she’s just discovered a hidden treasure trove of goth fashion secrets. If only she knew.

You laugh, all teeth and mischief. "Sure, sure. One day."

One day. Which means never. Because the only thing your closet is full of? Knives. Knives, crowbars, and the occasional bloodstained hoodie. Hardly the wardrobe of an alt-fashion influencer.

Then she dropped a bomb.

You blink. "Nope. Nada. Never heard of him."

Violet narrows her eyes, lips pursing. "You sure? "'Cause he seemed real familiar with you.""

Your stomach does this weird little flip, like your instincts are tapping at your ribs, whispering, Hey, maybe pay attention to this one. But you shut that feeling down real fast.

"Violet, babe, I think you dreamed this one up." You flash a grin, all casual confidence, even as your mind works overtime, flipping through the mental Rolodex of potential problems.

Tall guy? Dark hoodie? Alternative fashion? Too many belts? Jesus, what is he, a Final Fantasy character?

"No clue who that is," you repeat, a little slower this time, letting the lie settle.

Violet hums, unconvinced. "Weird. "

You shrug, pretending your skin isn't crawling just a little. "Sounds like a him problem."

But in the back of your mind, you know damn well this is gonna be a you problem real soon.

"No worries, Vi. I got work now, I'll check later." You wave a dismissive hand, already stepping away.

Check later? Lmao, no. You didn’t give a shit. Who the hell would stalk you?

…Unless—

Oh.

If it was a stalker, then they were bold. And if they were bold, that meant either two things:

They were stupid. In which case, easy kill.

They were a detective.

And ohhhh, baby, wouldn’t that be fun?

You bite your lip, suppressing the grin creeping up. A detective? Hunting you? Now that was hot.

Hell, maybe you'd let them catch up just for the thrill. Let them get close, real close—close enough to think they had you—before you turned the tables.

Oooooh. Fuck.

Yeah. That’d be fun.

You hit send before you can second-guess yourself. Maybe it’s better to leave it at that. Maybe it’s better to pretend you don’t care. Maybe, maybe, maybe. You can stack those maybes like a house of cards, but it won’t stop the wind from blowing.

You’ve got bigger things to deal with. A shitty apartment. A shittier job. The nagging feeling that something off is creeping up behind you, but you? You walk faster.

You breathe deep, step through the library doors, and let the scent of old paper settle the static under your skin. It’s grounding. Familiar. The only thing that stays still in a world that never does.

And then—

“Oh!”

Elanor.

Sweet, doting Elanor, with her scatterbrained ways and her insufferable meddling. She’s already smiling, head tilting, eyes flicking you over like she’s about to say something that’ll make you regret showing up today.

“Sooooo?” She hums, teasing. “How does it feel to no longer be the one in charge of stacking books all day long?”

Before you can answer, she keeps going, because of course she does.

“Although… you’ll still have to work the front desk from time to time, unfortunately.”

You shrug. Offer a smile—if it even counts. Make your way past her before she can wring you into another conversation that leaves you tired before noon.

The familiar chime of the library door rings. Someone’s entered. Not your problem. You duck down, slide your bag under the desk, start pulling out your things. You focus.

The hum of the library settles you, slow and steady, like an IV drip to an addict. Bookshelves, faint ink-and-paper perfume, the distant murmur of people who still think this place is a sanctuary.

And then—again.

Elanor.

Her voice drops into something light, airy, knowing. Fuck.

“Looks like he’s back again.”

Your fingers freeze on the paper in front of you.

“You know, that new guy? The one who always checks out the books you put on display?”

She’s got a grin in her voice. It makes your eye twitch.

“And if I didn’t know any better—” (you don’t, Elanor, you never do,) “I’d say he has a little crush on you.”

Pause.

“Because he was staring. A lot.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

You shove her chair so it spins away from you, ignoring the heat creeping up your neck.

The universe, it seems, has chosen today to test your patience.

And now—because fate is cruel and Elanor is worse—

Aisle 8.

The red light above the shelves blinks. Someone needs help. Him.

Of course.

You sigh. Drag yourself up. Refuse to look at her. You don’t need to—her glee is practically a tangible thing, radiating off her in smug waves. You weave through the shelves, every step an exercise in reluctant inevitability.

And then—there he is.

A broad figure. Back turned. Wearing the comfiest cardigan you’ve ever seen. He hasn’t noticed you yet.

You clear your throat. “Ahem.”

Flinch.

He turns.

Stops.

And for the first time all day, so do you.

Pink.

Pink hair. Soft eyes. Tall—too tall. Looking at you like he’s just walked into a dream he wasn’t ready for.

You stare.

He stares.

Somewhere, distantly, reality stirs.

His jaw moves, something almost forming before it stumbles out clumsy and quiet:

“Woah… You look…”

A beat.

His eyes flick over you, unreadable, thoughtful, confused.

“But I thought you preferred softer clothing…? That’s why I…”

Why he what?

His voice dies. He clears his throat, face burning cherry-pink, matching his hair.

“Ahem! Um… S-Sorry, I hope I’m not bothering you.”

And you—oh, you—

You don’t know what the fuck is going on.

How’s that?

Not about this. Not about him.

But his voice drags you back, an anchor to the present, and you scramble to piece together whatever sentence just left his cherry-stained lips. There’s a kind of innocence in the way he struggles for the right words, tripping over them like a nervous actor missing his cue. It’s almost endearing. Almost.

You give him a slow nod, a silent cue to keep going.

He takes a breath.

“…I need some help. I—I’m looking for a specific book, you see, but…”

And there it is. The sleeve-tugging hesitation. That stammer, that nervous shift, like a protagonist straight out of one of Moth’s favorite anime. They’re going to absolutely lose it when you tell them about this later.

The stranger tries again, steadier this time, his gaze catching yours with something just a little too sharp.

“…Do you have any books on native flora? The best I’ve found are on generic wildlife, but nothing on Corland Bay’s plants.”

Plants? Your first thought is to direct him to Violet—this is her territory—but instead, you let out a quiet chuckle and step a little closer, scanning the shelf beside him.

He twitches. Not away—closer. Just slightly. A shift so subtle it’s almost imperceptible, except for the way his breath hitches when your scent brushes past him.

“No, you’re in the right section,” you murmur. “They’re just… buried.”

Your fingers ghost along the book spines, slow, deliberate, until you find the one. You tug it free, turning it in your hands before offering it to him.

“This the one?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Not with words, at least. His gaze lingers—too long, too intense—before he finally reaches for it. His fingers brush yours, barely, but there’s a slight tremor in them.

Then he flips through the pages, scanning, searching—

And stops.

“Yes,” he breathes, triumphant. “This is perfect. Thank you…”

You barely have time to nod before he adds, almost too softly:

“Haha, you’re like an angel, you know that? So kind.”

Your heart stumbles. Your lips part—

“…What?”

His expression shatters into pure, unfiltered horror.

“Oh my God—” His face flushes, hands flying up as if he could physically shove the words back into his mouth. “I didn’t—Did I actually say that out loud? Oh, shit, I’m so sorry. That was—That must’ve been so weird—”

It’s adorable, in a train-wreck kind of way.

You bite back a grin, raising your hands in mock surrender. “Relax. Just caught me off guard, is all.”

His eyes flicker with something—relief? Embarrassment? It’s hard to tell beneath the flush crawling up his neck.

“R-Really?” His voice is softer now, hopeful. “Well, I meant it.”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Sure.”

And that should be the end of it. You should step away. Let him bask in his mortification. But he doesn’t move. Just watches. A silent, expectant sort of tension stretching between you.

You clear your throat. “Uh. You shouldn’t stare like that.”

His head tilts, almost curious. “Why not?”

Your stomach twists.

“Because I don’t know you,” you reply, words lighter than the weight pressing against your ribs.

His lips twitch, like he’s suppressing a smile. “Ah. A technicality.”

You exhale sharply, already regretting this entire conversation. “You haven’t even told me your name.”

“Haven’t I?”

A pause.

Then, smoothly: “Red- Ren.”

Ren. The name tastes unfamiliar, but something about it scratches at the back of your mind. The way he says it—like it’s borrowed. Like it’s just another book on a shelf, waiting to be picked up and put back down under a different title.

Still, you nod, forcing an easy smile. “Nice to meet you, Ren.”

His gaze flickers down—to your name tag. A quiet hum leaves him.

“Y/n,” he muses. “Or… Angel, maybe.” His grin sharpens. “Both suit you.”

Until he tilts his head, expression sobering.

“…You said you needed a new lock for your apartment.”

You blink, thrown off by the sudden shift. “Yeah?”

“Why?”

You hesitate. There’s no real harm in telling him, right? It’s not like he’s the one who broke in.

“Someone snuck in last night,” you admit, shrugging. “Didn’t steal anything. But still. Creepy.”

Ren hums again, thoughtful. Then, without missing a beat:

“I could watch your place.”

Your breath catches.

You blink at him. “What.”

He shrugs, casual. “Stay up. Keep an eye out. Handle it if anything happens.” His voice is smooth, steady, like he’s offering to water your plants while you’re away. “Wouldn’t be a problem.”

You stare.

He meets your gaze, unwavering.

It’s insane. It’s suspicious. It’s absolutely something you should say no to.

Instead, you hear yourself say:

“…You offering to be my personal bodyguard now?”

Ren smiles. “Only if you say yes.”

"You really want to protect a stranger like me, Who knows, You-" You went closer to his ear whispered "can't trust anyone...What if, I'm luring you for my own fun..?"

He flustered, almost fell down...You giggle and left.

You smile. Evilly.

Heheheheh.

He looks cute, won’t lie. Almost too cute. You’ve always wanted to commit a Haruko crime—sink your knife into something pretty, watch something lovely turn ruinous in your hands. Killing him would be fun.

Wouldn't lie… those blue eyes—

They’re similar.

That man.

The one from the alley. The first one you didn’t kill. The one you let walk free.

Your mind wrenches back to him, unbidden. That look in his eyes, the way he stood—different. He wasn’t like the others. He was… something else.

And maybe—just maybe—your poor, gutted heart…

Ugh.

Stop.

Ugh.

You smile a little.

Shitty. Yes. You’re fucked in the head.

And oh, how you love it.

A wretched thing, a beautiful disaster, a creature born to revel in ruin—you, a lover in the way fire loves to lick at the edges of a home, the way a knife loves the tender give of flesh.

What is it, then? This itch in your skull? This whisper in your bones? Some ghost of mercy rattling in your ribcage? How disgusting. How divine.

You let one go. One. And yet his ghost lingers like the taste of copper on your tongue. A memory dressed in blue-eyed regret.

You should carve it out. Bleed it dry. But oh, don’t you adore the ache?

[midnightwinterhawk]

I found this unfinished fic rec list in my google docs and I have no idea what the theme was supposed to be so I'm setting it free into the world. I've read all of these more than once but that's the only common thread I can see. 😂

Since @outtoshatter told me to publish it (many, many months ago) this is dedicated to her.

The One You Choose by @asterekmess

13k | Mature

Stiles hadn’t seen Scott in over a week, except for glances he caught during school hours.

Sex Therapy by Asterekmess

51k | Explict

Stiles wanders into a club named Eclipse, looking for a one night stand to help him get over his breakup, only to realize that he has no idea what he's doing. Luckily for him, Derek is happy to be his Yoda.

The only problem comes when neither of them are able to keep it to just one night.

In One Kiss You'll Know All I Haven't Said by @aussiebee

1.7k | Teen

Derek accidentally kisses Stiles goodbye. They aren't dating.

It becomes... a thing.

we are the resistance by @callunavulgari

7k | Mature | (Pacific Rim au!!)

“So,” Stiles says after a moment. “Werewolves.”

“It’s a thing,” Derek murmurs sleepily.

Stiles chokes on a laugh. “Yeah, I realize that now. I just, I don’t know why I expected anything different. We live in a world where giant aliens attack every few weeks through a trans-dimensional portal at the bottom of the Pacific, why wouldn’t werewolves exist?”

[Hilary Duff Lyric Redacted] by calrissian18 (@wellhalesbells)

40k | Explicit

Stiles hadn’t been in Beacon Hills in five years, hadn’t seen Derek in nearly as long, when he got the text:

New number: (+530) 365-2421

or

An abundance of overeating and geekery, dangerous caffeine/sugar cereal addictions, surprise werewolves, bird insults, purple-eyed shrimp, reincarnated serial killers (it's cool, he has a leash), poorly played professional baseball, and a love story. In that order.

stuck in reverse by @crazyassmurdererwall

65k | Explict

Look, Derek is the worst. Everyone knows that. Their fearless leader is a total and complete failwolf.

Which means the rest of them? Are kind of the worst too. They’re a ramshackle, slap dashed, sorry excuse for a pack that’s about a half second away from getting one of them killed. And this is a problem, because Stiles would really like to survive high school. Thanks.

Still, no one deserves what Derek has gone through. Nobody.

And it’s about time somebody told him that.

Step into the daylight (and let it go) by dearericbittle

14k | Mature

Stiles is a grad student with serious insomnia. So when he sees a stranger in need of help, he thinks it’ll be a good way to allevbore the boredom. How the hell was he supposed to know that the weird guy with the baseball cap was a famous actor (and a fucking werewolf)? He just keeps running into the guy. Coincidence? Stiles thinks not.

Come with Me and Walk the Longest Mile by @devildoll

40k | Explicit

"Stiles shouldn't accept rides from werewolves he meets behind abandoned convenience stores." In which the zombie apocalypse is just one of their worries.

of gods & monsters by @dexterous-sinistrous

6k | Mature

“I’m not the best at conversation. I’ve been told I have no finesse for it.”

Stiles took a step closer to Derek, pushing the billowing silk out of the way. “And what would you say if you looked at me now?”

Derek looked up, startled for a moment when he realized he was now looking at Stiles’ unveiled face. He was silent for a beat, taking in Stiles’ features for the first time, convinced he would never see such beauty unveiled for him alone.

Painted Wooden Letters by @discontentedwinter

10k | Teen | (Stiles & John with a tiny side of Sterek)

All he ever wanted to be was Stiles Stilinski.

Smoke & Mirrors by doodle

69k | Explicit

"Mirror twin, actually,” Stiles corrected automatically. “It’s a subset of identical, but we’re not identical in the normal way. I'm the mirror image of him, or him me, whichever way you want to look at it."

Stiles has spent his entire life in the shadow of JJ, his popular, captain of the lacrosse team, jackass twin brother. Now he only has to make it through the summer until JJ goes to college.

Easier said than done when JJ starts hooking up with Stiles' crush, Derek Hale, and there's a dead body in the preserve.

Windows by @drgrlfriend

83k | Explicit

Derek has a new neighbor who won't stop looking.

Excerpt:

“You’re blind,” Derek said flatly, the anger draining from him so suddenly he felt almost woozy. His vision cleared, his claws sliding back into blunt fingernails.

“Thanks for the memo, genius,” the kid said acidly. “I can still fucking defend myself, so don’t take another damn step.”

“Fuck, I...I’m sorry,” Derek stuttered.

“What?!” The kid’s brow crinkled. “I mean — what?! You’re fucking sorry!?” His lips thinned into a harsh line. “What, is this some kinda Hallmark movie where you’re discovering the error of your ways because you don’t want to rob a blind person?! That’s fucking condescending, man. I’ll have you know that —”

“Just, wait.” Derek interrupted what was apparently the start of a convincing argument as to why he should rob the kid after all, feeling his head start to spin. “This is — it’s a misunderstanding. I’m — I’m not robbing you. You’re — you’re safe, okay? I’m taking three steps back. Just — just let me explain.”

“Explain why you came busting into my apartment? Yeah, go right ahead, man, I can’t wait to hear this epic tale.”

Watch as the waves, fall back into place. by DropsOfAddiction

32k | Explicit

Derek rakes his eyes over Stiles’ exposed arms and his gaze lingers on the lithe muscle there. The evidence of years of staying in shape, working as an FBI field agent is blatant and was he always that hairy?

Derek’s mesmerised by the dark hair running up his arms and it’s only when Stiles clears his throat and flails his hands at him that Derek manages to bring his eyes to his face.

Stiles’ brown hair is longer and he looks taller somehow, fitting his body in a way Derek’s never quite seen on him. He looks totally comfortable in himself, propped there against the jeep like he does this every day, like he’s not making Derek readjust his entire world view, just by being there.

Derek scents the air blatantly and he steps closer to him, pleased with the way Stiles’ heartbeat spikes a little, despite his cool demeanour.

“Hey Hale. Looking good,” Stiles grins, still not moving an inch, even when Derek’s only about a metre away.

lovely, dark, deep by @elisela

3k | General

Stiles floats.

That’s all there is to do; the day is sunny and warm, like every other day he’s been in this pond, though he’s not sure how long that’s been. Sometimes he thinks it hasn’t been long, but whenever he tries to think about it, he … forgets. He told Kate once, when she came out to the garden late one night and let a fox tumble from her hands onto the ground, and she’d patted his cheek and told him that merpeople weren’t known for anything but looking pretty, so she wasn’t surprised to hear he didn’t have many thoughts in his head.

Sometimes it bothers him, that he can remember every day he’s been in the pond but nothing before, but if he thinks about it for too long he forgets that, too.

By Any Other Name by @entanglednow

33k | Explicit

He doesn't know his name, he doesn't know who he is, and neither does the werewolf he's on the run with. But he's pretty sure they hunt monsters, because they seem to be really good at it.

Hide Of A Life War by @etharei

26k | Explicit

“We have received confirmation that there is a hostage situation in progress at a warehouse compound two hours out of Los Angeles, following a multiple-vehicle pileup on Highway 101 this morning...”

The one in which Stiles has lived to (legal) adulthood and, along the way, become a bit of a badass himself.

One Dollar Yoda by exclamation @adventures-in-a-world-of-fiction

11k | Mature

Stiles is an unbonded spark, so he's been dealing with courting alphas since he was ten. It's gotten a lot worse since he turned sixteen. Some are assholes, some are nice, but Stiles hasn't wanted to spend the rest of his life bound to any of them.

When Derek Hale shows up at his school, Stiles expects him to be just another asshole alpha attempting to buy him with expensive gifts. But Derek Hale puts no effort whatsoever into his courtship gifts. Stiles ought to be offended but instead he finds it refreshing.

On my Way by Gia279 (@outtoshatter)

18k | NR

Huge black paws smacked the window, followed by a fuzzy face smooshing up against it.

He scrambled over the gear shift, tipping into the passenger seat. Bear, he thought hysterically. It had to be a bear, a freaking bear.

A big pink tongue rolled out, lips pulling back as the creature panted.

Forward Motion by Gia279

9k | Teen

Stiles and Claudia have just opened their magic shop, finally moving to a brick and mortar store instead of selling potions and amulets from their kitchen.

Derek is having strange dreams, and Peter keeps asking him to go pick up some weird herbs from the new shop while the rest of the Hale pack is in an uproar preparing for their chaotic winter celebration.

Stiles has not one but two embarrassing run-ins with Derek before he manages a conversation with him, and Claudia gets the last laugh.

Shifted by Gia279

48k | NR

What the fuck? Stiles’s eyes snapped open. He leaped back.

A semi-truck blew by, horn blaring in annoyance.

Stiles looked around. His heart quickened at the unfamiliar shadows. His phone rang again, startling him. He fumbled it out of his pocket to answer, fingers sliding awkwardly over the screen.

“Where are you?” Talia’s voice snapped with urgency.

Stiles looked down. His feet were bare and dirty, but he’d still been wearing jeans when he fell asleep. “I’m not sure.”

flint & tinder by grimm

43k | Explicit

Casting spells, chasing monsters, wooing your coworkers and fucking them in their offices - it's all in a day's work for Stiles Stilinski.

North of Salem by @halehathnofury-blog

85k | Explicit

The world is ending in a fight between the supernatural and human worlds. On the front line there are packs that keep the threat at bay and one of them is run by an Alpha wolf and a Spark.

Quack (Stiles Stop Calling It That) by @isthatbloodonhisshirt

16k | Teen

“Stiles, I’m serious, I need a favour.”

“That sounds like a trap,” Stiles Stilinski muttered sleepily into both his pillows. “You know,” he continued when the man in his room made no move to leave, “you’d think I’d be used to this. My dad, coming into my room, smacking my ass to get me out of bed, waking me up at the ass crack of dawn—”

“It’s almost one.”

“—waking me up at the ass crack of one,” Stiles continued without missing a beat, “and asking for a favour. Given my life growing up with you, you’d think I’d be used to this by now. I think the reason this hits so hard now is that I specifically bought my own apartment so that you couldn’t wake me up at the ass crack of dawn—”

“Stiles, it’s almost one.”

“—so that you couldn’t wake me up at the ass crack of one.”

Words Cannot Espresso How Much You Bean to Me by isthatbloodonhisshirt

68k | Teen

“You’re late,” Derek informed him coldly, jaw clenched. He barely even moved his mouth to speak. This guy was seriously scary.

And because Stiles was suicidal, he said, “No, I’m Stiles.”

The look he got could’ve curdled milk. Stiles even noticed that Derek’s muscles were tensing, arms bulging even more and wow this guy was scary and hot but mostly scary holy shit.

“You’re not funny,” Derek informed him coldly.

Stiles shrugged. “I think that’s a matter of opinion.”

Puppy Love by @jerakeenc

7k | Teen

"You stole half the dogs in town," his dad says, hands on his hips. "I should arrest you."

"They're in protective custody," Stiles corrects him. He's trying to sound serious, but it's almost impossible when you have a Pomeranian eating your hair.

Waiting Games Jerakeen

6k | Explicit

Being an only child and heir to the throne, Stiles had always known he may not have the luxury of marrying for love. When he’d realized he was an omega to boot, things had taken an even more uncomfortable turn for him.

Omegas are rare. An omega as the heir apparent is almost unheard of.

Which is why there is no wiggle room when it comes to the tournament.

Don't Worry Baby by @kalpurna

20k | Explicit

"You know you're allowed to ask for vanilla sex, right?" he says, afterwards. "We can do whatever you want. That's kind of the point."

Derek doesn't respond.

The (un)Usual? by @rhysiana

28k | Teen

Stiles works nights at the local college-town diner. Derek is the weird, taciturn new regular who apparently needs huge quantities of food in the middle of the night. Stiles is determined to figure out why.

[rakhalofthestars]

Pierced Lips & Pierced Hearts

Synopsis: Boothill has always had a number of facial piercings so what's a couple more to the mix?

Tags: Boothill x gn! reader, fluff, banter, established relationship, soft boothill, self-indulgent, piercings, dirty jokes a/n: this fic is based off my personal headcanon of boothill having piercings heheh

Warnings: none unless cussing and dirty jokes count as a warning... do they? idk man

wc: 2,6k

“Right… so yer absolutely positive y’want me ta’ pierce yer… whatchamacallit?” “Helix an’ get on with it already!” “Yeh yeh, that. Quit wigglin’ ‘round like a worm. Yer not tryna pussy outta this, are ya, [REDACTED]?”

The teen in question stiffens, not having expected his older brother to see through his act already. He scratches at his cheek, grey eyes determined to look anywhere BUT the older boy in front of him. He scrambles to find a reason as to why he was squirming like a fish out of water but alas, the other boy was a bit too astute when it came to all things “being a pain in the goddamn ass” related. 

“I knew it! You are! Just you wait ‘til I go an’ tell that yer crush ‘bout this!” “Ya bastard! I ain’t scared! I jus’ don’t like the way yer wavin’ that big ass needle about.” His older brother rolls his eyes, clearly not buying the excuse. Poor ol’ [REDACTED]. No matter how often he joined the others at the poker table, he still couldn’t master the art of having a poker face. His face was just too expressive, especially his eyes. They’d widen just a smidge and everybody and their mama would know the idiot had gotten a good hand. 

Although, truth be told, nobody was in a hurry to teach [REDACTED] how to keep his expressions under control. He was already proving himself to be a dab hand at cards and nobody was in the mood to have to deal with him gloating over both what a deadshot he was as well as potentially being one of the best blackjack and Texas hold-em players that Aeragan-Epharshel has ever seen. Nah… it was just too risky. His older brother quite preferred having the title of being the resident nuisance and he wasn’t ready to part with it just yet. 

“Maybe if ya stopped movin’ so much, this needle won’t end up bein’ shoved up yer ass. Now, stay still or I’m gonna tie ya to the tree like last time.” “Oi. The ‘last time’ in question was 7 years ago, thank ya kindly-” He would’ve said more because aeons knew he had a wobblin’ jaw but his older brother gave him a pointed glare. Sitting with his back as straight as a ruler, he does his best to look anywhere but at the needle slowly inching closer to his ear. His hands tightly grip the fabric of his chaps and his shark-like teeth clamp down on his bottom lip. 

“FUCK… That hurts like a motherfucker!” He hisses, resisting the urge to clamp his hand over his ear and massage his sore helix. “I’d watch that mouth o’ yers if I were you or Graey’s gonna be on yer ass and puttin’ soap in yer mouth again. And quit yer cryin’, you’ll be in apple pie order in no time,” his older brother pats him on the shoulder, throwing the used needle away in a nearby haystack. Good luck to anyone who’d try and look for it later… 

His older brother hands him a mirror and he brushes a few stray locks of snowy white hair to get a good look. He whistles, impressed with his sibling’s handiwork. The onyx black earring sat snugly on his helix and made him look just a tad bit more like the cowboys he’d be reading about in the Wild West Weekly. 

“Not bad… guess y’really are more than just a dumbass on a horse.” “Watch it ‘fore I go an’ find another needle to pierce yer asscheeks.”

A small laugh interrupts his story and Boothill is brought back to the present. He turns his head to the side to regard the culprit who dared to interrupt him but he can’t bring himself to be snarky. Not when you looked so at peace with your head resting on his shoulder and your body draped over his. Still… Boothill couldn’t just let you get off scot-free, no siree. That’d go against all his morals as a Galaxy Ranger. 

“Ow! The fuck was that for?” you hiss when Boothill lands a flick to your forehead. “What’d I say ‘bout interruptin’ a cowboy when he’s yarnin’ the hours away?” “Yes yes, sit still and don’t interrupt and pay attention. You want me to raise my hand as well to ask a question or is that not allowed in your classroom, Professor Boothill?” Boothill rolls his eyes at your snarkiness, pretending to be annoyed although the twitch of his lips said otherwise. Boothill may be quick to draw his gun but you were in a league of your own when it came to having a quick tongue. It really puts his old title of being Aeragan-Epharshel’s resident smartass to shame although he quickly shakes his head free of that thought. He might be regaling you with stories of the past but he didn’t want to dwell on memories of yore for longer than necessary. What was it his doctor had taught him again? Right. Remember just enough to keep the feelings alive and keep going. More than that and his neuro-chip would start malfunctioning again and that really wasn’t how neither you or him would want what’s supposed to be a relaxing night to end. 

“Ya wound me, darlin’. Here I am, bein’ a responsible pardner an’ teachin’ ya ‘bout piercing safety an’ y’repay me by interruptin’ me an’ tellin’ me my story’s boring? Oh, the trials an’ tribulations of bein’ a poor lonesome cowboy such as I.” “Hey! Quit putting words in my mouth-” “Would you rather I put somethin’ else instead? I know you’ve got a preference for mah-” “I hope you choke on a dick.” “As long as it’s yers, I ain’t got no objections, sugar.” Boothill bursts into laughter and makes a half-hearted attempt to escape from the sudden onslaught of whacks from your pillow while you groaned about how his faulty synesthesia beacon did not help at all with keeping his mouth clean. After a couple of whacks, he deftly catches the pillow and throws it aside, much to your chagrin. You huff and puff, reminding the man of a certain big bad wolf from a bedtime story a gentle woman used to tell him in his childhood. 

“Anywho… you didn’t need to flick my forehead so hard. I can already feel a bruise forming.” “Bullshirt. I ain’t even hit you that hard.” “I think you forget you’ve got fingers made of metal.” Boothill feels a pang of guilt shoot through his heart. Had he really hit you that hard? He’d been working on controlling just how much strength he used when performing certain actions. Aeons knows how many glasses he’s accidentally shattered during the days following his surgery to become a cyborg. He’d been like a newborn calf, stumbling around and at times, barely able to stand on his own legs due to not being accustomed to the weight of his new body. Regardless, he really had been putting in the effort, especially after meeting you. Contrary to what the IPC spread about him, he wasn’t some trigger happy thug who’d hurt you just for looking at him wrong, no fibbing! “ ‘m sorry, sugar. I really thought I hadn’t hit you that hard,” Boothill apologizes, looking genuinely remorseful. He presses a few kisses to your forehead on the area where he’d flicked you, taking care to be extra soft and gentle just for you. His body may be metal now but that didn’t mean his heart was as well, after all. 

“It’s fine. I was just messing with you, it didn’t actually hurt that much. I just wanted to get a few kisses.” “Right.”

“Oi, no need to get all grumpy with me. You have to admit it was pretty genius of me.” “Want me to ring up the Genius Society an’ ask if they agree?” You roll your eyes, seeing through Boothill’s grumpy facade easily. He may have more of a poker face now but you knew him well enough to notice all his little tells. Everything from the way his onyx eyes would constantly linger on you to the way his rough voice would be softened just for you. 

“There there, I’ll give you a few kisses so we’re equal, how about that? The law of equivalent exchange or whatever the fuck they call it.” Just as you’d expected, a roguish grin appears on Boothill’s lips. He always looked forward to your kisses. Not just because you were probably one of the few good things he had left and he’d do just about anything for you like a lovesick puppy, but also because you had a special way of giving them. 

You see, Boothill’s piercings didn’t just stop at his ears. No. Despite having gotten an earful from Graey after he’d pierced his helix all those years ago, he’d gotten a newfound appreciation and love for the body modifications. After he’d gotten his helix pierced a second time, he got an eyebrow piercing, a septum piercing which you’d often tease him about and say it made him look like a bull, a tongue piercing and canine bites. 

So, whenever you kissed this unfortunately extremely loveable cowboy, you followed a little ritual.

Your lips, soft and warm in the way all organic beings were, brush first against the conch of his ear before moving down to the lobe. You relish in the way Boothill shivers subtly but don’t dwell on it for long as your lips move up to his eyebrow. You press a kiss there, watching how the man closes his eyes and basks in your affection like a cat in the afternoon sun, before moving down to the tip of his crooked nose and pressing another kiss there. Now, this here was your favorite part as well as Boothill’s though he hoped you wouldn’t tease too much. You press a kiss on each of his canine bites before pausing with your lips just mere millimeters away from his. “I think you should pierce your lips.” “Darlin’... now’s not the time,” an uncharacteristic (though to be frank, you thought it was quite characteristic of him but that’s just your two cents) whine slips past Boothill’s lips. The temporary walls that you’d built up for the sake of teasing him almost crumble but you stay strong.

“I’m just saying… they’d suit you quite well. Make you look more handsome than you already unfortunately are.” “The fork do you mean unfortuna-” “Ooh! Or your nipples. Although… I guess these screws already count as nipple piercings, huh?” You hum thoughtfully to yourself, your fingers lightly tracing the screws that kept his metal pecs in place. Boothill’s grip on you tightens and he takes hold of your wrists, pulling your hands away.

“Don’t.” Interesting… but you file that away for later as you finally acquiesce and give him a tender kiss on the lips. 

–

“The things I do for the love of mah life…” “Oi, don’t put this on me. I was just making an innocent suggestion, how was I supposed to know you’d follow through on it?” Boothill merely chuckles. At times, it was just too easy to get under your skin. He liked to consider it as one of his favorite pastimes aside from shooting targets, though you begged to differ on that regard. 

“Aeons forbid a man take measures to make sure he’s the only one in his pardner’s heart.” “I think you could’ve taken better measures by not choosing to get your lips pierced at this backwater salon, first off,” you point out. The salon clearly had seen better days and you’d make a comment about the mixed reviews of the place if the piercer wasn’t already staring daggers at you. Woops… best to keep your mouth shut.

“An’ risk somebody snitchin’ to the IPC on mah whereabouts? Naw… ‘sides I think we’ve already established that I ain’t the type to be picky ‘bout where I get pierced s’long as it’s safe an’ sterile enough.” You simply shrug, opting to keep quiet about how Boothill had told you just a few days before about how his ear had gotten infected after his brother had pierced his helix. Maybe being a cyborg came with mind-reading abilities since the man promptly called you out.

“I know what yer thinkin’ in that pretty lil’ head of yers an’ no, I ain’t gonna get an infection. I don’t even have real blood, the fork would the bacteria try to attack?” “Touche,” you mutter, taking a seat beside Boothill who laces his fingers with yours. He gives your hand a squeeze as the piercer gets ready to pierce his lips. Grown ass man with a face full of piercings and he’s still afraid of needles.

Thankfully, the procedure was clean and quick with the cowboy only letting out a hiss followed by a few choice words which would’ve been vulgar if not for the glorified parental controls on his synesthesia beacon. You pat him on the thigh and admire the two new lip rings on his bottom lip, the silver metal standing out nicely against his brown skin. 

“Whaddya think?” Boothill asks once he was done checking himself out in the mirror the piercer had handed to him. The bastard knew he looked good and the shit-eating grin he gave you only further confirmed your theory.

“Mm… I wanna see if your face would stick to those giant magnets in those car junkyards.” “Yer killin’ me, sugar. Tell me if I look good or not before I run away in tears.” “You’ve been watching way too many soap operas… but you look good. Handsome even, I have to admit,” you hope to yourself that the blush on your cheeks weren’t too noticeable in the salon’s yellow-ish lighting. There was no need for Boothill to know you were just as obsessed with him as he was with you, no ma’am. 

“Your lips look a bit swollen,” you observe, lightly prodding at his bottom lip.

“Eh, it’ll die down eventually. Don’t poke too much, it’s still sensitive.” “Aww, poor baby. Want me to kiss it all better?” You coo at him. Boothill would’ve replied and likely taken you up on that offer if it weren’t for the piercer clearing their throat and holding their hand out for payment. Boothill hands them a handful of credits and walks out with you before the two of you were kicked out for overstaying your welcome.

“My offer still stands, y’know.” “That eager are we ta’ take these bad boys fer a test drive?” “Perchance.” “Y’can’t jus’ say perchance, sugar,” Boothill chuckles, pulling you into a nearby alleyway. You don’t respond, too busy resting your arms on his broad shoulders and brushing your lips against his ear. He sighs. He loved you and your little rituals but you can’t blame a guy for being desperate for the main attraction, now can you? “Darlin’, please… Can’t we skip this jus’ this one time?” “No- Don’t move! Now look what you’ve done, I have to start the ritual all over!” You were so particular about your little routines but this one took the cake. If you messed up the order in which you kissed his piercings, you’d start over. A little fact that Boothill typically exploited to get as many kisses as possible, though this time was an exception.

He chooses to stay still, eyes closed and bionic hands resting on your hips. His patience is rewarded soon enough with a languid and warm kiss, one that he doesn’t hesitate to deepen as one hand comes up to cup your jaw and keep you in place.

Boothill had plenty of experience with guns and the way a bullet could easily pierce into a target with proper aim. He also had tons of experience with needles and the way they could pierce flesh. But he doubted either of those could ever pierce his heart the way your kisses did.

[stoneybun]

schlatt and reader cuddling on the couch while watching movies. the cats are around you both, jambo on schlatt’s outstretched lap while [redacted] sits on reader’s chest, nothing feels better than this would feel

ogohgh,, this one got me cuz i've also always wanted cats but i can't have any yet :( JSchlatt x gn!reader :3 You and Schlatt were taking a needed lazy day today. You'd been overworked recently, plus Schlatt was trying to take a step back from being involved in so many things, wanting to recharge himself. What better way than to do it with you, the cats, and a classic movie like the first Transformers? The room was set perfectly thanks to him. He had done it while you were in the shower, wanting to surprise you, see that adorable look on your face and tell him he didn't need to do it, but he absolutely loved it. A big, 3-wick candle, lit in the center of the table as there were plenty fluffy blankets and a couple throw pillows on the couch. He originally had it set up nice, but Jambo and [redacted] happened to get to it before the two of you could. "Fuckers think ya own the place, c'mon," he groaned to the two, making you laugh as he plucked up Jambo who gave a sleepy meow, making a little space for you both. [Redacted] recently had been warming up even more to you, cuddling with you rather than Schlatt most the time. He couldn't even argue about it, he'd do the same if he was that cat. "Funny you think they don't," you quip, deciding to sit down on the couch. In that instant [redacted] perked up from his original spot and sauntered over to you, only to curl up comfortably on your chest while Schlatt was busy putting the DVD into the player. He insisted on doing it that way, for this movie at least. "Yeah, yeah, real funny toots, like the damn-" He swears his heart stops when he turns around, cradling Jambo in one arm like a mother with a child as he took in how adorable you looked all relaxed on the couch like that, slowly petting [redacted] as you hadn't noticed him staring at you yet. If he had his camera in the room he would've definitely started recording that to put on a tape later. "Look at you, all cozy 'n shit," he chuckled, completely derailed from his original thought and grinning as the movie was starting. He decided to dim the main lights before ungracefully plopping himself onto the couch next to you, making you laugh and wrap an arm around the black cat on your chest to keep him from rolling off. You hum playfully, scooting closer to him and he instinctively places an arm along the back of the couch, letting you curl comfortably into his side like you belong there. Which, you did. He didn't ever want anyone else this close to him, knowing it'd never feel the same. Not with the way his heart feels like it's about to pop out of his chest as you lean your head against his soft torso, taking in his presence. "I'm most comfy like this, big guy," you murmur, a fondness in your tone that makes Schlatt practically melt in his fucking seat. "Good thing I ain't goin' anywhere." And he'd keep his word, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head as you both curl up and start a marathon that runs late into the night, just wrapped up in how much you love each other plus the company of your cats.

[malk1ns]

january 11 vs senators, 5-0 loss

really? right in front of my labatt blue light?

a continuation of this one.

The Senators game is essentially over before the puck drops.

Sid stayed up too late the night before going through Malkin’s stud file, lingering over his previous successful breedmatches and staring at the pictures of the dark-eyed little babies he’s sired all over Russia.

It’s different in the K, Sid knows. The babies are left with their omegas, and the alphas are barely involved. Malkin’s been an in-demand stud for years over there, coveted by every hockey team that could pay the fee his home club charged, and there are vague references to private __ too, ___ where the bottom side is fully redacted and no picture of the get provided. The scribbled-in notes from the Penguins’ scouting department hint at high-up political connections. The sheer amount of live covers he’s done throughout the years would preclude him from playing a father role.

In the NHL, though, breedmatches are treated a little differently—sentimental bullshit, Sid’s dad used to say, but there’s a part of Sid that finds it romantic. Not every match ends up permanent, of course, but alphas and omegas are expected to work together to raise the result of their coupling.

Malkin would have had to agree to that before the Penguins paid his stud fee and brought him over. He would have been told exactly what was expected of him if he and Sid successfully mate, and he would have signed a contract with the terms laid out.

That thought, and the lingering scent of pine in his nose, keeps Sid up. 

He’s crabby when his alarm goes off, and his bad mood lingers all the way to the start of the game, which is early enough that all his routines are thrown off. 

When Giroux skates over to take the opening faceoff, he takes a big, obnoxious sniff like he always does, and Sid grinds his teeth. Giroux is an alpha, luckily not one that the Penguins ever considered because Sid finds his scent absolutely rank (although he is polite enough to not say anything about it, unlike some people), and he’s hated Sid from the second they shared ice for the first time Sid’s rookie year.

“Heard something interesting today,” Giroux mutters, bending down so his face is closer to Sid’s than is polite. “Finally found an alpha that can handle you, eh? What did they have to pay to get him to agree?”

Sid holds back from swinging his stick then and there, but his flare of temper is obvious to his entire team, and the game goes to shit almost immediately.

Sully pulls Sid aside at intermission and redirects him from the locker room to the trainers’, and when Sid steps into the exam room he stumbles as he’s surrounded by the smell of evergreens.

“Easy,” Kevin says, grabbing at Sid’s arms to hold him steady. “Hey kid, you’re alright. Dharmesh thinks that a new alpha in the building is getting you worked up, he thought maybe if you had a few minutes to acclimate to Malkin you’ll calm down a little bit out there.”

“Geno,” Malkin says from where he’s leaning against the far wall. He looks unfairly good in trousers and a button-up, and Sid swallows hard around the saliva that pools in his mouth. “For new friends, use Geno.”

Malkin—Geno—looks way too amused for the turmoil bubbling in Sid’s gut. It’s clear he didn’t say anything about their unexpected encounter two days earlier, and Sid doesn’t quite know what to make of that.

He does know that exposure to Geno’s smell isn’t going to make him play any better. Geno knows it too, if the little smirk on his face is any indication.

“Well,” Kevin says awkwardly, looking between them. “I’d, uh…we can’t leave you alone just yet, but Sid, take in a few deep breaths and…hopefully the rest of the game will go better.”

It doesn’t. Sid watches from the box as the Senators make it 4-0, and when they troop off the ice for second intermission down 5 and not even close to scoring a goal of their own, Sid’s expecting it when he’s redirected, but this time it’s to Dr. Vyas’s office.

He doesn’t bother sitting down; he knows what’s coming.

“Well,” Dr. Vyas sighs, looking over Sid’s file. “I thought we had a little more time, Sidney, but your pre-game blood work shows elevated hormones—almost as if you’d been exposed to a compatible alpha already.” He looks pointedly at Sid over his glasses, but Sid sets his jaw and doesn’t say a word. “The hope had been to get through both games this weekend, but you’re going to start responding to alphas on the ice soon. Once you finish this game you’re to go straight home, and Malkin will be dropped off later tonight. I don’t expect you’ll be ready until tomorrow at the earliest, but having Malkin in your space early will make you more comfortable.”

Sid can’t imagine ever feeling comfortable like this, not even with Geno close by. He feels itchy, like he’s too big for his skin, and he can’t stop shifting from foot to foot. He wants to hit someone, maybe, or roll onto his belly and show his throat.

He obediently heads back out there for the third, though, and does his best to put passes where they’re supposed to go. 

It doesn’t matter. They get shut out, and Giroux bares his teeth at Sid as Sid skates past him to get off the ice.

Sid is more honest with the media than he usually is after losses, but he feels frayed and can’t come up with the bland platitudes he’d normally offer after a game like that. Once he’s done with questions, he bolts for the showers, scrubbing hard at his neck where his blocker had been rubbing him raw all evening.

He doesn’t bother with his dress clothes, instead shoving on his sweats and practically running for his car. The guys have left him alone pretty much all afternoon, but he’s getting side-eyed, and Sid heard the coaches whispering to Kris about tomorrow’s game, what to expect with Sid out.

Sid doesn’t take a full breath until he’s safe in his home, surrounded by his own scent and nothing more. He showers again, then sits on his bed, staring at his phone.

All he can do now is wait.

--

The gate alarm shocks Sid out of his mindless social media scrolling. He’s not entirely sure how long it’s been, but he has to blink away fuzziness as he stabs at the app to let the car service in and unlock the front door.

He spends too long debating on if he should rush down to the entryway, because the door swings open before he’s made a decision. He should go downstairs, welcome Geno into his home and offer him a drink, but instead he stays in his room, sitting ramrod-straight on his mattress and listening as Geno steps inside and kicks his shoes off.

The pine scent makes its way up the stairs before Geno does, and Sid closes his eyes and inhales, trying to center himself and settle the rabbit-fast beating of his heart.

“Sid?” Geno’s voice cuts through his reverie, and Sid opens his eyes.

Geno’s hovering in the doorway, brow furrowed. “Okay that I come in?” he asks, and Sid manages a jerky nod, tracing Geno’s slow, careful path into Sid’s room, the way he glances around at Sid’s stuff before making his way to the bed.

Sid is drowning in pine. He makes a noise and reaches for Geno, grasping at his shirt and trying to tug him onto the mattress. If they can just start, if he can get over these initial nerves, he’ll be fine.

Geno doesn’t move at Sid’s urging. Instead, he sinks to his knees, sitting back on his heels and resting his big hands on Sid’s thighs.

Sid gasps. Geno’s hands are hot through his sweatpants, and the way Geno’s looking at him makes him want to cover his face, to cross his legs and hunch his shoulders like he hasn’t since he was a boy drawing too much attention from the opposing teams’ parents during midget.

“Sweetheart,” Geno says gently, rubbing his thumbs over Sid’s legs. “Sid, look at me.”

Sid, face incredibly hot, glances up from where he buried his face in his hands. Geno’s looking steadily at him, and he smells…steady. Comforting. It’s reassuring. Sid sucks in a desperate breath, willing himself to calm down.

His legs are shaking under Geno’s touch. That’s not entirely nerves.

Geno’s nostrils flare, but he doesn’t move, and slowly Sid’s shoulders come down from his ears.

He wants to reach out and pull Geno up and over him, bare his neck and let Geno take over. He wants to cower in the corner and snarl until Geno leaves, taking his drugging pine-scent with him.

Sid didn’t expect this. He’s never been around an alpha even while in pre-heat, not when his breeding rights were so heavily featured in every contract he’s ever signed. The team would not have tolerated any accidents, so Sid went to extreme measures to ensure that when he went off suppressants over the summers he isolated himself the second he started noticing pre-heat symptoms.

It turns out that reading books about what to expect when you heat with an alpha for the first time didn’t do anything to prepare him for the reality of how overwhelming it all feels.

Geno hums in approval as Sid forces his breath to slow, spreading Sid’s legs further apart so he can get closer. When he pushes himself off his heels and onto his knees, he and Sid are nearly face-to-face.

“There,” he says soothingly, reaching forward and cupping Sid’s neck again, like he did the other day at the rink. This time he goes straight for Sid’s scent glands, toying over them with his thumb until Sid’s shivery and dripping slick.

Nothing in his book mentioned this at all. His scent glands have never registered as something that could ever be a turn-on, the way Geno’s playing with them is turning Sid into a whimpering mess.

Geno takes a deep inhale. “So sweet,” he mutters half to himself, lifting up to push Sid back onto the mattress as he crawls on top of him.

Sid almost panics again, but Geno puts his mouth on Sid’s neck and tongues at his glands, and Sid’s eyes roll back in his head.

His whole body goes lax, thighs butterflying out so Geno can get between them and press them together. Geno’s heavy on top of him, weighing Sid down into the mattress, and Sid blearily thinks that he could maybe stay like this forever.

Geno’s attentions on his neck get him worked up before too long, though, and Sid squirms, trying to hitch his hips up. There’s an empty ache inside him and he thinks he’s soaked through his pants with slick by now, but with Geno holding him in place all he can try for is friction on his dick.

“No,” Geno says firmly, pulling back and wrapping his hands around Sid’s hip bones, pressing him down and holding him still. Sid whines, high-pitched and embarrassing, an omega coo he’s never heard himself make before. “You let me take care, sweet boy. I get you there.”

Sid loses time for a while as Geno strips him and touches him all over. His hands are big and warm, and he smells incredible, and when he next pulls back to look Sid over Sid is panting and writhing in his arms, drooling so much he can’t even form coherent words. If he could, he’d be begging.

When Geno crawls down the mattress, shoves Sid’s legs further apart, and licks at his hole, Sid starts crying.

Geno has to hold his hips down tight enough to bruise as Sid thrashes under his ministrations. He’s shockingly good with his mouth, lips soft and tongue wet, and he’s growling, something deep and guttural and alpha that Sid can feel thrumming in his chest even though Geno’s all the way at the foot of the bed.

“Geno,” he finally manages, and with one last sucking kiss Geno pulls back. Sid looks down in time to see him licking his lips. “Geno, please, I can���t.”

“Lyubimyy,” Geno says again, the same thing he said the other night. When he covers Sid with his body again, Sid can smell his own slick on Geno’s breath. “Sweeter than I’m think you are, so good, sweet boy. You want to come? Okay, I make you come, take good care, then we sleep.”

“Please,” Sid sobs, and when Geno puts his lips back to Sid’s scent glands and closes his hand around Sid’s dick, he comes like a shot, shivering through his orgasm as Geno milks him through it.

Geno has to hold Sid up as he stumbles for the bathroom, propping him against the sink and fussing over him with a damp cloth until he’s clean. Sid’s eyelids keep drooping, but he forces them open, unable to look away from Geno as he putters around Sid’s bathroom.

He barely looks ruffled. He’s hard, sure, but he smells calm, not nearly the level of frantic and out of control Sid had thought an alpha might get around him. It’s a little disconcerting.

Geno must pick up on something in his scent, because the smile he slips over his shoulder is sharp, with lots of teeth. “I get mine tomorrow, sweet boy,” he purrs, and Sid shivers.

[brokenpieces-72]

Dark Reader Anyone? Haven't seen any of that anywhere. Like it's always dark 141 this or that but never DARK READER.

I disappear to the abyss now

Oh we going into the darkness now… excellent. To be honest didn’t know how this would go. Now it’s sort of an alternate timeline to the current hybrid story line. For some context you’re the mother in this one.

TW: Dark reader, Manipulation, obsessive parent, kind of yandere, mentions of a foster system, mentions of child neglect, let me know if I’ve missed any.

A young girl with antlers and rabbit ears, it’s hard to over look that description. You’d finally get your daughter back but she was working for mercenaries. All you had to do was enlist. You had your own methods of persuasion, it was a matter of using them. Each proved a challenge, but once you showed an interest in Hunter beyond making the other hybrids jealous it was easy enough.

Rodolfo is human, and while his mutts were protective of their vessel it was easy enough J to garner favour with them. Working with him got you closer to Alejandro too, but of course you couldn’t let them know that. Rodolfo was the only one you were focused on around him. If he brought up Alejandro on his own then you would talk about him, learning more about weaknesses. Rodolfo is a caring person, you understand that.

Alejandro, such a good kitty. He taught you to fight and you didn’t back down from him. A gentleman, maybe but you had him in your clutches with a smile. The only thing that could kill Alejandro was Alejandro, but you don’t need him to die. You just needed him to know your troubles. With a few comments and subtle hints you got him to build sympathy for you, brushing off initial inquiries. Then an invitation for a private conversation, concerned words, and his worry for your little one is matched to yours, but of course you love your baby more.

Johnny was a sweet puppy and showed himself to be friendly enough. He was so easy to play with, oh if you could keep him all to yourself you would. And when he shifted to full size, trying to impress you, it was adorable. He was on an easy leash in no time.

Kyle was stuck in his shell only poking his head out to help everyone else. Some eggs needed to be cracked. A visit with him and confessing you were a mother who lost your baby girl to hunters all because she was different was so easy. He offered to look out for anyone by your daughter’s description, wanting to help you. Such a pretty bird he was, willing to watch over you, and retrieve your baby bunny for you.

Simon, what could you say about Simon. He was a hard, cold man. There was a darkness surrounding him constantly. A hurt, one that you would try to remedy but a soft touch made him pull away almost immediately. He took the longest to gain trust from. Showing an understanding of boundaries was perfect, as he slowly opened them to you. Learning more about his past you show sympathy, despite you knowing he was an absolute monster. No way in hell would you want him near your precious child. Clearly he was in control now, but you needed to be careful. One wrong move in front of him meant losing everything you were working on.

Price was the key though, one that took pleasure in the pleasure of his men. If his men felt safe and happy, he was content. Joining his hoard wasn’t easy. Now you may as well be the shining jewel, proving yourself to be invaluable. You understood medical, were a great shot, and pushed yourself. Your relationship with each of them was strong, but something did bother him. Your past was redacted in some areas, so he called you to his office one day. Seeing the file your heart skipped a beat, fearing what he may have found.

“You have a daughter?” He asked. You nodded.

“I’m sorry sir.” You said.

“She was taken from you.” He continued. “Hunters found her and she was removed from your home. They assumed neglect. What is your side?”

You looked up at him finding concerned eyes. Eyes that wanted to help you. The face of a man who was empathetic.

…perfect.

“I had to raise her as a single parent. Sometimes life was difficult because she couldn’t always go out with her friends. I should have noticed it sooner but she became very sick, and when I was out one night she wandered outside. With her antlers and ears and her clothes being torn and dirty…” you cleared your throat, biting back your tears. “Couldn’t give her a good life so they took her away from me.”

You didn’t make eye contact with the captain, feeling ashamed. You know you did your best, you tried so hard to make her happy, but everyone kept trying to take her from you. She worked hard for you too, hunting and finding food for herself. It wasn’t good enough though. Price was still quiet, while you played with your hands.

“We’ve found her.” He said. You looked up at him, his face showing he cared. There was a hint of a smile, pleased to see your hopeful gaze. Behind it, there was a catch. Something that would make it difficult to see your sweet girl again. “Your daughter was put in a program intended to help rehabilitate hybrids, much like a foster care program. They’re assigned a mentor of sorts to keep them safe, teach them about their abnormalities, help them with basic education, etc. and your daughter was recently assigned to a position.”

“How do you mean?” You asked, voice shaking. They were helping you, they would get your daughter back.

“Hybrids can be assigned to companies and work positions where their abilities can be beneficial. Sergeant Garrick had been looking into some of the organizations and learned about your daughter’s placement. Which brings me to another question.” The captain said. You tensed a little, knowing what he would ask about.

“Your daughter is labelled in her file as a jackalope hybrid but with a shifter form. A Wendigo.” Price went on. Your expression told him everything you wanted. That you had no idea, no one had told you, information about your baby girl had been kept limited.

“No no… she’s…” you trailed off. The captain sighed, letting out some wisps of smoke. You were a poor mother who had her child ripped from her with little explanation. Now you’ve learned your daughter this whole time had been a monstrous man eater. It’s hard not to laugh at how easily Price was falling for it.

“I can imagine it’s rather difficult to hear this.” Price said. “She was placed in KorTac, a group of mercenaries. They have other hybrids there, and her mentor is still present ensuring her diet is kept regulated so the Wendigo does not endanger anyone.”

“Why would they put her there?!” You blurted. A moment of weakness in your facade hearing your precious daughter had been placed in such a dangerous environment. Price’s tail flicked once, a little startled by your outburst. To be expected though he figured. You cleared your throat, apologizing for your behaviour.

“We believe it’s related to her Wendigo side. She’s okay there, and missions are kept simple for her at the moment along with proper training.” Price continued. You nodded, trying to show some understanding. There was a paise before you asked the very question any caring mother would ask.

“Would it be possible to see her?” You asked.

“No.” Price said, empathetic. You nod as if you could understand why.

“We intend to get her back for you.” Price said. When you looked back up, you see a smug look on the captain face. You give him a hopeful smile, trying to hide your desire to laugh at him. He was so willing to go head first into danger with the rest of the team. Price stood up and circled around his desk looking down at you, arms crossed.

“I’m not about to let one of my best be denied her rights. That little girl deserves her mama.” Price said. You stood ready to go as soon as he gave the order. For now you’re given his gentle hands on your shoulders, and a gaze from the most pleased dragon, with a hint of glass.

“It will take some time, but we will get her back, kicking and screaming if we have to.” Price assured you. You’re dismissed and you returned to your room, tears running down your face. The other men offer some smiles to you, and you return them until you get to your room and shut the door.

Finally, you’d have your baby back… and you had a task force of monsters in the palm of your hands ready to kill anyone standing in your way.

Taglist: @yourlovely-moon @kaoyamamegami @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @sans-chara @1mommyrose4ever29 @smitten-haematite-quartz @talia-the-gemini @yuki2129 @whitetiger846 @graystorm444 @chibiduck @reaperxxxxzz @danielle143 @sobbingnshtting @cringeycookies @cryingpages @dcnocap207 @reaper-chan666 @bestbookfriends

[sunny-speaks]

Nerd (RIVAL!DACTED x Reader)

First Ren Fic of the new year let's go guys!

Lol, life's been pretty busy and I haven't had as much time to write as I wanted but I guess I have a new aspiration for 2024! Enjoy the fic!

Characters: [REDACTED]/[RIVAL-DACTED] from @14dayswithyou x reader !!

Quick summary: library date??? with [RIVAL-DACTED]??? even though hes a pain to you??? more likely than you would think-

--

You groaned into your hand, head starting to slump into the crook of your arm.

You loved academic validation and you were all for getting good grades and all, but…

Studying?

Always found a way to bore you somehow.

You were painfully poring over the midterm research that your postsecondary teacher and lecturer had assigned for your ‘Psychology in Modern Media’ course.

Sure, it was fun and all. But the exams were sooo boring and the prep material?

God awfully boring.

You took a sip from the drink that you got from the nearby coffee store, twirling the near-empty cup in your hand as you wistfully sighed.

High school was something you’d taken for granted, huh… Man, you'd kill to do those stupid assigned readings right now.

You could feel some form of fatigue taking over your body riiight before… “Angel? What are you doing here~?”

That cotton candy bastard showed up.

Ugh! You couldn’t get enough of him! (In a negative sense! In a negative sense!)

He was everywhere!

You spotted his annoyingly attractive face in that dumb coffee shop earlier when he winked at you and five people behind you nearly fainted.

That ridiculously hot face of his was giving you unwanted and unwarranted troubles! You wanted him gone.

He pulled up in that ridiculously tight black bodysuit and that white slasher hoodie of his with too many belts and buckles to keep track of. The same unfortunately went for his pants.

It’s like he was trying to show himself off! Ugh, he knew he was hot shit, didn’t he?!

You glared at him, frustration seeping through, “What do you want now, [REDACTED]? If it’s not your head on a spike, I’m good.”

He raised his arms in mock surrender, “Woah, what’s got you so worked up, Angel? Is it lonely at the top?” He’d let you top him in anything if you wanted… In class, in bed, whatever…

He looked so stupidly attractive with the way his hair framed his face, the way his grin sat perfectly on all his features, the little way his eyebrows creas—

“Ugh, just, shut up, will you?” You scoffed out at him then winced at your volume.

That was rude. Even for you.

You sighed, exasperated, slight guilt remnants on your face. “I- My bad… Just the… exam prep is confusing. And I don’t get it.”

He gave an inquisitive tilt of his head, “Which questions?” He slid into the seat beside you, leaning close enough for you to smell the faint traces of black coffee lingering on your clothes from your previous encounter. You tried to erase that ugly feeling when you saw him smile at a pair of girls from earlier.

(…Does he always smile like that to others?)

(Ha, yeah. Not like you’re anyone special…)

He smiled softly to himself as his breaths got deeper, trying to intake as much of your natural scent as he could. That was something he would always want more of...

(Those pathetic leeches from earlier left their stupid perfume lingering on his clothes… the only way to rid him of it was to sit closer to youuu <3)

Somehow, you were too preoccupied with your stupidly annoying questions to even berate his presence this time.

And if you were a little distracted by how close he was, that was no one else's business.

They’d been giving you way too much trouble for the past… half-hour or so.

You picked up the question sheet and pointed at the parts you didn’t understand, “So, I got what a sociopath should look like and covert signs in that dumb show I had to watch, and I know the ways to find sociopathic responses in someone, but how does that correlate with these random non-associated symptoms portrayed by this character?!”

You involuntarily leaned closer to him as you stabbed the piece of paper with an accusatory finger, frustrated. “I swear! The teacher hates me or something!”

[REDACTED] wouldn’t let it slide if the teacher actually hated you though… He’d ruin her reputation amongst colleagues while keeping her isolated from social media. They’d make all family members repulsed of her and willing to not contact her. And then they’d get her fired from her job. If she ever tried to get another job, he could easily fabricate a couple pieces of incriminating evidence from one of his crime scenes…

But he knew you would find it hot that he's confident in himself and that he's witty. So he wouldn't explain his plan just like that.

He grinned, a condescending quip on the tip of his tongue. “Maybe it’s just because I’m a hotter student.”

You spluttered in indignance, bewildered how he even thought of that. Was he insinuating he was hotter than you?! He might be right then... “Wh-What?! Asshole! Ugh!” Just as you were about to get up, he added onto his comment.

“Also, the answer’s right there.” He twirled a pen with his fingers, softly whistling to himself.

“Huh?!” You couldn’t believe it.

But he was right...?

You read the part he had underlined and circled and… the answer was there. That's... weird.

You didn’t have a clue on how you missed it! It drove you insane for so long, and for what?! For that stupidly sexy jerk to find it in one go?

You groaned reluctantly at the help. Maybe he wasn’t just… y’know, a piece of ass all the time... or a jerk. Maybe he was… kinda smart and nice. “Fine. Good job, I guess, asshat… Why’re you even here, god knows you don’t need to study. Like. Ever.” You eye up and down at his visible muscles that his outfit strains to keep compressed.

He pouts a little at the accusation. “Mm, even I study, angel. Might be hard to believe with a physique as good as mine, but I do take time to work on my studies.”

“Sure. And it was totally by chance that we saw each other at the coffee shop down the street. And that you study at the same library as me.” You drawled on, naming one coincidence after the other until [REDACTED] was subjected to some form of abject embarrassment. "What're you, a copycat?"

You paid that much attention to him? No one else… Just him?

Ooh, his heartbeat practically played hopscotch in his chest at the revelation! But no! He must remain calm and mean! Only for you!

They grinned slyly at you. “Angel, please. I would never even try to copy you. So it must’ve been your idea to imitate me, huh? Bet you stalk me or something,” He lied through their teeth, in the pathological way they were used to. They’d be lying if it wasn’t incredibly ironic.

“Hah, you wish.” Your nose twitched in annoyance. God, he was far too good at riling you up. “Whatever, what’s the answer to…”

And the two of you spent the rest of the day, bickering over answers.

Maybe [REDACTED] had earned a bit, a fraction, of your gratitude.

Maybe you were starting to like them a bit more.

But he’d never know that, it’s not like he reads your phone notes or messages or has cameras in your house.

…Right?

[mosaickiwi]

Helloo!! I hope you're good <3 I wannted to ask for (REDACTED) where the MC have a realy big upcoming exam but cannot be motivated and diciplined. I cant realy tell a specific scenario unfortunatly but i realy need motivation to stay focused so i wanted to ask about it.

Hi hi I am well~ hope you are too <3 one serving of [REDACTED] for motivation

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

~Low Motivation Angel~

Still slightly damp from the shower, you finally felt somewhat ready to study. You meant to do it earlier, really. But so many things had gotten in the way: a new update on a mobile game, leaks of the next Attack on Giants episode, a cat you saw in the lobby.

You weren't procrastinating! It'd get done eventually—just as soon as you watched a video Moth had sent. You eagerly pressed the play button on your phone, bright eyed as you walked into the living room.

A bowl of water and peas was placed on the bare ground in front of a pair of hungry ducks running towards the camera. Before they could descend in a frenzy on the food, your screen froze, then turned dark.

One pale, scarred hand grabbed the phone from your grasp. “Hey!” you complained and turned towards the offender. You didn’t think to wonder how they shut off your phone before even touching it.

[REDACTED] stared down at you with a pointed look, the device held high above your head. “Didn't y’say you were going to study after your shower? Exam’s in a few days.” He nodded towards your textbook on the coffee table, practically collecting dust.

You huffed and reached up in an attempt to grab it. “I've got time! Just give it back.” The phone was quickly placed in your outstretched hand before you knew it. “Oh. Thank you.” 

As you turned it back on and plopped down on the couch, the dark-haired hacker was mentally kicking himself. They really needed to figure out how to say no to you. It was a long standing habit that would only be a hindrance now. He knew how upset you’d be if you didn’t do well on your exam.

He took a seat next to you. “Please, Angel,” they tried again, gently pulling you closer to get your attention. “Even if it’s only for an hour, y’need to study.” The sudden pleading frown on your face had him fighting his instincts that were desperate to give in. Not to mention the abandoned puppy vibes you gave off with your wet hair. He managed to tear his gaze away, though his resolve was already crumbled into nothing. 

In fact, now that he reconsidered it, you didn't need to study. They'd just hack your exam score in the system. Or make the whole thing simply go away. Bribe the professor, find where they live and—

“I guess you’re right,” you sighed, unaware of what was going through his mind. All the scheming grinded to a halt the moment he heard your breathtaking voice. “But it's so hard to get anything done. I'm not sure if I'll be able to stay on track by myself.” You worriedly glanced at the intimidating cover of your textbook.

Your boyfriend was eager to help, but just as eager to jump at the chance of being in your presence for longer. Immediately, he offered an idea. “I could stay with you. Keep y’focused on work ‘n all that.” 

The worry on your face melted away, replaced with a smile of relief. “That'd be a huge help.” You looked down at the phone still in your hand before sheepishly holding it out to them. “Maybe you should hold onto this, though. Just in case?”

Without a word he took it to hide in the confines of his pocket. As you picked up the textbook and suddenly curled up at their side to get comfortable, the familiar scent of your shampoo wafted up to their nose. [REDACTED] had to remind himself to stay focused. Nothing would get done if he turned into a distraction.

[psuedochakra]

Hot for Teacher - 1

1986, Miramar, CA

As far as naval air stations went, Maverick only had good things to say about Miramar. And the only good thing was that Commander Metcalf didn't bounce Mav as soon as he did something stupid. Oh, wait. No. He wasn't a commander anymore. Fancy pants admiral over there.

When your favorite admiral asks you to fill in as an instructor, you accept. Especially when Maverick’s other option was a questionably long deployment in the Mediterranean. Normally, Maverick wouldn’t mind. But he had just finished up [redacted] months doing [redacted] . Maverick deserved a break. Teaching at TOPGUN had to be easier than [redacted] .

Mav even came to base on the weekend. Only because Viper had asked because Mav needed to meet the other instructors. He waltzed his way to the offices. Maverick would even have an office. He’d have to dig out some photos to put up. 

“Pete Mitchell,” a voice called as he walked toward the offices, “You’re still kicking?”

“Charlie Blackwood,” Maverick smiled. “You’re still slumming it with us naval aviators?”

Charlie laughed. She had a lovely laugh. Sparkling, warm. She also belonged to the list of powerful men's daughters that Mav kept track of in his head. He definitely didn’t need another family mad at him. Between the Blackwoods and the Benjamins, the Blackwoods would be the worst option. At least what happened with Penny Benjamin was a misunderstanding. Admiral Benjamin wasn't very understanding of it, but Penny smoothed it over. Somehow. 

“Where’s Viper?” Maverick asked.

“At home. It’s Sunday,” Charlie replied with a shrug. “Here’s your office.”

The little sign by the door labeled it as Jester’s office. The office was pretty big considering there were two desks shoved in there. The windows overlooked the tarmac.

“I thought I was filling in for Jester,” Mav tapped the sign as they entered the room.

“You are. Talk to Viper if you want your name on there,” Charlie shrugged. “I’m down the hall by Viper’s office.”

“I’m intimately familiar with Viper’s office,” Mav joked.

Charlie laughed again.

“You get Jester’s office to yourself, since he’s out,” Charlie carried on. “I’ve been handling theoreticals and the boring physics parts. You and Hammer will do the practicality and exciting application parts.”

Maverick groaned, “Hammer like Chester Cain?”

Charlie nodded, frowning slightly.

“I hate that guy.”

“He’s not a fan of you,” she informed him. “Especially since you get an actual office and he has to use a section of the classroom.”

“What did he poison Jester for his office?” Mav rolled his eyes.

“Maverick!” Charlie scolded with a giggle.

He knew better. Jester had an unexpected surgery (appendix) and was out for the foreseeable future. At least for this TOPGUN class. They were two weeks into the course. Maverick could suck it up for three weeks and work with Cain.

“Charlie, what’s Cain doing here anyway?” Maverick asked her. “He’s been singing praises of the Air Force’s UAVs for years. Teaching literal humans doesn’t seem like his bag.”

Charlie frowned. She started chewing her lip, a nervous habit. Blackwoods ran deep in DC. Cain could be here to curry favor with her for something. It could just be a run of the mill assignment for Cain too. Or, the secret third option, Cain could have requested it. Not unheard of since TOPGUN was a pretty cushy position. Fly and teach all day.

“Between you and me?” Charlie raised an eyebrow.

“Of course,” Maverick nodded.

She closed the office door and stood closer to Maverick.

“Word back home is that some defense contractor wants to sell more remote controlled toys,” Charlie said quietly, “Air Force is interested, but the Navy won’t buy so long as Viper and this program are effective.”

“Huh,” Mav clicked his tongue, “Think he’s here to snoop?”

“Best case. He did request it.”

“Worst case?”

Charlie shrugged. “Why do you think you’re here?”

“Because Jester had his appendix taken out?”

“Use your brain, Maverick,” Charlie tapped his skull gently. “Out of everyone Viper could have recalled?”

“Charlie, you’re better at this game than I am,” he told her.

Charlie sniffed at him and gave him a look.

“Ensure success,” Charlie explained, “And look good doing it. For you and Viper. The Navy's Maverick wrangler wrangles him again. You prove you can sit still for at least three weeks.”

“See, you’re so much better at this,” Mav praised. “Now, be honest. Do I have to meet up with Cain now? Or can you just catch me up?”

Charlie laughed, “No, sorry. I’m just the liaison today. He’s in his classroom office. I’ll grab your housing keys and meet you over there.”

“Great. Lucky me.”

At least Cain was equally unhappy about their situation as Maverick. He wasn’t outright hostile, at least. They commiserated about having to be there together on a Sunday. They lamented about Viper bailing on them. Cain glossed over the pilots and their backseaters. Charlie hadn’t joined them yet, so Cain complained about her teaching style. All substance; too complex. Everything she said belonged in a textbook. Nobody could possibly apply her theories, but a computer sure could.

Maverick nodded absentmindedly as he flipped through personnel files and lesson plans. Jester left him a bunch of things from TOPGUNs past in their office. Mav could cobble together something from Jester’s old plans and notes from this class.

“They’re all Tomcat duos?” Mav asked.

“Hmm?” Cain looked at him.

“The students.”

“Oh, yeah. All in F-14s.”

“What are we chasing them in?”

“Skyhawks.”

Maverick whistled, “Haven’t flown one of those in a long time. I’ve been in F-5s lately.”

“We can probably find you one,” Charlie announced as she approached the two men.

“What are they like?” Mav continued.

“The pilots? Cocky fucks,” Cain shrugged.

Charlie looked at the personnel folders over Mav’s shoulder. 

“These two,” she pointed, “Chatterboxes. This one just had a kid. He came from the birth here. Little distracted, but his RIO keeps him focused. Oh, he's a sweetheart. Tests really well. His pilot does too. Both physics degrees, I think. These two, top of the class in points.”

“For now,” Cain interjected.

Charlie clicked her tongue quietly in Mav's ear. She handed Maverick his housing keys. The trio went over possible lessons. How to best integrate the boring physics with the exciting physics. After a few hours, Maverick excused himself. He still had to check out his house and unpack. He scooped up his paperwork and left.

The on-base housing wasn’t terrible. Especially compared to a shitty little bunk he had to share with someone else. Mav’s place had two bedrooms, one and a half baths, an attached garage, and was completely furnished. All shitty navy issue furnishings, but he didn’t care. He tossed his duffel into a bedroom, left the paperwork on the dining table, and picked up the phone.

“Bradshaw residence,” the other line greeted him.

“Hey, honey! I’m home,” Mav said cheerfully.

The phone exploded in his ear. Mav held it away and winced. He could clearly hear the loud and frantic chatter from one of his favorite Bradshaws with the phone a few inches away still.

“PETER MAVERICK MITCHELL, THIS IS HOW I FIND OUT YOU’RE STATESIDE?! CAROLE! MAV’S STATESIDE!!”

There was a click of a second phone being picked up.

“Petey!?” she exclaimed.

“Hey Carole,” Pete grinned. “Putting that bedroom phone to good use, huh? And you said it was a stupid idea.”

“I said it was stupid when you wanted us to put a phone in our room so you and Goosey could talk until he fell asleep,” Carole snorted. “It’s perfectly practical for this.”

“Where’re you at now, Mav?” Goose chuckled.

“Miramar,” Mav answered. “Viper called me for this TOPGUN class. Jester’s out. You remember Jester?”

“Yeah, yeah. No fun. S’why he didn’t like us, honey.”

“XO on that carrier, right?” Carole asked them.

“Yeah.”

“Mhmm.”

“How long you stateside for, Petey?” Carole kept on.

“Three weeks at least. I’ve got loads of leave I can take, and Viper will probably grant it,” Mav said.

“I’ve got vacation time too. We can fly out closer to graduation,” Goose hummed. “Bradley doesn’t start college until September.”

“How’s he?”

“Oh, you know,” Carole giggled, “Embarrassed by everything we say and do.”

“Teenagers, Mav, fucking teenagers,” Goose lamented.

“He’s goin’ to UT Austin. Go Longhorns!” Carole cheered. “Got a hefty baseball scholarship and everything.”

“Hey, that’s great,” Mav smiled.

They chatted until Maverick’s stomach rumbled. Carole scolded him for not eating. Reluctantly, the Bradshaws hung up. Left, finally, to his own devices, Mav ordered pizza and went back over the pilots’ personnel files again.

There were four sets of aviators and RIOs. They were all young . Late 20s, but that still felt so young. Their official Navy photos looked even younger. Maverick wondered if the photos were from flight school. Their records were pretty good, of course. TOPGUN was for the best of the best. 

Chipper and Sundown out of NAS Key West; VF-101 Grim Reapers. They were part of a replacement squadron. It sounded like those two were the permanent fixture, training other, newer aviators before they moved on.

Hollywood and Wolfman out of NAS Oceana; VF-41 Black Aces. Mav had heard of a Prowler crashing on the deck of their carrier a few years ago. They lost three F-14s and three crew. Other than that, they were terribly efficient.

Cougar and Merlin also out of NAS Oceana; VF-143 Pukin’ Dogs. A lot of reconnaissance. If Maverick’s memory served him correctly, VF-143 were the first to do combat reconnaissance in F-14s.

Iceman and Slider out of NAS Jacksonville; VF-102 Diamondbacks. Maverick frowned as he skimmed. They had just gotten back from [redacted] a few months ago. A lot of the information was blacked out. He made a mental note to ask the aviator and RIO after the first class.

Class started at 0800 with Charlie’s lectures. After, Jester would give the practical applications of her fancy physics talk. Cain took over that for the first day. Next, the first set of hops before lunch. They’d run simulations after lunch, maybe have a test, and finally the last set of hops in the afternoon.

All the students flew, in some combination. Four in the morning; four in the afternoon. Jester had been shot down once by Iceman and Slider. Cain had been at least once by everyone. That lended credibility to Maverick's developing “here to sabotage TOPGUN” theory.

“We’ve been going up separately,” Cain explained as he put on his flight suit. “Jester wanted us to start going up together in week four.”

“Fine by me,” Maverick nodded.

“I’ve got Cougar, Merlin, Sundown, and Chipper for day. You can take the other four for afternoon.”

The two superior officers had their own locker room. Brand new too. Viper had made a lot of updates to Miramar since Maverick's last stay. The fancy commander-and-higher locker room was by the offices. Which Maverick thought was hilarious because Cain still had to go all the way back to the classrooms if he forgot something at his desk. Because he didn’t have an office on that side of the building. Maverick, per Viper’s orders, avoided the classrooms that Monday. He was a surprise for the afternoon hops victims. Participants. Same thing. 

While everyone played with computers, Maverick went up in a Skyhawk. It wasn’t quite as lithe as he liked, but it would do. Eventually, his two sets of duos were in the air with him. He waited while they searched for him. Comms were on between all three planes (and the base).

“I didn’t even see Hammer go up,” someone said.

“I swear he was still running sims with Blackwood when we left the room,” another one added.

“Maybe they found an extra instructor? Or maybe Jester recovered sooner,” the first person again.

“You think it’s Viper?” the second person laughed.

“No way. Guy hasn’t flown since Korea,” first person.

A third voice chimed in, “Can you two shut up and focus.”

“Eyes peeled,” the fourth and final voice.

Maverick grinned under his mask. 

“Sorry Ice,” the first two voices said together.

He could see the two Tomcats searching for him. Maverick had never flown a Tomcat; he’d have to ask Viper if he could get up in one. He wasn’t sure how well it would maneuver against the Skyhawk. He knew from the spec sheets that the younger aviators would have him on speed. 

“Slider?” It was the fourth voice again. Iceman, Mav deduced.

“Nothing,” Slider, Mav assumed, answered. The source of the mysterious third voice.

“Maybe Hammer hasn’t launched yet?” Hollywood or Wolfman suggested.

“He couldn’t have if he was still in the classroom,” the other one added.

Mav got bored. He clicked his comms on and soared past them.

“Fight’s on, gentlemen,” he announced.

There was a chorus of “who the fuck was that” over the radio. Maverick chuckled to himself. The aviators, for safety purposes, couldn’t switch to a private channel. Their CO, Maverick in this case (how weird was it he was someone’s CO), had to be able to hear them in case of emergencies. So Maverick got to listen as Iceman and Slider immediately took control.

Iceman took point; Hollywood on his wing. Slider and Wolfman may as well have been speaking a different, backseater language. Mav guessed it was for his location. They’d say a position; their pilots would immediately fall in. 

“Wood, got a shot?” Iceman asked.

“Almost, almost, almost,” came Hollywood’s response.

The Skyhawk didn’t have the speed of the Tomcat. It more than made up for it with handling. Mav tipped his nose until the momentum forced the plane up vertically. He braked, he had to, and flew past Hollywood and Wolfman. 

“What the fuck!?”

“What happened?!”

“Ice?”

“Hmmph.”

Mav leveled out and got tone.

“That’s tone, gentlemen,” he said.

Hollywood and Wolfman swore as they broke off.

“Then there were two,” Mav tried a joke.

No response over the radio. Mav scanned the skies, but he couldn’t find the second Tomcat. He must have lost them after his cobra maneuver. With all this newfound silence, Maverick wondered how the two aviators were communicating. Their records showed they had been together since flight school. They both attended Annapolis; same graduation year. More deduction, but Mav guessed they knew each other back then too. Spend enough time with anyone, and you could convey a lot without sound.

He saw their shadow by pure chance. Mav probably couldn’t pull off the same stunt twice. Especially not in a plane that wasn’t designed for it. Iceman was good, but Maverick had been flying at least as long as that kid had been alive. Which was to say “but Maverick was better.”

He pulled right but didn’t brake. The Skyhawk curved around and down; the Tomcat followed after a beat. A very brief and unnoticable pause, but a pause nonetheless.

“Ice?”

“Fuck.”

Flying a Skyhawk was like riding a bike apparently.

Maverick was giddy as he announced, “Tone, gentlemen!”

Maverick had a terrible idea. Terribly hilarious. Iceman’s file had been nothing but commendation after praise after praise. Nary a punishment, penalty, nor penance to be found.

“Iceman. Kazansky, right?” Mav put on his best senior officer voice, “I want to see you in Jester’s office after this.”

“Yessir,” there was no hesitation in the younger man’s response.

Mav took his time landing. He contemplated buzzing the tower, but thought better on his first day. Favor for Viper and all that. Maverick figured it would take the younger pilot some time to work up the nerve to actually report to his office immediately. So he showered, blissfully alone, and changed. 

Kazansky was still in his flight suit. He stood outside of Jester's/Maverick's office door. He'd probably been there minutes after he landed. Maverick pursed his lips but didn't say anything. He unlocked the door and gestured for Iceman to enter. Mav sat at the empty desk; Kazanksy stood there. Awaiting further instructions.

He was hot; it was unfair to have such a hot student. Kazansky looked like a catalog model. Sharp features, blue eyes, soft lips. His hair was plastered down from sweat and his helmet. The sleeves of his flight suit were pushed up, showing off his thick, tanned arms. Maverick felt his mouth go a bit dry, and he tried not to stare too much. 

“You could have showered,” Mav said with a grin.

“You said you wanted to see me, sir,” Kazansky replied.

“I did, didn’t I?”

No response.

“Commander Pete Mitchell, callsign Maverick,” Maverick extended his hand, “I’m filling in for Jester, as you’ve probably guessed.”

Kazansky looked… Confused for a second. Mav guessed he was used to saluting, but the lieutenant shook his hand and introduced himself.

“Have a seat,” Mav pointed to Jester’s desk chair, “I wanna ask you about some things in your file.”

“My file?” Iceman raised an eyebrow. He moved the desk chair and sat.

“Yeah, it’s all blacked out because of Charlie’s clearance I’m guessing.”

“By all means, sir. I’m an open book.”

They chatted. Eventually, Kazansky appeared to relax. Mav tried not to let his gaze linger too long on him. He really did try, but… Well, Mav always had a problem with self control.

Iceman and Slider had also been in the Mediterranean (Mav was unofficially there, but he didn’t say anything about that) aboard the America . They had been on patrol when they were fired upon by Libyan surface-to-air missiles. And again not even a month after that while escorting other jets for another mission. No casualties; impeccable flying. Their CO recommended them for the next TOPGUN class; they flew in a few days before it started.

“Damn, so you really haven’t had a breather,” Mav whistled.

Kazansky shrugged, “Part of the job, sir.”

“I guess.”

Mav couldn’t think of a reason to keep him there. He was about to dismiss the lieutenant when Kazansky started asking him about his own service record. Maverick’s reputation apparently preceded him. Time flew by. Before long, Maverick finally noticed the sun setting over the hangars.

“Shit, kid. It’s getting late,” Mav remarked.

Kazansky flushed, “Sorry, sir.”

“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind. You probably want to shower.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Here,” Maverick scribbled his address and number down, “Whenever you wanna pick this back up. I’m here until graduation.”

Kazansky took the scrap paper and thanked him. He hesitated before saluting and leaving. Maverick hated to see him leave but enjoyed watching him go. Christ, he was depraved. Kazansky was a student. His student. His well toned student with a small waist. Deep eyes… Birthmark in the perfect spot to kiss… Perfect lips… Wonder what sounds he could pull from those lips…

Okay, yeah.

Maverick was definitely in trouble.

No.

He’d be fine. Mav was a professional. He could keep his hands (and everything else) to himself.

Iceman

Iceman was definitely in trouble. 

The new instructor looked like he stepped right off a movie set. Gorgeous smile, gorgeous eyes, gorgeous everything. The way his eyes crinkled when Maverick laughed? Gorgeous. His slightly crooked nose? Gorgeous.

He’d heard of Maverick, but he hadn’t had a face for the name. He was a legend, of course; a thorn in the brass’ side. Ice had a million more questions for the commander. 

Slider was waiting for him in the locker room. Everyone else was long gone. The RIO continued waiting until his pilot was ready to talk. Ice shucked his flight suit. He desperately kept his thoughts off Maverick as he stood under the water. Slider leaned against the wall, waiting and watching. He wasn’t necessarily watching Ice shower. His gaze drifted past Ice, to the wall behind him.

“You didn't have to wait,” he tried telling his friend.

“I'm your ride, Ice,” Slider replied.

“Oh. Yeah, right.”

“Who even was that? It wasn't Cain. Cougar and them said Hammer was in the classroom.”

“New commander,” Ice willed his tone to be light. 

“Jester's replacement?” Slider asked.

Ice nodded.

“What’d he want?”

Iceman shrugged, “Chat, I guess.”

“About what?” Slider raised an eyebrow.

“Prairie Fire and Canyon.”

“Weird.”

“It was alright,” Ice said, “Maverick’s alright.”

“Like Maverick Mitchell?” Slider let out a low whistle. “He’s our new instructor?”

“Guess so.”

Index Next Chapter

[crepesuzette2023]

rambling about second person perspective fics

prompted by this post and esp. @javelinbk's tags that made me realize (I'm not kidding: this had not occurred to me before) how many different ways there are to "do" 2nd person perspective fics.

My mind immediately goes to one of two possibilities. For clarity, let's assume this is fan fiction about Paul/Mal.

So, the first thing that comes to my mind when I hear "second person perspective" in this context is to either write as (say) Mal talking to Paul in his mind — so, still fiction, but a slightly deranged one-step-further than first person. Immersion in obsession, baby!

Or,

the second thing is to write about (say) Mal in second person, but use this as a slightly creepy, a little pretentious, 'meta' way to get closer to him, and be slightly more transparent than normal about (ta-daa) this being a story, and me making writerly choices! In case that wasn't clear! "You fuck him standing up, or no, maybe he's down on his knees for you...his moustache following the stretch of his lips as he [redacted]..."

But yeah, it's apparently true that the most frequent use of second person perspective is to talk to the reader and make them part of the story. My life so far has been untouched by that kind of story. Not a good or bad thing; that's just what happened. So far.

As a reader, I don't want anyone to talk to me while I'm trying to read, so this format probably isn't for me, but I can still imagine it's fun to write! As long as there is an interesting frame.

Like, for instance,

1968. Derek Taylor hires you for his press office at Apple Corps.

Look, I really don't want to imagine that's me. But what if it's someone else talking, within yet a different scenario?

Imagine an unhinged Neil Aspinall, driven to the brink of his patience by Mark Lewisohn's pandering-yet-relentless questions (and stacks of spreadsheets and timelines). At some point, Neil is losing it. Leaning forward in his arm chair, his mask an icy mask of I've seen a lifetime of fucked up shit and entangled intestines and broken hearts and bad, bad roads, and McCartney's spilling air sick bags, and you will not get a word more out of me than what I'm willing to share, which is bad news for you, because I'm as soft and gushy as a piece of rock, he says,

"You want to know the truth about Apple. I'll tell you. Close your eyes. You're with me? It's 1968. Derek Taylor hires you for his press office..."

That's the way it would work for me.

[wingedjellyfishflight]

Hogtied: Part 3

You stay busy for another week, finishing up exams and redacting most of König's file for him. Just in time, it seems, as you catch one of your nurses looking through it with a frown. The dressing down she receives is more than enough to deter others, but the cleaning rotation she gets for the next month ensures it won't happen again.

When the C140 lands again, it is complete madness, just as you were worried it would be. König has multiple large lacerations, Ghost has a through and through on the meaty part of his thigh, Gaz has a laceration on his head that won't stop bleeding and Soap, poor Soap. A broken leg, lacerations on his arm, and clear signs of torture.

You triage the men, passing Gaz off for stitches, sending Ghost to a nurse who previously worked in an ER and directing a set of nurses to tag team the lacerations on König, but only what he will allow. Any pushback means stop. You don't want to lose the trust you have built up in the short time he has worked with you. Turning to Soap, you work to stabilize him. Immobilizing his leg, you quickly stitch the worst of his wounds to stop the bleeding. With the help of a few nurses, you get good x-rays. Luckily, it is not a complex break, and you are able to set it with ease. He will need a hard cast once the swelling goes down.

The aftermath of torture is a harder thing to solve. You bandage his hands, slather burns in ointment, and inject an antibiotic. Gaz pulls you aside and tells you that he was also subject to waterboarding for a very short window of time before they rescued him. You nod, angry, but trying not to show it. You turn back and review all of Soap's injuries now that he is more stable, ensuring that you didn't miss anything. There doesn't appear to be anything else wrong with him, and you have him moved to a recovery room.

You make rounds, checking on the others as they rest. When you reach König's room, you note blood on his pillow and check over his chart. "Herzblatt, do you have an injury under your mask?" He turns to look at you.

"Ja, mein Kopf tut weh."

(Yes, my head hurts.)

"Let me grab a kit, and we will get it fixed up then." You do so, shutting the door on your way back to the bed. He slips off his mask, and you gasp, seeing the large cut across his face. "You should have mentioned this."

"I wanted you to fix, Schatz."

"Yes, Herzblatt, but I would have come to fix it sooner. Now hold still. I will have to numb you to stitch it. You may grip my shoulder if you need to." He hesitates, but as he sees you move closer with the needle, he wraps his fingers tight where you indicated. The way he grips it, you know you will have bruises later, but he doesn't flinch away. "Once it is numb, I will stitch inside to bring those layers together, then I will stitch the outside. You will tell me if you feel pain, yes? There is no reason to tough it out."

"Ja, already proved my mettle." You chuckle and lay out your supplies.

"Jetzt haben wir den Salat."

He chokes back a laugh at that. While his body is becoming numb, you check the rest of his lacerations and ensure the stitches look good. Returning to his face, you check to ensure he is ready, then work to stitch him up. It goes quickly, though you have to make a conscious effort not to look in his eyes.

(Now we have the salad, aka shit went sideways, and now we have a mess)

Just as you set down the needle and thread on your table, the door bursts open. Unthinking, you jump forward and use your body to cover König's face. "Unless someone is dying, get out!"

"Sorry, you've been in here a long time, and we were worried. Is everything alright?"

"I said, get the fuck out! You know the rules here, Lieutenant!" The door slams shut and you cautiously pull back, checking to make sure none of the stitches popped. König's face looks red as a tomato as he looks at you. "Let me finish bandaging this and you can put the mask back on, alright?" He stares at you saying nothing. "Uhh... sorry for that. I should have locked the door. And sorry for mashing your face with my... torso." You quickly place the bandages and hand him his mask.

"I'd prefer if you had a clean mask, but I don't have one handy. If you drop one by later, I can keep it on hand for you. Ghost keeps some here, the delicate princess. He refuses to wear hospital grubs if he can't wear the clothes he came in with."

"So, he is not... dating you?"

"Hmm... no. No, he and I are not dating. I'm half sure he is more interested in Soap than me, but I've been wrong before. Any roads, enough talk about our co-workers. Push the button here if you need assistance. I am going off the clock, but I will return if needed. Try to get some rest. I'm sure debriefing will be hell."

When you return the next morning, only Soap remains in recovery. The other men have left to debrief. You schedule an appointment for him with the therapist he doesn't hate and listen to him flirt with a nurse while you update files in your office. He quickly grows bored and insists that you sit and entertain him.

You acquiesce, deciding that a break is in order now that you've finished about half of your paperwork. He is chatting away about things he's done mostly. You usually try to deflect questions about yourself, but he is not deterred, sipping at his coffee while you enjoy your cuppa.

"Didja always wannae be a doc?" You shake your head.

"Got it twisted, mate. I never wanted to be a doctor. T'was my parents dream, not mine. I picked here to spite 'em."

He laughs hard. "You're a rebel. What didja wannae then?"

You stand suddenly, too flustered by his question. "Tea times over, fella. I've gottae get back to work." You pause in the doorway, leaning back in and looking into his eyes as you debate with yourself. "I wanted a job like yours." He looks stunned, then a bit sad.

"Ye woulda been a belter, lass." You smile sadly and walk back to your office. It takes forever for you to get any work done. You make sure to sign off on his release so Soap can leave when he is ready.

You look up at a knock on your door some time later. "Enter"

"Doc, you're still here? I was just checking in here since the light was on. It's already after 2100."

"Oh, shit. I completely lost track of time. Just have to finish this, and I will head out."

"Alright, see you tomorrow then."

It's after 2200 when you do head out, and you quickly realize that you are starving, not having had much more than snacks since breakfast. The mess is closed this late, so you head to the kitchen. Digging through the fridge, you hear a noise behind you, but don't see anything when you look around the darkened room. Shrugging it off, you dig some more before grabbing leftovers with Ghost's name on them. You're disappointed to see that they've gone off and toss them in the bin before looking again.

You finally find some leftovers that aren't bad with Captain Price written in capital letters with an underline on the box. It's butter chicken over rice, and you've honestly never been so excited for it. Waiting for it to heat, you hear the sound again. You turn and realize that there are two men across the room watching you. Through squinted eyes, you see that it is Captain Price and Gaz having tea together. Whipping back around nervously, your fingers tap on the counter, waiting forever, it seems for the microwave to ding.

Just before it does, you hear, "Butter chicken. My favorite," in your ear, and you nearly jump out of your skin.

"S-sorry, Captain. I missed lunch and dinner. I'll order some fresh tomorrow to make up for it. Please."

"I'm just teasin ya, doll. Eat up. You know we never remember to eat our leftovers." He winks and walks off, catching up to Gaz.

[broken-glass-puppet]

Ok so can i request Cod men being down bad for The dilf male reader? I'm sure they all got daddy issues so- it's can be a full fic or just a headcanon I'm ok with anything

We all in this account have daddy issues, any ways (it's a bit SPICY soooooo)

Captain price

He's DOWN BAD like us

He's polite and a gentleman but seeing you with your kids/taking care of kids just makes his heart melt, he loves seeing you being like a father figure to children

You are taller than him and that TURNS HIM ON A LOT, look, my man is a pillow princess and no I don't care what everyone says, HE IS

will flirt with you just so hear you chuckle with that deep sexy voice of yours, call him "sweetheart" "babe" "big guy" and he is in love

Imagine if price flirted and you are just like "oh yeah? Wanna say that again big boy?" Getting really close to him

Simon 'ghost' Riley

At first he doesn't admit he is attracted to you BUT god damn you look good in a plain white t-shirt with shorts doing breakfast

If you are in the military he will stare at your butt, thighs and chest plus you are older than him and that is attractive to him

If you aren't in the military, you two probably meet at a cafe or pub, and when he discovers you have or take care of children he thinks it's adorable

His childhood was SHIT, so seeing you worrying about those kids, his heart started to feel warm

Hug him, press your chest against his face while you stroke his head while whispering "good boy Simon" or praise in general

Jhon 'soap' McTavish

Puppy, a total puppy

He's energetic but also serious and smart, and not many people give him credit by that so, after a mission you went and ruffled his hair and slid your hand to the back of his neck "good job out there McTavish, keep being a good boy ey?" You smiled softly

He falled right there, he nodded giving you puppy eyes

One time in particular he was like putting his harness in his thighs and he was having problem so you grabbed his waist and helped him "stay still" you finished and brushed his sides and smiled "good boy Jhonny"

PRAISE KINK

everytime you touch him, he melts

Gaz

He likes looking at you, he thinks your age your height and size is attractive, he is a big guy fan

In one of the missions he has a injured leg and you carried him to the HQ in BRIDE STYLE IN FRONT OF EVERYONE

And when you are patching his wounds and he whimpers from the pain "shhh you are doing so good gaz, such a good boy" and he almost fainted

He loves playing with your hands, they are bigger than his own and they are rough but gentle at the same time and he LOVES IT

He's in his middles 30's so you are older than him and he is so turned on when he sees you doing traditional dad things, you in an apron? Bedroom, you wearing a suit? Bedroom, you in a swimsuit? Y'all know what I mean

Alejandro Vargas

He thinks of you as a friend, even as a brother from another mother but when he sees you in your uniform, he had to control himself to not grabb your pecs and take you there in front of everyone

When he wants your attention will grab your belt and pull you closer, smirking at your flustered face

Once you too started, fooling around, he will grab your body, arm, waist, ass, pecs, everything

Once he sees you playing with kids or animals he almost grabbed you to take things to the couch wink wink

He's shorter than you and when he wants to look at you he grabs your collar and pulse your face closer

Rudy (MY MAN <3)

Flustered, blushed even

He likes you for you, your height, size and age its a plus but one things he loves even more than your personality is

Your arms

You are like a giant teddy bear, when no one is looking he will pull you for a hug, excuse it's he had a rough time in a mission

Nah

He wants to feel your GIANT ARMS AROUND HIM

You would break him like a twig and he will be thankful

"here's the reports for you [redacted]" You smiled and patted his head "thank you Rudy, you are so good" and he is so flustered

Thank y'all for the cod requests

Fell free to send more :D

[stoneybun]

pretty lil' thing

Jschlatt & fem plus-size reader (again) - mdni Fluff + sprinkle of nsfw - No y/n, just pet names :3 You and Schlatt didn't go out too often. It was much cozier in the comfort of your shared apartment with the cats watching movies cuddled up on the couch instead of dealing with the outside world. Tonight was different, though. There was some art exhibit downtown you were excited about, and the moment you mentioned it, Schlatt was already ordering tickets before you could get the words "I wanna go" out of your mouth, letting him see you get adorably frustrated. "Don't gimme that look, toots," he grins, leaning back in his seat as he places his hands on the back of his head. "I'll give you whatever look I want." "Yeah? Can't say I mind, I get a real good look at you like this, pretty girl," he grinned wider, the shine in his eyes telling you he was proud of himself. This fucker. You in fact did go get ready. Tonight you were wearing something outside of your comfort zone, being a dress. A bodycon dress, at that. You had bought the thing online months ago as a totally sober purchase. It was pretty, black, stopping just above your knees with a slit along your left thigh, a turtleneck with no sleeves. Usually, you preferred a more comfortable style, trying to hide yourself and primarily the pouch of your stomach. Schlatt never understood why, the slight glimpses he'd get when a shirt of yours would ride up made his mouth water, but he never pried on the matter, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. He opted for showing you his appreciation for your curves in other ways. Either way, you were currently stood in front of a mirror as you clasped a silver necklace around your neck, resting comfortably on your chest. It was one Schlatt got you during a Japan trip, complaining how he got scammed for it, but he'd do anything for his girl. It was always something with his stories. You glance at the mirror, feeling anxiety bubbling in your chest. Schlatt has seen you in dresses before, sure, but they were closer to sundresses, not clinging to you and showing off the various curves your body held and the outline of your stomach. You sigh, not wanting to worry Schlatt by taking too long as you've already taken longer than usual, opening the door and wandering to the living room, seeing your boyfriend sat on the couch and cradling [redacted] as long as the cat would let him. Once he heard movement, he turned his head, about to make some remark about the cat before he practically malfunctions at the sight of you, his eyes dilating. Were his pants that tight before now? "This.. looks fine, right?" You stammer, knitting your brows together for a moment and instinctively tugging at the fabric around your stomach, trying to loosen it. Oh, that made Schlatt's heart ache. Couldn't you see the drool threatening to spill from his mouth right now? He was struggling to even keep eye contact, his eyes and hands and mouth yearning to wander your body. "More than fine, babydoll," he speaks in a soft tone, one he saves for you and the cats. He stands, walking over to you as his eyes linger on your form for a moment, slowly working their way up to meet your gaze. "You're gorgeous, y'know that?" he murmurs, gently placing a hand on the back of your head while pressing his lips to your forehead. "C'mon, I've gotta show off my pretty lil' thing," he grins, his usual tone slipping back into place as he slid his hand to rest on the small of your back as you two were getting ready to leave for the art exhibition. Schlatt would look at the pieces, sure, but his favorite thing to look at was you standing near him as he'd occasionally slide an arm around your hip as you'd be looking at a piece, or holding pinkies with you. He loved giving you discrete affection throughout your outing, reminding you how proud he was of you. Also, he just couldn't wait until you both got home and he could finally see and feel those curves he's staring down the whole night, sometimes not even being subtle about it.

-- Thank y'all for the love on my other post!! I'm real tempted to continue this for a smut,, not sure atm though