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fuedalreesespieces · 3 months

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ramble-y post incoming:

tldr: is the inukag to izanori pipeline real, and am i falling headfirst into it? yes, yes i am.

[This post does contain spoilers for Kanata Kara and Inuyasha.]

recently (and by that i mean two days ago) i decided i wanted to start a shojo manga that wasn't too long, something I could read in between lectures. i checked some of my saved manga on the website i use, and found one that i had saved purely because i'd been enthralled by the cover art, which looked like this:

(i mean, look at them!!)

...that, and it was 14 volumes, so I thought i could finish it within a week or two, reading a few chapters every day.

i was wrong. i'm on volume ten and it's been a day and a half.

i haven't finished and I'm making this post (partly because i've been rambling about it in ballistic keysmash-consistent twitter posts) to say that Kanata Kara is good. very, very good. damn that one-star review on the site i'm using, because that shit has to be an accidental click. I love the world-building, the diverse cast of characters, and the art is magnificent. I think my favorite thing of all has to be the themes represented so far in the manga, perpetuated by our titular characters noriko and izark. I may make a future post about that when i finish the manga, but there is one thing i noticed while reading that struck me as really interesting: the dynamic between izark and noriko, and the characters themselves, remind me a lot of inuyasha and kagome.

now i'm gonna preface this by saying i'm not trying to say that these are the same dynamics or something, because they aren't - I just want to point out parallels i thought were really interesting, as someone who loves both relationships in their respective mangas. i also want to establish that Kanata Kara predates Inuyasha by three to five years*- so what I really should be saying is that inuyasha and kagome remind me of izark and noriko, but you get the picture. you could argue a number of things with this in mind, but i'm not here to discuss any of that. this isn't meant to be some sort of dumb gotcha; both series are good in their own ways, and some of the similarities i'm highlighting can be attributed to similar tropes being at play!

*(sources vary, some say 1993, others say 1995)

izark/inuyasha

demons - inuyasha is half inu-youkai, whereas izark is the sky demon from a prophecy that makes up much of the manga's internal and external conflict for him. an interesting contrast i found was that while inuyasha's half-demon features are present for the majority of the manga and his human side shows up only a handful of times, it's the exact opposite for izark, whose "human" appearance reigns for the majority of the manga.

both characters were shunned by their respective communities (and humanity at large, though inuyasha had his mother for some time, and izark's mother tried to kill him). when both parents died, they began living on the fringes of society, never interacting with anyone and, according to them, "preferring to be alone."

both share moments where their demon sides take over and they are unable to control themselves - unless, of course, their loved one is present to help them. otherwise, both are trapped in a violent, bloodthirsty state of mind that makes them lose parts of their identity each time transformation is undergone. both try to avoid this part of them out of fear of losing themselves, but when occasions rise where they are in those forms, their respective loved ones pull them out of it/help them ground themselves.

powerful fighters willing to quite literally put everything on the line for their respective loved ones - i'm talking half-dead-dragging their-bodies-across-the floor and thinking "well, at least she's okay."

one interesting difference to me is how izark and inuyasha approach their humanity. izark is constantly shown in his "human" form and is only in his demon form a handful of times, and the exact opposite is true for inuyasha. izark's earlier (brief) plan of doing away with noriko is spurned from his desire to avoid the tragic fate tied with his demonic form, whereas inuyasha's earlier actions are motivated by his desire to become a full demon. izark relates his demon side to inevitability, to the idea that he might just become the monster everyone prophesied him to be; inuyasha (in the beginning) views his humanity with scorn and associates it with weakness. he wants to embrace the possibility of achieving full demon status, and why? is it just because he wants power? in my opinion, no - I think it's a way of finding a place; being free to go where he wants. inuyasha is already powerful in his own right, and even when he's given the opportunity to claim a formidable weapon like his father's sword, he says he has no interest in it (until, of course, kagome mentions he could try to claim it just to spite sesshomaru, and only then is his interest peaked.) inuyasha seeks freedom by assimilating into a full demon identity, izark seeks freedom from that full demon identity, and only then will he feel in control of his life.

kagome/noriko

both from modern era japan and get isekaied into another world - kagome's instance is time-travel, though - noriko is transported to a whole other world with different culture, geography, and language (noriko having to learn the language of the people there and taking part in their customs is one of my favorite things about the manga!!)

the beacon of light in their respective groups/found family, bringing everyone together

key players in a "Prophecy of Doom" - kagome's "destiny" is to continue the cycle of the shikon jewel; noriko's "destiny" is to awaken the Sky Demon (izark). both girls, and their loved ones, change their futures.

damsels? maybe, but never in distress:

and, of course, the most prominent parallel for me: their acceptance of their lovers and the ripple effect that love has on their lovers' relationships and life:

"i'm not leaving you no matter what happens, no matter who you are - I will stay by your side":

"you changed my life for the better":

"i've opened up and become more vulnerable":

there are a ton of other examples i could use for this bullet, since it has a pretty broad spectrum of events that could fall under it, but these are my favorites.

i also want to draw attention to the way noriko deals with feeling powerless - both she and kagome are surrounded by powerful, experienced individuals, but unlike noriko, kagome has a reign on her archery and spiritual skills pretty early on in the manga, so she contributes in battles one way or another. one of noriko's longest internal conflicts is that she feels guilty that she can't do anything to help and that people are getting hurt on her behalf:

i absolutely love the advice given to her, and how it ties into the themes of the manga. noriko feels like she isn't helping, but even a simple thank you helps - even if it's just thanking one person for a single deed, everyone is intricately tied, and that goodwill spreads. it grows. it becomes a part of everyone. you don't have to be a fighter to spread good.

conclusion: the parallels are neat and READ KANATA KARA!

#inuyasha #inuyasha a feudal fairy tale #kagome higurashi #inukag #inuyasha x kagome #kanata kara #from far away #izanori #comparison

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trumpetboy · 2 years

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I can’t help but feel that I’m not the good guy anymore. I’ve been stuck on this for ages and I don’t know when I’ll recover. When I’m alone I always fall into this self-destructive cycle and I feel like I’m drowning. I’ve posted quite a few times on social media that I’m doing better, but I feel that’s right when I start to sink back underneath. I know I can be loved, but fuck it’s hard.

Im working on insecurities and I’m hopeful for the future, but some days I seem to throw everything away and focus on the one thing that hurts me the most. I’m not safe even in my own head.

What you’ve done to me has caused considerable damage to my trust, my intuition, my confidence, and my will to keep going. I can firmly say that I loved you, and that you were someone I would’ve given anything just to see the corner of your lips twitch with a smirk after one of my incredibly stupid jokes or to hear you laugh one last time. But honestly that doesn’t matter. I placed you at the center of my universe, and that was an immense pressure I put on you. You were already struggling, and that was obvious from the times that I could never calm you down out of it. It means a lot to me that you did care, and honestly probably cared more than you should have. You weren’t ready for this, and I (unfortunately to my own mental health) cannot fault you for this.

It has been over two months since everything came crashing down through words on a screen, and I know I still have work to do to get over you, but things are becoming clearer. I know you cared enough to go past your own past judgment to continue things with me even in your own state. You were not ready for the commitment that I thought was there, and you jumped in head first anyways. I’d like to think that you loved me, and selfishly I’d like to think you’re feeling in a similar way to how I feel right now. I made you my everything, and I truly would have let you drag me through hell just because I could hold your hand. You were never malicious and you never intended things to turn out this way, and although that honestly makes things a lot harder to process, it makes me feel easier in some aspects. You were incredibly supportive, especially when it came to my passions and the treatment I received from others.

I have never felt more supported in regards to my interactions with my parents than with you. You stepped up to the plate and went to bat for me many times and helped me understand that I didn’t need to simply take the treatment that I received from them. You saw so much good in me, and you weren’t about to see that ground out of me by this. Even after our breakup you understood and served as a lighthouse in the fog when I had to go back.

I know I wasn’t fully satisfied with what we were. I always felt that I was not enough for you, and I cried many times worrying whether you loved me or not. I knew I could hold your hand, I knew I could kiss you, I just never knew that the last time would be when we were both hungover.

If I were to be honest, I dove headfirst into what could probably be considered addiction to both alcohol and weed. We would drink until the stars turned blue and we would smoke until red turned blue. I cannot say that we weren’t responsible and careful, because we truly are, but there are big chunks of time that I can remember the same routine of sitting on that soft, tan couch reaching over to hold your hand while we passed the bottle and your leaky pipe between each other as we washed down the poison with blueberry redbull.

I still can’t drink that without thinking about you.

I learned many tricks and trades, and figured out so many logistics including and up to the smoking room in Denver. You were so surprised and seemed to feel understood and cared for, and something simple like $6 a night was easily worth that to me. I thought of everything, I wanted everything to work out for you.

I wasn’t scared of a future with you.

Part of me knew this wouldn’t last, but I had the utmost confidence that it would. I died the first time you broke up with me over text, and I knew it was gonna be so much harder a second time. I have a hard time saying this, but honestly kinda fuck you for that. I told you everything and I made you my everything, and I couldn’t even get a phone call? Was it really easier this way? Even despite this it was incredibly difficult to move you off that pedestal that I hoisted you up on.

I met your mom (what a fucking bitch) and I knew you understood in some way what I was dealing with with mine. That was until she told me directly when she was drunker than I am right now that you don’t deserve me, and that I should run away when I can. She was angry and honestly in a vindictive mood, and that will never leave my mind because of how wrong, vile, and selfish those words that she spoke to me were. Fuck her and that cunt of a gloryhole that she calls a mouth. That was automatically unforgivable to me, and I selfishly hope she rots in hell with me so I can fuck her up. You never deserved her, and I hope that you one day understand that. Amara will make sure of that lol (what a fuckin legend).

I don’t know how to not be cliché, so I’m gonna say it anyway. The word You became synonymous to the Jamie that I knew, and I knew at that moment that it was all the way or oblivion for me.

There are no words to easily sum up my feelings about this whole situation, but in the end I am incredibly happy how healthy things have kind of ended up at when I know it could have taken a much darker path. This was immature from the start of this end, and I am proud to say that I wasn’t a complete douchebag and you were sensitive and understanding of my emotions and processing.

I’ll never see a notification with your name the same, but I know that I’ll be ok, and honestly I know I have the capability of being happy and loved in the way that I know I deserve to be. What we had wasn’t working, and probably never would have worked. I could not believe the similarities that we had, but those similarities serve us better as friends. From a peanuts shower curtain to GenerikB, I believe that we were meant to impact each other’s lives, and I hope I can say that we both made a positive difference in each other’s.

I’m sorry I’ve never seen a movie before, I’ll work on that as our friendship grows, but please never stop giving me recommendations because I’m pretty stupid in that regard lol. I could not have gotten to the place where I’m at now without you and for that I’ll be incredibly grateful.

Part of me hopes you’ll see this, part of me knows you won’t, but most of me knows that this will be understood in time, and we’ll just have to stick around for that day.

I know this isn’t permanent because I’ll probably see you soon, but I do need to say goodbye Jamie. You’ve taught me so much, and although this hurt like a motherfucker, I’ve learned so much about myself and my passions, and I will be forever grateful. As always, I wish you nothing but better than the best.

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scuttling · 3 years

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Happy Accidents

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 6,300 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Art, Neighbor Hotch, Shy and Oblivious Hotch, Flirting, It's soo sappy I'm sorry, Oral sex, Unprotected sex Summary: Aaron's new neighbor is out of his league for so many reasons: she's young, beautiful, artistic, unique, free-spirited, the kind of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. It's no wonder he ends up falling in love with her. *Requested by anon Link to A03 or read below! Against all of his better judgement, Aaron is kind of creeping on his new next door neighbor.

He is absolutely the type of man, any other time, to approach a woman he’s interested in and introduce himself, look for a way to connect, some common ground, but this is no ordinary woman.

She is out of his league in so many ways: young, beautiful, unique, free-spirited, the type of person who turns heads when she walks down the street. There’s not a chance in hell she would look twice at an old, stuffy, monotone suit with a seven year old son and perpetual bags under his eyes. That’s not him feeling bad about himself, it’s just the way the world works.

The first time he saw her, she was getting on the elevator while he was getting off of it, and they’d bumped into each other; she was wearing a short, flowy dress, and she’d smiled at him, apologized, eyes sparkling, smelling like she’d spent all day in the sunshine. It was the only time since Haley he’d ever entertained the idea of love at first sight.

She keeps to herself most of the time, gives off the air of being really cool and mysterious; their paths have crossed a few times since then—at the bank of mailboxes downstairs, in the hallway they share, once during a false alarm fire alarm—but he enjoys watching her paint more than anything.

They have balconies next to each other, and one night when he was tending to his herb garden—Jack enjoys watching the plants grow, and picking the herbs, Aaron likes to eat them—he spotted her standing on hers, facing away from him, in cut off jean shorts and a baggy t-shirt, barefoot. She’d been painting the city, the sky, with the sunset glowing behind her like she was the work of art, and he actually felt an ache in his chest, the feeling of missing someone he’s never really met.

Since that night, he’s started taking his work outside in the evenings after Jack goes to bed, and sitting in near silence while she paints, hums—sometimes songs he knows, sometimes songs he doesn’t. The first time he goes out before she does, she says hello when she drags her easel out, so he starts to say hello to her when she beats him there, too, but that’s pretty much the extent of their interaction. One evening when Aaron and Jack are getting home from dinner, she is lugging a canvas bigger than she is through the hallway and Jack almost runs headfirst into it; when he looks up, he exclaims about how big it is, and pretty—it’s covered with colors, something abstract and cheerful, and even if he’d seen it on the side of the road, he would have just known that she painted it. (That may be a good indicator that he’s getting in a little too deep.)

“Wow, that’s the biggest painting I’ve ever seen! And so many colors,” Jack says, awed. Aaron puts his hands on his shoulders to keep him out of her way; they’re already bothering her enough, when she’s clearly trying to get that giant thing home.

“It’s pretty cool, isn’t it? I carry bigger pieces around at my studio, believe it or not,” she says to him, poking her head around the side to look at him.

“You have a studio?” His eyes are wide with interest; his favorite subject has always been art, as evidenced by their refrigerator, which is covered in drawings. She offers him an even brighter smile.

“I do! It’s not far from here; it’s called Live in Color. There’s a big rainbow painted on the side.”

“That’s so cool; it must be awesome to have your own studio.” Aaron loves that Jack seems to be so passionate about this, but the way they are obviously holding her up has him feeling awkward; he tugs gently on Jack’s backpack.

“That is really cool, bud, but we should let her go. I’m sure that’s heavy.” She smiles, shrugs.

“It’s no trouble. Hey, actually, we have some children’s art classes at the studio, and you look like you’d fit right in with the Green group—ages 7-9?” She looks up at Aaron, who nods. “Maybe we can talk dad into bringing you down sometime. We do painting, drawing, and crafts, it’s really fun.” She’s still looking right at Aaron, gives him a little wink, and he swears to god he gets butterflies in his stomach.

He’s a grown man. A federal agent. With butterflies. It’s insane.

“Oh man, dad, please? Can I take classes at her studio pleeease?” Jack tugs on the sleeve of his suit, and he nods, smiles down at him.

“Yeah, absolutely, Jack. We’ll go down and get more information tomorrow?” he offers, to both placate him and finally free the poor girl from the conversation; he nods excitedly, and she smiles, looks sweet, genuinely happy Jack is so excited to take the class.

“Cool, I look forward to seeing you guys there. Actually, if you give me one sec, I can grab my card for you.” She passes them, carrying the canvas and looking effortless while she does it; she props it up against the wall to get her keys out, unlocks her door and heads in, pops back out with a business card in a vivid watercolor yellow. “It has the address and phone number for the studio on the front, and I put my cell on the back; I figured it couldn’t hurt, considering we live next door to each other. Now you know who to call if you ever have an art emergency.”

He takes the card from her fingers, flips it over just to see the handwritten name and number; he knew her script would be lovely, and it is, easy and flowing and natural. It suits her. He tries not to grin, or flush, or otherwise be awkward about the fact that she just gave him her phone number, however innocently.

“Thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow.” They turn to head for their apartment, and she clears her throat; he smiles a little, turns back, and she’s leaning casually up against the canvas with her arms crossed.

“You know my name now. What’s yours?” She’s just being polite, but he gets the goddamn butterflies again.

“Aaron.” She smiles, something beautiful and a little wild.

“Okay, Aaron. See you outside.” From then on, most of their free time, be it evenings or weekends, is spent at the studio. Aaron isn’t the only parent who sticks around—it’s an art class, not a daycare, he doesn’t feel right just dropping Jack off and leaving him there—and he’s also not the only parent, it seems, who is aware of his beautiful young neighbor.

“She’s incredible, right?” another dad says to him one evening, over by the coffee. Aaron looks him over briefly—it’s a job hazard, he sizes up everyone, but he already has a weird feeling about this guy. “I’ve been bringing my kid here for a month just to look at that little ass running around. My wife just thinks our daughter is just really into art.” He says it with a laugh, like that’s a ridiculous concept. Aaron feels himself start to boil.

“You shouldn’t be disrespectful. She’s doing a great thing here, for the children; she’s not doing it for you to ogle her.” He feels a little hypocritical, because he is also looking, but not like this guy. He knows guys like this. He puts away guys like this.

He glances over at Aaron, looking a little taken aback that someone actually commented on his behavior, then rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t need you to defend her honor, buddy. She wouldn’t run around here in those overalls if she didn’t want us looking. It’s job security.” She’s wearing the overalls tonight, denim shorts with one of the straps unhooked, a t-shirt underneath, but it’s not as if she’s performing a striptease. She just looks like an artist, covered in drips of paint, smiling as she looks at the kids’ pictures over their shoulders. Aaron really, really hates this guy.

“In my experience, women usually dress for themselves; they probably have pockets, easier to keep things at hand that she may need, and it’s warm in here, so she’s likely dressing for comfort. She’s certainly not dressing for you.”

As if she can sense the tension, she looks over at them, flicks her eyes over Aaron, then the other guy, and walks over with a soft smile on her face.

“Hey, Aaron, Jack really wanted you to see what he’s working on.” She reaches out a hand, wraps it around his wrist and guides him over to Jack’s table. “I figured I’d save you,” she says when they’re out of earshot. “That guy sucks. He’s always saying creepy things to me and Alaina.”

“You should ask him to leave if he makes you uncomfortable,” he says, looking down at her with worry. “I can do it.” She shrugs.

“I would, but his daughter really does enjoy the class, and it’s not fair to her that her dad’s disgusting. It’s nothing we can’t handle.” She squeezes his wrist lightly. “Thanks, though. Hey Jack, show dad your project.” He peers over his shoulder, and it’s a pink and orange skyline, much like the one he saw her painting that first time on the balcony. “I asked the kids to paint my favorite thing today, and that’s sunset.”

“I saw you painting this one night,” he says, and then he feels abruptly like an idiot. She just smiles at him though, nods.

“Yeah, I’m a sucker for a beautiful sunset. It makes you feel like, just because the day ends, it doesn’t have to mean things are over; it’s just one of life’s beautiful natural transitions. And the colors are to die for: peach, coral, jasmine, rose, tiger’s eye.” He finds himself unexpectedly touched by her description, smiles softly to shake himself of the emotions.

“The way you see the world is extraordinary. To me it’s just kind of… orange.” She returns his expression, but softer, and squeezes his wrist again; he didn’t even realize she was still holding it.

“Sounds like you need some art in your heart. I give lessons for adults, too; you could even come over and paint with me on my balcony, some time. Special neighbor privileges.”

The thought of being with her on her balcony while she paints is almost overwhelming, which he finds funny, considering he currently sits no more than twenty feet away. There is an intimacy about it, while they both do their work in the cool, quiet breeze, but standing like this, close enough to touch, with the late day sun on her face while she talks about colors… he’s not sure he could handle it without falling in love.

She pats him on the back, moves on to another child, and he tells Jack what a great job he’s doing; his face is lit up, so happy, and regardless of the neighbor, he’s glad they stumbled upon this hobby.

When they pack up to leave, the jerk from earlier comes up to him, leans in to speak in a hushed voice. “You should have just told me you were fucking her. I would have backed off.” He blinks, but the guy and his daughter are walking out the door before he finds himself able to do more than that. About a week later, he goes over for that lesson almost by accident. Jack is at Jessica’s for the night at his request, and Aaron was planning to order takeout and have a paperwork cramming session, but when goes out onto the balcony, phone in hand to place an order, his neighbor is standing on hers like she’s waiting for him.

“Hey. I saw you don’t have Jack; I made some pasta with vodka sauce, if you’re hungry. I always prepare too much.” He sets his phone on the table, walks over to the railing to get a little closer.

“Uh. Sure. I have fresh basil growing here; trade?” She smiles, nods.

“Yeah, sounds delicious. I’ll be right back.” She ducks inside, returns a few moments later with two dishes of steaming, saucy pasta, sets one down on her table and gets right up against her railing, hands the other over to him across his. “That one’s for you,” she says, handing him an orange plate, and he sets it down, picks a few good looking leaves from his basil plant and tears them up, drops them on top. “And this one’s for me.” She reaches, holds a green plate over the gap between their porches, and he adds some basil to it before she pulls it back, takes a deep sniff. “God, it smells so good and fresh. Thank you, Aaron.”

“Thank you, it looks great.” He goes to sit at his table with it, but she scoots her chair closer to the railing, closer to his balcony, so he does the same. They make easy small talk while they eat, mostly about Jack, a little about her studio and his work.

“FBI, huh? I can definitely see that, with your suits, and your… neutrals.” She cringes when she says it, and it makes him laugh.

“I’m sorry I can’t wear paint covered overalls to the office,” he teases, and she shoots him a playfully affronted look, grins.

“You love my paint covered overalls—and for the record, you’d look great in them. You should find a pair. Preferably not black.” He flushes a little at that, but she doesn’t notice, just finishes up her pasta with a sigh of contentment. “That was so good, thanks again for the basil.”

“You’re welcome; thanks for feeding me something other than the takeout I planned to have.” He stands up, gestures to his apartment. “I’ll wash the plate and then hand it back over.”

“Why don’t you just bring it over and come paint with me for a little while? If you want,” she tacks on, and for the first time she seems a little nervous. “I’m not trying to be pushy, I just think it would be fun.”

It’s not that he doesn’t want to; it would be amazing to watch her paint up close and personal. He’s just also afraid he’ll pass the point of no return if he does it, and he can’t handle any more heartache. He only very recently got to a place where just waking up in the morning no longer causes him agony.

It’s the look on her face, though, soft and sweet and open, that makes his decision for him.

“Yeah, okay. I’d like that.” She grins.

“I’ll unlock the door.”

She’s dragging out her easel when he walks through the door; her apartment is stark white walls with vibrant furniture, artwork, canvases propped up against every bare spot along the wall, paints and brushes and charcoal and pencils on every surface. It’s exactly what he would have expected, warm and lived-in and comforting, very unlike the mostly black and gray interior of his own apartment. She smiles when she sees him.

“Hey! Can you grab that tray of paint on your way out?” she asks, and he picks up what looks kind of like an ice cube tray filled with many different colors, carries it out to the balcony with him. She has a canvas propped up, a little larger than a computer monitor, and she’s gotten started, but he can’t tell what it’s going to be just yet. When he hands her the paint she looks down at it, peers around the edge of the canvas like she’s comparing something. He’s so intrigued, curious about the way her mind works, what she’s thinking.

“What are you painting?” he asks when she picks up a brush, sets it down, picks up another. She smiles at him.

“Well, we’re painting that.” She points to the street, where there’s a rusty, pale blue antique car parked—he says that loosely, because it looks broken down—in the alley. Aaron chuckles softly.

“We’re going to paint that? It’s a little… grim.”

“Yes. It’s part of a series I just decided to create: ‘Beauty in the Ordinary.’” She sighs, and he’s surprised to see that her eyes are a little wet. She wipes the back of her hand over her eyes. “You know Bob Ross, right? Everyone knows Bob Ross.” He nods.

“Yes; the guy who paints the happy trees on PBS.”

“Right. I used to watch him growing up, and I vividly remember something he said once, about needing both darkness and light in life and in painting. ‘You have to have a little sadness once in a while to know when the good times come. I’m waiting on the good times now.’” She sniffles, exhales softly. “I’m waiting on the good times too. Sometimes looking at things like this car, and forcing myself to find something beautiful in it, is the easiest way to get through the day. Does that make sense?” He swallows hard when she looks up at him, because aside from Jack, she has been the lightest part of his life since the first time they passed each other on the elevator.

“Yeah, it really does.” She shoots him a soft, slightly sadder smile, and then explains about the paints a little, shows him the difference in the brushes, lets him feel the weight of them, the textures of the bristles.

She starts painting the car—the background is mostly finished—and he’s more than happy to watch, to hear her talk about her process. She asks if she can use his forearm to mix paints, and he turns it over, wrist up, tries not to smile too hard when she puts some dark blue on him, then white, mixing them and then comparing them to the car on the street. He looks down at her, the concentration on her face, the softness in her eyes, and is met with the sudden desire to brush a line of paint over her nose and make her laugh and kiss her breathless.

“Okay, your turn,” she says when she’s about halfway done with the car. She puts her hands on the backs of his arms, pulls him in front of the canvas so she’s between him and the railing. “You’ve been watching me, so you know what to do.” He has been watching her, but not necessarily for her technique, so he’s a little nervous; he dips the brush in the blue paint but hesitates to make a stroke. “I have faith in you, Aaron. Here.”

She wraps her fingers around his hand, guides him toward the canvas, and together they make a wide, curved line, rounding out the bumper. It doesn’t look half bad.

“It gets easier once you understand the relationship between specific paint, specific brushes, and your hands,” she says softly, and she helps him paint another line. “Are you having fun? You look stressed,” she teases, and he makes it a point to relax his face.

“I’m having a lot of fun,” he says, looking down at her; they make eye contact for a long moment, and she leans a little closer, and he leans a little closer, and then he accidentally dabs a blob of blue onto the canvas. He pulls back, grimaces, deflates. “I made a mistake. You can’t erase paint, right?” She laughs softly, takes the brush from his hand.

“No, you can’t erase paint, but as Mr. Ross would say, ‘There are no mistakes, only happy accidents.’” She gets her fingers close to the tip of the brush, makes a few quick movements, then grabs another brush, dips it in green. When she pulls back, there is a little blue flower growing out of a patch of grass where his blob used to be. He exhales, a little amazed.

“If only the mistakes we make in life were that easy to fix,” he says, and she nods.

“Yeah, that would be nice, but a lot of the time we find a way to turn them into beautiful things eventually. Are you willing to give it another shot?” He says yes, and she guides his hand for a while, then just hovers near it, then just instructs him on what to do. It’s dark before their painting is finished, and she carries it inside to dry, then takes him to the kitchen sink to scrub the paint off of his arm.

“Thanks for having me over; I had a really good time,” he murmurs as she dries his clean skin. She looks up, smiles softly, nods her head.

“I had a really good time too. I’m glad you came over; you’re welcome to join me any time.”

He says goodbye, heads home, looks at his stack of work with a groan, and brews a pot of coffee. He’s in for a long night, but he wouldn’t change his evening for anything. Life is much the same for the next few weeks: school and work, Jack’s art class at the studio a couple times a week, painting on the balcony on the weekend, with and without Jack. When Jack joins them for the first time, she pulls out a big box of markers and thick sheets of paper and he draws elaborate scenes while they talk and paint together. When Aaron makes mistakes, she’s never upset, just turns them into perfect little details that end up being his favorite parts of the paintings.

“What ever happened with your ‘Beauty in the Ordinary’ series?” he asks one evening while they’re painting some ocean waves. “Did I cause you enough trouble with the car to give up?” She looks down at the ground, looks a little shy, then shakes her head and smiles.

“No, you didn’t make me want to give up. I’ve been working on it at the studio. You’ll see it when it’s all done, I plan to hang them there.”

“Looking forward to it,” he tells her, and then Jack tugs on her shorts, shows them the picture he drew of the ocean, too.

Later that week, the team takes a case, and on the day he’s set to come home, Jessica drops Jack off at the studio with the plan that Aaron will pick him up when his flight lands. Due to some weather between where the team is and home, they get a little delayed; he doesn’t want to make Jessica head back out that way almost immediately after dropping him off, but he’s not sure who else he could ask to pick Jack up. It’s almost a stupid length of time before it dawns on him to call the studio.

“Life in Color, this is Alaina.”

“Alaina, hi, this is Jack’s dad—” He has his whole spiel prepared, but she cuts him off.

“Oh, sure, hang on a sec, she’s right here. It’s Jack’s dad,” she says, but it sounds further away, like she’s trying to cover the receiver. After a moment, his neighbor picks up.

“Aaron, hi. Jack said you were working.”

“Yeah, I was, and I’m supposed to pick him up after class, but our flight was delayed.” He doesn’t know how to ask for help with Jack; even with all the time they’ve been spending together, she still makes him a little nervous. Luckily, he doesn’t have to figure that part out on his own.

“Hey, that’s no problem. If it’s okay with you, I’ll just take him home with me. I’ll order pizza, we’ll draw, and you can just stop by when you’re home and pick him up.” He breathes a sigh of relief, runs a hand over the back of his head.

“That would be perfect. Thank you—I’ll owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Hanging out with your mini me is reward enough; he’s painting something special for you today, won’t let me see it.” That makes him smile, and he feels so warm at the prospect of picking him up from her bright apartment, seeing his artwork, her smile. After a long, draining day like this one, it’s exactly what he needs.

“I’ll have to remain in suspense until tonight, I guess. Can you let him know I said hi? And thank you, I’ll see you later tonight.”

“Of course. We’ll see you then.”

It’s late, after nine, by the time he makes it home. He doesn’t even take his bags inside, just drops them outside his door and knocks softly on hers. She answers with a smile, ushers him in, asks him if he’d like a drink and gets them each a beer.

Jack is in her room, asleep, so they have a little time to chat; she asks about his flight, his case, and he asks about the studio, and she gets a little shy when it comes to that topic, clears her throat.

“Um. I have Jack’s secret project, if you want to see it. He said I could show you.” He’s not sure why that would make her nervous—at least, until he sees it.

The background is all watercolors, a gradient of rainbow colors starting with pink at the top and ending with a soft purple at the bottom. Over that, in black marker, he’s drawn the three of them, with a big heart around them.

“Tonight’s theme was the thing that makes you the happiest, and he said he’s the happiest when the three of us are on the balcony together. It was… really, really sweet.” She looks up at him, brushes a hand over the crown of her head. “If I’m being honest, that’s when I’m the happiest, too.” He takes the picture from her hands, runs his fingers over it, and smiles, feeling a warm ache in his chest—not like before, not like losing someone he’s never really met, but like finding something he never really planned on.

“That’s when I’m the happiest, too,” he agrees, and when he looks up, she looks determined, like she does when trying to find just the right shade of paint. She takes Jack’s picture out of his hand, sets it on the counter, and then pulls him down by the lapels of his suit, kisses him long and slow. His hands move to her waist, keeping her close, and eventually she pauses for breath, looks at him again, and then wraps her arms around his neck and kisses him some more.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first time I saw you—tall and dark and serious, striding out of the elevator. So intriguing, mysterious,” she breathes when they separate again. “I wanted to know everything about you.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks, huffing a laugh. “I’m boring, but you are so vibrant, so full of life; I felt like you were everything I wasn’t, and I wanted to know you so badly.”

“You know me now; would you like to keep getting to know me?” It’s one of the easiest questions he’s ever been asked; he nods, and she beams, and he lifts her into his arms and carries her to the couch, drapes himself over her while she leans back against the cushions, pulling him closer.

They make out like neither of them have a care in the world—god, how long has it been since he’s made out with someone?—her fingers scraping through his hair, his hands on her bare waist when her shirt rides up, and she’s in the process of pushing his jacket off his shoulders when they hear a sound from the other room that startles them apart. Jack.

“I’ll go check on him,” Aaron says, and when he goes into her room Jack is still snuggled up on her bed sound asleep. It looks like some canvases fell over, though, and he stoops to pick them up, then spots the car they painted together. He turns and she’s right behind him, skids to a stop. “I thought you said these were at the studio?”

“They were,” she says, and she looks nervous again. “But I changed my mind about hanging them there. They felt too personal.” He runs his hand over the car and sees where she’s coming from; this one feels personal to him, too.

“Can I see the rest?” he asks. “Only if you want to show me them.”

“You’re the only one I want to show them to,” she says with a soft smile, and she grabs a few more canvases, carries them into the light of the living room. “Beauty in the ordinary, remember.” He remembers, could never forget.

She turns one over, and it’s a kitchen sink, and in the kitchen sink is an orange plate with a fork resting on it—like the plate she’d given him with the pasta on it. She turns one over and it’s a man’s hand, holding a paintbrush, with pale blue paint on his forearm. The next one is a little herb garden on a balcony; the next one is a view from above, of a sandy haired boy with markers all around him. The last one is an open elevator—ripe with possibilities.

When he looks up at her, she’s got tears in her eyes, and one slips down her cheek.

“So, I think I’ve found my good times.” She smiles through her tears, and he takes her face in his hands and kisses the salt from her lips. “I love you,” she says when he pulls back to wipe her face with his sleeve, and he kisses her softly, again and again, and tells her he loves her, too. The next weekend, Jack is at Jessica’s for a sleepover, and Aaron has been enlisted to help with an art project. He walks next door, knocks lightly, and enters the living room; he is met with a very deep, passionate kiss and a smile, and instructions to help move the furniture out of the way.

“I’m really curious what kind of art requires this much floor space,” he says, shoving her couch back against the wall, and she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, a move he has been unable to resist since she did it the first time they had sex. She knows it’s a weakness, exploits it, and he loves every minute of it.

“You’ll see, but I promise you’re going to like it.” When they clear the floor, she grabs a large, rolled-up fabric canvas and lays it out in the middle of the room, then drops three bottles of paint—one is yellow (jasmine), one is orange (peach), and one is kind of pink (coral? He’s still not sure.)—onto it. “You can obviously say no if you want, but I wanted something over my bed with the sunset colors, and I found this…” She steps closer to him, runs her hands down his chest, guides him down for a kiss so delicious he loses his train of thought. “It’s sex art; we put the paint on the canvas, and on ourselves, and… you know, go at it. What do you think?”

He thinks he really, really loves art now, even more than he thought possible.

“So we have paint-covered sex and then you just hang it on the wall? Like regular art?”

“Yep, I got the supplies I’ll need to hang it; letting it dry will probably take the longest. I figured we could shower while it’s drying, maybe go for round two, if you’re up for it.” She moves her hand to his waist, slips it inside his shorts, and he pulls her closer to his body. “Are you up for it, Aaron?”

That is an understatement.

Undressing happens extremely fast, because this is really sexy and they’re kind of in a phase where they can’t keep their hands off of each other anyway. She pulls her hair up onto the top of her head to try to minimize the amount of paint in it, and then she pours paint on the canvas, turns around and drizzles some on his back and tells him to lay down.

“I think we should probably change positions often so we get a lot of motion on the canvas; I apologize to your old knees in advance,” she teases, but she soothes the sting of her words by pouring paint on herself and then laying between his legs and licking at his dick. “Do some stuff with your hands; I want to see those big handprints on my wall,” she murmurs, and he groans, puts his palms down in the paint and drags them through it.

She leans up a little, sliding her knees through some yellow paint, sucks him fully, deeply into her mouth for couple of minutes, and then stretches forward and puts an orange hand right in the middle of his chest; the look in her eyes is playful, and he reaches out with one finger, hooks it under her chin, and guides her off and up so they can kiss.

“Your turn,” he says with a smirk, and then he gets her onto her back and ducks between her legs, hopes she doesn’t grab for his hair like she usually does. He rubs his pointed tongue over her clit, waits for the mmm it always elicits, and looks up at her, covers each of her breasts with a paint-covered palm and squeezes. “Leave handprints for me,” he leans up and reminds her, kissing her stomach, and she plants her hands, then presses up and grabs his shoulder, smearing pink down his back. “Oh, you wanted more of that?”

“Don’t tease me, the paint will dry,” she whines, and he spreads her thighs wider with his elbows and licks her pussy quickly, until she’s squirming against the canvas and panting for more. “Come here, come here.”

He’s not ready for that, though, paint or not, wants her to come from this; he takes his hands off of her, dips them in the paint again and presses down, then puts his hands under her ass and brings her closer so he can fuck her with his tongue, quick and deep and slick.

“Aaron, Aaron, god.” She slides her hands down his arms, over his neck, digs her nails in when she comes moaning like music.

While she catches her breath, so gorgeous, she sticks her arms out like she’s making a snow angel, and he catches her while she’s off guard and turns her onto her stomach, puts his hands on the smears of paint he’s already left on her ass, and slides inside.

“Oh my god; I was trying to impress you with this sexy art project, but you’re rocking my world.” She’s breathless, pressing back into his thrusts and painting with her entire body. God, he loves her mind.

“You know I always take your projects very seriously,” he says, leaning forward to whisper in her ear, and she groans, laughs.

“Yes you do. From the side? Let’s lay diagonally.” They shift, and he hooks his chin over her shoulder, kisses her neck and huffs hot against her hair. “Hmm, love it like this,” she sighs, and she reaches back to press her hand to his hip, holding him while he moves inside her. “I love you.”

“Love you. I want you to finish on top of me,” he instructs with a wet kiss to her throat, and she nods against his lips.

“Yeah, next; I’m getting close.” A few more strokes and she gets up onto her knees, lets him lay back, propped up on his arms, and climbs on top of him; she kisses him slow and dirty and then runs her hands over him, sits back on his dick and glides up and down. “You wanna come like this too? I owe you a little world rocking,” she says with a flick of her tongue over his bottom lip, and he nods, squeezes her thigh.

“It’s the least you can do after making me move all the heavy furniture.” She rolls her eyes but kisses his chin, down his throat, and bounces harder on him, all delicious eye contact and moans. “Mmm. Just like that, baby, come for me.”

“Fuck. I will, I will.” She wraps a hand around the back of his neck, kisses him kind of rough and with lots of tongue, and then tips her head back and climaxes, clenches, wrings his orgasm out of him so quickly it’s almost jarring. “Oh, yes Aaron. So good,” she mumbles, and then he lays back, out of breath, and she slides out of his lap and lays beside him, out of breath too.

After a moment, she looks over at him, smiles, and swipes a pink fingertip over his cheek.

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever done with anyone. I’m glad I got to do it with you.” He rolls on top of her, presses a kiss to her nose, and nods.

“Me too. You know,” he adds after a moment, “my bedroom could use some artwork, too.” She grins, wraps her arms around him and squeezes tight.

“You’re right; I think we should do yours in blue: liberty, that’s dark blue; periwinkle, that’s light blue; maybe steel gray, too.”

“You’re the expert. I’m just your paintbrush.” Her hands smooth up his back, and contentment washes over him like a warm breeze.

“Hmm. I like the sound of that. Want to get cleaned up?”

Cleaning up is almost as fun as making the mess, because they’re well and truly covered, and when the canvas dries, the sunset colors are almost as beautiful as the ones she used the first time he ever saw her paint. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul @ssamorganhotchner @heliotropehotch @angelhotchner @qtip-blog @gspenc

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch x female reader #hotch x reader #ask answered #anon #prompt

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severelytalentless · 3 years

Text

Chemistry Part 1

FlirtyFuckboy!Gojo x VirginLabPartner!Reader

I have the fattest crush on this idiot. This is mostly me fantasizing about interacting with him in college. I'm obsessed.

Probably going to keep this going. Maybe get Suguru involved later.

18+ Content: sexual scenarios and strong language, sexual harassment?, exhibitionism, teasing, dirty talk, dubcon, fingering

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(swoon - beach weather)

"Gojo, please. We have to focus." you plead with him, exhausted, as he plays around on his phone. The stick of his lollipop rolls around to the other side of his mouth. He shoots you a sideways glance over those trendy shades and smirks.

"Do you have a mouse in your pocket?" his eyes track down the scrolling screen in his hands.

"What?" you furrow your brow in confusion. You don't have the energy for his games right now. What is he on about?

"You said WE need to focus," he leans the chair back onto two legs, kicking his feet up on the table, "who is we? You and the mouse?" his nose wrinkles as he snickers to himself. His snarky grin is giving you a headache.

You huff and fix your glasses back on your nose.

This is absolutely pointless.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When your chemistry professor pulled you aside after class, you expected to chat about your senior thesis. Instead, he all but got down on his knees and begged you to work with Gojo on the midterm lab.

"I have no one else for him." You groaned and turned away.

"That's not my headache." You stuffed books into your bag, ready to leave this conversation.

"Listen, I know he's a bit troublesome but if you just-"

"Troublesome? A bit troublesome? Really, professor?" he sighed at the look you gave him.

"Y/N, can you please just do me this favor? You owe me for pushing that late submission through last trimester." he's still holding that over your head?

"Oh come on! That's nowhere close to a fair trade." You have too much going on right now to have Satoru Gojo dropped onto your plate.

He crossed his arms, "I've already paired everyone up."

You scowled at him and threw your bag over your shoulder.

"He's yours."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You look at your watch. 8:30pm. Jesus.

"That's it." You drop your pen into the spine of your textbook. He raises his eyebrows as you push back your chair and stand up.

"Wai-wait, where are you going?" He watches you let your hair fall out of the bun on top of your head and you walk out of the library study room without another word.

You run your fingers through your hair and sigh, releasing your frustration. You have a long list of problems in your life and he will not be making that list tonight.

"Not so fast tiger" he strides up beside you out of nowhere. You roll your eyes and keep walking.

"Where we goin'?"

"I need coffee."

"Oh, when did this become a date?" he straightens the collar of his button-down and puffs out his chest.

'Insufferable' you keep your mouth shut. You refuse to react, turning the corner towards the library cafe.

"Slow down babe" he pops the sucker out of his mouth and takes a couple big steps with those freakishly long legs to catch up to you.

"Not your babe." Your face feels hot.

"You could be.." he leans forward and flashes you a flirty grin as you walk side by side up to the counter.

"Ugh" you scoff and shoo him away, stepping up to order. He clears his throat and nudges in front of you.

"Yes! Good evening, I'll have a large hot chocolate with extra whip," he gestures to you, "and for the pretty lady?" you glare at him.

"...macchiatto, double shot, please." You turn and spit fire at him, "this is not a date, jackass."

He smugly whips his card from his wallet, "And yet, I'm paying for your coffee.." The wink he throws at you is lethal.

There's no way he isn't pleased by the blush in your cheeks. You try to convince yourself that it's the rage...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You just cannot stand him. Always disrupting class with stupid jokes. Erupting into obnoxious laughter out of nowhere in the back with his buddies. His whole devil-may-care attitude might pull other girls, but there's no way you have any feelings for this idiot other than irritation.

You've seen him in action all over campus. Tickling some little freshman under the chin outside the dining hall, making her giggle and flip her hair. Another poor clueless girl falling headfirst into his trap. You roll your eyes and go about your business. You don’t need any of that from him. You have purposely kept your distance for the last 3 years, doing your best to stay off his radar.

That didn't stop him from trying to peek under your skirt last week in lab. You were leaning over the table, reaching up for a beaker. You didn't notice him tilting back in his chair to lift the fabric with his finger until Suguru snorted out a squashed laugh. You whipped around and swatted at his hand. He shook his fingers and sucked his teeth,

"Ouch..I was just lookin’ honey..wasn't gonna touch.." that nasty little smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

"GOJO. GETO. Knock it off!" Your professor barked from his desk, hearing the laughter.

"Sorry teach! She just looks so cute in this skirt today." He called out with absolutely no shame, eyes trained on your flustered face,

"GOJO! That's enough."

“really fuckin’ cute..” he added under his breath, rolling his lollipop on his tongue.

You'd never been so embarrassed. You flipped back around and snatched the beaker, holding the back of your skirt down, before rushing to the other side of the lab bench. Your cheeks burned through the rest of class. You will not be wearing that skirt to lab again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He stares after you. Your hair sways back and forth as you strut down the hall away from him. It brushes just shy of your belt loop. He bites down on his lollipop watching the way your hips swing.

You’re so fucking hot when you're mad...

He hums a groan under his breath and jogs to catch up.

"Okay stop.." He grabs your icy shoulder to try and slow your roll. You sip your coffee and shrug his hand off, you don’t even look at him.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I know I tease you too much.” You’re not buying it. Gojo is many things, but sincere isn’t one of them.

“Hey! I was just messing with you, you don’t have to be so-“ he trips a few steps past you when you stop dead, leaving him to spin back around.

“SO WHAT? So serious? So mean? Do you think I’m a bitch? How would you like me to act Gojo? HUH? What would please you? I’m not a little freshman play toy. I’ve had ENOUGH of your bullshit! We need to get back and get this fucking midterm done because I will NOT let you drag my grade down! Is that clear?!”

Your shoulders heave and your hands feel shaky from the cathartic release. That felt good. You’ve never raised your voice at someone like that. You tend to avoid confrontation, but he just brings the fire out of you. You glare at the open-mouthed dumbstruck look on his face.

Silence fills the hallway. He’s stunned. You’ve never seen him so still, or quiet. He finally shuts his mouth and you see his eyes flick to your left.

He moves toward you with a stern look on his face. Your stomach flips.

Is he mad? He’s never mad.

“Come with me.” He takes your arm.

“No, why?” You yank away and furrow your brows. He takes his hand off you and raises both in surrender. He lets out a heavy sigh, walks over, and opens the door to your left.

“Just come on.”

You stay put and examine him, weary of his change in demeanor. It’s not anger. Almost smells like defeat. You relent and pass through the doorway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(drew barrymore - bryce vine)

You look around to find yourself in an unfamiliar, dimly lit area of the stacks. The school library is a labyrinth and you’ve never been in through this door before. The nearest light sits on a desk by the windows about 6 or 7 rows down.

You turn to see him placing his coffee cup in a gap on the shelf. You swallow hard, suddenly nervous and regretting the way you shouted at him. He doesn’t seem like himself. He steps forward and you step back, maintaining distance. You try to step back again but the shelves block you. You clutch your coffee as he gets closer than you’d like him to be.

“I’ve never heard you swear before.” His remark surprises you. He takes the cup from your hands and sets it on a shelf. His voice is hushed and you're not sure you like the way he's looking at you.

“Well you were pissing me off..” he’s in your personal space and you’re suddenly conscious of your breathing.

“Mm, that’s fair. Just didn’t know you used those kinds of words.” He gently teases you again and your face grows hot. You roll your eyes at him for the millionth time, trying to shake off this weird tension between you.

“Gojo, what are we doing in here?”

“You were making a scene.”

“I wasn’t, you just wouldn’t-“

“Have you ever been fucked?”

Your heart dives into your stomach.

His eyes flick down to your lips.

“I bet you haven’t.”

Is he messing with you again? This is outrageous.

“That’s none of your business.”

He clicks his tongue and drops his chin, leaning forward just a little more.

“Nah, I can tell. No one’s ever touched you.”

You hold your breath as his fingers ghost over the goosebumps on your arm. Sparks fly off your skin and your heart races around in your chest. His words tie a dirty little knot into your guts.

“Have you ever touched yourself?”

You huff at his audacity. Now he’s just being rude. He hums back and lightly bumps his hips into yours. You bump back into the stacks.

“Mhm, I bet you do it all the time. Does it make you feel good?”

Your eyes dart away to escape the intensity of his eye contact. He really has no shame. You see his grin widen out of the corner of your eye.

"D'you make yourself cum?"

Heat surges up into your face and down between your legs in the same instant. You try to hide it but you're completely flustered. He can see it all over your face. His cock throbs against his zipper, picturing you touching your own body.

His hand comes up by your head and he leans against the shelves, caging you in.

“Wonder what kind of pretty sounds you can make.” He just keeps going, you shift your weight, and flinch when his hand lands on your waist.

“What d'you think about with your fingers in your cunt?” Your eyes jump back to him at the vulgar words. He squeezes your waist and the little knot twists again. You pull a quick breath when he leans in next to your ear.

“D'you think about me?” He whispers too close, it triggers a wash of chills over your skin. Your walls tighten inside you. His hand starts sliding up the curve of your waist and slips under your shirt. Your exhale catches his ear as he cups your bra.

“Is that a yes?” He squeezes and his other hand moves to skate around your shoulder and under your hair. He blindly unclasps your bra through your shirt like he’s done it a thousand times. His fingers then quickly find their way to your nipples and start to play.

You bite hard into your lip to stifle your moan but he hears it in your throat. He smirks. This is your first time and it fucking shows.

“Your imagination ain’t enough, is it?”

His impish sneer wrinkles his nose and he bites down on the stick of his sucker before pulling it out of his mouth. Your mouth falls open with a sigh when he pinches a little harder and he drops it on your tongue. It’s cherry-flavored and you don’t think twice as you fold your lips around it.

Gojo likes what he sees.

“Pretty girl, I can think of so many things to do with that mouth.”

His knee nudges between your thighs and pushes up against your heat. You hum and your tongue curls around the lollipop. His hands leave your breasts to squeeze your hips and rock you on his thigh. You crunch down on the candy and grasp at his shirt at the sudden friction. Your breath comes out hot and you look up at him with big puppy eyes.

“You like that, hm?”

You nod automatically. Waves of pleasure radiate from your clit, and tug on the knot in your core. You drop your weight down onto him against your will.

What has gotten into you?

"D'you want me to play with you? Want me to show you how good this can feel?"

"Hng..ah.." he pushes into you, pressing you against the stacks. You paw at his shoulders to steady yourself as he adds even more pressure between your legs.

"There we go.." he sweeps your hair off your neck and his lips hit your skin. Electricity hums through your nerves.

"Ohh.." a hushed little moan rolls off your tongue. His hands slide back up under your shirt and continue groping your breasts.

"Such a frustrated little virgin.."

"Mmmh.." that moan came out a little louder, your whole body feels like it's resonating. He drags his tongue up your neck.

"I can fix that.."

It's just too much. Your head thumps back into the books.

"Oh my god.."

You've never felt anything this hot. It's similar to the times you've laid in bed exploring your own body, but this just feels so much better. You don't even care that it's him.

Maybe it's better because it is.

Gojo can’t believe the sounds you’re making for him. He’s finally caught his mouse and you aren’t even putting up a fight.

Little do you know, he's been simping over you since freshman year.

There’s something about you. The sweet innocence is there, but you also have this sharp little attitude that he just can't resist. The combination has always intrigued him.

And you don’t even realize what you do to him. You don't know how much you turn him on. He can't stand it when you walk into class wearing those overall shorts that hug your ass just right. That headband you wear is ridiculously sexy. And you’re so damn smart.

He daydreams in class about fucking you on every surface in the lab.

You’ve deflected every one of his advances, yet you always storm off with a flush in your cheeks. You’re the one thing he’s not allowed to touch. The toy on the shelf that he hasn’t been able to reach.

Until now.

"Don't play coy with me anymore," he whispers in your ear.

"Be honest. You liked it when I lifted your skirt last week, didn't you?"

You hum as he squeezes your ass.

"I saw those lacey little panties, y'know.."

He moves his thigh out from between your legs and you're embarrassed by the needy feeling that hits you. He looks at your desperate blushy face and grins.

"Are you wearing them right now?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You blink and he's already unzipped your fly. Your heart punches at your ribs when you feel his hand slide down inside. His fingers start rubbing into your slit through your panties and your entire body shudders. Your hands fly onto his forearm when he bumps into your clit. He pauses there and eats up the fervent arousal painted on your cute face.

“You can tell me to stop..” He knows you won’t. He keeps rubbing.

The sexual frustration is radiating off you like a heater.

He's so right. You’re dying to be touched like this.

Your mind is running in a hundred different directions, trying to decide what to do, but the way he's massaging your throbbing clit is melting your focus and dismantling your will.

He pushes in on your sensitive bud and you gasp, gripping his arm and shaking your head.

“Use your words, what d'you want me to do?” He rolls it around under his finger, pulsing pleasure through you like you've never felt before.

He bites the end of the stick hanging from your lips and takes it back. He rolls it to the corner of his smirk and waits for you to give in and answer him.

You know what you should do but the aching twist in your core won't let you.

“Mmph...don’t stop..”

“That's what I thought..”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 2

#jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #gojo satoru x reader #gojo smut #gojo imagine #gojo fanfic #satoru gojo smut #gojo simp

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popopretty · 3 years

Text

Storm Bringer Spoilers (8)

I said I would translate this part earlier and the last week has been a busy one but it’s finally here. This is the part in CODE;03 (I guess) where Shirase finally got over his fear and risked his life to help Chuuya when Chuuya was fighting the skeleton that is supposed to be his “original” (I said so because we never know if it actually is the original or not). For a boy like Shirase with no special power, to throw himself into a battle like that for someone is a really beautiful thing to me. Their interactions here are so precious too. I couldn’t help smiling when I was translating it. I hope you enjoy it too and have a great weekend.

Feel free to retranslate it if you want. Just remember that I don’t speak either Japanese or English as my first language so there might be some mistakes or imperfectionness in this translation.

...

Hey, hey!

Hey, hey, come on! What the hell is that? A skeleton? Are you kidding me?

Shirase rubbed his own eyes. That was not an illusion. The surrounding scenery was distorted. The abnormality of the gravitational field left the surrounding gravel floating in the air.

In other words, the gravitational skill is being activated over there. In other words, Chuuya is over there.

Too frightened, Shirase almost dropped the clothes bag that he was holding with his two hands. He held it back in a fluster. That was a clothes bag, however inside it was not clothes. It was a bag of stolen items. On his way to find an escape route, he entered a research facility and went gold hunting. After all, neither the securities nor the researchers were out. On top of that, in the research facility, there were a lot of jewels used for laser transmitters, high-speed computing terminals and a lot of other things that could be worth a fortune if sold.

Shirase thought. These things will surely be burnt down to destroy the evidences anyway. If that’s the case, then wouldn’t it be of better help for people if we use it as a foundation to rebuild “The Sheep”, and let it be reborn as military money? I’m such a genius. He was thinking so as he got lost during his looting.

Then he wandered into this room.

Shirase looked around restlessly. There was no sign of anyone other than Chuuya and the skeleton. Apparently they were fighting each other. He could catch a glance of the pained expression on Chuuya’s face.

“Chuuya!” Reflexively, he ran forward, but stopped himself in panic.

What am I doing? If I go to such a place, I will die. There is a limit to how foolish you can be to get involved in the fight between two monsters. I’m not that stupid. I act wisely and firmly. That’s how I have survived until now.

Fighting is Chuuya’s job. Getting hurt is Chuuya’s job. Engraving our terror onto the enemies is also Chuuya’s job. And we handle everything else. That’s obvious. That guy has power. It’s only natural that he has to fulfil that responsibility.

But Chuuya today is weaker than ever.

The Chuuya who is fighting right now has wounds all over his body. He has never seen Chuuya like that. He looks just like a boy of his age.

No, not “just like”. Chuuya IS a boy of his age. Shirase suddenly realized that.

...

But still...

Still, it has nothing to do with me!

“Like I care! I am running away. Alone or not! You guys can do whatever you want about those war weapons or the truths of those special skills! I simply want to live a happy live!”

Shirase held his stuff carefully, turned his back and start walking away, as if he was carving each of his long steps into the ground.

***

The weight from the skeleton increased. In addition to the sound of their bones creaking against each other, there was another lower, heavier sound, probably the sound of the floor’s foundation being bent. If it were an ordinary human’s body, it would have become one with the floor long ago.

“Stop...”, Chuuya spoke with his lungs being crushed as if he was whispering. “You are me...”

There was a hint of hesitation shining in his eyes.

The chin of the skeleton made a sound. The eye sockets carrying no lights at all were staring down at Chuuya. There was no emotions there. There was nothing. A complete void.

From those eye sockets, from that nothingness, Chuuya heard something. Maybe it was just his imagination. But he couldn’t stop one word from popping up inside his brain. A meaningless word that seemed to be coming out from those white bones.

”You were supposed to be like this."

“You are... me.” Chuuya said, glaring at the skeleton that had drifted so far from humanity, unaware of what he himself was saying. “If that’s the case, who in the world am I...?”

The gravity got even stronger. The face of the skeleton which looked like death itself drew closer in front of his eyes. At that moment, someone shouted.

“Ahhhhhhhhh!!”

Someone just threw themselves at the skeleton and sent it flying to the side. The skeleton and that person rolled on the floor together. Chuuya opened his eyes wide. He knew the person.

“Shirase...?”

Shirase, who just rolled over, stood up and screamed in a squeaky, inarticulate voice. The skeleton that was using up all of its gravity to push down on Chuuya, was powerless to the attack from the side. Its elbow bone was dislocated from the impact. But that had little effects on its movements. It opened its jaw, trying to bite Shirase to death.

Shirase raised his clothes bag, which the skeleton bit right into. There were sounds of high-value jewels and electronic devices breaking inside, but the hardness of jewels had won against that of bones and iron. The lower jaw of the skeleton cracked vertically.

“Stupid Shirase! Run!”

“Aaaaaaaa!!”

Shirase shook his two arms with his eyes closed. His arms accidentally got caught in a transfusion tube connected to the skeleton’s spines. The tube came off and a black and blue chemical solution spilled out from inside. The skeleton suddenly tilted and stopped moving for a few seconds.

Chuuya noticed that. He screamed, “Shirase! Pull out those cables! All of them!”.

Shirase was still waving his arms around incomprehensibly but after a short pause, he came to understand the meaning of that instruction. He rolled around, covered in chemicals, and grabbed all the cords and tubes that were dragging around like tails. He pulled them in and pulled out everything at once.

The bundle of cables leading to the next room were pulled out of the skeleton’s spine.

The skeleton let out a scream. A body made out of bones only does not have a vocal organ. Its throat cannot vibrate to scream. That was the sound of gravity and the vanishing power of the skills that shook the bones and resonated like a musical instrument. It was the resonant sound of a scream that can take your soul away.

It sounded like a young boy crying in agony on the verge of death.

Eventually, the skeleton that had lost its instruction system and its source of energy supplies fell to the floor headfirst, breaking at its waist. Losing the gravity that was keeping its body together physically, it crumbled into pieces. Furthermore, the cracks from the attacks stared spreading through its body and it ended up breaking into countless fragments before vanishing.

And just like that, the skeleton disappeared. Like nothing was ever there from the beginning.

Chuuya was watching over it in shock, before he finally stood up.

“Shirase.”

Chuuya looked at Shirase while holding his side.

“What?”

Chuuya stared at Shirase as if he was trying to say something. He looked at Shirase who was covered in dirt, mud and the black and blue chemicals for a few seconds, then said.

“You look hella dirty now.”

“Shut up!”

Chuuya held out his hand. Shirase grabbed that hand and got up.

“Let’s go. We need to meet up with Adam first.”

“’kay.”

Shirase and Chuuya walked alongside each other. Shirase took a quick glance at Chuuya. He was covered in wounds, dirt and blood. There were countless bruises and his side was still bleeding.

“Hey Chuuya.”

Chuuya turned around. Shirase’s expression showed that there was something he had to say, something he had to apologize for.

Chuuya waited silently. Then Shirase said.

“You look hella dirty right now.”

Chuuya laughed with his eyes downcast, “Shut up!”.

....

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #storm bringer #spoilers #bsd spoilers #shirase #nakahara chuuya

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janetbrown711 · 3 years

Note

"its fine, really! I'm used to it...” “what you meant you’re used to it??” but yax

After careful and long hours of research, Yakko came to the conclusion that he at least admired Max.

He had only seen Max in person once, but there was just something magnetic about the far-away prince that intrigued and fascinated Yakko. So much so, that for the next month or so, Yakko dove headfirst into studying all he could about Max and his country. He tried to share the fascinating history and details with his younger siblings, but they clearly weren't as into it as he was. That didn't deter him though, he was determined to learn absolutely everything he possibly could- even going into Angelina's old private study for books.

It was weird not having her around to stop any of it. Was this what pure joy and excitement with no downsides was like? If so, Yakko really liked it.

Either way, he was ecstatic when his mother told him she was officially making plans to take him to Disneyland to see Max (and diplomatic stuff, but they both knew that wasn't the main reason). Upon hearing the news, he then hurried and changed his studies entirely into conversations and how to have them.

Upon his and Max's first encounter, Yakko realized he was terrible at conversations, but now Yakko swore he'd be better than good- he'd be a conversation master. He studied examples both fictional and non about advice and how royals interact with each other and conversations one was supposed to hold and he complied his notes into a handy notebook that could fit into his pocket in case he got into a tough spot mid conversation. After all- he'd probably be there for hours and hours- that's a long time to be entertaining.

So he poured himself into his studies for a week or so (time was really alluding his grasp as of late) and before he knew it, it was time for him to go. However, not before a weird reaction from Wakko he wasn't expecting... seriously, if anything, Yakko expected Wakko to be happy for him because that meant he wouldn't have to hear about Disneyland for awhile, but instead he got really accusatory. But his parents assured him that it was nothing and his mother went to comfort him while he prepared for his journey.

"That's a big notebook," Dot said, lurking by his door as he flipped through his notes for what must've been the millionth time this week.

"I have a lot to remember," Yakko said, putting it in his pocket.

"Why do you care so much?" Dot asked. Yakko blinked.

"I just... do? He's the first friend I've had... ever," He said, making her move so he could head out the room.

"But I thought me and Wakko-..." Dot didn't finish her sentence. Yakko stopped.

"Max is just... different. I can't explain it- I'm trying to understand, but he's really just... different. A good different," He tried his best to explain, but he knew it fell short.

"Oh... you must really like him?" Dot asked.

"I guess, yeah," Yakko blushed. "He's just- the coolest person I've ever met, and now that Grandma's gone and I'm free to just- hang out with people, yeah," He scratched the back of his neck, aware of the fact he needed to get going. When Dot didn't respond to that, he pursed his lips.

"Welp- I gotta get going," He gave a quick wave, not waiting for her to return it before getting going- he wanted to spend as much time as possible in Disneyland.

Hurriedly, he rushed down the halls all the way down the grand stairs and out the main doors to the carriage, where his mother was waiting for him.

"Getting something?" Lena teased, as the coachman opened the door for them.

"Just a few notes," Yakko said, following his mother as she entered. She chuckled.

"You don't need to be so nervous, dear. From what I've seen, Max already likes you very much," Lena said soothingly as the carriage started to move.

"I just... I want this to be perfect," Yakko sighed, and leaned against the window of the carriage.

Lena snorted. "You and I have a lot in common," She said, fiddling with the fingers of her gloves.

"The last time I was out of this castle before the incident was- well... the wedding... but before that? I don't think I've ever been out..." The queen looked back as her home grew further and further away. "Outside of parties and suitors I've never really dealt in diplomatic situations. God knows my mother never prepared me for half of the things- I just..." She took a deep breath.

"I want this to go perfectly too... but Scratchnsniff says perfection is an impossible goal and we should aim for something more obtainable," She reminded herself. Yakko glanced at her briefly, before returning to the window.

He wasn't sure what he thought of Scratchnsniff. Dot and his parents all seemed to like him, but he still hadn't opened up to him, even though it had been over a month now. They'd be doing... okay sometimes, but the moment the doctor tried talking about Angelina, Yakko refused to give him the satisfaction. He knew he was there to help but- yeah... That wasn't going to happen any time soon.

"We got a long ride, huh?" Lena chuckled, more nervously this time.

"Yeah..." was all he said. He had a lot on his mind, and he could tell his mother did too. Hopefully, by the time they actually arrived, they'd be able to make sense of everything and enjoy their time in Disneyland- though they'd have to wait and see.

.o0o.

The ride wasn't terrible, but it was rather long and tiresome, so it was easy to say that when they finally arrived they were both relieved.

Both Yakko and Lena were surprised at just how different Disneyland was from Warnerstock just from the windows. Everything was brighter, orderly to the point of confusion (to them anyway), and boy oh boy was it big. The castle itself was the biggest example of this, as it seemed to have countless towers and was impossible to take in all at once. Then again, the royal family was quite large and Disney was known for it's welcoming nature and having guests often, so it didn't really surprise them. It was just a lot to take in at once.

However, they didn't have to take that all in for long, as they were guided inside by a few guards and were taken to the throne room, where the three kings were sitting- a duck on the left, a mouse in the middle, and a very tall dog on the right.

"Angelina? Wow, it really is you! How have ya been?" The Mouse immediately stood upon seeing them enter.

"Mickey! Oh it's been years hasn't it?" Lena chuckled and went and hugged him, which the mouse gladly returned, leaving Yakko and the others very confused.

"Do... you... know him?" Yakko raised an eyebrow.

Lena cleared her throat and stepped back. "Right- yes, I forgot to tell you, Michael here was a suitor of mine back in the day," She explained. "Obviously, it didn't work out, as both of our hearts belonged to another, but it wasn't a completely terrible three days."

"Oh please, I'm Mickey to friends," Mickey said. Lena nodded.

"Right, yes, Mickey," Lena corrected.

"Oh," Yakko nodded slowly.

"You must be Yakko then. It's a pleasure to have you as a guest," Mickey smiled and shook Yakko's hand. The dog king's head perked up.

"It's a pleasure to be here," Yakko replied, hoping his nervousness wasn't showing.

"Prince Yakko?" The dog king stood and walked over. "It's a pleasure to meet you, h'yuk," He laughed as he shook Yakko's hand. "Max has told me about you."

"Oh, you must be Goofy, pleasure to meet you," His nervousness increased tenfold. He couldn't believe he didn't put that together upon seeing him immediately.

"Daaaaaaaaad," Max entered the room, looking at the ground with his face red as a tomato.

"Hiya Max! I was just introducing myself to your friend here," Goofy grinned, still shaking Yakko's hand.

"This is why I don't tell you things," Max muttered to himself. "Can we go?" He asked, grabbing Yakko's arm, freeing him from the handshake.

Mickey nodded. "Of course, we got our own business to deal with, you two have fun," He said, and with that, Max practically dragged Yakko out of the room.

"I am so sorry you had to deal with that," He sighed as the guards closed the door behind them and Max let go of his arm.

"Deal with what?" Yakko tilted his head slightly.

"My Dad- he just- he doesn't know when to stop no matter how many times I talk to him," Max shook his head. "C'mon, I know a good spot to hang out. Watch out for running triplets."

"Running triplets?" Yakko raised an eyebrow.

"Huey, Dewey and Louie like running around without warning- as do Morty and Ferdie and if Daisy's over then so do April, May and June- just keep an ear out for them," Max explained, checking both ways before crossing a hallway.

"Right, right," Yakko nodded, not really understanding how they'd ever be allowed to do that. Then again, not having a tyrannical grandmother around probably let them have a lot more freedom and fun.

The pair went down a few halls, always checking both ways as they went, before they reached a room that Max let him into to reveal that it led to a fairly small room with a few chairs, but outside of that was a large balcony it was clear the dog prince frequented.

"Nice place," Yakko admired the room as Max opened the glass doors for him.

"I come here a lot to clear my head," Max said, closing the door behind him. "And to get away from my family."

Max must've really not liked them, huh...

"Yeah... I could really use a place like this," Yakko admired the craftsmanship of the columns holding up the railing.

"Watch this," Max winked, picking up a stone from a pile of rocks, and throwing it down into the giant pond in the garden bellow, causing a massive splash and ripple.

"Cool," Yakko said.

"It's nothing really," Max blushed again and went to where the rail met the wall and sat on it. "Wanna sit?" He patted the spot next to him.

"Oh- I uh-..." Yakko peered over the edge cautiously. It wasn't too far a fall, but still. It was easy to say it was far enough down to make even the most un-acrophobic person a little nervous.

"Oh, are you afraid of heights? I'm sorry, I-"

"No no no, I can handle it," Yakko swallowed his fear and sat next to him, glad that it was wide enough for him to feel supported. Still, he wrapped his tail around the edge loosely as a precaution.

"So... what do you think?" Max asked. "Of Disneyland, I mean."

"I think it's really... different. Very organized, very..." Yakko thought to himself. "Very homogeneous and large, yeah."

Max snorted. "Homogeneous?"

"It means similar or 'the same'," Yakko cursed himself internally. Max laughed with a little 'hyuk' in there that made Yakko relax, though a familiar fluttering in his stomach returned.

"You're really smart, aren't you?" Max asked.

"Yeah... my grandmother's pride alright," Yakko looked at the garden.

Great, barely five minutes into the conversation and he already broke his number one rule he wrote to himself: Don't bring up Grandma.

"I don't think it's your grandma's fault you're smart. If that was true, then I'd be a lot more wacky like Dad," Max did his best to reassure, which despite all odds did kinda work.

"You keep bringing up how much you don't like your family," Yakko commented. "Why?"

"Why? You've barely even met them- they are just beyond crazy and drive me up the wall with how embarrassing and tiresome they can be," Max crossed his arms.

"I mean- my sibs can be a little crazy at times but I still like them," Yakko said.

"You don't know them," Max sighed, looking out to the garden too. Yakko decided it was probably best he drop the subject for now.

However, after that was a long stretch of silence, and Yakko started to panic as it got longer and longer and he couldn't think of a thing to say. Thankfully though, he remembered the notebook sitting in his pocket and he slowly and carefully took it out and looked for a good conversation starter.

"What is your favorite type of weather?" He asked, quickly slipping it back into his pocket. Max immediately burst into laughter.

"Where'd you think of a question like that?" He asked.

"If you don't like it I can ask a different one," Yakko turned bright red as he flusteredly turned over, pulling out the notebook and flipping through it.

"Do you have a notebook of conversation starters?" Max caught a glimpse.

"Whaaaat? Me??? Pssshhhh," Yakko adamantly denied, but he sighed, knowing he had been caught.

"Yeah... I figured since I majorly screwed up talking like a normal person last time I'd take some notes so the conversation would be far less depressing and not so... trauma centered," He admitted, showing him the notebook.

"Wait- you think you're screwing up?" Max seemed baffled, which confused the Warnerstockian Prince.

"I mean- yeah..? No matter what I do I always end up thinking about the same stupid topic and I dunno... you seem so much more normal than me," Yakko admitted, looking away.

"I feel like I've just been a bumbling dork this whole time," Max admitted too. "You've been really smart and interesting this whole time, with your fancy words and observations about stuff and... yeah," He scratched his neck.

"You think I'm interesting?" Yakko looked at him.

"Yeah man," Max looked at him, though only briefly. "You're... cool."

That made the fluttering increase tenfold.

"You're really cool too," Yakko smiled. Max nodded his head in acknowledgement, looking out to the garden once more.

"You know... I promised I'd give you some sporting pointers when you came by. Perhaps I should 'make good' on that promise," Max said, gesturing to the pile of rocks and other such objects clearly designated for throwing into the pond.

"Okay," Yakko agreed to it, putting the notes back in his pocket, following Max as he went over to the pile.

"The trick is that it's all in the wrist, and if you keep your eyes focused on where you wanna throw it, it does a lot to help it actually go there," Max said, as he picked up a rock and threw it with all his might, and it crashed far into the pond.

"In the wrist, huh?" Yakko nodded and acted like that made sense. He then picked up a rock, and threw it with all his might. However, his might was rather pathetic, and all he managed to do was to crack the tiling around the pond and it shattered into pieces, as Yakko felt the blood drain from his face.

"Max, I-i'm so so so so so so sorry, I-i-" Yakko sputtered out apologies but Max just started laughing and laughing.

"It's okay Yakko. We're royalty, remember? My dad'll just have someone fix it, it's totally cool," He placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "But hey, other than that, that wasn't half bad."

"She'd totally kill me if I did that at home though," Yakko cursed himself.

"She? Who, your mom? Cuz from what I've heard she's a big sap," Max said, confused.

"Not mom, my grandma," Yakko sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

"Your grandma's dead, Yakko. She can't punish you for that. You can break all the tiles you want here, it's cool," Max said, now deeply concerned for his new friend.

"Right- you're absolutely right. I'm sorry," Yakko took a deep breath.

"It's cool... I get that it must be hard moving on from that," Max's hand lingered on Yakko's shoulder a minute before he put it down.

"Yeah..." Yakko sighed as he realized he broke the rule yet again.

"I know you probably don't want to, but if you ever need or want to talk about it, I'm more than happy to listen," Max offered. Yakko smiled a little.

"Thanks... that means a lot more than you probably know," He said. Max smiled too.

"You're a lot cooler than you give yourself credit for, you know?" Max said. "You may not be the best at sports, but you are really good at talking, which is more than I can say."

"You sell yourself short," Yakko disagreed.

"Maybe we both do," Max shrugged, returning to the ledge.

"Yeah... maybe," Yakko said, sitting next to him once more.

As they began to chat more about much lighter and happier topics, a warm spring breeze began to rush by and Yakko began to just... notice things about Max. The way his fluffy and wild hair flowed in the wind, the way his eyes sparkled when he talked about one of his passions, his cute laugh that he always seemed to try and suppress, the way he stuck his hands in his pockets, his smile, the compassion and comradery in his eyes...

Yakko could gaze into those eyes for an eternity.

"It's getting pretty late... isn't it?" Max began to notice the sky beginning to turn a rosey shade of pink as the sun began to set.

"Yeah... I guess that means we have to get going soon, huh?" Yakko tried to play it casually, but he knew he'd miss Max dearly. Max's side glances told him he felt the same.

"Maybe you can write to me? A-and maybe... Maybe I'll convince dad or Uncle Mickey to take me to Warnerstock?" Max scratched the back of his neck, clearly trying to play it cool.

"I'd love that," Yakko smiled, before pondering if using the word "love" was inappropriate. It wasn't like he- well... liked him, or anything... right..?

"Okay," Max smiled back.

They stayed smiling at each other much longer than was normal, though neither really minded.

"Maxy? Yakko?" The voice of Goofy called for them outside the room outside the balcony.

"I need to go," Yakko said. "But... I will write, I promise."

"I believe you," Max nodded. "Though... don't be surprised if my letters are short and my handwriting attrocious- I'm not the best when it comes to any of that stuff," He said, getting down from the rail, offering his hand to "help" Yakko down.

Yakko took it.

"I'm sure it won't be any worse than Wakko's," He said.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," Max chuckled as Yakko got off, still holding his hand.

However, they instantly let go when Goofy entered the room.

"There ya are- you're mom's looking for you. It's gettin' late," Goofy said, opening the glass door.

"Right, yes.. thanks, dad," Max pursed his lips and looked away.

"I'll write, I promise," Yakko said.

"Y-yeah, okay," Max nodded and smiled. "I'll... see you soon."

"See you soon," Yakko nodded, before forcing himself to walk away (a task that was a lot harder than he expected it to be). Goofy then guided him back to the throne room, where his mother was talking with Mickey and Donald (Yakko figured that was who he was), but she stopped when he entered.

"There you are," She smiled as he returned to her side. "Have fun?"

"Yep," He nodded briefly, hoping she didn't expect him to get into detail here and now.

"It's been great catching up, Angelina," Mickey told her.

"I couldn't agree more. And it's been a pleasure meeting you two, Goofy, Donald," She nodded at both of them. "I'm afraid I must get going, but I'd love to meet up again sometime- or possibly take Max off your hands for an afternoon," Lena teased Yakko, causing him to turn red.

"I'm sure he'd love that," Goofy smiled.

"Have a safe trip," Donald said in the scratchiest, most garbled voice Yakko ever heard in his life. It was so incomprehensible he had to actively bury his shock and confusion as to not offend him.

"Thank you," Lena nodded at the three of them. "It's been a pleasure, truly."

"Yeah.. see you," Yakko felt like he had to say goodbye too, but having not just spent the past several hours with them, it felt awkward. Mickey chuckled.

"See you," He said.

With that, Lena and Yakko made their way out of the castle and back into their carriage and began on their way back home.

"So... how was your day?" Lena asked once the carriage began to move.

"It was nice. Max is... cool," Despite his research, cool was still the best word to describe him.

"That's good, he seems like a very nice kid," She nodded in approval. "I wouldn't mind having him over sometime in the future."

"That'd be great," Yakko agreed with enthusiasm that made her laugh.

"Okay, I'll arrange a date," She chuckled.

"What about your day? How was all those meetings?" Yakko asked, not just out of politeness but a genuine curiosity.

"I half expected Mickey not to remember me, so it was a pleasant surprise. And Goofy and Donald are quite the lovely characters too, very strong personalities. I can see why their kingdom works so well," She said with a nod.

"But I know you really don't want to hear about all that. Please, tell me more about Max," Lena said.

Yakko told her all that happened, not glossing over a single detail. She listened with intent, and couldn't help but laugh here and there.

"It sounds like you're rather fond of Max, no?" She said.

"What do you mean?" Yakko blinked. His mother chuckled to herself.

"Oh nothing, I'm sure you'll figure it out on your own in due time," She said.

"Okay..?" Yakko raised an eyebrow, not sure where she was getting at. However, it was clear she wasn't going to be giving any more hints so Yakko dropped it.

Whatever it was, she clearly had perfect faith he'd figure it out sooner or later, so perhaps it was best he focus on other things- like what he was going to write in his letter to Max. There would be so many topics to choose from, and this time he'd have all the time in the world to think of a perfect response. Honestly, he should've started writing letters sooner. It just made so much sense- Yakko could think of the perfect response before sending it away and he could read over Max's responses over and over again. Maybe he could even find a box to store them in. That sounded really nice...

Yakko thought back to his mother's words, and decided it was true.

Yakko was rather fond of his dear friend, Max.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 The End

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heyyyharry · 4 years

Text

Double Date

(a blurb from the Flatmate series)

…in which “I don’t want whoever I end up dating to feel second to you.”

Word count: 2.4k

This is inspired by the song ’gold rush’ from Taylor’s new album ‘evermore’. This song reminds me so much of the flatmate babiesssss.

Harry didn’t believe in his own ears.

His flatmate?

Going on a date?

No way.

But why would she lie about that? And he knew she hadn’t made that shit up, because the guy existed, and Harry had spoken to him and seen Y/N have a conversation with him several times before. However, never would Harry have thought that the two of them would go on a date. He couldn’t even imagine them holding hands. It was just bizarre. Also, Y/N never went out, and she hated people. Did she know that ‘dating’ required being around a person all the time? It would never work.

“You’re going on a date?” Harry asked as he followed her into the kitchen.

“No,” she answered flatly.

“Okay, then can I come with?”

“No!” cried Y/N as she shoved him aside to get to the fridge.

Harry huffed like an angry child as he leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “If he’s just a friend, why can’t I come with you?”

“Because it’d be weird! You don’t know my friend.”

“Not true. I had two classes with him last semester.”

“Oh yeah? What’s his name?”

Harry’s mouth froze as he opened it and realised he didn’t know the answer. Y/N shut the fridge door and started drinking her milk slowly with an eyebrow raised, waiting for the answer that he didn’t have.

“Okay, fine,” he sighed. “Who the fuck cares what his name is? It’s shady that you don’t want me to hang out with him.”

“He didn’t invite you.”

“But he wouldn’t mind if you did because we’re all friends, aren’t we?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. She didn’t comment and just brushed right past him. Harry knew it was her way of ending the conversation, so he hurriedly followed her out of the kitchen. She flopped down onto the couch and he came to sit beside her. She grabbed the remote to turn the telly on. He snatched it away, forcing her to stay in the conversation. He wasn’t going to let this end so easily. His need to win all the time was his most toxic trait, according to Layla. But oh well, nobody’s perfect. He had to have at least one flaw.

“Are you ashamed of me?”

“No.” Y/N scrunched up her face and reached for the remote. Harry immediately sat on it. “Hey!”

He ignored her reaction. “Then why don’t you want me to go with you and your ‘friend’ to this concert?”

“It’s not a concert. It’s an acoustic night at a cafe.”

“I still wanna go.”

“You’re annoying.” Y/N aggressively hugged a pillow to her chest and turned away from him.

Harry felt guilty. He might have said too much. If he was aware of him being annoying, it must be worse for her. And he never wished to upset her. He just didn’t want her to go on this ‘not really a date’ date.

“What if I bring someone?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Y/N glared at him. “Like...a girl?”

“Or Niall.” He shrugged. “Depends.”

He expected her to be jealous or at least showed that she was jealous. To his disappointment, she gave a nonchalant shrug and said, “Okay.”

“Okay I can go if I bring someone?”

“Sure, then you’ll have someone else to annoy.”

Harry chuckled as he looked at her while she looked somewhere else. “You could be so mean sometimes.”

She rolled her eyes and gave a smirk. “Thank you.”

AJ. That was Y/N’s date’s name.

Why would anyone want to name their child AJ? It was like his parents didn’t even try. Harry hated to be an arsehole. Well, not really. But yeah, he fucking hated this dude.

“I can’t believe you dragged me into this,” Layla mumbled and shot Harry a glare as they followed AJ and Y/N to their table.

“It’d be embarrassing if I’d gone with Niall,” Harry whispered to Layla as they took their seats facing the other two, who were too caught up in their conversation to pay attention to all this shady whispering.

“Just pick another one from your long list of hoes,” Layla said.

“Well, I don’t want to make anyone think I’m taking them on a date.” He flashed her a smile. “So I picked you.”

Layla rolled her eyes and picked up the menu. “Wait. They don’t have anything with alcohol?” she asked aloud.

“Try this vanilla drink. So you wouldn’t be so fucking bitter all the time.”

Layla smacked Harry on the arm for his comment. Out of the corners of his eyes, he saw Y/N holding back a laugh by biting her lip. If only she knew how cute she looked tonight wearing that babydoll dress and her hair up in a ponytail. He wanted to tell her, but it’d be weird, wouldn’t it? They never complimented each other. And knowing how anxious he’d get, he’d probably say some dumb shit like comparing her to a ghost or something.

“The drinks aren’t the best,” AJ said after the waiter had left with their orders. “But the music is great. My favourite band is playing tonight.”

“Oh, what’s the band’s name?” Y/N asked.

“The Muse.”

“Never heard of them,” Harry said nonchalantly and received a glare from Y/N. He gave her a subtle shrug.

“Well, they’re a small band. But they’re great,” AJ said, smiling.

Layla tapped Harry on the shoulder and leaned in to whisper to him, “He’s handsome and respectful. You don’t stand a chance.”

“You don’t think I’m handsome and respectful?” he asked her, raising an eyebrow.

Layla scoffed. “Handsome, yes. But you’re a hoe.”

Harry was so used to Layla’s sense of humour, he didn’t find these comments offensive at all, just funny, and kinda true. He was far from a saint. “Is that coming from a certified hoe?” he jokingly asked.

Layla smirked and pushed his face away. “Shut the fuck up.”

Harry let out a laugh, shaking his head. When he looked up, he caught Y/N staring. She turned away as quickly as she could but was unable to hide her blushing. Had she been checking him out? He wasn’t complaining. It was flattering, to say the least. With her date sitting right there.

“Stop.”

He flinched and turned back to Layla. “What?”

“Stop looking at AJ like he murdered your cat. You’re being embarrassing right now.”

“We’re not actually on a date, Layla.”

“I know.” Layla sighed. “That’s why I’m tolerating you.”

Their drinks were served just in time the opening act - a lady singing Taylor Swift songs - ended, and the main act arrived. Four men stepped on the stage and started setting up their instruments. The main singer introduced themselves as The Muse, and the first song they were going to sing had some weird symbolistic name that Harry forgot as soon as he’d heard it. He was too busy watching Y/N. AJ whispered something into her ear, making her giggle and Harry’s blood boil.

He was most familiar with that laugh. He’d made her laugh like that all the time. Well, yes, it was kinda weird to be gatekeeping someone’s laugh. But the fact that Y/N found this boring bloke funny made Harry’s skin crawl.

Suddenly, Harry caught Layla’s warning stare, so he swallowed his jealousy and took a sip of his coffee, which had already got cold.

The Muse sang two or three songs in a row and interacted with the audience in between little breaks. Meanwhile, AJ entertained Harry, Y/N, and Layla with his boring stories about his academic achievements. Also, he kept bragging about him being able to cook. We get it, Ratatouille, Harry thought. Go open a restaurant in Paris or something!

What Harry found more annoying than this guy having all the qualities a woman would look for in her future husband, was the fact that Y/N was completely infatuated. If she was just being nice, she should win an Oscar for Best Actress.

“Question,” Layla whispered to Harry when AJ and Y/N were lost in their own world again. “Will I be your plus one to their wedding?”

“Shut up,” he scoffed.

Layla shrugged. “I hear wedding bells ringing. Don’t you?”

Fuck bells. Fuck weddings. Fuck AJ. Fuck Layla. Harry wanted to say fuck Y/N, too. But he had a crush on her so he couldn’t hate her. Fuck this whole place. Fuck everyone except for his Y/N.

“Would any of you like to come on stage and perform with us?” asked the lead singer of The Muse.

“Ooooh, this is my favourite part!” AJ said, his green eyes twinkling.

Fuck this dude, Harry thought bitterly, for being handsome.

“You’re gonna sing?” Y/N asked AJ.

“Nah, I suck at singing,” AJ said. “I play the drums, though.”

“I bet you do,” Harry muttered, but it seemed like everyone had heard him. He responded to Y/N’s questioning look with an awkward grin.

“What about you, Harry?” Layla suggested, obviously wanting to start some shit as always. “Would you like to sing?”

“Harry can’t sing,” Y/N said quickly.

Harry blinked at her in surprise. “Hey, I can sing. It’s just I don’t want to.”

“Oh, it’d be fun.”

“No, thank you, AJ,” Harry said between gritted teeth.

AJ looked quite offended. Fortunately, Layla came for the rescue. “I’ll do it,” she shouted with her hand raised. Everyone broke into applause as she got up and made her way to the stage.

“Can she sing?” Y/N asked Harry.

He sighed and lifted his shoulders in a half-shrug. “We could only hope.”

Layla strutted up the steps and waved at Harry, Y/N, and AJ. Suddenly, her heel was caught by a wire, and she tripped, falling headfirst into the lead singer. She knocked them both right off the stage against one of the tables and had the drinks spilt all over them.

Harry was frozen in shock until Layla’s cries snapped him out of it and sent him to his feet as he rushed up to help her.

“You got drunk on vanilla?” Harry asked while trying his best not to laugh at Layla being covered in strawberry smoothies.

“Shut the fuck up!” she cried. “I wanna go home!”

“Is she okay?” Y/N asked.

“No, bitch. Do I look okay to you?!”

“I’ll take her home,” Harry said, helping Layla up and receiving angry looks from the other band members, who were checking up on their friend. The lead singer didn’t break any bones. Thank God. Sighing, Harry turned back to Y/N and AJ. “You two...stay. Carry on with your date. Don’t worry about us.”

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, but AJ didn’t let her. “No, we can’t just stay when Layla’s hurt,” he said, eyeing Layla up and down in concern. “You live in the dorm, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So do I. I’ll take you home.” To Y/N, AJ said, “I’m sorry, Y/N. Next time?”

Y/N pressed her lips into a smile. “Sure. Drive safe, all right?”

“He seems nice,” Harry said as he walked home with Y/N. She’d been so quiet since they’d left the cafe, he was afraid she was mad at him or something.

She gave a nod. To his surprise, she said, “I’m sorry about Layla.”

He gave a dismissive wave. “She’ll be fine. That was probably karma for pushing Liam off the stairs.”

Y/N looked horrified. “On purpose?”

Harry shrugged. “We don’t know. Possibly. I mean, it’s Layla.”

They both laughed together and suddenly went quiet.

“I’m kind of mad at you, though,” Y/N said after another moment.

“Why?” Harry chuckled.

“You shouldn’t have asked to come with us.”

“You said I could if I brought someone.”

“Yes, I didn’t think you’d bring Layla,” she said and rolled her eyes. “Are you two like...hooking up?”

“Ew no, she’s like a sister to me. An awful one.” He laughed and nudged her with his shoulder. “Why? Are you jealous?”

She glared at him. “No. But you two are both attractive. It’s weird that you don’t find each other attractive.”

“You think I’m attractive?” Harry smirked, loving how quickly her face turned red.

“I mean, conventionally attractive.” She cleared her throat, refusing to look at him as they spoke. “Your hair’s always so nice. It falls into place like...dominoes…”

“Dominoes?” Harry chuckled. “Aww, someone’s flustered. Just say you have a crush on me.”

“No,” Y/N said timidly, as if she was unsure. “But...you should stop teasing me like this.”

“Why? It’s fun. I like teasing you.”

“People would think I have a crush on you for real.”

Harry maintained his nonchalant expression, but the butterflies in his stomach were going crazy. “You don’t?” he asked with mock surprise. “And what’s wrong with people thinking you have a crush on me? Everyone has a crush on me.”

That was meant to be a joke. Harry didn’t expect a serious answer from Y/N.

“I don’t want whoever I end up dating to feel like they’re second to you. Because sometimes I–” Her mouth clamped shut. She squeezed the strap of her handbag and walked a bit further away from him.

Harry found it amusing. “You what?”

“No.”

“Y/N, you can’t just say something and never finish it.”

Y/N gave him a glance, biting her lip. “Sometimes I feel like...I care about you too much. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Why’s caring about me makes you uncomfortable?” He smiled, unable to hold it anymore.

She said nothing and only walked faster to get ahead of him. Harry sped up and fell into steps beside her again as he cleared his throat into his fist. “Just so you know,” he said slowly. “I care about you a lot, too. Don’t worry.”

She didn’t look at him, but he could see her cheeks turning red. He loved it. Her shyness when she was around him made his heart swell. Maybe that was why he enjoyed teasing her. He wanted proof that he could make her feel something, no matter how insignificant it was.

“Okay,” was all she said.

It made him laugh. “You’re being mean.”

“Only to you,” she replied.

“Good,” he said, hoping she’d heard him.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfic #flatmate!harry #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles series #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #flatmate series

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demoneyesanddamagedsouls · 3 years

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Oh Never Leave Me

A/N: A sweet drabble for a soft sincere Din Djarin. Written for the lovely people of Pascal Rascals (and the fic club 😽) I hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Mando x Gender Neutral!Reader (This is my first time writing gender neutral reader so please let me know if I’ve made any mistakes!)

Warnings: None just lots and lots of fluff SORRY

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It had been a long week, out hunting a particularly elusive bounty and Din was exhausted. He was finally back at the RazorCrest with the bounty in tow, anxious to see you and the kid, it had been too long without your touch on his arm, your voice in his ear, and the smell of your perfume. As they reached the front of the ship the ramp hissed to life, descending towards them. Din walked up the ramp into the hull dragging the bounty behind him. Din’s excitement was evident in the bounce in his step and the bounty chuckled to himself.

"What's all the excitement for Mando?" his voice dripping with mocking, his mouth curled into a sneer.

Din whips around and without a word pushes him headfirst into the carbonite chamber, the bounty's face frozen in shock in the carbonite.

"Good riddance." Din mutters to himself, angry that the bounty had gotten under his skin. Shaking his mind clear of the interaction he looks around the ship for the two of you. Checking every different nook and cranny in the ship he starts to panic. You and the kid were nowhere to be found. All he can see are scattered remnants of your presence. Some strewn about toys of the kids, some of your clothes littering the small bed you shared. But no sign of you.

He runs out of the ship, flicking on the tracking mode on his helmet, scanning the surrounding area for any trace of you. Catching a glimpse of some footprints Din starts running across the terrain desperate to find you. Suddenly he reaches the edge of a large field of yellow flowers.

In the centre he sees the tops of your knees and your resting form nestled into the ground amongst the sea of yellow. He breathes a sigh of relief knowing that you were ok and unharmed. His panic slowly fading as he sees the glint of silver his kid’s little carrier. Wading out through the petals he makes his way towards you, hearing you humming a soft tune to yourself he smiles underneath his helmet. Finally reaching you, he looks down at your soft features and smiling expression. You were basking in the warm golden light of the two suns on this planet, soaking up they’re rays.

You smile up at Din your lashes fluttering open to see his solid form beginning to block some of the sunlight. “Hey there stranger.” You say softly as though you were waking up from a daydream.

“Cya’rika how have you been? Its been a while…” His voice trails off, a sadness filling the silence between you. Feeling the emotion in his tone you pull him down towards you as you sit up, bringing you face to face. Resting your hands on the base of his helmet, your gesture asking permission to remove the metal that separates the two of you. He slowly gives you a slight nod of reassurance. Lifting the beskar off you see his face, unobscured but full of longing, his dark eyes full of emotion.

“Din I…” Your voice falters as his pained expression pierces your heart. Silence falls between you once again as you try to reel in your emotions, your eyes glistening with tears that were about to fall. His expression conveyed so much that you couldn’t take it. How could this warrior, this man, be so broken at the thought of not being with you?

“I missed you so much little one. I missed you and the kid.” He started to ramble, the emotions getting the better of him. “A week is too long without you, it’s been agony…”

“My love,” You say softly to him, a smile of pure happiness spreading across your face. He looks up at you and you rest your hand on his cheek. Sighing Din closes his eyes, relaxing into your gentle touch he had missed so much. “I missed you so much as well, your voice is all I crave in the dark of the night in that stupid metal hull.” You smile, a tear rolling down your cheek.

Smiling back at you Din reaches his ungloved hand to your face to brush the tear away. “Little one, you’re too good to me.” He says as he wraps you in a loving embrace. Gripping you tightly as he strokes your cheek softly. You both needed this, you both needed to be together, holding each other like this.

“Oh don’t deceive me…” Din hummed, continuing the song you had been humming to yourself earlier.

“Oh never leave me…” You continued, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Contentedness washing over you as you breathed in his smell of leather and pine as Din continued to caress your cheek.

Din knew that he would never let anything jeopardise this incredible love he had found, he would die before he’d let anything happen to you or the kid. You were his world, and he was yours.

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tylrswfts · 23 days

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I'm having the best weekend, even if a lot of it feels like nostalgia overload. Pretty sure I was watching Toy Story on VHS in my parents' Pennsylvania house, I blinked, and now I'm in my thirties and roaming the parks feeling like a kid all over again. We won't talk about the hangover I imagine I'll have after drinking around the world in Epcot, but it was well worth it -- it's hard to turn down a pretty cocktail, even at a ridiculous price point. Though, overall, I think what I'll remember most is getting to spend this weekend with you. Hard to believe on the last trip, we'd just reconnected. It's been one hell of a few months, hasn't it? Where does the time even go? @killa--trav

#alcohol tw #❪ ⋅ ◆ ⋆ — you take my hand and drag me headfirst ┊❛ interactions ❜ ❫#; travis kelce.

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

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hi! for the ask game 1, 3, & 25, and i'm sorry you're feeling sick today i'm sending you lots of love and hoping you'll feel better soon xoxo

Hey Joce!! <3 Thank you for your sweet words! I'm feeling a lot better.

1. So let's call this my second favorite fic? Take My Hand and Drag Me Headfirst! This was written for Fearless TV back in April. I just think that Fearless (as an album) is a whole mess of emotions and feelings, which describes Spencer (especially baby Spence) so so so well! I just find this one very endearing and I'm proud of the writing too!!

3. This scene/line from And I Will Hold On To You which is based off New Year's Day from Reputation. Words can't describe how much I love this song. It's the perfect ending to the album! And I love it so much!!

A tangle of limbs and hands, they make their way up the stairs to their shared bedroom. They pass the wall filled with pictures of their smiling faces or candid countenances in mismatching frames hung against the wall. It’s just a testament to how long they’ve been together, going back to their first date right before Y/N’s college graduation and Spencer’s fifth, leading up to their most recent Halloween. Each photo stuck in time, frozen with utter happiness and unadulterated joy. But there’s a gap in the collection, a gap that Spencer rather not talk about. A gap where, for the first time since they met, Spencer and Y/N were separated. Sitting in jail, all Spencer could think of was the personal mental prison that Y/N must have confined herself too.

25. So here's some more wonderful writers that I absolutely adore!!

@spookydrreid - Crazier, Crazier - Makayla was one of the first people I followed on here!! I was so excited when we first started interacting because she's just so kind and amazing. I love this fic so much, it's so sweet!!

@sleepyspencer - Dancing With Our Hands Tied - Em is just another amazing writer that I'm so happy consider a friend <3!! This fic hurts in the best way possible because it ends. Ugh!! Just WONDERFUL!!

@reidsbookclub - Stumbling Home Alone - GRECY!! Where to begin!! I know I don't speak for everyone, but let me tell you I get so so so happy whenever I see her reblogs. She's who you go to for a rec!! It means so much to writers when they get a reblog with comments <3 I remember when we first started interacting, I would kept checking her navigation to see if she posted a fic, so when she posted something for my 1,000 celebration, I was ecstatic!! This fic hits the spot when it comes to those fluffy fics that give you the butterflies!

end of the year ask games!

#asks #ask games!

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realityphantoms-stalker · 3 years

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Warm - Douma x Reader Oneshot

—

"Okay, there's no denying it. I fucking love Douma." I thought while looking at the blonde sitting in front of me.

It's been six months since I first laid my eyes on this gorgeous man, and my feelings have only grown stronger the more we interact. "But it's frustrating because literally, everyone knows he's a player." I frowned.

"Meh, a girl can dream right?" I snapped out of my thoughts as the teacher called on me. "Miss L/N, would you mind sharing as to why you're so distracted?" I rolled my eyes and stayed quiet. "Hm. Now then, answer this question." The female teacher pointed at an equation on the board.

"The answer is x8," I said nonchalantly. "Correct." Then the class went on as usual. Soon enough the bell rang, signaling it was time to go home. "Miss L/N please stay after class I need to speak with you." I groaned internally at her words. I just wanted to go home.

"Okay." I answered, simply. I swung my bag over my shoulder and walked up to the teacher's desk. Everyone had already left for the busses, so it was just me and the teacher. Or so I thought.

All of a sudden I felt someone swing their arm around my shoulders. I jumped in surprise from the sudden contact. "Heyyy Y/N-chan! You're staying after school too? Is it detention?" I heard a familiar voice say. I whipped my head around and came face to face with Douma.

"O-Oh no the teacher asked me to stay," I replied, stepping back a bit to create a distance between me and the handsome man. "Oh really? Same here!" He clasped his hands together.

The teacher cleared her throat and we both turned our attention to her. "I see you've met..." she started, "now then, the reason I asked both of you to stay after school is that Y/N, I want you to tutor Douma." My eyes widened in surprise. Douma made a pouty face in response. "Ehhh?? I thought I was making good grades!" He whined.

"Douma, you have a 40 in this class." The teacher facepalmed. I decided to stay quiet and see how this played out, because, well, I'm not against spending time with Douma anyway. "Oh, well then I guess me and you are study buddies now!" He faced me and grinned. "My house at six." He winked. With that, he ran out the door. "W-Wait! The teacher isn't done—" I sighed.

I faced the teacher and gave her an apologetic look. "Sorry.. is there anything else you need?" I bowed. "No that is all... but do you even know where Douma's house is?" She asked. I deadpanned.

"N-No.." She snickered and wrote something down on a yellow sticky note. "Here's his number, call him and ask him yourself." She handed me a sticky note. "And before you ask, I have his number because it's written on his student ID form." I nodded in response. "Thank you!" After waving goodbye, I made my way to my car and left.

When I arrived home I threw my bag on the couch, and quickly pulled my phone out of my skirt pocket. Taking out the sticky note from earlier, I put in Douma's number and sent him a message.

————————————

Y/N

...dude you didn't even

tell me where you live

(this is Y/N btw)

Douma

Ohhh my bad! Just

come to house XXXX,

Kimetsu street 💕

Y/N

ok thx 😻✨

Douma

Wait how did you get

my number

Y/N

teacher gave it to me

im not a creep I

swear 🙄✋

Douma

Lmao okay see you at six

Y/N

cya

————————————

I put my phone down and checked the time. It was 4:30 pm so I had time before I needed to drive over there. I decided to go pick out clothes since, well, I want to look nice in front of my long-time crush. Although this is supposed to be casual, I wanted him to look at me and think I'm beautiful. It can't be helped, this man is my addiction.

I opened up my closet and picked out a f/c blouse and a flowy red skirt. I removed my school uniform but kept my black, thigh-high tights on. After replacing my school clothes with the outfit I picked out, I walked over to my vanity.

"Hmm... what hairstyle should I do?" I thought to myself. I decided on doing a high ponytail and leaving my front strands out to frame my face. When I finished doing my hair I took a good look at myself in the mirror. My blouse was neatly tucked into my high-waisted skirt and my tights were hidden securely underneath my skirt.

My outfit was casual but nice at the same time. I smiled, happy with how I looked. "Maybe I should wear my earrings." I debated whether or not I want to put them on. "Eh, why not." I grabbed my moon-shaped earrings and put them on my ears.

"There we go." I said out loud. I checked the time to see an hour has passed. "Ehhh?? I took that long?" I thought confusedly. I grabbed my bag, since it has notes I could use to help Douma, and ran out the door.

I hopped in my car and put Douma's address into its GPS system. On the way there I found myself freaking out. I mean, I'm literally going to my crush's fucking house right now! How could I not freak out? "I'm so excited yet at the same time so nervous."

"I really hope I don't end up annoying him..." I was worried he'd not like me and I'd ruin my chances with him. "Well I shouldn't dwell on it, it's not like this is a date or anything, it's just tutoring."

The GPS said I was here so I pulled over to the side and parked. I found myself in front of a large apartment building and sweatdropped. "I hope he doesn't have roommates... seeing as he lives in an apartment."

I texted him that I was here, then took my bag and got out of the car, locking it to make sure it doesn't get stolen. "Wait... what room number is he?" I deadpanned. "This man really doesn't know how to tell someone the information they need."

I was about to text him again to ask what his room number was when someone called my name. I turned around and saw Douma running up to me. "Y/N! Y/N! you're finally here let's go!" He took my hand and dragged me inside.

I blushed from the contact. "U-um..." I stuttered out. "So, before we go up I do have a roommate, his name is Akaza and he's a bully." He rolled his eyes. "But don't worry he's out with his girlfriend, Koyuki, so we'll have the apartment to ourselves." He stopped in front of a door and quickly pushed me inside.

"Here we are! Make yourself at home." He walked over to a couch and plopped down on it. I sat down next to him a good distance away and opened up my bag, getting some notes and papers for math.

"So... what are you struggling with in math?" I asked. He shrugged in return. "I honestly don't know, I thought I was doing good in everything but I guess not." I sweatdropped at his answer. "Ah.. okay well if you don't know what you need help on then I really don't know how to tutor you..." I scratched the back of my head.

"Then let's do something else instead of studying!" Douma suggested. "Eh? Like what?" I tilted my head as I asked. Douma's cheeks were tinted with pink after my reaction. "What about... hide and seek tag!" He clasped his hands together.

I deadpanned. "Isn't that a game for kids..?" He chuckled at me. "You're never too old for anything! I'll be it first okay? Go hide nothing's off-limits." I nodded and ran out of the living room as he counted. I opened the first door down the hall and found myself in what seemed to be the master bedroom.

"Ahh... where to hide..." I looked around and saw the nightstand had a cabinet that could fit my petite form. I crawled in the cabinet just as I heard Douma yell. "Time's up! I'm coming Y/N!" After he said that it was eerily quiet. "It's like a fucking horror movie." I thought.

Suddenly I heard the door creek open and I held my breath. "Y/N~ are you in here?" He said, dragging out your name for effect. My heart was pounding in suspense as I heard his footsteps come closer. "Under the bed?" He stopped in front of the nightstand and presumably check under the bed. "Guess not... what about the cabinet in the nightstand?"

As soon as I heard that I bolted out of the cabinet and dodged his attempt to tag me. "I knew it! You're done for now." He laughed as he chased after me. "Nooo! Get away." I laughed along. I looked behind me as I ran down the hall and saw him getting closer.

"Hey! Y/N watch out!" I heard him yell as his eyes widened. I looked back in front of me and ran headfirst into a door. "Oww..." I fell back on my butt and felt tears well up in my eyes. "That hurts like a bitch." I clutched my forehead in pain.

"Y/N! Are you alright?" Douma crouched down next to me and looked at me in worry. "Yeah, I'm fine, it just hurts and I feel dizzy." I responded. "Here I'll go get you some ice." He got up and hurried to the kitchen. I heard the fridge door open and Douma muttering to himself.

He came back with an ice pack in hand and held it to my forehead. I blushed from the close proximity and quietly thanked him. He smiled at my shyness and helped me up. "Do you want to stay the night? It's late and I let you get hurt so it's the least I can do." He asked. "U-Um if you don't mind..." I didn't really want to drive home at night, it gave me chills just thinking about it.

"It's fine! You can take the guest bedroom." He gently pulled me along to a room and opened the door. "Here it is, if you need anything you can find me in the living room most likely." He handed me the ice pack and smiled. "Thank you for your help." I bowed. "Ah, it's nothing." He waved it off.

I felt my dizziness get stronger and I held my head and squinted. "You okay?" He asked, tilting his head. "Y-Yeah I'm just really dizzy." I answered. My knees buckled and I lost my footing. Thankfully Douma was there to catch me. "Oh my, I really hope you don't have a concussion or something." I was suddenly too tired to respond.

He picked me up bridal style and sat me down on the bed. "Stay here I'll try to find some medicine for your dizziness." He left the room. Although my mind felt like it was on anesthesia, I was still able to freak out about the fact Douma carried me like that. Through my drowsy state, I silently fangirled. "I'm back." He handed me a glass of water and a small pill. "It'll help you, take it." He smiled at me.

"Thank you." I whispered, before taking the pill. Building up my courage, I grabbed the hem of his shirt. He looked at me, clearly confused. "U-Um.. could you stay with me until I fall asleep." I asked shyly, avoiding his gaze.

He smiled warmly and nodded. "Sure thing Y/N-chan." He sat down next to me and I plopped my head into his lap. He chuckled at my behavior. I closed my eyes as I felt him petting my head affectionately. He pulled a blanket over my petite form and continued petting my hair. "Goodnight Y/N," and under his breath, I swear I heard the words, "I love you."

Sleep captured me before I could question whether or not I heard correctly. But nevertheless, it made me feel warm.

—

#Douma #kny #kimetsunoyaiba #demonslayer #fanfic #Oneshot #douma x reader #reader insert

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direnightshade · 3 years

Text

The Habits of My Heart

“Please tell me again why you’ve decided to drag me all the way out here?”

“Because,” begins my companion for the evening, for the umpteenth time, “it’s important that I network.”

My head swivels, the view of the bypassing buildings now gone from my vision as I turn my attention to the man beside me. “You need to network. I won’t know any of these people and this is not even close to being in my line of work. So I do not need to network, therefore, why have you dragged me out here?”

In spite of the windows of the taxi that we currently ride in being cracked to allow a cross breeze to pass through, it is still unbearably muggy in the small space. We have barely been out of the apartment for the better half of twenty minutes, and already, a light sheen of perspiration has covered my shoulders and décolletage.

It is late August and summer is nearly drawing to a close, though the heat has yet to break and give way to more desirable temperatures. In consideration of the weather, I have chosen to wear an appropriate dress to this supposed black tie event; it is a black velvet halter gown, complete with open back and a slit that runs mid-thigh to expose the majority of my left leg. I will blend right in, or so I have been told.

A pitied sigh sounds next to me, and a gentle hand is placed atop my own. “Sweetheart, it’s been, what, two weeks since the split with Matt?”

“One and a half,” I mutter, my words falling on deaf ears.

“You need to get out. Mingle a little! Hell, hook up with someone, if only for a night. And this is the perfect place to do it. You won’t know anyone here, I know none of these guys are your type; they’re all stuck up, pretentious assholes who think they’re God’s gift to humanity.” Mark gives my hand a gentle squeeze just as my eyes roll of their own accord. “There’s a few lookers there, though. So even if you’ve got to fake it, at least you can stare up at something pretty.”

Laughter erupts into the small space of the cab just as it comes rolling to a stop alongside the curb. Mark hastily digs into his wallet to pay the fare whilst I vacate the vehicle, and soon enough, we find ourselves in the midst of an awards ceremony afterparty.

This is...dull. Incredibly so. So much so, in fact, that I think I may have nearly fallen headfirst a time or two into my glass of Prosecco as I listened to yet another playwright go on and on about their accomplishments. Much to my vexation, he is in the midst of yet another one of his stories, something about how he’s just written the best play that he’s certain will have ever graced Broadway. I smile politely, pretend that I am listening, but I simply do not care.

I have never considered myself a theater snob, in fact I am quite the opposite, I would argue. I have never even seen a play in person, the closest thing I have ever witnessed live is that of the classical ballet The Nutcracker, though I’m sure if I were to even lump those categories together the man beside me may very well faint. The thought brings a smile to my face, which the man undoubtedly takes as a sign that I am pleased with whatever it is he has just said. Oh god, please don’t let it be that he’s asked me for my—

“Wow. I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d agree so quickly, let alone at all.” He is equally swift to retrieve his phone, unlocking the screen before offering it to me so that I may input my details. I give him a fake name and then a number that most certainly isn’t mine and hand the device back to him just as he delves into yet another story.

A chorus of laughter erupts to my right, effectively pulling away the miniscule attention I’d been paying to the man in front of me as I now turn my head to look at where the sound has emanated from. A small group has gathered near the bar, their attention captivated by you, standing at the center of it all. You’re at least a head taller than most of the others surrounding you, I note, and your hands are gesticulating wildly as you animatedly tell your story. When another bout of laughter sounds it becomes clear to me by the grin on your face alone that you are loving this attention.

Just like everyone else in this room, I think to myself.

In a serendipitous moment, your eyes flicker up and away from the group only to land on me as I stand—still openly staring at you—from across the room. Even from this distance, your gaze is dark, intense, so piercing in fact that it manages to steal the breath straight from my lungs. My breath hitches and I find myself clutching the glass in my hand just a little tighter until I am forced to look away first. If I hadn’t been paying attention to the man in front of me before, I certainly am not now; his voice has long since faded into the background chatter that fills the space, and I find myself time and time again, seeking you out in the crowd.

Each time that I look up I find that you are already looking at me with that fierce stare, and my pulse quickens in response. We continue like this for an indeterminate amount of time, allowing the evening to slip through our fingers without so much as an interaction, until...

“This is horribly bland,” I deadpan, my gaze fixated on the other partygoers as I come to stand beside you. Like myself, who’s hand is wrapped firmly around the stem of the wine glass I hold, so, too, is yours holding the champagne flute in your own.

There is a rumble of laughter that emanates from the depths of your chest as you look over to where I stand beside you. “The party or the wine?”

My head turns to look up at you, lips twitching with the beginnings of an amused smile. “Who’s to say it isn’t both?”

“Fair enough,” you counter, your own smile starting to form. When it broadens, I note how the corners of your eyes crease and how, for the first time this evening, the smile seems to reach even your eyes.

In return, my own smile widens, and I decide right here and now that though I do not like anyone else in this room, I do like you.

You turn to face me, extending a hand in greeting. “Charlie,” you say, introducing yourself. I shift the glass from one hand to the other before reaching for you, giving you my name in return. It is effortless, how your hand engulfs my own entirely when my palm glides against yours, fingers curling to grasp onto one another’s hand as we both give an all too brief shake.

“So, Charlie, what is it exactly do you do?” Despite my earlier complaint about the wine, I lift the glass up to my mouth to take another long sip.

“What is it you think I do?”

A guessing game. How irritating. Perhaps I do not like you as much as I had initially thought, Charlie…

My lips purse and my eyes narrow in concentration as I take in the sight of you before me. A soft hum is emitted whilst I take my time to carefully consider the options. “You’re much too full of yourself to be a playwright—”

“Excuse me,” you balk.

“—though that surely didn’t stop what’s-his-face back there from prattling on for an eternity. Think my ears bled.” You scoff and I am unsure if it’s in amusement at my final statement or if you are still offended at the former, though it does not go unnoticed how your narrowed eyes lift to survey the crowd. “You’re far too attractive to be someone behind the scenes,” I muse aloud, your gaze snapping back to me just as I lift my glass to empty the remaining contents into my mouth. “I suppose I’ll go with the obvious. You’re an actor.”

The corners of your lips curl into a satisfied smile, and this time it is you who empties the contents of a glass, now finishing off your champagne. “Cold.”

“Are you a playwright,” I ask almost immediately following the singular word. Surprise laces the tone of my words as I am fully prepared for you to admit that you are as such.

Slowly, your head shakes, and that smile of yours quickly turns into a smirk. When a waiter passes by with an empty tray, we jointly reach out to set our now empty glasses atop the polished surface, and I turn to face you with arms folded across my chest when you inform me that I am colder still.

“Do you make everyone you meet go through this rigorous process?”

“You said this party was bland. I’m merely attempting to liven it up a little,” you reply with a nonchalant shrug.

“With a game of ‘Hot or Cold’?”

“With a game of ‘Hot or Cold’.”

We exchange smiles of amusement and our gazes linger on one another for a little too long until I shatter this lovely little moment to inquire about the ending of this soiree. You make a show of checking your watch, and when you look back at me, you shrug once more. “We can leave now if you prefer?”

A single brow lifts in question. “We?”

“We,” you respond confidently.

“Together?”

“Together.”

“Do you always make it a habit to repeat people like this?” The question is posed good-naturedly which pulls another chuckle from you, and in turn, another smile from myself.

“Do you always make it a habit to avoid the question when someone asks to take you home,” you counter.

“Bold of you to assume anyone asks that of me,” I shoot back teasingly.

“Don’t they?”

There is a moment of silence that lingers between us following your inquiry, and I find myself unsure as to whether the question is rhetorical or not. When you continue to stare at me expectantly, I concede with a shrug of my shoulders and an audible, put-upon sigh.

“Yes...to all of the above.”

You hum in automatic response and offer your arm to signal that you are just as ready to leave as I am. My hand slips into the crook of your elbow and together, without so much as a goodbye to any of the other attendees, we make our exit.

Laughter rings out into the subterranean platform as you deliver yet another line that strikes me as particularly hilarious. In return, you are grinning down at me, your hands now stuffed into the pockets of your suit pants. You look years younger like this, I think to myself as the laughter begins to fade and all that remains are our smiles. Happiness suits you.

It isn’t long until the train pulls into the station, the doors parting before us once it has come to a full stop. You motion with a hand for me to enter first, to which I dutifully follow the silent instruction. It isn’t terribly late, in fact I cannot imagine that it is later than ten or eleven, but even still, the train is lacking in its typical crowd. There is a couple further down, sitting quite closely together in their own little world, a little nearer to us is a young man who I can’t imagine is too far off in age from myself, and closer still are a few others who look rather nondescript.

My steps halt as I reach the nearest metal pole, and I reach a hand out to grasp it in preparation of steadying myself when the train makes its departure from the platform. When I turn, you are already close by—much closer than I had anticipated—grasping the same pole. The train lurches forward, and in my moment of briefly being caught off guard by your close proximity, I find myself unprepared for the movement of the train.

Though I manage to keep my hold on the pole, still I stumble a few steps forward towards you. Instinctively, I lift a hand to press it against your chest just as you reach for me with your own, placing it against the curve of my lower back to both catch and help steady me. Soft laughter is emitted, shy smiles exchanged, and apologies whispered between us when my head tips back to look up at you, though neither of us makes any attempt to separate from one another. The familiar rumble of the train over the tracks fills the void when words now seem to fail us and leave us peering at one another, but it is when you begin to dip your head down that the steady beating of my heart falters and then quickens.

Are you…?

Is this happening?

My fingers curl slightly into the pressed, white fabric of your dress shirt just as my lips part. I am quite certain of what you are about to do, but then—seemingly at the last moment—your trajectory veers slightly until your lips nearly press to the shell of my ear. The hand at my back presses me closer to you until I can feel the heat of your body against my own, and it is then that you whisper a rather crude remark about one of the nearby passengers. A soft gasp escapes me at the comment, and I can feel the way that your body tenses beneath my touch; I wonder if you are concerned that you’ve overstepped.

It isn’t until I erupt into a fit of unruly giggles that I feel you relax once more. Your chest vibrates with the chuckles that join in with the sound of my laughter, and when I lean in to hide my face and muffle the ceaseless titter, you pull me closer still. We carry on like this stop after stop until, finally, we find ourselves the last remaining passengers on a now otherwise empty train car.

Eventually, the laughter subsides and I pull back just enough to look up at you once again, though neither of us lets go of the other. This time when you begin to lean down, it is not to whisper some horribly ridiculous commentary about another passenger; this time, I know without a shadow of a doubt, you mean to kiss me. It feels as if time itself is slowing when your lips come closer and closer to my own. Or, perhaps, it is…

Oh.

Oh, no.

It is not time at all that is slowing, but the train itself as it pulls into its next and final stop. You puff out a disappointed breath, the warmth of it cascading across my face whilst I exhale a sigh of my own. Reluctantly, we part from one another as the doors open and the announcement for the stop is made. Our hands slip free from the bar that we have been holding for the entirety of the ride, but as we make our exit, you reach for me, taking my hand in your own. As we step out of the station and back up onto the street, our fingers lace together to tighten our hold one one another. It is a short walk from the station to your apartment building. Much to my surprise (and pleasure) you are not one for small talk. Instead, we fall into a comfortable silence on this last leg to your residence, taking in the sights and sounds of a city that’s slipping into a late evening.

Even with the addition of the much welcomed air conditioning that swirls throughout the apartment, I still find it to be too hot, though I am unsure if this is due to the humid temperatures making their way from outside or the fact that I am acutely aware of just how closely you are sitting beside me.

Your jacket has yet to be shed and, if I am being rather honest, you look quite miserable. There is a light sheen of perspiration that runs across your forehead, undoubtedly the result of the same heat I feel myself. It’s as if you can read my mind, or perhaps it has simply become far too unbearable for you to continue like this any longer; you offer to get me a glass of water as you rise from your spot on the couch, to which I happily accept. When you disappear into the kitchen, I turn my head and cast a glance around the room, my attention now landing upon the photos that sit on a bookcase across the room.

Leaving the comfort of the couch, I cross the space and peer up at the nearest photo. It is of you and a young boy who, I assume judging by looks alone, is your son. The two of you are sporting broad smiles, both waving at whomever is taking the photo of you whilst you ride the large carousel that sits within the confines of Central Park. The photo beside it is one that appears to be taken by your son; it is off kilter and completely too close to both of your faces, but even still, it is clear by the captured moment that you two were in a fit of laughter when the photo was taken.

The steady clink of ice cubes in a couple of glasses along with heavy footsteps on old, creaking floorboards alerts me to your arrival, though I do not dare look back at you. I am far too fixated on the photos in front of me. I am far too lost in these small snippets of your happiness.

“That’s my son.” The explanation is a quiet one, and it is clear by the subdued tone of your voice that you are doing your best not to startle me. “He is seven. He lives with his mother in Los Angeles.”

I nod in acknowledgement of your statement, my attention shifting back to the first photo, the one of you and your son in Central Park. I can practically hear my mother screaming at me not to get myself any more involved with you than I already have. No one with that much baggage is worth the work, I know she would say. But…

We all have our own baggage. Though mine may look different, that does not mean that it does not exist. I wonder now, as I stand here, still willing myself to keep my eyes on the photos in front of me, are you the kind of man who would help to lighten the load if I were to help carry your own?

“Here.” The familiar rattling of ice in one glass sounds again when you reach around me to hand off the ice water. I reach to take it, the outside of the glass already slick with condensation when I lift it to take a long, appreciative sip. Just as I am pulling the rip of the cup from my lips, the faintest sensation of your fingertips grazing the bare skin of my arm can be felt. The touch sends a shiver along my spine and suddenly the heat of the apartment only seems to grow tenfold.

“His name is Henry,” you continue. “I miss him. I don’t miss his mother.” It is not lost on me how the tone of your voice shifts so easily with your words. It is clear by the hint of longing that you do miss your son, very much so. But whatever has transpired between you and Henry’s mother, it is crystal clear that there is some sort of animosity here. “It was a strange relationship, and I suppose I am still not really sure what even happened.”

Run, my mother’s voice whispers from the back of my mind. You are not equipped to handle such a dynamic. You couldn’t even handle the simplest of relationships.

In truth, she is partially correct. I am not at all equipped for this, to be with someone who comes with so much, and yet…

I understand.

Once again, I lift the glass and take another sip, wetting my suddenly dry throat before I reach forward to set the glass down on the shelf without so much as a care as to whether there is a coaster to place it upon.

Slowly, I turn only to find that you have moved much closer than I had anticipated. Your jacket and tie have long since been discarded, and the sleeves of your dress shirt are now rolled up to your elbows. “I understand,” I tell you, casting my gaze to the glass the remains held firmly in your hand. Reaching forward, I take the glass from you and turn briefly to set it atop the shelf next to my own before facing you once more. “My last breakup was less than ideal. It turned out my partner was rather heartless. Or...perhaps I was.”

This is what I have been told, at least. I suppose, now that hindsight is in play, they were not wrong. I had swung from one end of the pendulum to the other; whereas Ben had claimed I was too much, Matt had claimed that I simply had not given enough.

There is a stretch of silence that follows, and for a fleeting moment I think that perhaps I have put my foot in my mouth. Perhaps this is not the path of conversation you’d wanted to walk down tonight. Perhaps you were looking for something less heavy, with someone who wasn’t looking to air out any of their sad, dirty laundry. But when I look up, however, I am surprised to find that you are not appearing to be bored or disinterested at all. You are looking at me rather intently, almost as if you, yourself understand.

Were you heartless, I wonder.

The words never have a chance to leave my mouth. Instead, I am acutely aware of the rapid thrum of my heart against my ribcage when you reach for one of my hands and lift it to press my palm flat against the center of your chest. Even still, the silence stretches on, but when the realization of what you are trying to tell me hits me full force, I cannot help but allow the beginnings of a smile to form.

I understand, I want to tell you again, though I never have been quite so good with my words. Instead, I opt to tell you in the best way possible: with my actions. Just as you have done, I now reach for the hand that hangs near your side and bring it up to place it against my chest in a mirrored position of where you continue to hold my hand against yours.

I have never been a firm believer in love at first sight, fate, God, or otherwise. But it is undeniable here and now, as I feel our hearts beating in perfect unison, that this moment means something.

My breath hitches, the inhale now caught in my throat when you lean in closer and closer until your lips are so close that if I angle my head just so I am certain they would brush against my own. There is a moment of hesitation, and my eyes flutter closed as if to expect you to finally deliver that long awaited kiss. But then, you speak…

“It seems you are not heartless.”

When I open my eyes to peer up at you, I find myself mirroring the smile that has just formed on your face. The hand that continues to hold yours to my chest squeezes it in reassurance as I whisper my reply. “Neither are you.”

We have only just met this evening, and yet I know this to be true without a shadow of a doubt.

You lean in further still, and this time we both close our eyes just as our lips touch for the first time tonight. The kiss is slow, tender, and at some point our hands have migrated away to other parts of our bodies. The welcomed warmth of your own can be felt across my back as fingers splay across the skin exposed by the dress’ design whilst my own lift to weave my fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck.

It is here, now, that you could do anything that you wish, inflict any amount of pain, pleasure, or otherwise that you see fit. I am powerless, bound by the ropes that pin my arms into place and keep me completely at your mercy. I am yours to do with what you wish and never once do I plead for less, because I have asked for this, to be used until we are both far too exhausted to continue.

Your face has found a home between my thighs and your tongue works against me in such a way that leaves me wailing, back arching and the restraints tightening as I writhe atop the bed. Fat tears have long since spilled over to track their way down along the sides of my face whilst you continually bring me to the precipice and allow me to fall over and over again.

“Please,” I beg, voice hoarse from how often I have called your name time and time again. “Oh, god, Charlie, please…”

Your head lifts and it is impossible not to notice the way in which your pupils have swallowed up the hazel of your irises until they are nothing more than a honeyed halo. Both your lips and chin are shiny with my arousal, and for a fleeting moment I wonder if you will merely go back to burying your face where it has been for an indeterminate amount of time.

My curiosity is quickly sated, however, when you instead begin to climb your way up along my body. Instinctively, my fingers flex, and I long to reach out and touch you. It suddenly feels completely unjust how you have free reign to my own body and yet I cannot have the honor of touching yours. Perhaps, in time, you will indulge me should I voice my desire.

Any and all coherent thoughts empty themselves from my head the moment that we finally find ourselves joined as one, and I am once again left trembling in the wake of your handling. If this is to be just for one night, as I assume it to be, then I want nothing more than to be consumed and engulfed by you; allow me to forget the recent hurt that I have endured and all of the emotional pain that came before it and replace them with a new memory, one that will present itself each and every time I bear witness to the bruises and the bitemarks you have begun to litter across my skin.

Hours later I am seated atop the counter of the ensuite bathroom sink, feet dangling and an arm held gently in your grasp. Even still, there is not a stitch of clothing on either of us, and yet neither of us is made uncomfortable by this fact—though I suspect our earlier activities void any potential for bashfulness now.

In a stark contrast to how you had handled my body in the adjacent room, you are now gingerly turning my arm over to reveal the soft skin of my wrist that has since turned red and raw from the tight restraint that had bound it to the headboard. Your free hand now dips two fingers into a jar of aloe before tenderly dotting the cool gel onto my heated skin. I sigh, the contrasting feeling a welcome one on my already sore wrist.

When I shift my attention up to your face, I can’t help but smile at the look of concentration etched onto your features as you continue to work the aloe across one wrist before doing the same to the other. Eventually, your gaze sweeps upward from my arm to my face, and it is then that you smile. It is a tender, almost shy expression, and once again I find that you appear years younger than you actually are. Judging by the sudden timidness, completely out of character for how you have been throughout the entirety of this evening, I cannot help but wonder if this is the first time that you have treated someone in this manner.

It is certainly a first for me.

Once you have finished and the lid of the jar has since been put back in its place, you reach for me again and help to pull me down off of the counter. I turn, and for a brief moment, I am completely caught off guard by my reflection. Already, the skin around my neck has begun to purple from the grip you’d held on it earlier, and dotted across my chest are bite marks from where your teeth have broken the skin. I should be fearful of the damage inflicted by your hand, by your mouth, and yet…

I wanted this, asked for it, and then begged for more in the midst of it all.

But...it is still a jarring sight.

When I catch your gaze in the reflection, it almost appears as if there is some regret in your expression, but almost immediately, you school your features and mutter that you have a shirt that I can wear to sleep in. You disappear from the bathroom, and I can hear the floorboards creaking beneath your weight when you cross the bedroom to reach your dresser. By the time I emerge from the bathroom, you have pulled on a pair of grey sweatpants and are now holding a large, white shirt out to me as I step closer.

I slip it on only to find that I am swimming in it. The hemline comes down nearly to my knees, and the neckline continually slips off my left shoulder no matter how much I attempt to correct it.

“Thank you,” I murmur, offering you a smile whilst I step away to join you as you pull back the covers to climb into bed.

In return you smile hesitantly and nod your head in acknowledgement just as you slip beneath the duvet. I follow suit, and just as I settle into the warmth of the sheets, you reach for me, wrapping me in the heat of your arms and tugging me closer to where you lie. It isn’t until now that the exhaustion of the hours spent in this very bed together has finally caught up to me. I cozy up to you quite willingly and nestle my face in the crook of your neck, breathing in the comforting scent of you.

I barely register the soft ‘goodnight’ you deliver as my eyelids grow far too heavy, but I remain cognizant long enough to have one final thought:

Though I am certain you will make this a one night event, I cannot help but feel as if something special has occurred between us tonight. I would love nothing more than to stay, to allow this—whatever this is—to blossom into something more.

Please, let me stay.

#iamakiller #B+C #personal au

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gottagobuycheese · 3 years

Note

4, 5, 7 for the writing meme. Thanks!

(Writing meme)

Thank YOU for indulging me with these questions, and sorry for taking so long to answer! What is possibly my final finals season just about wrapped up, and I couldn’t think about anything else until it did (so fingers crossed it really has wrapped up lmao). So without further ado, here are some unnecessarily long answers!

4. How many fic ideas are you nurturing right now? Care to share one of them?

Ideas as in “I am actively working on this/making notes about it” or ideas as in “I have daydreamed about it at least once”? Because there’s…definitely way more of the second than the first lol.

But if we’re talking the former, then the thing that’s currently gripping my mind is a (hopefully) short post-true ending Undertale fic in which Undyne and Asgore catch up over tea and somehow get around to talking about the nature of human souls and what it what it takes to actually collect one (i.e. what it took to really, truly perma-kill a human). The problem is I don’t remember how much each character actually knows about the subject, so I’m rewatching a pacifist playthrough as “research” — and also falling back headfirst into the vast plethora of content that exists for the source material, predictably. It’s been a good few years since I was this fixated on it, which is great news for me because there is SO MUCH stuff to catch up on! (Tangentially, I guess it was kind of predictable, since I always seem to fall back into some kind of comfort video game around finals season, but usually it’s Ace Attorney, so this is new.)

In terms of the second, an idea that has been pretty solidly in daydream territory for a while is some kind of Stranger x Nobody Knows crossover fic in which (Senior) Inspector Han and (possibly former) Detective Cha cross paths for some reason. I have no idea what I’d want from it plot/content-wise, so I doubt it’ll ever be much more than a vaguely entertaining impression in my head, but I just think it’d be cool to see those two interact XD

Sadly neither of these things are the things I’m ACTUALLY supposed to be working on, so they probably (hopefully) won’t be done for a while.

5. Share one of your strengths.

 Ah, one of my least favorite interview questions. Uh, I guess I have fun writing dialogue, and it definitely tends to come easier than other aspects of writing (like DESCRIPTION, blegh). Plus I have been told that it makes people laugh sometimes, which is usually my goal — or makes them feel Painful Feelings, which is my other goal that unfortunately rarely makes it to the publishing phase — so I will count that as a success! And therefore a strength of some sort.

7. Share a snippet from one of your favorite pieces of prose you’ve written and explain why you’re proud of it. 

Oof, this is a hard one, haha. There is a subtle yet important difference between saying why you like something versus saying why you’re proud of something, but I shall try to veer more toward the latter since that’s the actual question.

As it turns out, being more comfortable with dialogue means that most of my stories end up being pretty dialogue-heavy, which I just discovered when flicking through fics to borrow a snippet from, but if we’re going with strictly prose, then this bit from a long-ish comedic Good Omens fic I still haven’t figured out all the plot points to was fun to write:  

In literature, funerals are often held in the pouring rain. This is because, in literature, authors can carefully describe how grief-stricken the attendees are, how their water-logged clothes, heavy and cold, cannot begin to compare to the weight of the sorrow that drags them down, how it pulls at their body, hangs from their shoulders and backs and legs and soul, begging them to join their loved ones in the ground. They can describe how the heavens themselves weep for the dead, that the earth, for once, pauses in its frantic flurry of activity, takes a moment to mourn what it has lost, and grieve for those who are left behind.

Of course, grief is complicated. Authors understand this. Sometimes the attendees are angry, and so the funerals are sunny, and the attendees are angry because the world dares to keep spinning on its axis even when theirs has ground to a halt. They are angry because the heavens won’t hide their tears for them, won’t admit they did something wrong, taking away someone who was so loved, so cherished, so good. They are angry because their heartache isn’t enough, doesn’t nearly encompass the gaping void torn in their reality, doesn’t do the dead justice. The earth and the skies and the seas ought to be mad with grief as well. Thunderstorms, gale-force winds, surging tides and shaking stone. How dare the world imply it’s no great loss?

Or maybe the funerals are held in the snow, because grief is cold and numbing and relentless, and no amount of warm soup or thick blankets or knitted mittens will make it better, fill the hollow misery the way one can fill a grave with soil and ice crystals. No one really wants to be there, socks soaked through and half-asleep from the chill, but sometimes you need to slog your way through those waist-deep banks of grief anyway, that frigid, dull, powder-white pain, focus only on how your teeth chatter and your fingertips turn blue and put all the rest of it aside for later, when it’s warm again. If it will ever be warm again.

Or perhaps the author just likes snow.

I get to ramble about some of my favorite kinds of weather for three paragraphs?? Count me IN

Anyways, I think it did a good job of keeping with the vaguely whimsical tone of the rest of the story, despite this being the opening to a (fake) funeral scene. And yeah, maybe it’s a bit excessive and heavy-handed, but it fits the context well enough and has some actual Imagery™, not to mention that it actually segues somewhat neatly into the next bit, so I think it did its job — which is all I can really ask for, so I’ll be proud of that! It’s a bit of a narrative reprieve from the dialogue-and-emotions heavy previous scene and the comedic shenanigans of the subsequent scene. Which would probably also be quite dialogue heavy, except for the part where I haven’t written it yet sjkdhfskf

#ask #Cheese talks #I tried to type this out twice and accidentally tabbed out of the page and had to start over #so I kept putting off actually starting again #but THIS TIME I made sure to copy and paste as I went #and also just type out everything on a separate note and then just copy/paste it here #thank you again for this!#it was fun to look through old writing #but gosh I sure would like to finish some of those some day #lots of ideas but very few actual Stories #and now that I have all the time I could possibly want I don't want to do anything #writing ask meme #my brain is still very much in drawing mode and not writing mode #but hopefully it'll shift into more writing mode soon #because there's a lot of stuff I need to finish writing before getting back into Obligations #ANYWAYS FEEL FREE TO ASK MORE #SO I CAN START THINKING IN WORDS AGAIN INSTEAD OF JUST PICTURES #drivingsideways

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jamiedc-they-them · 4 years

Text

Bonds that never die (Platonic)

Daisy Johnson x sister reader but it takes place in season 4, the reader was killed earlier by ward in like season 2 or something but when daisy wakes goes into the framework and has to interrogate someone it’s her sister? Maybe somehow the reader is able to come back with her and Simmons?

Hope I did the request justice!

You and Daisy weren’t blood sisters, but that didn’t matter. Just like with Jemma, she counted you as a sister anyway. You both met at the orphanage, both latched onto each other for reassurance that the other wasn’t alone. That you could actually make it through those times.

So, as she got ready to join her surrogate sister in a computer simulation, she was more than ready to plunge headfirst in to try and find the rest of her family. However, she also wanted to be there to make sure Jemma would make it back.

She couldn’t lose another sister. Not again.

“I can’t believe Fitz made another LMD body.” Jemma said as they both got prepared to go into the Framework.

“He did?” Daisy asked her friend, wondering why her Scottish friend had done just that. Wasn’t AIDA enough?

“Yes. Well, he hadn’t fully done it, they never fully made it. But the plans were there to make another one.” Jemma admitted.

“Did he say who they were going to make?”

“No, they didn’t. But I think their plan was to maybe…. maybe try to bring someone back.” Jemma seemed to struggle with getting the words out. As if they would summon someone from their past right away.

“Well, it didn’t happen. Besides, they wouldn’t be the same anyway.” Her voice saddened a little at the thought of you, her twin.

“Oh, Daisy.” Jemma said empathetically as she brought her best friend in for a hug.

“You don’t talk about her much, now.” She said as she still held the hug.

“There’s not much to talk about, Jemma. You knew her almost as well as I did –”

“Yes, but not for as long. Daisy, she might be gone, but you don’t have to forget about her.” Daisy just nodded, wanting to move the conversation on as quickly as possible.

They were in, and Daisy was in the worst position she could possibly be in. Working at HYDRA with the one and only, Grant Ward.

Speaking of him, the two had just had an argument after interrogating one inhuman, DJ. It hadn’t gone the best, but she’d managed to reign it into not being a total cataclysmic failure. Plus, she had already found someone to bring back, May.

“There’s one more, but I’ll let you take that. We could use a moment to breathe.” Ward said, before brushing past her; seemingly getting her want to just be left alone for a while.

She was still reeling from seeing, “deceased,” next to Jemma’s name. Seeing that she may have just lost another member of her family to a simple game of chance. Her heart raced as she her mind drifted to being alone in this world, with no backup and only her wits to survive.

Her heart ached when she remembered when that would be you both; your whole mantra, “Us against the world,” It was cute, but it meant something to you both. It was a promise you had both made each other, to never leave the other.

Just made her miss you more.

She sighed, begging her mind to move onto the pressing situation of currently being alone with no backup in a hostile world filled with HYDRA agents. Training aside, she wouldn’t be able to survive being in the wolf’s den alone. She’d easily get gunned down if she made one wrong move.

She had a whole other life here, a life she didn’t know. But one that apparently had it just be her. She was going to look up your name, to try and find out what had happened to you in this reality.

But, as soon as she had apparently seen Jemma’s grizzly fate, she changed her mind on that quickly and didn’t look it up. She’d rather not know and pretend you were fine, then look and find that you were dead in this world too.

With a steading (as best as she could manage) breath, she looked at the file for the next inhuman to interrogate. For the next, “Traitor” to be scared to god knows what end and then be locked up in a room with seemingly no way of escape.

However, her eyes widened when she saw a familiar name written on the page, along with the photo.

Y/N Johnson. You, her sister was alive in this world.

More importantly, she was the person that was going to be interrogating you.

You tried not to show the fear, to mask it anyway possible; be that the steady-ish breathing, or the way you tried not to tighten your grip on the chair. It was the only way you could show some kind of resistance.

Yes, that kind of resistance, the one that was SHIELD. You had signed up a little while ago, to try and find some sense of belonging. You had gotten exactly what you were looking for.

This, however, was not it. Not tied to a chair, awaiting whoever it was that was going to tear you apart and leave you for dead, most likely.

However, you were met with a smaller woman, one a little taller than you if you had to guess. She seemed to hold herself with a bit of nervousness; maybe you could use that to your advantage.

As soon as she laid eyes on you, she seemed to freeze, mouth parting and words starting to form only for nothing to come out a few times. Finally, she gulped and placed the file down, only to then remember that she needed it.

Whenever she read it, she’d look back up at you every so often as if she couldn’t believe the words she was reading.

She cleared her throat, “Your name is Y/N Johnson, right?” She asked, your last name being dragged out more as if she was testing it out for a reason you did not know.

“Scared you got the wrong person?” There it was, your snappy comebacks; Daisy had to bite back a smile, or a laugh. Or some reaction that would give away her most ridiculous and insane plan yet.

“No, just going over the facts.” She said, having faux confidence on her back. Her voice wobbled as she spoke; maybe getting out of this would be easier than you thought.

“Maybe it’s a cover name.” You said, testing the waters.

She let out a snort, one that seemed to hold some genuine warmth to it, “Maybe it is, who’d be the wiser, right?” No, she was trying to get you to lower your guard down so she could manipulate you. To get you to join their ranks.

You’d rather die than have that happen.

“I’m not gonna hurt you.” She said, softly, as if she genuinely meant it. The next moment, the camera watching you went off.

“It’s looping some footage I had earlier, so we can actually talk now.” Oh, so what she was going to do was so much worse.

She pressed a button on her pad, the cuffs came off. She approached you and spoke in a low voice, “We’re going to get out of here, but I need you to follow my lead. alright?”

You didn’t know if you could fully trust her. But that mere act made her seem trustworthy, even if for now. As a means to an end.

You nodded.

“If it helps you trust me, I’m Daisy.”

You both had been separated a few times, different families adopting you; or rather, taking you in for a week/month/year before sending you right back. Right back, just as you had both hoped, to each other.

Your sisterly bond was unbreakable, only death could separate you.

That was when Phil Coulson had found you both in a van, living in the streets together, working for the Rising Tide. You both had cautiously joined the team and never really looked back.

It was the day you both finally found a stable (ironic, with what was to come) place and people that actually wanted you both around, wanted to be friends with you both (some more than others; but still, they weren’t hostile to you. That one mainly being May with the both of you, and Ward with you,) and seeing you as a valuable person, someone they wouldn’t give up on no matter what.

Sadly though, that voice in the back of your head that told you constantly that you were going to be left behind, that they would drop you if shit hit the fan drove you to be more reckless than your sister.

You both became agents, but you wanted in the field as soon as. With Skye’s injury, it just made you want to go out there more.

It was what had led Daisy to where she was now, about to enter a computer world to try and find her friends.

“Daisy!” A woman yelled in relief; Daisy let out her own sigh of relief as she hugged her friend, yelling out her name. Her name was Jemma.

Jemma’s eyes widened when she saw you, and she turned to Daisy with a questioning gaze. Even though you were behind them, you saw Daisy slightly nod.

“Your Y/N, right?” You nodded, cautious of the new woman. The next moment, you were enveloped in a hug. A tight one.

You looked to Daisy, who looked kind of happy (or nostalgic, as she’d put it) at seeing the interaction.

Jemma pulled away, holding you at arm’s length and smiling brightly at you with some tears in her eyes.

She couldn’t say anything, as a man approached with a gun drawn; Daisy had instantly put herself in front of you, shielding him from shooting you. You gripped Daisy’s arm in fear, she grabbed your hand in her’s, the other holding the gun.

You didn’t talk through the whole confrontation, only letting Daisy and Jemma speak for you.

“And whose she?” He spat, trying again to aim his gun at you. It was in that moment you saw who he was, you’d seen him around a few times in SHIELD; what the hell was he doing aiming a gun at you?

“Ward, WARD! Put it down, ok? She’s not a threat!” Daisy’s finger squeezed on the trigger. She didn’t want to kill this Ward, but she would if it would save you….and make up for last time.

It was after SHIELD had fallen; you were all on the run in a way. You were in the shadows, all of you. You were no-ones again. To you and Daisy, though, it was more than that. You had both lost the one place you had started to belong in. You’re badges meant nothing.

But, as Daisy had said to you, it didn’t mean you were nobody’s.

“We have them no, Y/N. But…if it does come to it, you have me, ok? We’re sisters, family. I’m not leaving your side for as long as I can help it, alright?” You smiled at her words, knowing she fully meant them.

“Love you.” Was all you could say before you got choked up.

Skye, as she went by then, happily returned your hug, “Love you too.” She said.

“Y/N, you ready?” Coulson asked, looking slightly guilty that he had interrupted your sister-bonding moment. He quickly caught onto your coining of the term ever since he asked you both to come with him to investigate the job that led him to his old protégée. You both even spoke in sync, which freaked him out.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, sir.” You replied, voice trembling a little with worry. He placed a fatherly hand on your arm, as Daisy put a hand on your shoulder. Both actions done in reassurance.

“You’ll be fine, Y/NN.” Daisy said, so sure of her words.

Words that would turn out to be false.

Ward had gotten you all out of the situation of being gunned down by HYDRA forces. Despite all the chaos, you had heard Daisy responding to Simmons’ comment about being in hell with, “How do you think I feel.” Judging by Jemma’s look back at her, and her eyes flickering to you for a moment. Those words held a double meaning to them.

Daisy had done all she could to protect you on the journey back, making sure to keep close to you as you went to the apartment.

Once you had reached it, you spoke, “Is there a – uh -- a room that I can….” Daisy looked at you, eyes softening slightly as she saw your terrified state. Despite being an agent, you weren’t numb to it all yet.

“Yeah, just through there.” Daisy said, softly like last time, pointing to the room she once shared with Ward.

Once you were gone, the two best friends turned to one another, “I have no idea how she’s here, Jemma!” She whisper-yelled in shock and disbelief. She allowed herself to finally process the fact that you were back. That you weren’t dead in a truck like you were in the real world.

“I know…I know…. I mean – It should be impossible…” Jemma started to ramble, but she too was at a loss for words at seeing one of her other female best friends alive once again. Even if it wasn’t the one, she had befriended.

“She doesn’t remember us, Jemma.” Jemma now softened at her friend’s words, knowing the affect all of this must be having on her.

“I know, but she seems to trust us a little. So, it’s a start.” Daisy couldn’t help but nod at Jemma’s words, she was right after you; you seemed to be slowly coming around to them.

You shared a nod with Jemma and Daisy as you past them with you standing between him and your sister, while Jemma was a secondary wall between the pair.

“If I see you again, I’ll kill you.” Jemma promised the man, his vision was then blacked out by a bag as you continued to lead him to the van that would then transport him away to his brother.

After a while of tagging along with Daisy (at her own insistence) it led you all to the TV station. You would broadcast a message to the world about the evil HYDRA had done; every sin they had committed and every lie that had spun about them being the victors and SHIELD being the villains of the tale they told.

You had managed to get in, and were about to broadcast the message, when Ward had entered the room to have a private talk with Daisy.

“Go on, I’ll be ok.” Daisy assured you with a light pat on the arm. You looked between the two, having the vague notion that you weren’t needed for this conversation. So, you gave them both an awkward smile and then departed.

“Everything ok?” Jemma asked as she saw you waiting with your arms folded outside the room.

“Got booted out of there for the love birds to have their moment. Didn’t know he’d ever really give it a shot.” Jemma chuckled a little at your words; you even let out your own, letting your guard down more with her and Daisy more than you really had with anyone in your life. There was just something about them that made you trust them more.

“Well, he’s not so bad. Besides, if Daisy wants something, she goes for it.” You nodded, having gathered that from your time with Daisy. How she’d always look out for those she called friends, probably defend them to her last breath; but, if she had a goal, nothing could stand in her way.

“What’s the deal with her, anyway?” Jemma looked at you, silently asking for you to continue, “She seems…off with me. Did I do something?” You asked, your insecurities getting the better of you. If it were anyone else, you’d hate being this vulnerable with them. But, as said, you felt like you could genuinely trust the pair.

“It’s not you, trust me.” She assured you.

“Then what is –” You stopped your question and frustration when you heard raised voices from the room. Despite Jemma calling out your name, you approached the open door.

“I can’t just leave Y/N here, alone!” Daisy said in her own frustration.

“And why not? What am I going to do, huh?” Ward challenged, despite their calm conversation before, bringing you up had set something off in her.

“Because –” She caught herself, but Ward pressed.

“What?” He softened his voice in horror as he realised, “Did I…do something to her.”

Daisy couldn’t help the tears in her eyes as, in a broken voice, she told him, “You killed her, Ward.”

“I’m dead…?” Daisy looked over Wards shoulder, the man spinning around quickly to see you looking between them in shock and betrayal.

“Y/N…” Daisy had no idea on what to say, how to comfort you or to explain all of it to you. But she seemed like she was going to anyway. Ward even opened his mouth to try as well.

You looked at ward in betrayal, “You…you knew?” He lowered his head in shame. You then looked at Jemma, who had a look of pity and guilt, “You – you all did?” You looked at the three; their silence confirming the answer to you.

He was quick, quicker than you had ever expected really. Unlike May or Skye, he was going for the kill. He went through everyone quickly, before it came to you.

He looked at you as he debated it, he had genuinely seen you as a friend like most of the others on the team. But, in this moment, you were on opposite sides of the playing field. Right now, it was even; and, depending on your next move, it would either tip in their favour, or stay even.

“Y/N just stay down. I don’t wanna hurt you.” He said, genuine emotion behind his words.

“You already have Ward. You screwed over my sister! And you expect me to, what? Let you go.” He saw that same fire he saw in Skye. If he did not know any better, he would’ve sworn you were blood and not sister’s by only bond.

“Y/N –” Your next actions cut him off.

“See you in hell, Ward.” You seemed almost resigned to your fate.

You went for his gun, but you only saw black the next moment.

You sat on one of the three beds, just sat there with your hands together and your head laying on them as you still tried to process everything: you were dead in another world, and you were related to Daisy (whose last name you found out was also Johnson).

“Been looking for you,” Coulson said as he took a seat next to you, “How are you holding up?” He asked, nudging you slightly.

“Like you give a shit, Coulson.” You spat, but not in a hating tone; it was tired, but soft one you spoke in. Now he was seeing the resemblance between you both.

“Look…I uh – I was just a teacher a few days ago. Now, I’m on the front lines, fighting in an apparently fake world –”

“This one’s fake? Even better.” Coulson sighed, Daisy had warned him about how you were stubborn and did hold a grudge, and hated being lied to, just like her.

“I know it’s hard to take in. Trust me, I’m still getting around to it –”

“Yeah? Well, you aren’t the one that’s fucking dead over there!” You seethed, now your anger was showing as you rose from your bed; Coulson gently grabbed your arm and pulled you to a more secure place to talk freely about all this.

“You’re right, you’re right,” He admitted, even raising his hands up to prove his point, “I can’t attest to how that must be to learn. But I have died over there. Now, I know you weren’t as lucky as I was; but I know that Daisy, me, Jemma and the others loved you over there like you were one of our own.”

“So, what? Was I like the black sheep or something?” Coulson sighed, knowing that he had worded it wrong.

“All you and Daisy had ever wanted was a family, you found that in both each other as sisters, and in us. I might not remember a lot, if anything. But I can easily tell how much Daisy cares about you. Far as I can tell, blood means nothing to her.” Coulson rephrased his words, hoping it would help his case to get you back with the gang in getting out of this place that would soon be nothing.

“She tell you all that?” You asked through clenched teeth, despite how something in you was slightly moved by the idea of having a family finally. It didn’t seem to matter anymore, as you were dead. So, even if you did get out, you would only see darkness.

“She caught me up to speed on it all, sure. But the care Simmons and Daisy both show for you. If I didn’t know you, and saw how far they’d go for you, I’d say you were all adopted sisters that got along like a jigsaw puzzle.”

You frowned a little at his metaphor, “Ok, not my greatest one liner, but you get what I mean?” He asked, hoping you’d answer positively.

“Good luck.” You genuinely meant your words to him; after that, you past him and went to the armoury to help anyone in any way you could.

Daisy, meanwhile, sat on her own bed in the exact same pose as you were in just moments ago. However, she held tears in her eyes as she finally let the memories in, she let herself go back to that day you died. To the day Ward took their sister or daughter away from her and others.

“Ward got out.” Was the first thing Coulson said when everyone had assembled in the room. Skye felt her pulse raise at the news, he was out of the cage and they had no methods of finding him. They had no idea where he was, but they had a good idea of what he was going to do.

Then, it clicked for Skye, “Wait…where’s Y/N?” She asked, tone not as secure as she would’ve like it to be. But her question still got across.

Coulson’s silence didn’t help her anxiety over her question, she looked to the others for some hope; but they had the same looks on their faces, “Coulson…where – where is my sister?” Her voice shook more. She looked to the door, as if you’d walk in the next moment, maybe a little bruised, but nothing else other than that.

You’d be alive, that was all that mattered to her.

Coulson’s eyes turned to pity, and she knew. She knew what the look meant; she knew what it conveyed.

She knew what had happened to you.

“No,” It was chocked at first, “No, No, no, no, no, no,” Then it was rushed, “NO!” Then it was loud and raw, “No…” Then it was soft and drifted off at the end; it was resolute; and it was filled with pain, rage, sadness, hate, pity, grief. All of those emotions locked into the final, “No.” that left her mouth before the sobs overtook her speech.

The other members of her family, the alive ones, had no choice to watch as Daisy rejected any comfort, she just cried through the pain. Or, tried to cry through the pain. She knew it would never fully go away. No matter what she did, no matter how hard she’d try to make it so. Losing someone stuck with you.

She felt a hand on her arm, she looked up to see Jemma above her. Daisy tried to smile, but it held no happiness to it; Jemma’s own one reflected it.

They were best friends with both of you before your death, but the aftermath brought them closer. Despite their fallings out at times, they were family; and family always came back together, as it was love and the strength of the bond that brought them back; not necessity.

Out of everyone on the team, they were closest, so maybe that was why their sisterhood became stronger after your demise.

“I found her.” Was all Jemma needed to say for Daisy to take the hand offered and for her to stand.

“Do you want –”

“No, I’ll be fine.” She assured her friend as she wiped her last tear, before going to find you.

You were checking the arsenal; although, Daisy was sure that you had already done that, you were just wasting time now.

She didn’t blame you for it, either.

“You just gonna stand there, or we gonna talk?” She let out a little smile at your words, she tentatively approached you, leaning against the entrance.

“…I need your help.” She said, quietly; but you heard it, and you stopped and fully turned to her, mimicking her pose against the table that held a map on it.

“Getting out of here?” She nodded, looking at the ground for a moment before meeting our eyes again.

“Yup.” There was no pop of the, “p”, just silence that followed her honest answer.

You sighed, “How am I here? Why am I here?”

Daisy almost smiled again, she remembered when you first asked that question in her van.

“Was this when I was alive?” Your words hurt, but she still nodded. She must’ve said that part out loud.

“AIDA wanted to fix someone’s mistake –”

“And I was yours?”

“One of them…. I don’t know why she brought you into this. But, if it means anything, I’m glad I get the chance to see you again.”

“I’ll help you.” She was shocked at how you managed to put your anger aside and let yourself help her one more time.

She nodded, thankful, “Can I ask why?”

“The rest of your family still need you, and you care about them too.”

Daisy smiled, the old you were still in there, alright.

It was an old factory, and the lava was the key out. Because, well, of course it was. Mack had his reservations, but that man was alive in that world. You could tell that Daisy looked up to him as a big brother. So, you knew he was on the list of people to get out.

HYDRA guards swarmed the area, you went back to flank them from behind, while Daisy used her power to open the portal out. As soon as she did, a shockwave went through the area, showing the whole thing as a façade; and you as noting more than a pile of ones and zeros.

With you distracted, you didn’t have time to remember about HYDRA, as a bullet soon found its way into your shoulder. With everyone else distracted, no one sure you drop on the metal floor as you clutched your shoulder.

Your ears started to ring as you slowly started to bleed out. In one way, you found it kind of humorous, you’d die again in this world. At least, this time, it was for something.

“Daisy!” You heard Mack call out as he ran to you and put pressure on your wound.

You blacked out for a second, the next time you opened your eyes, Mack was gone, and Daisy was hovering over you with pure concern and tears in her eyes once again.

“Hey, hey, hey. No, no, no, no. Don’t close your eyes, Y/N! You have to –” You blacked out again as her words drifted off.

“Come on, almost there.” She grunted out as she struggled to fully shoulder your weight and get you to the portal.

“Just leave me, I’m dead weight anyway.” Your words slurred; she didn’t have time to admonish you for your crude joke.

“I’m not leaving you here…I’m not losing you again!” She was determined to get you out.

“I already am.” You were ready to admit defeat. Which was when she had an idea.

“But you don’t have to be.” You didn’t know what she meant by it, but you grabbed the railing for support as you fully opened your eyes as best you could.

“Do you trust me?” Your sister asked you, hand still on your shoulder for support.

“As far as I can throw you.” You said with what was meant to be a smile, before you pushed her. Thankfully, her hand with her power stayed where it was; however, her other hand grabbed your own and dragged you down with her.

AIDA was gone, and they didn’t have much time. But they had all made it back. That was when Daisy turned to Fitzsimmons, “I have a huge favour to ask you both.” They nodded, wanting to help her in whatever her idea was.

“I think we can bring Y/N back with your LMD idea, Fitz.” The Scotsman instantly went to decline, but Daisy stopped her brother by putting her hands on his shoulder and meeting his eyes.

“I know you blame yourself; but, as I said, you have nothing to apologise for. I just – if this can work…. Please, Fitz.” She was desperate to at least try this idea. To try this plan. If she thought her plan to get you out was insane, this topped that by a mile.

“Do you need anything else?” She asked her siblings as they worked on brining you back. So far, they had taken blood from Daisy, along with a machine Fitz had that took some memories of hers of you and what you had missed in order to help you remember everything.

“Remember, it might take a while to –” She slammed the button as soon as your body came into existence.

It took a moment; a long moment, before your eyes opened. You looked around the room, trying to figure out where you were, before you met the eyes of Daisy.

“Daisy…” You breathed out, and instantly hugged her. You let out a laugh as you did so, relishing in seeing her again.

Daisy hugged you back just as tight, just happy to have you back in her life once again. Even if you weren’t fully you, it didn’t matter to her.

Her sister was back; her first sister was home. She could be whole again.

#daisy johnson x reader #daisy johnson imagine #agents of shield imagine #agents of s.h.i.e.l.d imagine #agents of shield x reader #gif imagine #grant ward x reader #grant ward imagine #jemma simmons x reader #jemma simmons imagine #agent coulson x reader #agent coulson imagine

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