#Except on missions that would be inconvenient

[narusasuart]

Here's my half of the art trade with @opens-up-4-nobody who wished for

- anybody looking after/caring for Naruto and/or Sasuke

or

- Sasuke hanging out with a bunch of cats.

Well, don't mind if I do(odle). :D

Soft and domestic SNS >>>>>

Check out their wonderful half of the trade! Thank you again, this was so fun!

I'm gonna ramble about my headcanons for this in the tags so this post doesn't get to long.

[ohmygraves]

the first time you and ghost became roommates, he didn't have a lot of things.

he had his essentials, packed in a duffel bag and like, two moving boxes and that's it. he didn't even have his own furniture or pots and pans, so the two of you didn't cook for the first few weeks living together. he seems perfectly content with just living with the furniture that came with the apartment, an old beat up sofa and dirty stained dining table, together with a few chairs and old mattresses in each bedroom. you made it a goal to get rid of the smelly bed as soon as possible, working your arse off to afford new beds for the sake of your back.

ghost, or well, simon, don't feel the need to own too many things. he thinks it's a nuisance, since well it'll be tiring to pack so many things when he needs to move again for some reason or another. even when he stayed in the barracks, his room was always the most bare out of everyone.

you were the opposite, of course. you liked having lots of personal items and memorabilia, or just trinkets that you like in general. your shared flat is full of your items, posters hung up on the wall, framed pictures, potted plants, consoles and books, whatever you have. it felt like the place was only occupied by you, and with how often simon was away on deployments and missions, it might as well be.

you both split duties when he's around. you cook, he does dishes. you take out the trash, he cleans the bathroom. you tidy things up and he'd mop/vacuum it. he insisted that you cook since he's not much of a cook himself (which, explains why he doesn't have a single kitchen utensils in his stuff) and that you're better at cooking than him. he'd gladly deal with all the dirty jobs for you, wouldn't be the worst thing he did anyway.

you and simon get groceries separately (his "groceries" consisting of some type of booze and maybe toiletries, perhaps some snacks if he's feeling fancy), but very rarely you go together with him to tesco or something. you always have to remind him to note whatever things needed to be replaced at your shared flat, so that you don't have to go multiple times just to get a bottle of dish soap or toilet paper.

you two bicker like an old married couple sometimes, because he's a smart ass and would tease you, and you'd get mad at him for eating your things or using your soap/shampoo.

sometimes you wondered if rooming with simon was a bad idea, but he had always made sure to keep your job easy for you except for a few minor inconveniences he did on purpose just so you'd scold him. he helped move furniture and do the heavy jobs for you, and not to mention he leaves you alone, never nosy or get too friendly with you. although at the same time, he expected you to do the same for him.

if he tells you when he's coming back after missions, you'd get him a treat when he gets home, some beer already chilling in the refrigerator and his favorite snacks on the counter, together with his favorite takeout dinner (of course, you'd ask for the money back. you're not made of money if you're rooming with someone). some snarky note like "shower first before you sleep, stinky" or "it's 30 pounds for everything, you're welcome".

simon didn't think much of it, but he definitely took you for granted. you're a nice roommate, you two get along, and you're a great cook. you made sure to feed him whenever possible (because you're convinced he'd actually forget to eat when he's alone, considering his groceries as mentioned before), and not to mention you made his masks and balaclava smell nice and clean when you do laundry.

you'd patiently help him sew, teach him how to mend his clothes when he has the time (which is still a funny sight seeing how small the needles looked between his thick massive fingers). he always gets frustrated, telling you that you did a much better job than his lousy stitches that wouldn't even hold up after one wear. you'd sew all tears and holes on his masks and clothes, patch the holes up when you could.

in return, he'd bring some of your favorite snacks home. he always said something along the lines that it was on sale, or that it's buy one get one free, but you noted that he always brought home your favorite things after you mended his clothes, or helped him in some way. you didn't mind, you liked the snacks and it's nice that he shows his gratitude in this way.

you try to ignore the thumping of your heart every time he hands you things while saying "reckon you'd like this."

[gatitties]

War & crack

─Task Force 141 x young!reader

─Summary: some headcanons about your life working with TF141

─Warnings: cliché¿, reader is a gen z

Part two / Halloween special

so... I've been consuming some content about CoD and I know the least about the franchise but the few things I've read have been so good that I couldn't resist writing something too 🫢, sorry if something is out of character since I don't know many things

— You are a threat to society.

— Your parents sent you to the military in the hope that your bad behaviors would disappear, realistically, they were not prepared to be parents either.

— Parental neglect, what a surprise.

— You had many bad influences in your adolescence and free access to the Internet without parental control was like throwing gasoline on the fire.

— Theft, extortion, assault, harassment, banditry, disobedience to authority, fraud, driving without a license, breaking and entering, kidnapping, arson, arms trafficking...

— You had a good record of minor criminal records, the vast majority due to bad friends, but you were already an accomplice.

— Which led you to the fact that when you reached the age of majority, you were enlisted directly into the army without being able to have a choice.

— It wasn't as bad as you thought except for the amount of physical exercise you were subjected to, but you knew how to put up with it.

— Despite being young, in the three years that you served as a cadet, you were sent to many missions, perhaps with the hope of dying since the generals sent you to the front lines of the battle.

— You didn't care, you were feral, careless enough and craving adrenaline, you liked to dance with death in every fight.

— You were the first to run whenever you could to start the attack, after all, all you liked to do was hit, stab or use close-range weapons.

— You lost an arm because of that, you didn't care much because now you have a prosthesis with decorations to your liking.

— Then you were sent to Task Force 141.

— None of the boys expected someone like you, they definitely had a bit of a hard time adjusting to your personality.

— You were a strange combination between Ghost and Soap, going from being a grave to being an explosion of emotions at any moment.

— The first time you saw Ghost you thought he was giving you a side eye and you gave it back to him.

— Later you learned that it's his normal look but you give him the dead look every once in a while.

— Soap and you are not a good combination when you know each other better, he will just give you approval to all the stupid things you see on the internet.

— Gaz might join, but most of the time he just warns you that Price won't be amused.

— Price will look at you like a parent disgusted (but not surprised) by some of your nonsense.

— Confidence sucks, and when you're spouting darkly humorous jokes or about the ways you want to kill yourself because something goes wrong, Price isn't in that boat.

— It's not worth it if you justify it with 'my traumas, my jokes'.

— Honestly, everyone is worried about the number of times you've said you were going to kill yourself for the slightest inconvenience.

— They don't understand most of your current meme references, maybe Gaz, being the second youngest, will pick up on something.

— They were so confused with your attack tactics, because you had practically none, you just jumped in with luck to hit everything you could, which worked every time.

— You will train with Ghost because you are not aware of your surroundings when it comes to fighting.

— The first time they saw your prosthesis they thought a bullet had hit you in the arm, but when you laughed and removed the metal arm shouting 'everything is possible when you're physically disabled' they swallowed their concern.

— You show affection with punches, you punch Soap's shoulder, Gaz's back or Price's side, Ghost... you prefer to communicate with your eyes because the last time you punched him in a friendly way you almost ended up with your shoulder out of its place.

— They can't take you seriously, they really do try but it's impossible, you look like an impulsive teenager who they are babysitting even if you're in your twenties.

— At least it's like that outside the battlefield, you get more serious or focused on the missions.

— Gaz saves your ass whenever you get distracted, which is most of the time, you tell him that he has won heaven but if death wanted to kiss you you weren't going to refuse the offer.

— Seriously, stop with the jokes about your death or depression, Price will get you a psychologist.

— It seems like a joke but Ghost and you end up getting along quite well, it's a quiet and pleasant dynamic, without pressure.

— As with Soap, you know how to adapt a lot to everyone's personalities, as if you were a sponge that absorbs all the likes and disappointments of the boys to get along better.

— You don't give a shit about your own life but you're fighting tooth and nail to protect others.

— Which leads you to almost die once, on top of that, Price scolded you for jumping to try to save them, you didn't care, you'll do it again.

— Squeaks or bangs in the wee hours of the morning? It's you moving the few pieces of furniture in what you can call your own room.

— Someday you'll give the boys a heart attack (Ghost maybe not) because you walk in the dark at night since you tend to stay up late.

— Price will scold you for not sleeping well and drinking so many energy drinks or coffee.

— You will leave random objects in the boys' rooms, like, last time you bought little ducks of different colors and hid them.

— Price denies with a small smile when he sees a yellow duck with a cowboy hat as a paperweight.

— Gaz laughs when he sees a blue duck with an aviator hat in the drawer where he kept his records.

— Soap finds a yellow duck with an umbrella hat next to his bath stuff and fiddles with it when he has time for a long bath.

— Ghost narrows his eyes at the sight of a black duck with sunglasses and gold chains under a pile of clothes in his room, he sighs leaving it in the small window of his room as decoration.

— You are strictly prohibited from bringing any type of animal into the base of operations as a pet, once you wanted to have a raccoon, a tarantula, a snake, you even named a cockroach you saw in the kitchen.

—Just- no.

— So you chose to have a carnivorous plant as a pet, it was acceptable at least.

— You are also prohibited from cooking without supervision.

— You're like a new world for them, but honestly, they wouldn't know what they would do if something happened to you now that you've earned their love.

[m3hgumi]

— when you have period cramps

a/n: me at any minor inconvenience: omg more content 😍😍 cramps are hurting so bad and i was thinking about them … ooo the voices THE FUCKING VOICES

i’ll also be splitting the hcs into two parts with other characters so it’s easier to post

pairings: itadori yuji x f!reader, fushiguro megumi x f!reader, gojo satoru x f!reader

genres: fluff, hurt/comfort

word count: 853

itadori yuji

baby was so scared and terrified and confused at first

he’s never had to deal with something like this before, having no female family members or relatives

so to say the least he was stumped

you tried to brush it off saying you were okay and the pain would pass until another wave of sharp stabbing pain hit your side

that’s when you told him to get the pain killers cause this was gonna be a Very Long Week

once you explained to him the horrors of being a woman with a functioning uterus, he didn’t hesitate to grab (steal) a heating pad from nobara’s room (which almost led to disaster, thankfully you had stepped in and no damage was done)

he hates seeing you in pain and tries so hard to make sure you’re comfortable

he’ll have you laying your head in his lap, sprawling the rest of you body on the sofa or bed of your dorm, and ruffle your hair as the two of you watch your favorite show or movie

when you’re napping, he’ll try to cook you something to keep your energy up and endure the pain

i bet he tries to look up recipes for meals that help with period cramps

and tries to cook them for you 🥹

even if he’s not the greatest cook, you appreciate those meals better than any craving you’ve had for the rest of the week

megumi fushiguro

he’s gone through this many times with tsumiki before so he knows exactly what to do

prepare a heating pad, stock up on pain meds, get her usual cravings and everything would be fine

though her cramps weren’t as painful (or so he thought, she just hid how painful they were from him) as he found yours to be, so he had to do a little bit more to help you alleviate the pain

including routine cuddles, plenty of kisses, many many blankets, and the occasional peace and quiet for your naps

he has your period tracker synced to his phone so he knows in advance when to stock up on any supplies you’ll need to get through the hellish time of shark week

he’d cancel any plans he may have had with nobara and yuji to stay with you (mad respect 🙏)

he’ll also summon his demon dogs for emotional support, even if it’s not allowed in the dorms (he’s such a real one 😭☝️)

he also has his phone notifications off so all of his attention is focused on getting you through this hellish week (ok but mans needs to catch a break too)

he’ll let you play with his hair as a distraction from the pain

if you ask for cuddles his face will get super red but he’ll oblige after

eventually he’d stop you from consuming all of chocolate and chips that is your cravings and get you to eat an actual meal

he won’t mind if you start complaining or yelling at him about something insignificant (like the temperature in the room being too low) because he knows it’s just the pain talking

instead he’ll pull you even further to his touch, soothing you and hopefully getting your mind farther away from your uterus twisting itself

gojo satoru

for ONCE his sweets stash under his bed is finally useful for someone other than him 🔥

i can imagine teen gojo first seeing you in pain and laughing (geto probably smacked him real good after that)

“wowww women have it SOOO hard 🙄” “OF COURSE YOU WOULDNT KNOW YOU ASSH-“

he has everything stocked up and ready for that time of the month: from pads to heating pads to pain meds (lots of them) and most importantly SO MANY SWEETS

he definitely uses this time of the month as an excuse to go out and buy an exorbitant amount of candy that will most definitely leave the two of you with diabetes

he’ll also bail out on any meetings or missions (except the ones with his students, he can’t leave them) so he could stay with you

if for any reason he can’t be physically be there, he’ll be on speed dial or he’ll get nanami or shoko to keep you company

you tell him not to worry and don’t bother staying since the pain will pass on its own and isn’t really anything to worry about, but he insists anyways

when he’s not busy he’s either cuddling you or having you wrapped around his arms, passing the time by watching his shitty collection of movies or any of your favorite shows

he’s definitely gonna feed you the giant chocolate cake he bought from the bakery down the street (and feed himself some ofc)

since gojo is just a giant pillow anyways, falling asleep on him isn’t much of a problem, even if your insides are attacking you with the worst pain ever

i’ve mentioned this in hcs before but he ABSOLUTELY has a whole album of pics where you’re sleeping on his shoulder or lap, cuddles are not excluded

(ok this is getting too long i should stop)

[iloveinej]

𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠'𝐬 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠

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Steve rogers x reader

Category: Angst, fluff

Warnings: Description of an injury and blood, mentions of nausea, fainting

Summary: (Name) has never had the currant to tell Steve about the injuries, afraid of bothering him. Not realizing that it can backfire.

Words: 2.6 k

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(Name) loved Steve Rogers with her entire being, and she believed that every person she met felt the same. With his blue eyes, kind smile, and charisma. How he cared about every living, breathing thing around him.

But it didn't stop her from shutting down whenever he was irritated, mad, or even tense. Maybe it was because of past trauma, or that she simply didn't want to become the reason why he was mad. But every time he became like that, (Name) felt almost scared.

Not of him, of course, but scared that he don't want her near him. It has happened before with other people.

Which was why she was sitting in a corner of the quinjet, headphones over her ears as she tried to control the pain that bloomed like wildfire over her back.

It was an unsuccessful mission. And she knew Steve, like everybody else, hated unsuccessful missions. He was leaning against a wall, both arms crossed over his chest with a hard, stony look on his face. He didn't speak to anyone, stuck in his little world.

And she didn't want to be an inconvenience by whining about the flesh wound on her back. Especially if he hadn't noticed that she was in pain.

Either way, she planned on patching it up herself, and then going to bed, hoping that the storm would calm enough for the next day. And if she were feeling luxurious, she might even go to the med bay to get the wound checked on.

Except she hadn't planned on the fact that the wound was efficiently placed on her back, therefore making it out of reach for her to clean it. And she was way too exhausted to ask anyone else or to even care about the matter. So she grabbed the bandages and wrapped them around her chest and back, leaving it like that before turning off the lights in her bathroom and throwing herself headfirst in the bed.

Not knowing Steve lay on the other side of the wall, waiting for her to come and say goodnight.

--

The next morning, the ache in her back had gotten worse, and her left shoulder strained whenever she tried to move it. She needed to get to the med bay at least once today. But first, she required a big cup of coffee.

When she made it out to the sunlit kitchen, the pain in her back had spread. Now, her head ached just as much, and every time she turned too fast, black splotches would show.

And earlier, when she changed her bandages the blood had entirely seeped through, leaving it soaked in red. But the blood had been diluted with another liquid, which she found mildly concerning.

She poured herself the coffee that was left in the coffee machine and put it in the microwave since it was cold. And while she stood there waiting she noted that the kitchen was empty, which was strange to be at this time of the day.

"Jarvis? Do you mind telling me where everyone is?" She asked the AI.

"I believe that Mr. Wilson is still sleeping." She let out a humorous scoff." Mr. Stark and Mr. Banner are currently in the lab. Ms. Romanoff in the training areas with Mr. Rogers."

(Name)s ears perked at the mention of him, and her mind spiraled into calculating thoughts. "Did Steve already eat breakfast?"

"Yes. An omelet, made of three eggs and a cup of coffee, one teaspoon of sugar, and milk." A frown tugged at her face. Steve never ate breakfast without her. Unless they were fighting, which was a rare happening. Steve believed that the most important meal of the day was breakfast, and therefore always made sure that (Name) ate it with him. But so that he could have company, and also make sure that she ate enough.

"Alright then. Thank you, Jarvis." She smiled up to the roof, hoping that he could see her appreciativeness. Then she made a beeline back to her room with a downturn of her brow, planning to do paperwork before throwing herself into her, not so fantastic anymore, day. Completely forgetting her visit to the med bay.

--

Paperwork had always been a somewhat calming thing to do for her to relax, turn off her brain, and go on autopilot. Often when she was stressed, Steve found her with her nose in her computer typing away without any knowledge around her. It always worked.

Except for today.

The pain in her head only got worse after all the caffeine, and she couldn't lean back into her chair either because of her back. And not only that, but thoughts of Steve plagued her mind. And not the good, lovey-dovey thoughts. But instead, the toxic, poisoning thoughts were so loud that it was the only thing she heard.

She had no idea what to do about their situation. And she was really afraid that she had accidentally done something the day before to upset him, giving her a reason for his strange and unlike actions.

"Mr. Rogers would like me to alert you that there is a team meeting in the conference room in five minutes." She jumped in her chair and a small yelp left her lips as Jarvis spoke, making her back strain. And that made her wince painfully.

"I apologize. It was not my intention to frighten you." A grimace covered (Name)s face in an attempt to smile, and she carefully rubbed her shoulder.

"Don't worry about it. I was just stuck in my head."

"How so?" And (Name) went quiet. She hadn't expected a question from him.

"Nothing special." She absentmindedly hummed for an answer, and that seemed to get Jarvis less curious.

"If you say so. 3 minutes left." And with that, she quickly grabbed her things and bolted out of her quarters, right towards the elevator.

--

She turned out to arrive just in time as Fury was about to close the door, and she quickly slithered in, choosing a stool at the back of the table so that she wouldn't get questioning eyes on her. When she entered she could feel Steves's's stare burning into her skin, but she doesn't have the time nor thought to greet him, which would perhaps leave consequences for later. But now she just longed to sit down before she fainted.

She didn't even notice when Fury started speaking because blood was rushing through her ears, and beads of sweat ran down her neck, sending a shiver through her ice-cold and fire-hot body. It was like she running a fever in an ice bath. She dared to subtly raise a shaking hand towards her back, slightly touching the wound, only to have to suppress a wince and bring back blood-stained fingers.

She was at least wearing black.

Her attention shifted when Fury changed places with Steve, and let him take his place in the front. It was hard to know if she found it either positive or negative.

Positive because she could focus on something that brought her calm, and hear his voice instead of the roar in her ears. Focus on his plack t-shirt and nice fitting jeans, which was something he didn't wear often. How soft hir hair looked and his pink , kissable lips.

Negative because now he could see how colorless her face had become, along with a thin cover of sweat by her throat and her lifeless tired eyes.

And perhaps it made Steve speak a tad bit faster, and perhaps he skipped over some of the parts he was supposed to introduce. But it looked like his girlfriend was dying, and Fury didn't need to know that his two most capable agents were in a relationship.

He could her heartbeat picking up more and more as he spoke, and it was a relief for him when he could finally dismiss the team.

She slowly stood up as the rest of them collected their things and one by one filed out. But she couldn't do anything as quickly as she liked, not even walk. She had no choice but to take a tight grip on the chairs lined up, and use them as crutches.

And when Steve turned his back to gather a pile of papers, she took a breath, straightened her back, and took two quick steps towards the door. But Steve heard the increase of speed in her steps in quickly caught her arms in a fierce grip, stopping her from escaping.

"Damn it." She mumbled, making sure that Steve couldn't hear her. And then she turned her head to meet Steves's's eye, trying to look as normal as possible, which didn't trick Steve at all. Only made him more concerned.

"You alright?" He let both of his hands smooth over her shoulders and arms, looking at her with those blue, affectionate eyes.

"Mhm!" She hummed, trying to sound as carefree as possible while plastering a smile on her face. But he didn't look convinced. Not at all.

He let his left hand travel up to her cheek, and he was about to say something. But when his palm touched her cheek, he flinched and removed his palm to see that it was damp.

"Steve-" She warned, but it was no idea. He had already raised his sleeve and laid his wrist over her forehead. And she couldn't protest because his wrist was oh so warm while she had been freezing and sweating cold ever since she entered the room.

"You're burning." It didn't feel like she was.

"Are you sick?" He asked, a frown on his face as she felt for her temperature. "Why haven't you said anything?"He scolded, and she shrunk into herself as his hands continued to investigate her. Until his hand came in contact with her wound. And she recoiled away from his hand, trying to get as far away from the pain as possible. Tears gathered in her eyes at the fire in her back, and she glued them shut as she tried to let it pass.

Steve brought his hand up to see when he felt something on the tips of his fingers, and his eyes widened in horror. There was a vermillion stain on his fingers, running down his hand. And (Name) saw both concern and panic as he looked down at her, as she was now leaning against his chest, too tired to stand on her own.

"I'm fine, promise." She said, lime on autopilot.

"We need to get you to a doctor." He insisted, about to take her under the knees and carry her there. But the second he tried to m, she leaned away.

And the guilt was there again. Steves tired but pretty face showed concern and panic, but she wasn't supposed to make him concerned and panic. As his partner, she was there to make him calm, happy, and satisfied. Sure, if Steve would hide a wound like this one from her, she would be livid. But that's hardly classed as the same thing.

"It's fine Steve, I'm sure I can get there me."

He scoffed and looked almost hurt.

"No, you're not going anywhere yourself. Not by how you're looking"

A protest lay prepared on the tip of her tongue, but she didn't get further than opening her mouth before a strong wave of nausea and dizziness washed over her body. And she swayed, once, twice, before her footing came undone, and she lost all sense of balance.

And it felt like she fell into a warm pillow, or perhaps she was just delirious. But it truly resembled a warm, fluffy pillow. And she snuggled into it, ignoring the distant calls of her (Name). And Steve's breath got caught in his throat when he saw her closing her eyes in his arms.

--

Steve was aware that something was nagging his lover's mind, and he had been aware of it during the last week. It was like she walked on eggshells around him and it bothered him. Because something bothered her. Something about him bothered her.

He hadn't done anything differently, not that he was aware of. He hadn't said anything either. And he liked to think that he had a great memory.

And he still couldn't figure out why she didn't tell him about her injury. Banner had told him that she was lucky that the infections in her wound hadn't reached any further. But Steve had a hard time seeing anything positive with the situation at all.

Duobts clouded his mind and made it hard to think straight. How could he know that she hadn't hidden other injuries that she could've gotten?

As if her mind was connected to his, as if she heard his self-deprecating thoughts, she came to her senses and let out a long and low groan, snapping Steve out of his head.

He quickly discarded his block and pencil to the side, leaving the drawing on the small table by the side before crouching down to her height.

"(Name)?" He dared to ask, and his heart felt lighter when he saw her eyelids twitch in response. A sigh left her dry lips before her eyelids slowly cracked open and presented themselves to Steve, giving him a confirmation that she was there with him.

"Steve." It came as a breath, her voice warm with love as she saw the familiar face.

As light as a feather, he let his fingertips ghost along her temples, repeating the momentum over and over again. Her eyelids relaxed, and Steve's back tensed as she once again closed her eyes. But (Name) could feel his muscle become rigid, and let her hand gently enclose steves wrist, running circles on his inner arm as comfort. As she always did.

"Why didn't you tell me?" An audible sigh sounded from her mouth, and for a moment Steve was afraid that he had annoyed her. But her fingertips were still dancing along the expense of his arm, and he let that comfort him. Although, she didn't provide him with an answer.

"You can trust me. I want you to trust me." He reassured her, and vulnerability spilled through his voice. He grabbed her other hand that rested on her stomach, entangling their fingers.

"I do trust you." She hoarsely whispered, throat dry and mouth like sandpaper.

But when she forced her eyes open, Steve looked at her, unconvinced.

"Then why? Why didn't you tell me that you were in pain?"

She wanted to bathe in the softness of his voice. Get nurtured by it, drink it, and stay by the sound to the end of time. The fondness, bonded with her worrying, guilty, and anxious emotions from before created bittersweet sparks under her skin. And it took form as a watery mist, covering her live full irises.

"I do trust you, but I don't want to be a nuisance to you." She painfully admitted and laid her hand on his cheek as a peace offering." You work so hard to succeed Steve, so hard that when you don't succeed, you become very tense. I don't want to be there to make you even tenser."

He shut his eyes tightly and nuzzled his cheek further into her palm, and a drop of water fell from his eye, rolling down his summer-tinted cheeks.

"Why are you crying?" Worry etched in her brows, but he only shook his head.

"I made you think that you would be a burden to me whenever I felt a negative emotion." She shook her head, already beginning her protest." A partner is not supposed to do that (Name)."

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. "I'm sorry."

"Steve, it was not on you. You didn't make me feel like a burden. I did. And I'm sorry for not telling you about my injury." She smiled sadly at him when he kissed her palm.

"I want to take care of you, and comfort you. I want to be that person to you, so let me be that the next time." And she could only nodd, her heart being free from the shackles of heavy emotions. Instead, she felt light as a feather.

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My requests are open;););;);)

[caramel-maveeato]

ᴅᴀʏ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ♡˚₊。。。

❧❤ SYNOPSIS: baby fever is in the air… ♡ Pairings/Love interest: So Mun x GN!reader ♡ Genre: fluff ♡ TW: So Mun being a husband material ♡ word count: 2k

Note: All characters originated from “The Uncanny Counter/Amazing Rumor” except for Y/n.

English is not my first language!!! Sorry in advance if I make any grammar and vocabulary mistakes.

“Just one day! One day and I’ll go pick her up as soon as possible!”

“…Fine. You better not leave her to me overnight again.”

A weary sigh slid out of you as your friend hung up. You were now completely left isolated in your living room with her four-month-old, round eyes gluing on you with wonder. 

It wasn’t like you disliked kids, you were just unsuited to keep one around when the responsibility and unexpectancy of being a counter were holding a knife to your throat. For example, what if you had to leave her alone for missions when some evil spirits popped up? Maybe you were just letting loose your overthinking habit, but this certain “job” was always full of unforeseen occasions. 

However, all uncertainty vanished as there was a pull on the hem of your shirt by small, chubby fingers. You felt your composure peace out at that sunshiny smile and it took you less than one second to haul the infant into your lap, internally collapsing in cuteness overload while texting Hana that you needed to take a day off due to “unpredicted inconvenience.”

You were prepared to spend your peaceful rest day until the sound of your doorbell abruptly chimed in just thirty minutes after you informed your teammate. You picked the sweetheart up and approached the front door, wondering who would possibly be standing in front of your house at 10 a.m. if it wasn’t the delivery man. 

Turning the brass doorknob with anticipation, you watched as the door revealed your boyfriend, who was standing under the warm glow of the mid-morning sun. A faint, knowing smile played on his lips, mirroring your own sense of elation at his arrival. 

“Hi…” So Mun trailed off upon seeing the bundle of happiness in your arms, paving the way for a vague gasp and a look of pure exhilaration to emerge: “Whose baby is this?!” 

“Mine, obviously.” He playfully pulled a face at your words, completely unamused by the apparent lie. You chuckled, explaining: “I ‘stole’ her from a friend. Some urgent family things came up so I’ll be in charge of this cutie until she comes back later. Why are you here, by the way?”

He gave the little girl a tiny wave before turning to you: “Just wanted to check whether or not something happened. Also Ms. Chu said if no evil spirits show up today, I can leave for the rest of the day too.”

As much as you refrained from displaying too-obvious excitement by your boyfriend’s presence, it already appeared crystal clear just how notably happy you‘ve turned: “Let’s hope no third wheeler would interrupt us.” 

When a baby was in sight, most people tended to head for the little chubby face before anything else. So Mun was not the exception. He stared at the girl—who was also staring at him without blinking—and carefully extended his index finger: “Can I?”

“Of course!” That was all it took for him to nudge his finger on one of her plump cheeks, smiling widely when the squishiness melted on the tip of his digit like a marshmallow.

“Oh my god!! Look at how soft she is!”

You laughed, enjoying how he went smitten over an infant before taking his hand: “Let’s go, you’re not going to stay outside all day just poking her face, right?” 

He followed your footsteps through the living room: “I can if you insist.”

“Luckily I won’t.”

All three of you settled down on the couch. The sweetheart chewed on her tiny thumb while she comfortably nestled on your lap, eyes glistening like two gemstones of fascination in return for the bright smile So Mun gave her. He leaned down to poke her cheek again: 

“What’s her name?”

“Bora.” You answered, chuckling at how joyfully he beamed just from Bora reaching out to grab his finger, cooing the softest of whispers in her own language on behalf of you calling her name. 

“Aww. Hi Bora! I’m So Mun-oppa, nice to meet you.” His voice unconsciously eased into a more childish, playful tone. Bora’s chubby hand grasped around his finger to explore the unique touch coming from someone she hadn’t seen before. The difference in size was laughable, yet exceptionally cute. 

The air was perfumed with melodic gurgles and murmurs, easily dissolving anyone’s heart into slush. You dipped your head to make eye contact with So Mun, directly bringing up the suggestion: “Do you want to try holding her? Like, holding holding.”

He pointed to himself, eyes slightly widened as if not expecting you to ask this: “You sure? I’ve never held a baby before…”

“Don’t worry, I'll make sure you won't drop her.” The answer slipped out as naturally and confidently as if you were speaking a matter of fact. You lifted Bora off your lap, moving over to him with unfaltering trust. 

Holding a baby was not only an act of affection but, furthermore, a timeless configuration of art. You started off by showing him how to support Bora’s fragile head and neck. Her little skull was cradled in the palm of his hand by his trembling fingers, which were loaded with the pressure of responsibility. 

You guided her body to rest against his chest with the utmost attention. The delicate yet soul-stirring feeling of carrying such a beautiful miracle built his heartbeat in synchrony with your own, each breath conveyed nervous euphoria. His other arm carefully curled to surround her lower body in a loving cocoon, embosoming the bundle of innocence with his warmth. 

With reverence, he let out a contented sigh while admiring how perfectly the girl fit in his embrace. His whispering voice became hushed and almost inaudible as if he were afraid that even a single noise could startle her: “She’s so adorable, what should I do now?” 

“I don’t know, keep holding her?” You had to fight for your life inwardly to not snatch some photos from such a heartwarming view, not knowing if you should focus on him or on Bora. 

“I am planning to do that.” He started swaying her with a slow, steady pace, a bit clumsily but wholesome nonetheless. 

You quickly grabbed some of Bora’s favorite colorful toys, wiggling them in front of her while you and him attempted to make silly faces. Her soft giggle sparked like a star during the night, quickly expanded into a whole sky of glitter. 

“Oh my god, we’re making her laugh!” Seeing the effect they had on Bora, he seemed to get even more excited than her. The laughter spread as vigorously as a wildfire that infected you with merriment, both at how precious the little cutie was and how hilariously you two were acting. 

Bora looked up at So Mun with her eyes like twin constellations of delight, following each of his movements with tireless attention. Her faint breaths against his skin as she bloomed a toothless smile, unbridled chuckles singing like a symphony that both of you couldn’t help but melt: “She seems to really like you. So this is the ultimate power of being handsome, I can tell.” 

He squinted with a smile, bashfully nudging your side as he caught you throwing a cheeky wink: “You’re embarrassing me…” 

“Just admit you like it, babe.”

The three of you spent the whole day eating and engaging in playful activities together (with you and So Mun occasionally getting into plushies-fighting battles, no plushies were harmed during the process) until your friend came back from her trip later that evening. 

You shared your introductions and goodbyes, ignoring an itty-bitty tug in your chest when you now ought to hand the sweetie back to her mother. It was hysterical how you unreasonably felt like a parent escorting their kid to kindergarten for the first time when this wasn’t even your kid. It was only because the day that had passed felt like such a magical adventure, and you admitted that never in your life was babysitting this memorable. 

How wonderful would it be for the moment to last a bit longer…

At least this statement earned an approving thumbs up from, believe it or not, Bora. 

Your friend cupped the little girl’s tiny torso, deliberately removing her from So Mun’s hug, her voice soothing and tender in hankering to reunite with her daughter after an exhausting day: “Let’s go home, dear. Mommy is so sorry for making you wait this long.”

Though, nothing seemed to successfully detach the baby from him, the pulls on her body converted into pulls on his sweater, which her hand was clutching onto with an impressively tight grasp. The more they tried to tug her away from So Mun, the more her cherubic face contorted unpleasantly as a warning before a tentative whimper was molded, and finally, a swelling cry.

‘Awkward’ was a minimization to describe the atmosphere, all three of the elders exchanged looks in puzzlement. 

Each whine intensified after each second, every sound was a sincere plea that tugged at the heartstrings. Your friend bit her lip, along with you not knowing if she should crack up or freak out at her daughter’s sudden change of heart: “Bora-ah, w–what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

You noticed So Mun shooting you a panicked look before turning back to the little one, trying to mitigate her harrowing cry with the gentlest jiggles and back strokes: “Don’t cry… You’re a good girl, right? So don’t cry.” 

Bora clung onto him with an iron grip as she mewled, curling into a tiny ball and tucking herself against his chest. It was both sweet and surprising how fast she became attached to him, but it also didn't seem like the right time to laugh so you only let out a quiet titter, moving your attention back to her tubby fingers and trying to unhitch them from his clothes. 

“Bora-ah, look at me.” He tilted his head to reach eye level with the girl, his voice consoling like a mellifluous lullaby and a murmur of the wind; you were unaware that, simply by watching, you were also struck with profound adoration: “Oppa promises we’ll see each other again, okay?”

It took them about 10 minutes to separate her from So Mun. And this was obtained as solid proof that your boyfriend wasn’t just good with kids, he could even mesmerize them without acknowledging it. 

During that teary-eyed leave-taking, you spotted your friend gesturing something with her mouth to forward a nonverbal message to you, which you recognized as:

“He’s a keeper.”

Heat blazed on your cheeks, but that didn’t stop you from pridefully accepting the comment: “He sure is.”

Bonus:

It was undeniable that Bora has grown to be significantly bonded with So Mun since the time they first saw each other. But as her uncertified “daycare provider,” you were still proudly her favorite person in the house every time she came over. 

Your gut clenched as you contained your laughter, pretending not to notice your boyfriend’s adorably sulky face and instead pouring all your affection onto the cutie, kisses freely landing on her forehead.

From his direction, a heavy exhale filled in your ear yet you were too invested in the act to drop it. You soon heard some faint sounds of motion before a weight pressed down on the side of your shoulder, lovable curly hair chaotically snuggling on your shirt:

“Love me, too.”

“C’mon, it’s just Bora.” You burst out giggling and held the little girl closer in your arms just to tease him. 

“But you’ve been ignoring me, you know. Can you at least make it equal for both of us? I mean, she’s very cute but…” He pouted, intentionally or not flashing his puppy eyes at you as he mumbled: “Give me attention, too.”

Your speech was replaced with a pause. At this time, you had stopped questioning why merely a small moue could cause such an enormous impact on you that it was no longer practical to keep up with your game. You wasted no time wrapping your free arm around So Mun, drawing him into a side hug where all three of you now huddled into an enclosed position, sharing the same connection and same sentiment: “Damn… Now you’re the one being too cute.” 

“Am I?” So Mun grinned, gleefully reciprocating the hug before adding: “By the way, don’t “damn” in front of Bora.”

“She’s not gonna understand.”

[hyperfixatedfandomer]

I imagine Spider, as a victim of emotional neglect, was likely never taught how to properly deal with his anger. He was taught that showing anger is bad and he should not express it because it makes others feel threatened, but not how to work through it healthy.

Imagine little Spider getting really upset and the emotions are overwhelming him, so he leaves wherever he is and goes into the forest to unload his anger on whatever is within reach. He rips twigs from trees, throws rocks or small logs and accompanies that by high-pitched yelling until his voice goes hoarse. No one except Kiri and Lo’ak know that he does this, because he tries his best to be as far away from ear-shot as possible.

Then imagine Spider, now grown, getting angry at Bridgehead, Sea Dragon, or while out in the woods with the recoms on their mission. All those negative feelings accumulating in him and no way to let them out, so he lets them fester because what else can he do?

And then a minor inconvenience occurs. Maybe Quaritch was just a tad bit too snappy, or Lyle’s snarky comments cut a little too deep, and Spider looses it. He explodes on the entire group, screams so loud he can be heard miles away, and curses the blue soldiers with every bad word he can think of under the Sun, but it’s not enough. His hands shake violently with the urge to snap, throw or punch something and with an animalistic scream, he throws himself at the colonel.

The man goes down on one knee and grabs his hands before the kid can hit him. His grip is that of a vice and Spider has no choice but to incoherently yell and hiss and growl, thrashing in his hold. He doesn’t notice the way other recoms look at him in pity and sadness. They saw a fair share of abandoned children on Earth, and they all had anger issues akin to Spider’s. If they weren’t sure that he was emotionally neglected before — they were now.

Spider screams himself hoarse and tears begin rolling down his cheeks. His attempts to pry himself free get weaker, and war-cries turn to sobs. He hyperventilates, but is no longer violent and it’s then he finally looks Quaritch in the eye. His expression was serious, but not malicious. There as a softness in his eyes, and being held in such a vulnerable moment makes Spider’s tears run faster.

“That’s it kid. Let it out.” He heard him speak lowly into his ear, and sank into the man’s touch, burying his face (as much as the mask allowed it) into the crook of his neck.

Later that evening, the recombinants share their concerns. What they witnessed today was appalling, and they didn’t understand how Spider’s mysterious caretakers would let it get that bad. All while Miles is sitting off to the side, comforting his son. Normally, MJ would never let him get this close, but he desperately needed the comfort.

“We gotta get him a therapist or sum’ ” Lyle whispered, sitting next to Quaritch. “This ain’t normal.”

“ ‘Course it ain’t. Did you see that tantrum? He, sort of, age-regressed?”

“Yeah, a real bad sign.”

“He didn’t even bother explaining himself. Straight up exploded.”

“Which means that no one talked to him about it.”

Miles’s tail lashed like a whip at that fact.

“Yeah…”

Fucking bastards

[moonlight-prose]

finding excuses to be alone with each other with miguel??

ME VUELVES LOCA

a/n: my first ever miggy fic!!! babes i am so fucking excited to be writing for this man. our dms are literally just filled with thoughts about him and that gave me so much inspo to write this. i've tried to get his voice down, but honestly i don't think i nailed it quite yet. still i hope you enjoy! (the title is named after such a beautiful song by lupita infante. i definitely recommend her music.)

note: thank you to @sunflowersteves for beta reading and easing my mind that this sounds like miggy. you're lovely darling.🖤

summary: "for weeks you’d been playing this cat and mouse game. trying to put off the attraction you felt in the hopes that this would dissolve into friendship once more."

word count: 0.9k+

pairing: miguel o'hara x reader

warnings: not explicit, tad bit of angst (because it's me), fluff, the beginnings of love, soft miggy.

If there’s one thing you can say for certain it’s this: finding a lick of privacy in the otherwise crowded Spider Society was near impossible. In fact it had surpassed being in the realm of near impossible to never achievable. Wherever you turned there was a Spider in need of help. Asking for the one person who always managed to get dragged away from your secretive plans.

Miguel wasn’t one to push off someone’s request for help. Yet the many inconveniences that pulled him away from you seemed to only drive him towards one solution. Doing what he could to steal away every moment that he had with you. He wasn’t oblivious—he knew people could see the way you looked at each other. Yet asking him the truth was never an option, and you were always swift in an escape plan whenever the question arose.

He didn’t mind you evading the truth. Given that he wasn’t one to be entirely open with everyone—he found you keeping whatever you had private admirable. Hell he even encouraged it.

Except for today that is.

“Miguel I know it’s a lot to ask but—” He felt his back stiffen at the sound of Peter’s voice behind him; the expectation of a request not far behind.

You had sent him a message asking him to meet you in an empty office twenty minutes ago, and he was adamant on making it there on time. But that possibility seemed to drift farther and farther away the longer he stood here. Peter’s cheery expression only soured Miguel’s. He had half a mind to make up something and escape, but the urge to help continued to gnaw at him.

“What?” he asked, attempting to keep his voice calm—steady.

“This mission is kind of well a little harder than most. Not that it’s impossible. I mean nothing’s impossible. But I was wondering if you—”

A message from Lyla let him know that you were indeed five minutes away from being stood up yet again. Something weighed heavy in his chest, a feeling he was used to harboring when it came to you. And he hated it. Shutting his eyes briefly he staved off the annoyance that built the longer Peter yammered on about the difficulty of one mission. If it were any other time, if you weren’t waiting patiently for him to show up, then he’d have agreed.

But that wasn’t the case.

“Dios mío,” he muttered, finally turning around. “Peter you’re capable right?”

The man froze. “I mean…yeah I’d say I was.”

“Then you don’t need me.”

“Yeah but Miguel—”

“I’ve got another mission to handle.” The excuse flowed with ease off his tongue. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d done this—having made up every excuse in the book just to steal away time with you. He was certain you had done the same, knowing you were meant to be helping Gwen with something in the labs.

Peter seemed to catch onto the urgency of Miguel’s tone, but not in the way he hoped. A sly smile spread across his lips as he leaned in to nudge Miguel on the shoulder. If there ever was a moment to grasp onto any level of peace in his body—now was it. He was halfway to throwing Peter out of his office.

“I get you,” he said, backing away with his hands up. “The mission is much more important.”

“Get out.”

Peter was gone before Miguel could finish the word out—finally giving him the peace and satisfaction he desired. Instructing Lyla to close up everything behind him, he made his way towards the empty office—hoping you were actually still there. He couldn’t exactly blame you if you weren’t. It was rough finding ways to meet up, away from everything and everyone here.

Finding excuses seemed to be your way to go about things.

The door was shut and locked by the time he reached it, but that was easy enough to bypass. Given that you were most likely resting on the inside he figured it would be better to slip in silently. Sure enough he found you settled in a chair, your eyes opening to see him shutting the door softly behind him, a grin on his lips.

“I’m a mission huh?” you mumbled, standing and stretching with a groan.

He snorted, his eyes falling to the way you bent—watching you step closer. “Didn’t have anything else to say.”

“I suppose I could be a mission.”

“Yeah? And what was your excuse?”

You shrugged, leaning against the desk with a grin. “I told Gwen I was needed for repairs.”

“On what?”

Crossing your legs, you watched him take a step. “Don’t think it matters? She wouldn’t have believed me anyways.”

For weeks you’d been playing this cat and mouse game. Trying to put off the attraction you felt in the hopes that this would dissolve into friendship once more. But you could see it in Miguel’s eyes that he wasn’t interested in friendship. Hell he wasn’t even interested in taking things slow. Neither were you it seemed.

“I guess they know,” he muttered, his thighs pressing against your knees.

You smiled, reaching up to trace the Spider insignia across his chest. “Guess they do.”

“What now?”

Pulling him closer, you tried to keep yourself calm when he willingly fell into your hold, his body hunching down to meet yours. “We figure it out later,” you whispered, your nose barely brushing his. He grinned the sharp point of his fangs poking through. “Good.”

[wystericwoes]

Nanami Brain-rot where he had a crush on reader in high school but never said anything, and then they met together later in life post his dilf-up.

Fluff, Implied smut/teasing stuff but mostly just cute. Comfort, Nanami being fucking husband material. Not finished because writer's block.

@96jnie @Noodlejitsu

You were one of the trios friends, and Nanami had always admired you from afar.

A second year that radiated light and energy. Always seen with Geto, Gojo, or Shoko. Or all three.

You were loud, but not the type where he couldn’t stand it. He loved your voice, and loved your conversations.

You had bumped into him in the hallway one day, and despite his distant demeanor and resting bitch face you were so nice to him.

From that day on, he made an effort to see you more in the halls, or on the street. You two became what he thought was just acquaintances. After all, not many people had ever considered him a friend.

Until one day you saw an upperclassman giving him a hard time, picking on him. and you immediately butted in.

The Nanami was the type to usually stay quiet and wait until people were done, he didn’t like confrontation, and he especially didn’t like making a scene.

“Leave my friend alone prick!”

You slung an arm over his shoulder and threatened that persons safety if they ever bullied such a kind person like Nanami again.

And that, was the first time he realized he was screwed.

Everytime you came near him his palms got sweaty and his face ran red.

“Woah Nanami are you sick?”

You asked so cutely and naively. Pressing a cool hand to his heated forehead.

“N-no. I’m fine.” He turned his head away from you.

“Take care of yourself, I’d hate to not see you around for a while ‘cause you got a fever.”

Your touch was so gentle. He wanted to hold your hand there forever.

He had amassed a huge crush on you, and to him it was a major inconvenience. When he would be in class, when he was on missions, when he was at home alone, he’d wake up in hot sweats from a wet dream with you in it.

The hardest part was that he knew he couldn’t do anything about it, there’s no way you would accept his romances and even if you did- it wouldn’t last. It was just highschool, you would move on.

So he kept it to himself. He would rather have you as a friend than risk it and then have you as nothing at all.

Each day he looked forward to seeing you. The way you jumped around, always lit up a room, and made the people around you laugh. He both envied and wanted you.

The day you graduated he was devastated. You were so happy, and he didn’t have it in him to ruin that. You were gonna travel abroad, and follow your dreams.

“I’m happy for you, Y/n.”

He gave you a small smile.

“Don’t forget about me! Ok?”

You gave him a warm hug.

He nodded.

As if he could ever forget about you.

It had been years. Sometimes at night he still lays in bed and thinks about you.

He’s been single his whole life, with the only exception being getting drunk and losing his virginity at a college party he didn’t even want to be at.

Laughable.

He was always to busy with work, drinking, or drinking thinking about work. He didn’t have time for anyone else.

He let out a heavy sigh. He truly did believe he was destined to be alone.

Until Gojo burst in his office one morning.

“NANAMIIIIIII!”

He let out a long sigh.

“Yes, Gojo?”

“Guess who just transferred!”

“I really don’t care.”

Gojo moved to the side, and behind is freakishly tall frame out came you.

“Hey! Do you remember me, Nanami?”

He almost threw up. You were just as cute as you had always been, except your hair was different and your face was a little more grown in.

And your body.

“Y/n?”

“See! I told you he would remember!” Gojo teased

“Yeah yeah. You’re right this time.”

You shoved Gojo in the shoulder.

“Now go away! I wanna catch up with Nanami. You had your turn.”

Gojo finally was shoved away, laughing.

Your laughter died down as you slid over in front of nanamis desk.

“How have you been?”

Your breath hitched. You got a closer look at him and realized he was fucking hot.

“Woah. Nanami, you look-“

You had to cut yourself off before you ruined your reunion.

“Tired? I know.” He sighed

“No! I was gonna say handsome.”

Your abrasiveness was something he both missed, and forgot about. Heat rushed to his face- but he managed to keep it together.

“O-oh thank you.”

He pushed his glasses up.

“Anyway… I’ve been good! How about you?”

“Ive been alright. What brings you here?”

“Just wanted to get back to my roots y’know?”

You anxiously rubbed your head.

He could tell you were lying.

“How about we catch up with drinks tonight huh? The whole gangs getting together!”

He didn’t consider himself part of “the gang” which was composed of you, Gojo, Geto, and Shoko.

“It’s fine, you don’t have to. Gojo told me Geto wasn’t gonna be there though so I figured you might wanna come in and fill his place?”

You weren’t gonna tell him that was a lie.

A place filler he thought. He really didn’t want to go, but above all else, Nanami Kento was respectful, and if his friend wanted to hang out with him- he was going. (No bias whatsoever)

“Sure. What time?”

When he had arrived at the place, he was early. First embarrassment.

The second, was when you came waltzing in with Gojo. Arm in arm.

Ah. So this is what was happening.

He was mentally prepared already that you would’ve been with someone, but he should’ve known that you would’ve been with Gojo. He was attractive, charming, and nanami had seen firsthand his effect he had on those around him. he should’ve known it would’ve been a matter of time.

You lit up upon seeing Nanami already sitting in a booth, an expensive jacket and a black turtleneck.

You left Gojos arm and ran over to sit next to Nanami, your suddenness set him off guard. It was going to be incredibly difficult not getting in the way of Gojo when you were this fucking cute.

“Let’s get our first round!”

You announced.

It was just you three, Shoko had been “busy” (didn’t care) and Geto… well. When you asked Gojo, his reaction told you to not bring it up again.

You and Gojo laughed and laughed, reminiscing on old times, and newer ones.

Gojo told you all about his students, how hilarious they are, and all the drama in his life. You did the same.

Nanami was really just there. He felt totally out of place, and the drinks only helped a little in soothing his feeling of loneliness.

“So y/n, Why’d you really come back?”

Gojo asked suddenly. All of you were buzzed, well- nanami seemed fine. Even though he had the same amount of drinks as you two.

You suddenly froze at that. The whole mood shifted and the atmosphere changed.

“You shouldn’t ask personal questions, Gojo.”

Nanami butted in.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and sighed.

“No. You guys deserve to know the truth. But I’m gonna need another drink.”

Once it was ordered, they were both attentive, and waiting for you to speak.

“I started seeing someone, and- things didn’t end well. They cheated on me, the whole break-up was messy, and I realized there was nothing left for me anymore where I was. I got my.. my heart broken a-and…”

You had one too many. And the alcohol made filtering yourself impossible. Your eyes watered, and that all too familiar sensation of hot tears streamed down your puffy cheeks.

“I’m sorry… I thought I was past this….”

Nanami was looking at you with a sincere expression, eyes softened. But under the table, his fists were clenched and white knuckled.

“I’m sorry, y/n.”

He said in a hushed voice.

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s not like you did anything.”

But he did. Maybe if he had done things right then you wouldn’t have had your heart broken, would’ve stayed. Where he would’ve treated you better.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, and wrapped your arm through his.

“You deserve better though. And I wish I had made you stay, then that wouldn’t have happened.”

You looked up at him teary eyed and face flushed. Even when you had just gotten done crying and had been drinking he still thought you looked stunning.

As much as you and nanami were oblivious, Gojo wasn’t. He knew it was his time to leave, and faked an important phone call.

“Hey sorry guys it’s been great but uh I gotta go do something! See ya tomorrow!”

He had left before you two could even say anything.

“What a dick!”

You whined tightening your grip on nanamis arm.

Your emotional state had erased your filter. Nanami stifled a laugh at your sudden drunken abrasiveness.

“I’m sorry Nanami. Tonight probably sucks.”

You started to get teary eyed again.

“Call me Kento. And tonight doesn’t suck.”

He was looking at you adoringly.

“But it does. I had no idea it was just gonna be Satoru and then we kept talking and you didn’t talk and then I started crying!”

Thinking about crying made you start crying again.

“I swear I usually am not this much of a mess…”

“You’re fine, don’t worry.” He said with a small smile.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

You let out a couple more sniffles. Before you wiped your eyes clean and sat upright.

“Okay okay. I’m better now. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

You smiled looking straight ahead. You missed him. You two enjoyed a few more drinks together and got comfortable with eachother. Enjoying yourselves and the company.

“Man nanami are y’ sure you’ve been drinking? You barely are acting any different.”

He chuckled at you.

“Man so much has changed since I been gone. You can outdrink me now- You must be with someone too I bet.”

“Not quite. You’re only half right.”

“So you haven’t been drinking!”

“No, I’m not with anyone.”

Your eyes widened a little, and you sat upright facing him.

“Really?? But ya’ so hot!”

You whined against him.

He almost choked. But then he remembered you were drunk, and didn’t mean it. Maybe even being sarcastic.

“I appreciate it. But agree to disagree.”

He took another sip of his drink.

“I’m bein’ serious!” You pouted.

He just hummed in agreement and looked away from your increasing eye contact.

“If I had never gotten with that- hic dick! I totally woulda been with you instead. You’re s’ nice.”

He nearly choked on his drink.

“You don’t mean that.”

He awkwardly shifted.

“I do! Why don’ you believe me!”

You started to get emotional again. He had now learned when to recognize when you were about to cry.

“I’m sorry, I do I do.” He patted his hand on the back of your shoulders and you sunk your weight against him.

“I think m’ ready to go home now…”

“Where do you live? I’ll order you a cab.”

“I don’ have a place yet. I left really quick and I been staying with Gojo.”

So that’s why you two came in together. He felt his heart sink. You two probably were together after all. But regardless, his duties as a gentleman came before jealousy.

“But I don’ wanna go to his place. He always is bringing girls over and he snores.”

“He brings people over while you’re staying there?”

“Yeah! And its so rude! Especially when he knows how lonely I am. Jus’ rubbin it in my face.”

“Oh. I thought that you two-“

You looked at him with a comedically perplexed face, until it finally hit you.

“What?! No! He’s like a brother t’ me!”

He both sighed in relief but also felt embarrassed.

“I’m sorry for assuming.”

“Nah. You’re good. The guy I want prolly’ doesn’t want me anyway.”

He tensed up.

“Let’s get back okay? Do you have anywhere else to stay? I can book you a hotel.”

“I don’ wanna be alone… can I stay wit’ you?”

His breath hitched.

“Of course.”

And with that, two drunk people that you wouldn’t know were both drunk by the way one carried himself, arm in arm, walked the Tokyo streets.

When you finally reached Nanamis place you were a bumbling and clumsy mess.

Tripping over yourself, trying to chase every stray cat you saw, crying because swans can be gay- the works.

He had you slumped under one of his arms, and with the other rummaged through his keys.

“It’s a miracle we made it here in one piece.”

He mumbled under his breath while inserting the key into the lock.

You were currently in the “laughing at everything” phase of drunk.

“Kentooo you’re so funny.”

You were mostly dead weight in his arms.

He moved the door open and helped you in, slinging your arm over his shoulder and guiding you to the front room.

You were laughing your ass off over nothing and he patiently stood with you, sitting you down on the nearest chair then removing his shoes.

Right after he closed the door, your entire mood shifted. You suddenly went silent.

He made his way over to you and began taking your shoes off.

“Sorry to manhandle you.”

He said while looking down.

“ s’ fine.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder as he set your shoes aside, and both of you stood up together.

He removed his jacket and you stared at him shamelessly.

“I’ll sleep on the couch, are you okay to walk upstairs to my room?”

“Yeah…”

“You should get some water first.”

He guided you over to the couch and he left you alone to go to the kitchen.

When he came back you had balled yourself up and were half asleep.

He nudged your shoulder

“Y/n?”

He whispered.

“Hm?”

You grunted.

“I’m going to take you upstairs? Is that okay?”

You slowly shook your head yes.

He set the cup of water aside, and carefully moved his arms underneath you, supporting your weight under him. carrying you gently up the stairs to his room.

“M’ not too heavy am I?”

He chuckled at you and shook his head no, reaching his bedroom.

He leaned down to set you on the bed, but you didn’t let your arms go.

“Y/n? You have to let go.”

His heart was palpitating. He absolutely did not want you to let go. But with a heavy sigh your arms slipped loosely around his neck, and he laid you upright against the bed frame.

“Do you want a change of clothes?”

“Yeah…”

He rummaged around looking for something you could use. He eventually settled on sweatpants he almost never wears and an old t-shirt.

He had them folded in his hands, and he brought them over to you, sitting them at your feet.

“Im gonna get your water and then go now.”

When he turned around he stopped when he heard you whine.

“Can you… help?” Your words were slurred as you pathetically pawed at his shirt he set down.

He looked down and saw you were referencing his clothes.

“Of course.”

The room was dark, and you were drunk so you wouldn’t remember. Any other circumstance and he would’ve said no.

He set the clothes aside and sat at your feet, signaling for you to move closer to him.

You scooted towards him, and raised your arms.

He gently lifted your shirt up and brought it over your head, never lowering his gaze.

He folded your shirt and moved it to the foot of the bed.

You sat there, shirtless. But he never glanced over where he shouldn’t have, grabbing the replacement shirt and slipping it over your head as you squirmed your way though the holes.

Next were your pants. He sat on his knees and respectfully removed them, being very careful where he put his hands. He opened up the sweatpants and slid them up your legs one at a time.

“Thank you f’ being so nice t’ me…”

“You shouldn’t thank me.”

“But I should!” You whined

He chuckled as he laid you down, and tucked you in.

“Can ya’ stay wit’ me?”

You had rolled over on your side, and were mumbling.

“You don’t want that, trust me darling.”

“Buh I do!!”

He sighed. Conflicted between his head and his heart. He eventually chose what he knew he wanted.

He removed his shirt then changed into long pajama pants, and slid under the covers with you. You immediately snuggled up against him, nuzzling into his neck lovingly.

He wished he could stay like this forever.

“Thank you Kento…”

You mumbled into him.

He rested a hand against the back of your head. Smiling as you two sat there in a beautiful silence.

The mood was interrupted by you suddenly groping his chest.

“Woah you’re s’ buff!”

You said amazed.

He was happy he was in the dark, otherwise you would’ve seen how red his face was.

“Where did all dis’ come from?!”

You had slid your hands down his pecs to his abs and were rubbing your fingers between the dips of his skin.

“I thought you were cute then buh look t’ you now!”

Completely and entirely unfiltered.

He shuddered against your touch as you shamelessly ran your hands across him. It wasn’t until your fingers reached his v-line that he stopped you with a firm but gentle grab to the wrist.

“Aw. Ya’ no fun”

You pouted.

“Maybe another night. For now, sleep.”

“Fineeeeuuuhhhhh!”

You dramatically flailed your arms and slammed them back down on the bed.

“G’night Kento…”

“Goodnight, Y/n.”

Your eyes fluttered open, sunlight peaking through the blinds tracing over your figure.

The first thing you noticed, was you felt like shit. The second- was that you didn’t recognize the bed you were in.

So you felt like shit, and you were in deep shit. Great combination.

Assess the situation-

A strangers bed, A strangers shirt, a bad hangover-

Oh no. Come on- you had just gotten back and you already made a regrettable decision?!

Stay calm. No one is benefitted by you panicking. Maybe the person was hot at least.

You were busy panicking when your thoughts were abruptly cutoff by the smell of… food. Coming from downstairs.

So above all else, you were gonna have to confront the person you slept with. Great.

You found your clothes, neatly folded and put away on a dresser, and went to change out of them. They were stiff, smelled, and had your phone in the pocket. You went to check the time- it was 9:00?! You had work today!

But directly underneath it you saw a text from Gojo.

Doucho Satoru

I’ll cover for you if you wanna ‘sleep in’ ;) saw you leaving with that hot guy.

You were both relieved at how good a wingman Gojo was and also terrified- he saw you leaving with someone while you were drunk and didn’t say anything?! What a ball of ass sweat.

You let out a heavy sigh. Sneaking out the window wasn’t an option. Your shoes were downstairs and you were on a second story- so, the walk of death you went. Keeping your composure, you didn’t have to show how ashamed you were.

You quietly made your way out of the bedroom, assessing everything around you. Everything was clean, and kept together well. At least you had decent taste when you were drunk.

As quietly as you could, you snuck down the steps. Peeking your head around the corner of the stairs to notice in the kitchen there was a hot, tall, and blonde man cooking. Wearing a button up shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up. It was almost like you had just stepped into a dream.

You nearly drooled at the sight in front of you. Starting to regret last night less and less.

He turned around to face you.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

Your heart stopped beating when you realized it was Nanami.

Your jaw slacked as you couldn’t hide your visible reaction.

“Did you sleep well?”

He turned around and went back to cooking.

“Oh- um yeah.”

“You’re probably hungover, there’s some Tylenol on the counter and water in the fridge.”

“O-oh thanks!”

You shuffled awkwardly and as politely as you could rummage through the fridge and pull out a bottled water. The cool plastic felt amazing against you as you pressed it up to your head.

“So… I’m sorry for making you late to work.”

“That’s fine. I used one of my sick days.”

“Oh shit I’m sorry!”

You were overcome with guilt.

“Don’t be, I never use my paid time off.”

He had is broad back facing away from you, and you watched in a trance as he expertly worked his way around the kitchen.

“What about you, how do you feel? You drank too last night, right?”

You tried to change the topic.

“I’m good at ignoring my hangovers.”

“Man I wish I could relate.”

You awkwardly laughed and sat down at the table with your water, not sure of what else to do.

“Do you remember anything from last night?”

He abruptly said.

“Oh- uhm… not really.”

You felt blood rush to your face. Embarrassment leeching onto you.

“I hope I wasn’t too embarrassing…”

“Not at all. You were quite pleasant to be with, actually.”

You wanted to die. To roll over, crawl in a dark hole, and die.

“I doubt it. I’m not… myself when I’m drunk.”

“I thought it was cute.”

You were glad he wasn’t looking at you because you put your hands over your face and let out a quiet groan. Did he really just call you cute? Were you two talking about the same thing?

“You probably didn’t want to be stuck with me though, and Im not gonna be offended if you say you regret it…”

He turned to face you, an eyebrow raised and a very clearly confused face.

“I didn’t mind taking care of you.”

“Okay well thank you… I’m just scared that I wasn’t as good as I could’ve been last night.”

“Well no one’s at there best when they’re drunk.”

Ouch. You weren’t aware you two were talking about different things.

“Was I at least still decent?”

“Well, define decent.”

Oh god. You totally made a fool of yourself last night with him didn’t you? You can’t even do one night stands right.

“Im talking about… y’know… us…”

He still didn’t get it.

“…Hooking up.”

His face relaxed.

“Oh.”

Your heart sank.

“Nothing happened.”

He turned back around.

You were sitting there dumb struck.

“But I was in your bed!”

“You wanted to sleep over here.”

He answered swiftly.

“Okay well… why was I in your shirt?”

“Pajamas.”

“Hmm… okay.”

You started to put the pieces together. Feeling some relief wash over you that you didn’t bang your childhood best friend. But also, a little disappointed.

“We did cuddle though, if that’s alright?”

He was so respectful If you weren’t sitting down your knees would’ve buckled.

“Yeah for sure, you don’t have to worry about that.”

You were flustered. But not gonna admit it. You drank your water trying to avoid awkward silence.

You took a few deep breaths and just when you thought you had composed yourself, he came over holding a plate of food, something you barely even recognized. You were starving though, and it was fucking delicious because of course it was.

You had to bite back a moan from the flavors as angels danced in your mouth.

You just spoke without thinking.

"You'd be an amazing husband..."

He 'eh hemmed' and muttered a small flustered thank you.

“You always cook like this?” You mumbled with a half mouth full of food.

“Helps me clear my head.”

“You should clear your head more often!”

He smiled into his fork at that, Letting out a small chuckle.

He wished it could stay like this forever.

[gnocchibabie]

some unspoken thing

john price x fem!reader

synopsis: price does his best to keep you away from a dangerous mission, but against his best efforts, you tag along anyway. when you find yourself injured, some interesting feelings are brought to the surface. 

tags/cw: graphic depictions of violence (I based the beginning of this on the “clean house” mission from mw19 but changed a few details), angst, fluff/comfort, mutual pining 

word count: 4.0k

a/n: i love price... also! if you would like a spicy part 2 of this…let me know bc i may or may not already have most of it written hehe.

The house - an unsuspecting little thing, sat in the middle of what everyone would agree to be a normal London suburb - was now coated in darkness. You had just reached the back door of the house from the fuse box, having carried out your orders to kill the power. Voices could be heard from inside the house now. You can’t make out exactly what they are saying, but imagine their hushed voices uttered words of confusion. Confused whispers became urgent, alarmed calls to each other and suddenly, all was quiet from inside the house.

 Slipping your night vision goggles over your eyes, what should have been a pitch black scene was coming to you in various shades of green. Amongst the other soldiers gathered around the door, you catch a glimpse of your captain, John Price, and sgt. Garrick. 

You study your captain’s face momentarily. His brow is furrowed in concentration, lips shut in a thin line as his attention is solely focused on the door ahead of him. His hand grips his gun and you note how one particular vein seems to pop out in response to him flexing his hand.  Price has an exceptional talent for being able to zero in when on the field - something you currently found yourself struggling with. He also had a talent for popping into your head at the most inconvenient times. Although, that was no fault of his own. Price catches your stare from the corner of his eye, causing you to quickly look away.  

A wave of shame makes your face heat up. Focus, you scold yourself. You’re gonna get yourself killed in there. You direct your attention back to the door ahead of you as everyone has begun to take their place. Gaz offers you a small nod and turns back to the door, waiting for Price to give a signal. You suck in a breath and take your place, pointing your gun to the entrance. Its green laser marks a spot on the wood that would surely be meeting someone on the other side. 

A quick nod from your captain, and the door is bashed inwards, wood splintering and flying into the air. A man stands in front of you on the other side and your laser meets a spot on his chest, the bullet that follows sending him to the floor. “Move in,” a gruff order from your captain sends you and the other soldiers into the house. Trailing behind Gaz and Price you make your way up the stairs of the house to the second floor as muffled shots ring out below - the rest of the team clearing out any threats on the first floor. “Gaz, first door on the left. Y/N with me,” Price whispers. The captain’s command puzzles you, considering what had transpired days before the mission. No matter. “Copy,” you mutter, creeping along the hall to the door next to Gaz’s. You catch a glimpse of him nudging the door open and hear an accompanying bang and thud. When you reach your door, Price stands at the other side of the entrance and slowly turns the knob - raising his gun to point into the cracked space. 

Another muffled shot and a thud. 

He moves into the room and you follow behind. As Price inspects his side of the room, you turn a corner to see a frantic man waving a gun around, holding a woman in front of him.

The sight makes you hesitate. “No! No - don’t shoot! Don’t kill me please! Please,” the woman is shrieking at you now, tears in her eyes as the man tells her to shut up. He has her in an iron grip, keeping her in place. In a split second you aim at the man’s head and send him crashing down, his human shield released and landing next to him on the floor. Before you even realize what’s happening, the woman is turned around reaching for something in the darkness. 

“Y/N GUN!” Price yells behind you, watching the scene play out before him.

He sends a round into the woman and she crumples to the ground, but not before a bullet of her own finds its way into you, digging into your shoulder. 

“Fuck-” you stumble back, pain exploding across your chest, shoulder, and arm. Red blossoms across your uniform, painting the military camo a bright crimson. Price is behind you now and steadying you to sit on the floor, his breathing uneven.

You try to collect yourself, despite the searing pain ripping through your body. The adrenaline from the altercation is the only thing keeping you grounded. “It’s not so bad,” you mutter, grimacing “she got me in the shoulder, just above my-” 

“Enough,” your captain’s tone ties your tongue in a knot, “Garrick, get her out of here and call for a medic. Now.” His eyes are dark and you suddenly feel very small in your place on the floor. 

-

Sat behind the house, you watch intently as the medic dresses your wound. The bullet had thankfully - and painfully - went clean through your shoulder. The combat medic skillfully wraps cloth around your arm and shoulder area; you wince as she tightens the dressings and ends it in a neat knot. “You’re quite lucky you know…” her eyes scan over her handiwork, seemingly satisfied with it for now, “We’ll stitch this up back at base, sounds like they’re almost done in there anyways” she says, putting her supplies back into its kit. “Yeah… thank you,” you reply hoarsely, the adrenaline wearing off and the pain beginning to catch up with you. Your frustration at the situation bites at you almost as hard as the intense ache radiating throughout your body. 

Of course it had to be me, you thought.

Price will boot me off the team for this.

He was right.

I’ve caused problems for everyone else.

I should have noticed her grabbing his gun.

What if she had shot him?

What if I compromised the mission?

I really am slipping.

What if Price-

The sound of boots coming down the stairs breaks you out of your thoughts. Looking up, you see Price, Gaz, and the rest of the team exit the house. You note Gaz is carrying a laptop and sigh, knowing it to be a sign your mission was successful. You had the intel you came here for. Getting shot had been worth it.

You suppose.

“Evacs on its way - let’s move out and…,” Price’s orders reach your ears but the tail end of his sentence becomes muddled. Your ears begin to ring and a feeling of panic settles in your chest. Now, a warm sensation creeps down your front. Looking down, you see that the cloth wrapped around your formerly stable wound had become soaked with blood. You open your mouth:

“Oh…”

“Shit!” the medic yells - her attention back on you. Cementing herself on the ground next to you, she eases you back onto the ground. Her hands come down hard on your shoulder to apply pressure and it takes everything in you not to scream out in pain. You try to watch as your blood stains her hands but black, hazy dots begin to cloud your vision. 

“You get her on that med-evac NOW dammit!” Price must have moved closer after the commotion. You struggle to make him out, even though he is looming directly over you. His dark, unreadable expression from earlier has been replaced by one of anger and worry. Maybe even fear. “Fucking hell she’s pale…” his remark isn’t heard by you - now fading in and out of consciousness and struggling to even keep your eyes open. A calloused hand brushes across your sweaty forehead, sweeping your hair out of your face. You can’t tell whose is.

“We need to move her now,” the medic states gesturing for Price to help lift you from your place on the ground, “On three - one, two, three-”

Amidst the uproar around you, you feel fatigue tug at your eyes and slip into a surprisingly comforting state of unconsciousness. 

-

A rapping knock sends Price’s attention to the door of his office. He shuts the file he’s currently reading and clears his throat, “Come in.”

When your frame comes into view, any traces of a smile immediately disappear from his face. In any other instance, the captain would be more than happy to see you. 

Years ago, Price had taken you under his wing as a new recruit at Laswell’s request. And as much as he had tried to prevent it, Price had taken a strong liking to you - too strong for his own comfort. 

This liking had become even more of a problem for the captain lately. Recently there had been several occasions when Price was filing reports and he found himself staring into a corner of his room wondering what you were up to. When you were actually together, his focus was poured solely into his work or whatever task was at hand. He knew the importance of what he did, and you devoted yourself equally as much to your job. Anything else between you two would be unprofessional. But at night, when he was alone - laying in bed and unable to sleep, John Price thought of you. If you were also lying in bed, struggling to fall asleep. How you were never afraid to offer your feedback, no matter who you spoke to. How you always had his back and how he always had yours. John Price knew he had feelings for you, but that didn’t mean he would - or even could - act on them. 

His main priority was work. It had to be. He takes pride in his role - he loves what he does. And so do you. He understands everything his job entails, meaning he understands how one day he could be gone from this earth in the blink of an eye. And so could you. So, why  would he ever act on those feelings? It was no matter whether or not you shared the same feelings  - he knew for a fact you did. 

Price was an observant man. He saw the way your posture changed when he walked into a room. He noted the way a blush crept across your cheeks whenever he called you “love” (which admittedly started as a joke, but now he does it to get a rise out of you)  - noticed even more so the way you would immediately look away to hide the red on your face. Had tried not to pull you aside to another room and just bare his heart to you right then and there after you had brought him a pack of imported cigars from one of your missions - even after he specifically told you not to worry yourself about picking something up for him. 

But why would he risk putting you in even more danger than you face everyday? For some probable short-lived relationship that may end up leaving one of you irreparably scarred, to no fault of your own? You could be used against him, and him against you. The man couldn’t rationalize it. And if he couldn’t have a relationship with you, he would do everything in his power to keep you out of trouble while he still could. So when he had gotten word that his and your efforts had paid off - had led you to a house where affiliates of Al-Qatala were harboring weapons and intel, he took you off the raid that was soon to come. It was selfish, he knew that. Even Laswell had questioned his request. But the thought of you in a close quarters mission encountering terrorists armed to the teeth filled the man with dread. He wouldn’t have it.Your voice finally reaches his ears.

“I’m off the mission?” you say, hurt and bitterness evident in your voice.

“Y/N-”

“I’m off the mission and I didn’t even find out through you? Fucking Gaz had to break the news to me?”

“Love, I would suggest you calm down for a moment and watch your tone,” his voice is low, stern. 

You scoff, “Sorry sir -” your voice is dripping with attitude and it stirs something inside of John’s chest. You continue, “But seriously? We’ve been tracking these guys for months - I’ve been gathering so much intel. For you! Just for you to take me off this breach when we finally know where they are? And I get no explanation?” you look up at Price, searching for something in his eyes. He stares at yours, noting the dark bags under them. He wonders how you’ve been sleeping lately. Not the time, he thinks to himself.

Price pauses for a moment. “You want an explanation?” he looks down at you, “You’ve been slipping lately. I saw you during our last outing. You’re unfocused. Bloody miracle you got out as unscathed as you did - and if you keep it up, next time you won’t be as lucky” his words reverberate throughout the room and are followed by a tense, punctuated silence. Price struggled to keep his eyes on you, struggled even more to throw such exaggerated criticism your way. 

You sit there, stock still. Silence, and then -

“Wow…Sir that - that is…the biggest load of horseshit I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“And that attitude is another reason in itself why you’re sticking behind.” Price booms, knowing damn well he would be just as upset if he was in your shoes.

“You taught me all I know about having a bad attitude.” you whisper. 

It seems almost impossible for the office to grow quieter but it does. Price is mad. Not at you, but rather mad at the situation he’s put himself, and you into. “Captain. I mean it. If there’s one thing you’ve taught me, it’s to call people out on their bullshit. No matter who they are.” you stare into his eyes now. 

You can feel his frustration but observe something else you can’t quite place, “So, I’m calling bullshit. I’m going on this mission. I deserve it and I can handle it.”

The man chuckles dryly. Truthfully, he finds himself increasingly annoyed yet drawn to your stubbornness. “Well, it’s already been decided-”

“I spoke with Laswell before coming to see you. I suggest you go do the same - seems like she sees more eye to eye with me on this issue. Unlike you I’ve got enough courtesy to give someone a heads up when their plans change.”

And before he can even say anything, you’re up. Chair loudly scraping across the floor as you stomp out and slam the door of his office closed. 

Price hears your footsteps retreat down the hall. As soon as you’re out of earshot, a string of curses leaves his mouth and he slams a fist down on his desk. All his efforts to keep you at bay - whether that be away from danger or away from his heart had failed. 

“Fuck.” he breathes. 

-

You’re pulled out from your sleep by the sound of beeping. A high pitched, rhythmic beeping stings your ears and you try to force your eyes open. Immediately, your sight is flooded by an overwhelming brightness. You groan and something stirs beside you. 

“Y/N?” a gruff voice you could place anywhere asks.

“Price…” you croak, throat dry. You squint your eyes and attempt to take in your surroundings. 

You lie in a hospital bed, adorned with a plain gown and covered in white blankets. Turning your head slightly, you see a vase of flowers next to you. Sunflowers. Your favorite.

Captain John Price sits in a chair next to your bed. His eyes are bloodshot.

You try to sit up for a better view but your movements become halted as a searing pain rips at your shoulder and arm. Oh, right.

“Careful, love” John is standing now, helping you to sit up properly. He gingerly straightens you, careful to avoid your newly stitched up wound. 

You don’t meet his gaze, though you can feel the way he looks at you - as if you’re made of porcelain. 

“You can go ahead and say it” you begin, “Tell me how you were right and I was wrong. How I fucked up back there and almost got both us kill-” you sputter, throat still dry. Price grabs a water bottle sitting on the nightstand next to you. Wordlessly, he unscrews the cap and places a hand on your chin. Now you’re looking at him. You dip your head back and he places the tip of the bottle on your lips, allowing you to drink. The water is cool and chills your throat. 

“You really are something,” Price says, “gabbin’ off to me after getting bloody shot - almost bleeding out.” he almost laughs. You swallow and look away, your attention turned towards your flowers. 

“Something was bound to happen, it was inevitable. I’m slipping just like you said.” you whisper and he swears he sees your eyes get glassy. 

Price sighs. “Y/N…I was wrong to say that. There’s nothing wrong with you. You’re one of the best damn soldiers I’ve worked with. These things happen - it’s inevitable in our line of work.” he looks up to see your attention still fixed upon the sunflowers on your nightstand. “But this happened on my command, you wanna blame someone - blame me. Not yourself.” 

That has you turning your head to him, head tilting in confusion. 

“You’re not responsible for me.” you’re quick to reply. Price understands what you mean, but that doesn’t stop the pang in his heart from your words. He looks down, shaking his head. “I am.” he says bluntly.

Silence fills the room again, making you think back to the ordeal that transpired in his office right before the mission. You both feel unsure of what to say now.

“How long have I been asleep?” you finally ask.

“About a day and a half.”

You think for a moment.

“Am I gonna lose my arm?” you attempt a joke.

He stifles a laugh, but feels a little guilty after. You shouldn’t be making light after such an ordeal, but he decides against lecturing you. “You’ll keep your arm another day. They cleaned the wound and stitched it up. Lost a lot of blood - had to have a transfusion. You almost went into shock.”

“Oh…” Silence. “Well, did we get the intel we needed?” you question, remembering the laptop you saw Gaz carrying right before you passed out.

“We did. That’s all you need to know right now. I’ll brief you when you aren’t hooked up to all these machines." His answer seems to satisfy you.

“Who are the flowers from?” you ask, trying to move on. 

“That would be me.”

More silence.

“I love sunflowers.” you mutter, dumbly.

Price chuckles at this, “I know, love.”

“...Why…did you do that for me?”

Price pauses, considering how best to answer your probing, “Because I know you love them.” A simple answer. Your heart beat is picking up slightly, the beeps from the monitor increasing in frequency.

Thoughts swarm in your head. The same ones that buzz around on sleepless nights when you wonder what your captain happens to be doing in the same moment. You think for a while and Price watches you. 

“Why did you…say all those things - before, in your office? If you clearly don’t believe them.” you ask finally.

John takes in a deep breath and takes one more look at the bright yellow flowers, then into your eyes. “I don't…” he has to think carefully about his response, “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Ever. I wanted to leave you behind for this mission. Wanted to keep you out of harm's way - but I know - I know I can’t. You run head first into danger every day, I know that. And I know you’re going to help anywhere you can. That’s who you are.” he exhales, “I know it’s inevitable things like this will happen on the job - to both of us. Know it’ll catch up with me one day,” you wince at this and he feels his heart sink again, but continues, “I’m sorry for what I said. More for what happened. I was so angry when you got hurt, still angry-”

“It’s not your fault,” you stop him.

“I’ll hear none of tha-”

“John.” you breathe, something different about your tone. “When are we going to talk about this?”

“We are-”

“This unspoken thing between us.”

He feels like the breath is knocked out of him. John Price has fought in wars, fallen out of helicopters, faced horrors normal people couldn’t even dream up - but nothing could prepare him for this conversation he’s desperately been trying to avoid. 

Despite his best efforts, his walls slowly start to fall.

“We’re certainly not gonna talk about it with you in this hospital bed,” he says

“So when?” you quip, “When I inevitably end up in one again? In an even worse state? Or when you find yourself in one?” He shakes his head at the thought. “When, Price?” Your persistence stirs him and before he knows it, the captain extends a hand towards you, resting it on your own.

When he can’t find any words, you continue: “When she shot me…all I thought about for a moment was you. If it hadn't been me it would have been you. I thought about you…I find myself thinking about you a lot these days…and I was thanking whoever happens to be listening up there that I got caught in the shoulder instead of the heart, so I didn’t have to leave you…so I need you to know how I feel. And it’s okay if you don't feel the same - though I think you do - but if you don't, I’ll deal with it and we’ll move on and you can laugh at me but I need you to know.” you close your eyes after rushing through the tail end of your confession. You wish the hospital bed would just swallow you whole.

You feel his hand close over yours, moving it up to his lips, still careful not to strain your shoulder. A kiss is pressed into your fingers. Your eyes snap open and a soft gasp leaves your mouth.

“Well I don’t know how you expect me to follow that up, love” Price says, meeting your surprised expression. “And I would never laugh at you - probably.” That has you giggling. He smiles at the noise. “I think of you all the time too love. How couldn’t I? You’ve been in my life for years now. We’ve worked together for years…I want to be with you all the time. So, if we’re going to do this, we need to understand what we’re getting ourselves into and what-”

You cut him off, “Oh please - you think I haven’t thought of this? John, I know what a relationship with you would mean. Probably more than anyone else in this world,” you make sure to look into his eyes before your next words, “but I would choose it - over and over again I would choose you.”

Price doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t understand how someone with as much blood on his hands as he has could ever be graced to hear this. Graced to have you. 

He cups your cheek, moving some hair out of your face. “You better get well and out of this bed soon, love. We have a lot of lost time to make up for.” He moves his face closer and studies your eyes. His gaze flickers down to your mouth. He closes the gap between you both and presses his lips against yours. 

The machine monitoring your heart rate begins beeping rapidly. You both laugh, “Do I get you that riled up, darling?” Price teases you. Not a moment later, a nurse comes bursting through the door. You quickly pull away from each other as she rushes over to you. “Are you alright dear?” she asks, looking over the heart monitor. It begins to slow now, beeping at a normal pace. “What happened? What had you all worked up?” she continues, clearly confused. You and Price share a look, beginning to laugh all over again. 

[wumiings]

The thing that really gets me about Merlin and Arthur’s dynamic re: being simultaneously friends (implies equality) and master/servant (unequal) is the way they both understand what this means so differently.

Like, Arthur is not deliberately cruel as a person. He sometimes lashes out in anger— particularly to cover hurt, fear, or insecurity— and is not above using his and Merlin’s relative stations to his advantage in the moment. But while this is certainly not okay, it does not characterize most of their interactions.

Most of the time, when Arthur insults Merlin, or roughhouses with him, or assigns him too many chores just to be petty, he clearly seems to think of it as friendly banter/play. And when Merlin insults him right back, or complains without real heat, or half-asses the chores, Arthur takes it as confirmation that they’re on the same page.

Because here’s the thing: when Arthur says, “You’re my servant, so we can’t be friends [paraphrase: but under other circumstances, we might be],” what he means is that they are obviously friends but they’re not allowed to call each other that, or act like it. It’s against the social rules of their environment to acknowledge their friendship.

But that is not what those words mean to Merlin. He does see Arthur as a friend, but not in the sense that they’re just playing along with the roles of servant and master. Because unlike Arthur, there is an inherent threat to Merlin’s safety and well-being implied by any reminder of those roles.

“You’re almost like a friend [except you’re my servant]” doesn’t just mean they can’t use the word. It means “I have power over you, and in moments when it’s inconvenient to treat you as a friend (see: the anger), I can and will use that power to put you back in your place.”

It’s a reminder that Arthur has fired, overworked, struck, imprisoned, threatened with exile, and held a sword to Merlin’s throat before, and so long as Merlin needs to keep his magic a secret for the sake of staying by Arthur’s side, he is powerless to do anything about it. It could happen again.

Merlin insults Arthur because he knows he can get away with it (as long as he stops when more serious threats are invoked). He complains but allows those complaints to be taken as jokes/exaggerations, because he doesn’t expect his hurts to be taken seriously and doesn’t feel comfortable making himself vulnerable to Arthur about how his actions affect him.

The chores situation in particular aggravates me to no end, because Merlin is routinely expected to do things that do not by any means fall under the purview of a personal servant. Why would he be mucking out the stables?? Surely there are stable hands who are paid to do that. And why does he do the laundry himself instead of delivering it to the laundress?

All this in addition to apprenticing with Gaius (or working as a fully qualified physician post-4x08) and going along on patrols/missions/etc. doing what I’m pretty sure would normally be a squire’s duties? As none of the knights seem to have one??

Admittedly, Merlin sometimes insists on going along on missions for Protecting Arthur Reasons, which is not Arthur’s fault, but still. Arthur knows the kind of hours Merlin is putting in. Which makes moments like in 3x01, when he undervalues, belittles, and then intentionally undoes Merlin’s hard work (cleaning the floor) so frustrating to watch.

But again, Arthur is not cruel! I never get the sense that he truly enjoys causing Merlin real emotional distress. The problem is that he consistently underestimates the amount of distress that Merlin is actually in — partly because (as previously stated) Merlin often undersells his own feelings.

TL;DR - Merlin is Arthur’s friend! His only/closest friend!! Arthur looks at Merlin and sees someone brave and loyal and absolutely worth risking his life for. But his privilege blinds him to the ways in which he fails to treat Merlin like a friend should. Outside of life-or-death situations, he doesn’t often behave as though he values Merlin (his time, his effort, his capabilities, or his friendship) particularly much. And that’s a fucking tragedy.

[czigonas]

What if not dead Soap, not traitor Soap, not taken-by-Makarov-and-brainwashed Soap, but a secret fourth thing: Soap who wakes up alone in the tunnel and thinks he was abandoned by his team. Add in a little memory loss for spice, shake him up and let him go.

Price, Gaz, and Ghost who couldn't stay until the cleanup/retrieval teams arrived. Who had to leave Soap's body behind and try to catch up with Makarov before his trail goes cold. Soap who wakes up alone, covered in blood but more concerned with where his team has gone. How could they leave him behind? He trusted them, thought they would never betray him... but he's here and they aren't.

Soap who knows the faces of the 141 but not their names or why it hurts to think about them. And their faces and that hurt are all tangled up in the sharp feeling of betrayal (how could they leave him?) and so he thinks they're enemies.

But also Soap who still has an instinctive, visceral hatred for Makarov and his men, so he makes himself a third variable in the fight. He pulls on a balaclava and a skull mask (the skull is important - drenched in a feeling of bittersweet love - but white is a colour not for him so he'll choose red like the blood he woke up in, lost and alone) and becomes a threat to both sides.

Meanwhile, the 141 is reeling from Soap's loss but needs to replace manpower, so they pick up some new people and... it's hard. Ghost and Gaz do not take easy to them. Even Price finds it hard to give the new guys the same leeway he did to Soap. They're all a little colder without their Sunshine. Eventually they run across Soap in the field, however.

Maybe it's just Price and Gaz at first; Ghost retreating into solo missions as he spirals towards self-destruction. They have a lead on one of Makarov's suppliers but when they reach the compound they're meant to infiltrate, they find someone's beaten them to it. Gaz is the one to spot him; alerting his captain to the red-masked figure who's cornered their target and is in the process of making him regret working with Makarov.

They'll never know what gave their positions away, but Gaz will swear down later that the shot that nicked a tree three inches to the left of his head was not a miss. That the man in the red skull had him dead in sights and, at the last second, his hand twitched to send the bullet wide. They get their target - a little worse for wear after enduring the attentions of the mysterious stranger - but they both know it's not the last they've seen of him.

Price sees him next but instead of anyone familiar he's got one of the newbies at his back and this time there's no deliberate miss. Maybe it isn't fatal but the poor soldier standing in a place not meant for them will likely never fight again. Price takes it for the kind of warning it is and refuses to allow any of the other FNGs on any mission where they might encounter the red masked man.

Ghost is the last to meet him, at least up close. Maybe he's only seen the man in passing, neither of them really paying attention to each other except that they're staying out of each other's way. He's heard enough from Price and Gaz to consider the other skull wearer as more of an inconvenient and unpredictable ally than any sort of threat, though. It's been proven more than once that, where both the 141 and Makarov's men are present, the stranger will target Makarov every time. (And if Ghost is apathetic enough by this time to not particularly care if he doesn't fall under the same strange pseudo-protection that Gaz and Price do, well... no one will call him out for it.)

But when Ghost finally meets the man with the red skull up close, he knows. He knows those hands, that posture. He knows the way Soap moves and he especially knows the eyes that peer out from behind that bloody mask. But he can't do anything about it in the moment. This is it, the final push, the last hole the rat Makarov has hidden in. Ghost has to keep his head in the game and hope that when it's over he won't have to mourn Johnny twice.

[morkanslily]

(I.) In the End You are a Shell, and Nothing More.

summary: Two little dolls who lack a heart. While the first believed it was only he out of you two who lacked it in the metaphorical and literal sense, he came to learn that so too, did you.

notes: puppet!reader & scaramouche, where reader dies. In this, the Balladeer harbinger rank actually has two lords, with Scaramouche facing as its face, and you being considered in equal ownership of the role. Basically 2 lords in one

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

He truly did love you.

And oh, how he wished he didn’t.

Prior to this disaster, the herald of indignation was performing his required duties as harbinger. Tasks that were nothing more than mere inconveniences that only served to pull you further away from his grip. Excruciatingly long visits to lands beyond Snezhnaya, such as the country of Freedom and that of Contracts. And even then, these nations felt just as bitterly empty and cold as the former was without your presence. It anguished him to no end, how he agonizingly longed for you by his side. Not only because he yearned to see the way how your lips would curve humorously when your eyes caught his, but also how he found such desires childish—and maybe even embarrassing to an extent. He was a poet of ire, and you, his beloved, were his muse of recourse. After all, he is The Balladeer, is he not? In his long and miserable existence, he had sought solace amongst humans when the gods had forsaken him. But for every time he chose to, it would come back to bite him. What did he even expect, being so naive? Offering your hand to vicious and cruel beasts will only leave you without it.

 Nevertheless, you are an exception it seems. Exceptions… Ah, quite a rare occurrence indeed. For gods see no worth in him and neither does he sing their praises, and humans are too far beneath him to matter. In this perpetual purgatory of living, never once had he expected to come across you. You, yes, you, bear the same mark of mechanical existence as he. Destined to live an outlier amidst gods and men, you are the only being blessed with sentience who he deems his equal—his other half.

It always mystified Scaramouche how even the knowledge alone that you are indeed of his kind brought him reassurance for the eternity he had yet to spend with you. He would never admit it of course, but deep within the confines of his soul, he is elated to bask in your familiar presence and his thoughts of you. Just as a sunflower(despite him being the farthest man possible from said plant)will always bend towards the sun for dear life. To know that there is someone in this world whose touch is as cold and devoid of warmth as his, sends him into repose--where for just a brief moment, he is allowed to forget the veil of his burdens that trail behind. If the people of this world have turned their backs on him, at the very least, he has you.

And even then, you…

…

“God, why me…” the Fatuus underling muttered under his breath.

He tried, oh how he tried his best to not tremble as he treaded anxiously towards his superior. Genuflecting, it took all of his willpower and dried up hopes to not mistakenly stumble and humiliate himself. He would much rather endure the violent winter of his homeland than have to accomplish this task. But can you blame him, really? Nobody, and no one has ever wanted to face the ordeal that is Lord Scaramouche. Especially not this guy, with the message he was ordered to deliver. He couldn’t shake off the memory of those sympathetic looks and shaking heads behind him as he departed. Practically everyone agreed that this mission bestowed unto him was a death sentence. And what was that mission, exactly?

The harbinger donned a scornful look of malevolence as his impatient eyes scrutinized the poor fellow. His head was raised, perhaps to further incise the fact that he was echelons above. The subordinate knelt before him, preparing to deliver the news. The messenger shrank under his senior’s watch, with an unshakeable spine-chilling cold running through him. Though he dared not to gaze back, he felt the crushing weight of irritation scanning him, unpredictable and utterly terrifying. He shuddered to think that if he just so happened to breath, this behemoth of inhumanity could erase him from existence with a snap of a finger.

“Speak.” The Balladeer demanded, narrowing his eyes in anticipation. 

“Yes, my lord.” the subordinate replied. He cleared his throat, and carried on. “Er, one of our m-main base camps in Snezhnaya—specifically one that you direct has… formally requested for your immediate return. They ask that y-you may personally provide assistance."

“...And what for?” the harbinger scoffed. “Are the fools that I specifically assigned to do their own jobs that worthless?” he crossed his arms, clearly exasperated by such an outrageous demand. “Hmph, the audacity to bother me with such menial affairs. I almost feel insulted by their ineffectiveness alone.” The lord fell silent for a moment, which sent the subordinate into panic. What more did his superior want? Was he contemplating, or purposely engraving anxiety onto his soul to taunt him? He cringed, awaiting what would entail from this deathly silence.

The Balladeer turned his back on him, striding ahead, then coming to a halt. All that was left was a silhouette cloaked by darkness in the dead of night, as his diaphanous veil served to shadow his figure further. All the minion could see was the giant kanji on its back, echoing the words in his mind. 悪. Evil.

What a savage man he is, the underling thought. His future would be on the line, very soon. If he wanted to live, he would need to successfully get ahold of his own strings in this puppet show of life and death—and choose his next words wisely. As the sixth slightly turned his head, his veil followed, swaying in the breeze, slow and elegant such as the pirouette of a ballerina. Above all else, the most accurate way one may describe him would be an angel of death. Sent straight from the thunders of heaven, to forever damn and blight Teyvat. The subordinate gulped, and braced himself for the punishment to come.

“You aren’t stupid enough to have traveled all this way to waste my time, are you?"

“No sir. Actually, the camp that called for your backup was ravaged and left in ruin by a currently unidentified criminal. Most of the survivors were successfully evacuated, but the location remains unsafe.” He held his breath. “I’m afraid that… the 'other half’, was last seen there, and went missing.“

Silence, again. The Balladeer turned to face him, the wind coming to a startling halt. In that very moment, the world felt as though it was in stasis. Stasis that hid the imploding pressure underneath the surface.

“What did you just say?”

“The situation is urgent. So far we have not been able to find the ‘other’ Lord Balladeer, due to complications. I will elaborate further, but as of now I advise that you may depart as soon as possible.” the Fatuus finished. The overlord lowered his head, his wide brimmed hat concealing his expression.

“Hmph. Is that so?

“Uh...yes my lord?"

“Oh, but when did you have the authority,” he raised his head, revealing a wry expression. “...to make demands of me as well?” he sneered, looking back at the subordinate.

Shit.

“No, I..."

A bolt of lightning immediately vaporized the ground nearby, almost missing him. The impact left a painful singe on his side, with parts of his garments chipped and burnt off. He clutched his side in pain, fully collapsing to his knees. His ears rang painfully, and his vision blurred as he coughed on the ground. Fire bloomed in the grass, the embers alive and sizzling. Lord Scaramouche’s finger was still smoking, an expression of pure wrath plastered upon his face. His eyes wide, crackled and seethed with anger. Even the wind picked up, furiously blowing at his hair and garments.

“You humans are always so dreadfully annoying.” He muttered, gritting his teeth whilst smoke seeped between. His words were lacquered with acrimony. The harbinger strode forth with celerity, trampling weeds in his wake. “Useless.” he rubbed his hands together to stop the smoke. “Inefficient.” He shook his head. “Ugly, worthless specks of dust.” In his eyes, humans were no more than unsightly weeds that spread too fast and too far in the garden to be plucked. The only situation? To burn it all together. He looked down on the recuperating man, and grabbed him by the collar. “You vile vermin fail to do the one thing you are asked, and still have the impertinence to come back crawling to me for help? Tsk, how amusing.” When the Balladeer raised his other hand to strike once more, the pest scrambled to make his final move.

“ W-wait, my lord-"

Only then did the subordinate truly learn, that sinners never gain redemption in the eyes of gods and angels alike.

@mhiieee @rainxiaower ⭐️

[the-modern-typewriter]

Do you do any hidden injury snippets?

"You're wounded."

The protagonist glanced over at the comment - pitched low, so nobody else would overhear them. Their throat locked tight.

There was no question in the ex-antagonist's words, nor in their stare. They knew.

The protagonist tried to think when the ex-antagonist might had seen, when they'd been so careless. Did everyone know? Did their friends know? They tried to think of a good way to deny it.

The antagonist shrugged at them, over the campfire. "I know when you're in pain," the little sadist said, peaceful enough, though with that glint in their eyes. "You can't hide it from me."

The protagonist's jaw clenched.

"Don't worry," the ex-antagonist said. "I won't tell anyone. At least, not unless I think you're going to get in the way of the mission."

"I'm fine." It came out sharp.

People glanced over at them.

The ex-antagonist raised an eyebrow, somewhere between amused and judgy. The protagonist was many, many things. Stubborn, practical, especially skilled at compartmentalising. They were not fine.

"I'm fine," the protagonist said, a little quieter. Their cheeks would have heated if they had enough blood in them. They pressed a protective hand over their chest, over their injury.

"You will be if you let me take a look at it."

"And why would you want to do that?"

"So I can poke where it hurts and watch you try not to scream."

When the protagonist didn't particularly react to that statement, except to give the ex-antagonist a withering look, their ex enemy sighed.

"I'm an expert at dark magic. The wound itself isn't that bad, or you wouldn't still be standing, but you're also clearly..." The ex-antagonist trailed off.

"Clearly what?"

The ex-antagonist shrugged again. "I'm an expert at dark magic," they said, once more. "It would be very inconvenient if, having been nicked by a tainted blade, you hallucinated in the night and slaughtered our entire party. Well. Your friends, anyway."

The protagonist's heart stuttered. "Because I wouldn't be able to take you?"

"Not in your current state."

The protagonist wanted to snarl, but to snarl was to admit too many other things, so they glared at the fire instead.

"Do the others know?" they asked, eventually.

"No."

"Because you're just that observant."

The antagonist smiled, scalpel thin. "Only when it comes to people being hurt, love. To you. Being hurt."

The protagonist swallowed. The hidden injury in their chest gave another nasty throb beneath the bandages.

Was the ex-antagonist right, when they spoke about dark magic? It was true that the protagonist had felt...off, since they'd received the wound. The wound hadn't seemed infected or anything though. And it wasn't large enough to kill them. Right?

"I'm fine," the protagonist said, again, and pushed to their feet. "Mind your own business. I'll get the job done."

"Mm," the ex-antagonist said, watching them. "I give it about twenty four hours."

"Then we don't have time to waste, do we?" It came out a definite snarl. A hiss. Some wild, dangerous thing at any rate. It was true, though - they had no time. If they stopped to rest, to recover, then they might miss their chance. The villain would win.

"You are planning to survive this battle, aren't you?"

The question was quiet. It was, through some terrible miracle, a question.

The protagonist looked back at the ex-antagonist, and feared what their old enemy might see on their face. The ex-antagonist stared back at them, something odd on their face.

The protagonist opened their mouth to speak. Closed it. Then, in the end, they walked away.

When they woke up, their party's healer was sitting next to them, looking unbelievably cross.

And they knew, then, that for whatever reason the antagonist had tol, after all.

Bastard.

[sun-stricken]

Do you think Gray, Natsu , Erza and Wendy have accents like all came from different places and I headcanon Florian wasn’t any of their first languages so whenever they get emotional their accents come out and Lucy’s just like “ guys please I can’t understand what your sayin” but they can understand each other just fine.

Like that get ambushed on a mission and they all start swearing except only Lucy’s swearing in Fiorian and they get so angry after the missions complete and thier all complaining about it Lucy’s just completely lost because their accents are popping so hard.

i do think so actually

i mostly just played around with what their accents would sound like rather than what you asked, so sorry🙏

Almost no one outside of who she grew up extremely close with can understand Erza when her accent pops out. Erzas accent is a mash up of a bunch of different ones, being raised in the tower with a bunch of people from various linguistic backgrounds does that, you could not pin point where shes from originally from speaking alone. When her accent pops her words can go anywhere from a clear-cut and concise, to a rolling drawl, to fast and choppy, it will give you whiplash

Natsu and Wendys accents are harsh and makes their words slur together heavily, sounds like theyre short-cutting their words as much as possible. Its meant for fast speaking.

Wendys accent is a different dialect of the average Fiorian one, the rhythm/structure of it flows similarly, but the pronunciation of letters are fairly different. When her accent comes out, her words probably the easiest to make out since (after Grandeeney) she was technically raised in Fioré, although that isnt saying much when compared to the other three.

Natsu, now Natsus accent is practically unintelligible at best, by the time you process what one word was, hes already moved on to another sentence, he could not slow down if he tried. Even if hes speaking a language youre fluent in, if his accent breaks through it sounds like a different language altogether.

Grays accent is sharp and sounds a little awkward, it can make him trip up on his words since Florian languages are faster and the sounds are shorter and an Isvani accent will put stress in unneeded places and is more drawn out. His accent is very, indecisive? the way he says words will change depending on where in the sentence they are or how he uses them. very inconvenient for anyone trying to understand him.

All of this very inconvenient for Lucy. Her first language is Florian, she knows a couple different languages fluently but holy shit, she should’ve brought her flash cards with her when she ran away. Although none of them wouldve prepared her for this

Wendys accent is heavy when shes upset for any reason, while Lucy is okay at understanding her (even if the pace makes her dizzy sometimes) she absolutely cant whenever she cries. Or when shes yelling, or if shes doing anything actually, Lucy has to pay very close attention to understand

Natsus pops at any given time, no real reason, but its like he purposely uses it when hes cursing someone out, he thrives on their utter confusion. If Lucy thought Wendys pace was dizzying, Natsus makes her feel like shes in a tornado.

*Natsu and Lucy arguing and his accent comes out*

Lucy, nearing a breakdown: IDK WHAT THE HELL YOURE SAYING

Natsu, knowing exactly what hes doing: FUCK YOU

Lucy: FOR THE LOVE OF—PLEASE

they have fun🤗

Both Grays and Erzas come out mostly when they’re tired, during intense moments/emotions, or when they talk for a long time.

Lucy has given up on trying to understanding Erza, just sitting there in horrified facination as she successfully captured a part of every countries accent while also trying to use context clues because for some reason the others can understand her perfectly fine (so unfair)

Gray also sometimes uses his accent to confuse people, although he usually dabbles in the actual language than the just the accent cause its funnier that way. Lucy at this point has given up any sense of peace she’ll get to have ever, itll never happen around any of these fools

So far, Lucy thinks Wendys is the easiest to understand (which means its her favorite), Grays is the nicest to listen to (even if the sharpness of it makes it feel like hes about to yell), Erzas is the most confusing (literally what the fuck is it??), and Natsus pisses her off (she knows that mf uses it on purpose to make her confused)

Once they all started talking with their natural accent and Lucy thought she had a brain injury before staring blankly and wonder what her life has come to

[tennessoui]

Is it funnier if Palpatine just isn't around in baby's last mission AU or if Anakin comes to him and is like "Padme and I are getting a divorce" and Palpatine is like "Oh no did those dastardly Jedi-" and Anakin is like "So I can marry Obi-Wan! Master Windu is going to officiate!" and Palpatine is just like what. what. And Anakin is like "Master Yoda said the Jedi would make an exception because I'm special. <3 <3 <3"

funniest i think if palpatine is like. ineffectively there. he's around but he's mostly thwarted from the get-go. bright eyed young anakin comes to meet him and starts gushing about baby-wan.

palpatine decides that he must get close to baby-wan to get closer to anakin which is a little inconvenient, but doable.

only baby-wan ignores his comm calls, zero interest in the chancellor of the republic

thank the stars that eventually palpatine stops hearing about obi-wan kenobi because anakin has decided he hates him and he can continue on as planned.....

until anakin comes back when he's like 19 and he's like me and obi-wan are best friends and i love him A LOT.

and palpatine is like oh no not kenobi, so he reintroduces padme to anakin because palpatine and padme have a mentorship. much more hands-on/influenced than the mysterious obi-wan.....

only for him to come back six years later to tell palpatine that he's getting a divorce so he can marry kenobi and palpatine has to go to his i hate kenobi diary and brainstorm more ways he can kill kenobi (he is on his sixth i hate kenobi diary)