#as soon as i got the exact figure. i was like. ah. no.

[danse--macabre]

thinking about Tirazel as a romancable companion has made me a little ill.... she has a history of manipulative people dating her and using her for her father's connections/money/to further their own interests and she's often agreed despite knowing they're manipulating her because 1. she wants to spite her dad 2. she hates herself and unrequited desire feels 'normal' and 'what she deserves'

like for Tirazel, a relationship in which you lie about your feelings and manipulate is just. normal. "this is all just a silly act. ha ha. flirt flirt flirt. promises we won't fulfil. honeyed words. sweet words. false words. this is how it goes." if you try and go off-script in act 1, she'll correct you / bicker with you, will tell you not to pretend you're interested in anything else, won't even hear otherwise. in act 2, she'll outright confront you about exactly what you want off her because it's been 'too nice' / she's worried, because you've not tried to get one over on her yet.

but the thing is, Tirazel desperately wants to love someone genuinely and openly. She will give you her heart fully if you are patient with her and consistently demonstrate that your feelings are genuine. It takes her time to come around to this, but she will bare that part of her soul. And she will be sweet and loyal and protective to you too. She's a closet romantic and really desires something equally romantic - but private. She'll go from showy flirtation in act 1 that she'll tell you 'is just for show, is part of the game darling' to private, intimate, meaningful gestures in act 3.

girl just wants to love! but doesn't believe it's possible!

[cranberrv]

enchanted

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ in which dallas winston falls for the new girl

( a/n : i love this request sm!! reader is fem by the way, also not proofread also ooc! still cute tho! )

not many people wanted to move to tulsa, but for some people, it was their only option. that was the first similarity spotted between you and dallas.

of course, you and dallas were on different sides of the track, different chapters in a novel. you moved to tulsa for your fathers work, you were perfectly happy back at your old city, but you didn’t have a choice. dallas moved to tulsa to escape from the new york police.

you thought tulsa was bland. it was only your first week here, your first week emerced with all the other teenagers at school, but everyone here was grey. especially the east-side kids, the greasers. they were all broke and it looked like all the life was sucked out of them.

you, on the other hand, were fresh from los angeles, with a feminine flare to yourself and a genuine kindness that was rare in tulsa. even the rich kids were rude, but you were anything but.

it was the start of your second week of school, and your least favourite class was science. not because of the subject, it was just that the people in your class gave you dirty looks and the teacher had a voice that could put you to sleep. and your lab partner in the seat next to you had been away the entire time, leaving you to do projects alone.

today was supposed to be the exact same as usual. at the start of class, you walk in and sit down alone. the teacher does the attendance, and marks your mystery lab partner absent. today is independent work, finishing up a lab report and then doing a worksheet on protons and electrons. you want to fall asleep, it’s so boring. you’re listening to every silent conversation and looking out the window for a source of entertainment. you got your wish soon enough, as the door creaks open.

“hello,” your teacher greets to the boy that enters the room. “you are?”

“dallas winston,” he answers, throwing his burnt-out cigarette in the trash.

your teacher nods her head. “ah, you’re dallas winston,” the voice is slow as she pieces it together. you wonder why the words are said in such distaste.

you’ve given up on your work, watching dallas winston. he looks like an east-side kid, his hair is a bit messy and he radiates confidence. he certainly puts out an energy unlike anyone in this school.

they talk for a bit longer, the teacher obviously telling him it’s not okay to skip class. dallas tries to argue back for a little bit, but eventually gives up and holds his hands up in mock-surrender. the teacher takes a breath then points to you, giving him a worksheet and telling him to go sit next to you. he follows the teachers finger, and he tilts his head when he looks at you, trying to figure out if he knows you or not. his eyes light up a bit when you make eye contact with him. you like the way he looks at you.

dallas walks over, and sits next to you. there’s a few moments of silence as he gets himself settled. spitting out his gum, taking off his leather jacket, and finally landing his eyes on his sheet. he reads over the questions, and realizes has no idea how to do any of this. “you got a pencil?” he asks you.

“yeah, in my pencil case, help yourself,” you answer, and he grabs your pencil case and sifts through it to find one.

he takes one out and hands it back. you say thank you, and he thinks it was unnecessary to be polite about a simple thing but doesn’t say anything. “mechanical, huh?” he says about the pencil, pushing on the bottom to get the lead out. “expensive. what, you a soc or somethin’?”

you look from your worksheet up at him. he has a nice jawline, you notice. “a what?” you ask. an innocent question in your eyes, but one that has a lot more meaning for dallas.

who the hell doesn’t know what a soc is? he stares at you for a second, eyebrows furrowing. not out of annoyance, but out of genuine confusion about why you don’t know about the class-status that built up the entire reputation of tulsa. you know what a greaser is, but not a soc. and you barely know what a greaser is, anyway. you’ve just been told to stay away.

“you know, a rich-kid. a west-side kid.” you still look confused, and he comes to the conclusion that you’re not from here. so when he notices the confused look in your eye, he changes the subject. “where ya from, sugar?”

“i just moved from los angeles,” you tell him. his eyes drift down to your cute lace pink top. he thinks it’s totally something that someone from LA would wear. there’s a speck of silence as he analyzes you, and you feel the need to break it.

“i shoulda guessed,” he says with a raise of his eyebrows. you don’t know if he’s being mean or not. you hope he’s not mean.

“what do you mean?”

“i mean you look like you’re from hollywood or somethin’, with all the lace and the flashy bows and shit..” he’s poking at the lace lining your top. you can see him thinking about something while he’s looking at your lace. “christ, your lingerie collection must be insane, huh?”

there’s a blink of silence and a look of slight disbelief on your face. “what?”

“i’m messin’ with ya, sweetheart,” he chuckles.

“oh,” you say softly, cheeks going a bit hot.

“so,” he starts, switching the topic to a different note. “why’d ya move to fuckin’ tulsa?”

“my dad got a job here,” you explain, fiddling with your pencil in your hands. “why?”

“just curious,” he shrugs. “you know, most people don’t move to this hellhole.”

“you did,” you say, and he tilts his head. you think he’s looking at you because you’re just assuming things, and you’re probably wrong, so he’s judging you. “did you not?”

he cracks a smile. he wasn’t judging you, simply curious as to how you guessed he wasn’t from here. “yeah, i did, sugar,” he nods, leaning back in his seat. “how’d ya know?”

“your accent,” you explain. “very new yorker.”

“yeah? you like it?”

you mirror his smile. “yeah, i do.”

the class falls silent as the teacher insists everyone quiets down and focuses. dally's voice drops to a whisper when he responds, playfully pushing you away. “alright, miss hollywood, go do your work,” he teases. “gonna tell the teacher you’re distracting me,” he threatens, obviously playing around because he knows that he’s the one distracting you.

you smile and turn your head back to your sheet to finish it up. you begin peacefully working. dallas can’t help but stare at you as you do so. nibbling at your pencil while you’re thinking, constantly adjusting your top, brushing your hair out of your face every now and then, he notices it all. he can’t help it, he thinks you’re the sweetest person he’s ever seen.

you look up at him, feeling his intense gaze on you. you make eye contact and instantly turn away again, cheeks going pink like a tulip. why is he looking at you? do you have something on your face? you don’t know. you subconsiously wipe your cheek to make sure, and adjust your top again.

dallas finally looks away, and you take a breath and relax your shoulders. as much as he was acting sweet towards you, you could tell he had this rough edge that you should be worried about. but what truly worried you is the fact that his edge didn’t worry you. if anything, it lured you in. you wanted to learn everything about him. he was like the ocean, he was calm and beautiful but you had to swim out far and dive deep down to find out everything about him. and it felt like no one had, yet. he was a mystery. you liked that.

as you’re working, you hear the rip of lined paper beside you, then the scratch of a pencil. a few moments later, dallas hands you a piece of paper with a note on it.

“how do you do question 1?“ it reads.

you read the note and look up at him, smiling. you write down your answer, saying that he needs a calculator. you hand him yours, assuming correctly that he doesn’t own one.

he slides you another note a few seconds later. “it keeps saying weird shit on the calculator”

“what does it say?” you write back.

he takes longer than usual to write. you wait in anticipation. after what feels like forever (but was probably 15 seconds) he hands you another note. you read the numbers. you don’t understand how he got that answer. you read over it again, and then it clicks. it’s his phone number.

he’s looking at you as you read it. you look up at him and gently nod, putting his number in your pocket. you rip another piece of paper and write down, “i’ll call you.”

he reads it and writes back, and is about to hand it to you, until he quickly takes it back and adds something. then he hands it to you.

“good. (p.s. your little lace top is kinda cute)”

you read his little p.s. and smile to yourself, then to him. you mouth thank you to him. he mouths “anytime” back.

you have a feeling this won’t be the last time you and dallas winston say hello to each other in science class.

[dearanakin]

good partner

Summary: You get a call from Sam asking to help him and Bucky find the Super Soldiers, and get Zemo out of prison. You're still not done with your mission, but the former Winter Soldier doesn't like the idea of you around. This is mostly based on episode 4 of the show, "The Whole World is Watching". I wanted to write something light but you can request a smut.

Warning: Angst, mentions of The Winter Soldier, fluff | Word count: 4k

Pairing: Bucky x f!reader

A loud thud echoed through the loft as Zemo hit his back against the hard floor. You stomped your foot on his chest and heard him grunt against gritted teeth.

"I'm in this case as well. You're just a rat who got lucky from getting out of a cell" You spat out. Both Sam and Bucky trying hard not to snort.

The baron still kept his gaze at you, holding your foot so tight you almost stumbled. He got up on his foot and wrapped a hand around your bicep.

"Leaving you to turn on me once we get to Karli. Hmm. I prefer to keep my leverage. I can't trust you" He locked his eyes on yours and squeezed his fingers on your skin.

You let out a dry scoff. They should've let him die in that prison. Behind your back, Sam was about to step in. Zemo had shifted his demeanor to a cold look. "You let them do it. Stay out of it".

"And who are you to say shit about what I should or should not do?" Raising your voice, he didn't flinch.

The man pointed a finger at you as a warning, still holding his damn tea cup. Only a slight second later, Bucky shattered the glass against the wall and pulled him by his collar.

"You wanna see what someone can do with leverage?" The soldier asked him. He tightened his metal wrist and you could see his shoulder grow wide.

Sam stood next to him, resting a hand on his forearm. "Take it easy. Don’t engage him. He’s just gonna extort you and do that stupid head tilt thing".

Bucky still had him in his grip. Zemo didn't hold any expression, otherwise. It was infuriating. "You want some cherry blossom tea?"

You watched as the taller man twisted his collar. "You fucking touch her again, I'll break your neck". He shoved the baron backward and left the living room.

You were surprised, to say the least. Bucky was annoyed you were on this mission with them. He thought you were actually missing a few points and messing with their plan.

But much to his dismay, Sam agreed to have you on board and didn't complain about your work. Said his partner was just being grumpy.

The former Winter Soldier was leaning against the countertop, his hands gripping tightly against the edge. You offered a glass of water, which he denied.

The Falcon was somewhere else making a call, which left you alone with an irritated soldier and a trash bag of an ex-prisoner.

"Don't let him get through your head" You whispered, standing close to Bucky. He didn't look back at you. "It's what he likes to do. Ever since the last time you engaged".

He gulped harshly, it was back when he was being accused of planning a bombing in Vienna. And then, when he was held hostage in Germany, where Zemo broke him and brought Winter Soldier back.

"I don't like him either. But it's easier if we just ignore" You tried to humor him, but he still wasn't in the mood for interaction.

"Would that work if I ignored you as well?" Bucky lifted his eyes to meet yours. He had a stupid faux grin on his face.

As soon as he didn't get a response, he walked past you and made his way back to follow Sam, leaving you alone with Zemo.

~~

You're all gathered around as The Falcon goes through the plan again. Refusing to tag along with Zemo, you had to agree and make Bucky company.

They tracked Karli Morgenthau to a memorial service. But John Walker and his partner figured out the exact same plan. All you wanted to do was get all the serum back.

That is, if you didn't run into the shittiest Captain America while you and Bucky walked up the alley. You could literally hear him tightening his fists, his metal arm already functioning.

"Ah! How’d you find us now?" The soldier carried an unamused tone in his voice. You watched as John and his partner got closer to you both.

"You think two Avengers can walk around Latvia without drawing attention?" He wasn't wrong, but you knew Bucky was past that now.

The Captain motioned his head towards you, measuring you from head to toe. "New Avenger?"

You snorted out loud and cracked a laugh. Your stomach was starting to cramp and the soldier next to you watched as John held a confused look.

"She's just a partner" He shrugged. "Sam asked for her help".

"Yeah, but not just a partner. So you better not step foot on our plans" Bucky knows how much of a menace you are.

He can't disagree with the fact that you can actually start a fight with the wrong people and not fear them.

John snorted and you narrowed your eyes at him. "Yeah, right. You wanna meet Karli, there will be civilians there. There's a high risk of casualties".

"No one's asking for your opinion, Cap. Sam is gonna talk to her and reason her" You tried to face him, but his demeanor didn't go down on you.

"She blew up a fucking building with people in it. If he's in there alone with a Super Soldier, he's getting himself killed".

Bucky rolled his eyes. "He's dealt with worse".

You were waiting inside the building while Sam tried to convince Karli. John couldn't stop pacing back and forth, even Zemo seemed annoyed already.

He started complaining about how dangerous it was, but the soldier next to you made sure it hadn't even been ten minutes yet.

Already done with his bullshit, you shifted on your foot. Bucky looked at you from the corner of his eyes. You weren't supposed to be there in the first place. He knows you're highly qualified and if shit went down you'd protect yourself.

And even though he's still pissed you're there, he can't wrap his head around the fact that this could be really dangerous for you.

John almost towered over Bucky, he was deadpanning at the Captain. "This is all really easy for you, isn’t it? All that serum runnin’ through your veins".

"Barnes, your partner needs backup in there. Do you really want his blood on your hands?" He tried getting into his head, but the man next to you did nothing but chuckle.

"You really don't know Sam, do you?" You chimed in and watched as John narrowed his eyes at you. "You come in here parading this new shield which, by the way, doesn't fucking belong to you and you want to dictate shit?"

By this point, he really wishes he could hit a woman. Bucky notices how John moves his body and tries to face you, but he doesn't let him.

"You better keep your distance" He warned the Captain, who took a few steps back and raised his hands in surrender.

John didn't wait five more minutes and decided to intervene in their conversation. Karli was fast enough and knocked them down before running away. You couldn't find her in the maze, but Zemo made sure to destroy the serums she had. Or he thought so.

~~

Back in the loft, the German man was lying on the couch with a soft fabric covering his eyes. He was talking about how Super Soldiers weren't allowed to exist.

In gets Bucky as he sighs before taking his jacket off. You couldn't take your eyes off his firm body, his strong arms, and perfectly shaped abs.

You were sitting opposite to him as he was on his back, just staring at his entire body. He poured a glass of whiskey before speaking up about his suspicions about John.

"Well, I know a crazy when I see one. Because I am crazy" He says as he rests his lips on the rim of the glass.

"Good thing you recognize that" You let out a laugh, and he snaps his eyes at you.

Bucky rolls his eyes and speaks through the glass. "You should have a look in the mirror".

You're taken aback by his response and open your mouth, ready for retaliation, but he speaks up again. "Shouldn't have given him the shield".

Sam stood next to him and pointed a finger, but you defended him. "He didn't give it".

You're sitting on the couch with your arms crossed against your chest. The former Winter Soldier walks toward you before crouching in front of you.

"Steve definitely didn't. And you're past the point of giving an opinion here. I said this mission wasn't for you".

He was too annoyed today, that's for sure. But that didn't give him the right to be a brat with you all the time. And you should ignore him, but the bickering gets him all the time.

You lift your torso and fill the gap between your faces. His brows are furrowed. "You don't get to say what I should or should not do".

The staring lingers for a while until the new captain barges into the loft asking for you all to turn Zemo over.

"Shield or no shield, the only thing you’re runnin’ in here is your mouth. Now, I had Karli and you overstepped. He’s actually proven himself useful today" Sam walks over to him.

John tries to tease your friend before the Wakandans enter the loft. They peacefully ask to turn Zemo as well, but a fight bursts in the room.

You run towards the corner of the room behind a pillar, while the wakandan knocks the captain and his friend down. The other three men are standing there, watching him get beat up with amused looks on their faces.

"Looking strong, John" Bucky teases and you snort loudly. He snaps his head your way and grins.

The soldier tries reasoning with Ayo, but she pulls herself away from him and continues to fight against John and his partner. Both him and Sam are too busy to notice that Zemo is trying to get away.

You run after him and hold the door knobs before he can lock himself. "Where the hell you think you're going?"

"Let go, or I'll shoot you" He warns, but you paid no mind. Only then, he gripped his gun quickly before shoving you backward, locking himself.

You looked over your shoulders and watched as Bucky was kneeling on the floor, grabbing his metal arm.

"Shit" You mutter and rush to him. "Everything okay?"

He carried a different look for a slight second, almost vulnerable. He reattached his arm back. Bucky looked at you and nodded. You grabbed his limb and carefully inspected it.

"Did you know they could do that?" He was still glancing down at you. His blue eyes were soft and light. He shook his head and clanked his arm.

Later on, Zemo was still nowhere near to be found, while Sam and Bucky were pissed they missed him.

"How could you not hold him back?" Your friend was messaging a few people he knew might know about him.

"I tried. He pointed a fucking gun to my head" You snapped.

The other man sat next to you on the stool by the countertop. He let out a sharp inhale. "Was it even loaded? He could've just tricked you".

"How the fuck would I know?" Your face was millimeters away from his once again. Your breath was fanning his face and you watched as he tightened his jaw.

"Know why I hate this fucking plan? Because you had one job today and you couldn't even do it" You closed your fists and clicked your jaw at his words.

"As much as I know Sam would bow down to you and say you're a great partner. I beg to differ" He got from his seat and walked with his heavy boots against the floor toward the couch.

Your voice cut through the air with bitterness and you immediately regretted it. "Sometimes you're no different from the Winter Soldier".

He stopped his tracks and spun around. Quickly, Bucky captured your face with his metal hand and squeezed your cheeks, making you pout.

"What the fuck did you just say?" His forehead was brushing yours and you could see rage in his eyes.

"Let go of her. She's just disappointed" Sam gave you a cold look before handling his partner. He grabbed Bucky by the shoulder before the man shoved your face.

You were sitting alone in the loft during the night, trying to book a flight home. Obviously, your plan to help with the mission became a disaster, nonetheless, from the beginning you knew Bucky didn't agree on this.

He thought you couldn't keep up with the plan and he was right. You were making things worse at this point. You wanted to help them, you tracked the Super Soldiers and you helped with Zemo, but that was just it.

Now you're debating whether you should just go without warning or not. Sam is going to be pissed at the end of it. He knows you're better than that, and after what you told Bucky there's no way you can face him again.

Your friend watched you from the corner of the hallway. He knows you're hurting from what happened, you wouldn't snap like that if his partner didn't push you. Sam talked to him, but he was too angry to actually forgive you.

He didn't blame him either.

"Hey, you going to sleep or what?" Sam asked as soon as he dropped his weight on the couch next to you. He peeked through your screen and saw it. "Woah, you're not leaving right? This isn't over. I still need you. We need to find Zemo".

"You can do that without me. You did it before. Besides, he's out there because of me. And Bucky is tired of my face".

He closed your laptop, and you glanced at him. "I can do it, but I don't want to. S'why I reached out to you. And we're gonna find him, he needs us too".

"And Bucky... I think it's just his sexual frustration talking" He laughed as you gasped at his words.

"Sam, what the fuck?"

"Dude doesn't even go on dates, he's probably nervous having a woman around. He's always been grumpy, I think it's in his nature. He'll come around at some point" He grinned at you.

"That's not my problem. He keeps pushing me, I'll fight back" You didn't need to look at him to see he was definitely enjoying the playfulness.

"You guys should just have sex. This is so annoying" Sam grabbed his phone as you choked on your own spit.

"For the love of God, drop this conversation before I snap at you too".

He handed the phone to you, saying Karli was threatening his sister and his nephews. She wants to find him, alone.

He has other plans, of course. But you can't even think about accepting the idea before Bucky gets to talk.

"He doesn't need to know. I'll go with him, you meet us there".

~~

You watched as he and Bucky fought the Super Soldiers along with John and his partner. They were beating each other up relentlessly.

One of them pulled a pocket knife and tried stabbing Bucky and you gasped. He shielded himself, dropping the object close to their face.

He had a snapped cut on his nose, and his jaw was split up. His knuckles were bloody red. Sam was in better shape than his friend, though.

You were shocked when you saw John's partner sitting unconscious on the floor. The captain rushed to him, too desperate to make any sense.

You pulled Bucky and Sam away and ran out of the building. "We gotta get the hell out of here now. He's gonna kill the kid" Your hands were shaking, and you almost tripped on your foot.

"Hey, woah. What are you doing here?" Bucky stopped in his tracks, looking back.

"Let's argue later, dipshit" Sam shouted at the soldier as you kept running.

In the loft, you asked Bucky to sit on the stool as you worked on his injuries. Starting on his nose, he hissed at the contact with the wet cloth.

"Keep steady, crybaby" You whispered and he looked up at you.

You cleaned the dried blood from his face and managed to apply some saline solution. The entire time, he kept his gaze on you. He noticed how focused you were on his injuries and how gently you managed it.

He held his hands up as you cleaned up his knuckles. They were red from all the punching, and it surprised you how he was still human besides the serum.

You squeeze his hands lightly, too embarrassed to look back at him before apologizing. "I'm really sorry about yesterday. It was a really shitty thing to say, and you don't deserve it. I was an asshole".

Bucky trailed his eyes to scan your face. He had a peaceful look. "I shouldn't have pushed you either. I was just annoyed Sam brought someone up to this mess".

"I accepted it. There's no right or wrong, I wanted to help". You were both still brushing your fingertips against each other.

"You're not bad after all" He mused and you chuckled. "I just- I don't think I can keep losing people".

You saw his raw personality right in front of you. That man who kept his serious and defensive demeanor was showing his true self. It was hard to miss it.

Your hand grasped his jawline, carefully rubbing his skin. He almost faltered. "That won't happen. I got two Avengers to protect me".

He snorted, showing his teeth when he laughed. "Should've seen that coming".

"And more than anyone else, you deserve that happiness. You just need to stop lying about your nightmares".

"How do you-" He was about to ask and you tilt your head.

"Sam and I talk. I know it's hard to erase the past. But you're James again, you're you" Your other hand is still holding him tightly.

Bucky refuses to look at you for a moment. And when he does, his eyes are glassy. "It means I remember. It means a part of me is still there. Which means a part of the Winter Soldier’s still in me".

You smack your lips. "You need to stop thinking you're making amends. You need to give them closure, be of service for them. Stop thinking like you still owe them just an apology".

He drops his head and bites his lip. You hold his chin up and force him to look at you. "You're not that guy anymore".

You were about to get closer for the hundredth time. Maybe close the gap between you and pull him in for a kiss. Not because you feel bad for him, for his past. But because you feel warmth when you're close to him.

You feel like he could hold the world above your head and fight for you.

That was when his phone started ringing. John killed that kid out of revenge.

~~

You finally meet Sam's sister, Sarah, after he invites you and Bucky home to help him fix his boat. A lot of their neighbors are also helping. There's a gathering with food and drinks by the lake, and every kid is excited to see the soldier. They're all lining up to hang up on his metal arm.

You're watching in the distance as he and Sarah chat about something, while two kids hang themselves on his limb. He seems lighter, happy even.

He has a different look on his face. Especially after Sam finally decided to become who he was supposed to be.

Bucky walks toward you holding two cans of beer in his hand. "You want one?"

He holds one out for you, and you accept it.

"The kids love you, you know?" You speak after sipping on your drink.

"What can I say? I'm pretty charming" He leans against the wall next to you, watching as the sun sets. There's a hue of orange in the sky.

"They only like you because of your arm. Don't get too cocky" You shove him by the arm playfully and he holds your hand for leverage.

Bucky pulls you closer to his body, his chest is heaving against yours. He's taller, so he has to look down at you.

"So you don't think I'm charming?" His words are too soft, but his grip on your waist is almost tight.

"I didn't say that" You smirk and he uses his other hand to rub the pad of his thumb on your lower lip.

The moment you felt his skin against yours, it felt like everything slowed down. Even though he was desperate to finally give you the kiss he'd been wishing for, it was obvious he was too nervous.

Sam's words lingered in your head. He was definitely in need of dates and he refused to accept it. Whatever changed his mind made you realize he had a soft spot for you.

That's what made you take the first step. You finally closed the distance and crashed your lips against his. It tasted like beer. The tiniest movement of your tongue had him groaning in the back of his throat and it almost made you smile.

He slid his tongue against yours and tilted his head for better access. He wished he wasn't holding a beer right now because all he wanted to do was cradle your face and pull you in for a deeper kiss.

Your arms wrapped around his neck and Bucky faltered as you grasped his lip between your teeth. Both tongues were fighting for dominance and you shivered.

The fresh taste of beer in your mouth made his heart flutter inside his chest. His heart was racing and pounding against his ribcage and he felt like the air got knocked out of his lungs.

You both had to pull out for air, his hand not leaving your body for a second. Resting your forehead against his, you watched as he kept his eyes closed.

"I'm glad you're happier now. I can see it right through you"

"Someone gave me a nudge. And Sam is a great friend, much to my disappointment" He joked, giving your lips a chaste peck.

"He said some pretty nasty things about you the other day" You laughed as he displayed a surprised look on his face.

"Oh, he's a dead man".

"Hmm, he might be right" You sipped on your beer, watching as Bucky placed a hand on his hip.

"What was it about?" The soldier mirrored you with his beer.

Getting closer to his face, you spoke against his lips. Voice low and teasing "You'll have to find out".

You gasped as he pulled you harder against his body and kissed you again. This time, it had a different impact, he was rough and needy.

A growth beneath you brushed against your body, and you chuckled between the kiss. Bucky had to pull away from you. He lowered his head and shook it.

"I might know what he meant" He barely had time to laugh as you pulled him in for another kiss.

You didn't even have time to tell Sam goodbye. Next thing you know, you were both in his hotel room, filling the air with a lot of passion and moaning.

You woke up the next day with a weight on you. His metal arm was spread above your body.

Jesus, they needed to get blackout curtains in the bedrooms. You slightly opened one of your eyes and peeked through your lashes as you saw Bucky peacefully sleeping close to you.

A smile escaped from your lips at the thought of the previous night.

Happiness crossed your mind when you cradled his face and traced his jawline. He was definitely happy. And hopefully, soon, the nightmares would go away.

[pjsk-writin]

Hgrelp its like 11pm n i got baptised but anyways

Can i request hc's (+ a small lil story) of the pjsk boys with a gn reader who like nEEDS to hold something while resting in bed/sleeping bc they've always been sleeping with a plushie n it feels weird for them to not hold sum and then when the boys ask the reader they don't wanna admit it but like the nexy time the chara comes into the readers room theyre just like sleeping w/ a plushie n they go like "oh so thats why"

Tldr; gn! Reader who alaays clings onto character bc it feels weird not to hold a plushie -> when character asks why the reader doesnt admit it -> but when character comes into the readers room to jand oht they see them cuddling w/ a plushie -> character fibally realizes why

HSIDEJ TY

FBSMKSF HELP ? but omg this is so cute....I hope u like this !! <3

♡ CLINGING IN SLEEP - Akito Shinonome, Toya Aoyagi, Tsukasa Tenma and Rui Kamishiro x Reader

Akito:

He would never admit it to you, but Akito gets really flustered any time you cling onto him in your sleep-

It's one of the main reasons why he asks you actually. Not that he doesn't like it, he just hates when you wake up and see him all flustered-

Much to his surprise, you get pretty flustered when he asks, dodging his question with a small laugh. Well, now he needs to know-

His investigation always fails...Until the day you let him hang out at your house. He discovers it rather quickly

"Hey, babe? Do you have-" He walked into your room, finding you clinging onto a plushie like a lifeline. "...Oh."

He grins, stepping closer and looking at the plushie in your hands. He takes a picture to tease you about it, but a part of him can't stop thinking about how cute you look <3

Toya:

Toya might get flustered by you clinging onto him, but he finds that it's really nice actually...You always make him feel so warm

He asks you out of pure curiosity, not wanting you to stop persay, more wanting to know just in case he's ever not there for you to cling onto

You dodge his question in response, and he just drops it because he doesn't want to make you uncomfortable...

Luckily though, he gets the answer to his question when he hangs out at your house.

"Hon, are you okay?" He walked into your room, before pausing once he noticed you clinging onto a plushie, the exact same way you clung onto him. "Ah..."

He watched you sleep for a bit, before tucking you into bed properly, kissing your forehead and fixing the plushie in your hands. How adorable... <3

Tsukasa:

Tsukasa was absolutely ecstatic when he realized you cling onto him when you sleep. He loves affection, and it makes him happy any time you hug him close!

He asks you about it with a wide grin, finding the habit a cute little quirk of yours

You end up dodging his question, and he pesters you about it before huffing. Fine then, he'll find out! A future star can solve mysteries on his own!

He figures it out when you invite him to hang out, and he's ecstatic

"My favorite co-star! Are you?-" He cut himself off when he saw you clinging onto a plushie, and his eyes widened before sparkling at the sight. "Aha!"

He keeps quiet, tip-toeing up to your side to see the plushie you were clinging onto. He grins and pats your head and its head, already planning to show you his own plushies <3

Rui:

Rui absolutely melts whenever you cling onto him in your sleep. He tries to hide it, but the wide grin on his face shows it quite obviously.

He asks you about it one day to tease you, that same amused grin on his face as he asked you

You dodged his question, which made him poke and tease you even more about it. Don't worry, he's sure to find out soon...

And that he does, once he hangs out at your house one day

"Dearest, do you happen to have a screw?-" He paused once he saw you sleeping, clinging onto your plushie. "Oh my...What do we have here?"

He absolutely memorizes the plushie's look so that he can tease you about it, but he spends his time watching you with a small smile. He envies the plushie in that moment <3

[toomuchracket]

promises to keep (flatmate!matty x reader fluff)

matty made a promise to do something for you before you dated, and this is what happens when an opportunity to fulfil it arises once you're together - kinda sorta a sequel to this, but can be read standalone. day 4 of valentine's week. enjoy <3

“matthew? have you got a minute?”

shit. the full name. 

gritting his teeth in a grimace, matty puts down his guitar and follows your voice. “coming now, sweetheart.”

“much appreciated,” comes your tetchy reply. matty winces, wracking his brain in an attempt to figure out why you're not best pleased with him right now, but he comes up short.

he gets it as soon as he enters the kitchen, though; the french press in your hand - and the grumpiness on your pretty, sleepy face - reminds him of everything he needs to know. it also almost manages to stop matty from missing the fact you’re wearing his glassjaw hoodie, a pair of fluffy socks, and very little else. almost. “ah, fuck.”

“indeed,” you say, putting the cafetiere on the counter and frowning (quite adorably, to be honest) at your boyfriend. “actually, that was my exact phrasing when i came in here for a coffee, only to find that the grounds from the last cup hadn't been emptied.”

“m'sorry, baby,” matty moves to hug you.

you, however, have other ideas, and put your arm out to keep him back. “nope! no chance! absolutely not! you can't boyfriend your way out of this one, healy, this is a flatmate issue.”

matty sighs, but he can't exactly argue - the rules on emptying the coffee grounds have been finite since you moved in, the only way to ensure two caffeine-dependent people could cohabit in relative peace. “you're right. i really am sorry, darlin - let me clean it out now, and i'll make you a coffee, yeah?”

“thank you,” your face softens, into the cheeky smirk that never fails to make matty's heart feel funny. “would you make me a bit of toast, too, while you're at it?”

“it'll cost you a kiss, that one.”

“s'pose i could fork out for that,” you wrap your arms around matty's neck, hands sliding home into his hair to pull him down for a kiss. he dips you as you make out, like the two of you are lovers in an old hollywood romance film, and you giggle against his lips as he gently pulls you back to stand. “that was fun!”

“i was kinda scared i'd drop you, i won't lie.”

you laugh, ruffling matty's hair before taking a seat at the breakfast bar. “i would've dragged you with me if you had.”

“i'd expect nothing less,” he smiles, rinsing the coffee grounds from the press and holding it up to the light to check its cleanliness, before popping two slices of bread in the toaster. “what d'you want on your toast, by the way, babe?”

“hmm,” you tilt your head. “do we still have nutella?”

matty squints as he wracks his brain, then rummages around in one of the cupboards. “aha!” he emerges triumphant, almost-empty jar in hand. “enough for toast. but i'll need to get more before the weekend.”

“why? you don't even like it that much.”

“well, what else am i going to put on your valentine’s breakfast pancakes?”

you beam. “am i getting breakfast in bed?”

“course you are,” matty runs over to kiss your nose. “you're getting spoiled, sweetheart.”

“so are you. i was gonna keep it a surprise, but…” you pause dramatically. “i bought new lingerie.”

he drops the butter knife in shock. it hits the countertop with a clatter, and his head almost follows suit. “fuck,” he croaks out. “what colour?”

“dark red. your favourite,” you smile. “i look really sexy in it.”

“i bet you do, baby,” matty sighs happily, pouring coffee into your favourite mug. “can't wait to get into that hotel room and take it off you.”

“me either. and thank you for organising all that, my love. m’excited,” you smile, leaning up to kiss matty as he brings your breakfast over. “thank you for this, too. love you.”

“love you,” he kisses you again. “bring it to the living room? wanna cuddle.”

you nod, picking up your mug and plate and following matty through. he settles on the sofa first, arranging the blankets draped over it and taking your plate from you as you snuggle into his arms. with a kiss to your head, he flicks the tv on, and the two of you sit in contented silence for a little while - with the exception of you crunching your toast - watching animal park. 

matty nudges you when the camera zooms in on a pair of lions curled up together on a rock. “us.”

“really?” you snort, putting your plate on the coffee table. “you think we're lions?”

“yeah. you're the brains behind everything, and i just chill out and have really cool hair.”

you laugh, bringing his hand to your lips and kissing it. “you're an idiot, healy.”

“but i'm your idiot. and i'm right,” matty looks down at you, grinning. “and you've got a little bit of nutella on your lip. here, let me,” he leans down and kisses it away. “there.”

“thanks, lover,” you stretch, snuggling back into your boyfriend with a sigh. “the lions are boring me a bit now, though. what else is on?”

“hmm, let's see,” matty clicks through channels, watching each for a couple of seconds before continuing to search - only when a familiar shot of a girl curled up in a chair reading the bell jar appears does he stop. “oh! babe, look! 10 things!”

“aww, i love this film,” you curl up even further into him, playing with the neck of his t-shirt. “remember when we watched this together in my room?”

matty's voice is quiet when he answers, but you can hear him smile. “thought about it every day since we did, darlin.”

he grins bashfully when you turn to look at him, open-mouthed. you smile, too, so sweetly that it hurts his heart. “same. it was all i ever wanted, to be so intimate like that with you,” you reach up to stroke his face. “best feeling in the world, knowing i get to do it for real now.”

all matty can do is softly hold your face and kiss you, until he runs out of breath and has to pull away from your chocolate-flavoured lips; even then, though, he keeps his hands on your jaw, and murmurs against your lips. “my dream girl. m'so in love with you.”

“i love you so much,” you whisper. “d'you wanna keep watching this, then?”

“course. rite of passage, innit?” your boyfriend grins, tugging you onto his lap and wrapping his arms around you. you turn to kiss him softly once more, then rest your head against his chest and look at the screen. 

the time passes a lot like it did the last time you and matty did this, but instead of mutual pining and an undercurrent of sadness knowing you weren't really together, it's just completely… lovely. you press kisses to each other's heads and hands and lips, and just bask uninterrupted in the love evident between the two of you in the room. aside from the kisses, you don't even move.

that is, until the scene matty knows is your favourite begins. he grins, shifting you slightly further up on his lap so he can look at you properly, and begins to sing into your ear along with heath ledger onscreen. “you're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of you…”

your cheeks lift into a smile, and matty can practically feel the heat radiating off them. but still, you keep your eyes on the tv, the only proper acknowledgement of matty's singing being the way you softly squeeze his thigh.

“... you'd be like heaven to touch, i wanna hold you so much,” he continues, resting his head against yours and smiling when you giggle, then taking your hand. “at long last love has arrived, and i thank god i'm alive,” he moves his hand up to gently turn your head, singing the last bit to your adorably flustered smiling face. “you're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of you.”

you laugh joyously when he stops singing - the best sound matty thinks he's ever heard - and pull him into a kiss. “you're serenading me?!”

“you asked me to, first time we watched this,” matty smiles warmly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “and i promised you i would.”

“i did?” your brow furrows so cutely. “you did?”

“just as you fell asleep. therefore,” he grins, taking a deep breath before literally belting. “i love you, baby, and if it's quite alright i need you, baby, to warm the lonely nights. i love you, baby - trust in me when i say…”

you beam, wrapping your arms around his neck and swaying as you join in the song. “oh, pretty baby, don’t bring me down, i pray,” the two of you giggle as you sing, and matty's never been so in love in his life. “oh, pretty baby, now that i've found you, stay, and let me love you, baby, let me love you.”

as your voices fade out, matty leans forward and kisses you chastely; he beams and caresses your cheek when he pulls back. “thank you for letting me keep my promise. and for singing with me - that was lovely. should get you on the next album.”

“no, i think i'm content with just singing to you at home,” you smile, playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. “thank you for doing that for me. always found it really romantic, that scene and that song. but you know how i am about pda, so what you just did was really perfect,” you kiss him again. “i honestly can't remember you making that promise, though.”

“i think you had already fallen asleep on me, darlin,” matty giggles. “but i wanted to keep it, anyway. and speaking of promises to keep,” his face goes a bit more serious, but still tender, as he picks up your left hand and kisses your ring finger - your breath catches in your throat, eyes widening and welling up. “gonna marry you someday. i mean it.”

you nod, a teary smile on your beautiful face, and pull him into a hug. “i can't wait.”

[almondest]

Star Rail Men

If they'll cook for you.

:: Blade ， Jing Yuan ， Dan Heng ， Sampo ， Gepard

Blade will personally be the type to know how to cook any type of food but will rarely do it. So if you were to get sick in bed, he'll definitely be the type to make you a nice bowl of warm soup.

A light knock was heard before the door slightly opened, revealing a tall man holding a tray containing a hot bowl of soup, a glass of water, and a small jar of medicine.

"I figured you've got an empty stomach, be sure to eat the soup before taking your medicine." He said before leaving you alone.

Jing Yuan probably... doesn't know how to cook. If there were to be a special occasion for the both of you, he'll most likely ask his cook to make a dish that you always loved to eat and claim that he was the one who made it for you.

"Here taste this, I've made it especially for you." He says, guiding you towards the table with a plate of your favorite food in front.

You looked at him in suspicion, but ate it nonetheless. It did taste quite familiar, as if it's the exact same one the cook usually cooks for you.

"Yuan. Are you sure you made this?"

His face turned pale and quickly avoided your piercing gaze.

Dan Heng is the one who knows how to make simple and quick-to-make dishes, like a sunny side up egg or a scrambled egg paired with bacon. In a way, he'll be the type to always be the one to cook breakfast.

You faintly hear the sound of the pan sizzling from downstairs as soon as you wake up from your slumber, making your way to the kitchen, you spot Dan Heng holding a plate of freshly cooked egg accompanied with buttered toast.

"Ah, you're awake! Come over and eat, I've just finished preparing for a perfect breakfast."

Sampo is a total mess in the kitchen and shouldn't even be allowed to be there. Apart from the way he is, he doesn't have a single speck of knowledge on how to cook and he's aware of it! But nonetheless, he still tries to cook you food without attempting to turn it into crisp but fails anyway.

"Again..?" You mumble to yourself, massaging your temples as you look at the mess he just made.

He laughed, walking towards you to wrap his arms around yours. "This will be the last time okay? So please don't be mad?"

Gepard knows how to cook, heck. You even praise him for it. Due to his work, he rarely gets to cook for you so when he has the chance, he surely gets out of his way to make things extra.

You stare in awe at the variety of food in front of you, Gepard surely went too much this time.

"Gepard...We don't need this much food"

He chuckled, faint blush appearing in his cheeks as he scratched his back in embarrassment.

"I know... I just, I just magically did all this...?"

[goodday-goodmorn]

Alright! Starting this shitshow of a blog off strong with a platonic yandere Bruce Wayne fic!

Heavily inspired by- @blughxreader and their batman stuff! Go check ‘em out- (specifically the one with poor reader and the rooftop escape, those are my fav’s <3)

———————————————-

Also inspired by this qoute:

'They can't do that,' she said finally. 'It's the one thing they can't do. They can make you say anything -- anything -- but they can't make you believe it. They can't get inside you.' (Gorge Orwells, 1984)

“You know, i’m pretty sure that you helping me right now would be going against natural selection.”

Bruce sent you a look, something dark in his eyes. You knew it was coming however and shamelessly avoided looking at him for that exact reason. Under normal circumstances you wouldn’t have said that, he never was one for jabs or jokes that hinted in any way about you dying.

“You’re kind of a mother hen ya know that? I mean, i knew before but this is really solidifying it ya know?”

It was a deflection and you both knew it, usally Bruce wouldn’t let you get away with those. But once again, these were not the usual circumstances. Truth be told he was probably just glad you were talking again, that you had some life back in your eyes, albeit only a small amount.

“Your soup is getting cold.”

Ah damn it. You were hoping he wouldn’t notice. A stupid hope, consdiering he notices fucking everything.

“So it is.”

…

A sigh, “Kid, you need to eat.” You knew what it meant. It was a silent question, ‘are we gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?’, because either way, you would be eating.

You swallowed, truth be told, you didn’t have the motivation to eat. Nor the appetite, but the alternative was him talking you through every bite and you really didn’t want that right now.

So with a sigh of your own you picked up the spoon, at least you didn’t have to cook anything, all you had to do was eat what was in front of you. You could do that. Barely any effort. It was simple.

So simple.

The spoon stays in the bowl, your hand resting on it as you stare at the soup.

It’s delicious, you know it is, Alfred's food always is, and he’d made one of your favorites too. Something nice and hearty so you would be full for a while and wouldn’t have to go through the effort of eating again too soon.

Bruce was watching you when you looked up, ever watchful, ever observant, waiting to see if he had to intervene.

You swallowed, you never liked it when he stared too hard. His gaze was always so intense. With heavy limbs, you scoop a spoonful of soup and start eating.

Bruce’s gaze softens and he lets out a soft, “Thank you.” He ruffles your hair and you don’t have the will to stop yourself from leaning into it right now.

Give and take, give and take…

You eat in silence, you’re propped up on some pillows on the bed, Bruce is sitting next to the bed on a chair.

Maybe it had been a stupid idea to ask for him, a very stupid idea but at the time you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t deal with the boy’s clinging, not like this. Not when you woke up feeling like anything but a person.

See, a few hours ago, you woke up and felt fatigued, and apathetic. Two oncoming signs of a depressive episode.

It only got worse as the day went on, you tried to be alright- you really did but, you just couldn’t do it. This whole act of playing house with the Wayne’s was already tiring enough, but for your own sanity you had to keep it up.

After all, if you fought hard against all their afflictions they would only dig their heels in and make your situation a lot worse so- you always figured from the beginning it was better to give in early.

At least, on the surface anyway. Not resist their affections, hell you hadn't even once pulled any sort of escape attempt, or tried anything. You’d barely even argued either.

Your lack of resistance was met with open arms and eagerness. Of course- they knew you were only pretending, that you didn’t view them as family, but they knew it was only a matter of time until you came around.

After all, if you act for something long enough, your brain will eventually start to believe it.

Alas, you were a stubborn little shit, and giving in voluntarily had only seemed to help you keep up this mentality longer.

Until this morning anyway.

When you woke up, feeling like shit and simply couldn’t deal with playing house with your ‘brothers’. So, in your moment of weakness, when you didn’t want to do anything or let them drag you around or cuddle or watch movies, you had done something rather unexpected.

Which of course, was to simply shut down.

They were worried as shit, but when they finally did manage to get you to talk, your shaky whisper of, “I want dad.” -Had been shocking, worrying and exciting all at once.

(It had also been a touch too real, your voice had sounded so small, so far away, and in that moment you really did just want the comforting presence of Bruce.)

So now you were here, so deep into the throws of not being a person you barely felt like moving; sitting in your bed with none other than Bruce Wayne by your bedside, stroking your hair lovingly.

You were done with the soup now, as much as you could eat anyway, before Bruce could even say anything you reasoned with him, “I’ll eat more later. Promise.”

Promises held a lot of weight here. Something practically unbreakable, Especially with Bruce. Especially with you, maybe that’s just because you liked when they had weight. It was nice; To have a concrete thing to swear on that you knew would not be broken.

Bruce probably used them to build trust in his words or something, you didn’t know, and quite frankly you didn’t care right now because well- you got to use them too so…

He thinks for a moment, and then nods, agreeing easily, “Okay.” And with that he takes the bowl from you. He’s… he’s rather agreeable right now, usually he would confirm or try and fight you more on that.

Maybe he was being more lenient because you willingly came to him? Or because you were being open right now, or maybe because he felt bad for what you were going through or-

Gods you don’t have enough energy to ponder this.

You nod and lay back down, he guides you down most of the way. Now you’re back like before, lying in bed, cheek smushed against your pillow, starting at him blankly.

You break the silence as he pulls the blanket over you.

“What type of bird do you think everyone would be?”

He looks back to you, a small upturn of his lips and eyes crinkled slightly in an amused manner. “Why do you ask?”

You shrug, “Bored.”

A partial truth. In reality you were thinking about all that poetic shit about you being like a bird in a fancy golden cage. A very very well cared for bird with access to some deep fucking pockets but you know, still in a cage. Even if the cage is real fancy and has amazing food, even better wifi, and a home movie theater.

(You think Bruce would let you install an indoor pool? Or a jacuzzi. …He probably would. You should ask sometime, ah- you’re getting off track here.)

So anyway- fancy bird poems and then you started thinking about what type of bird you would be and then it kinda spiraled from there.

“Hm. Well, that depends, who do you wanna start with?”

“Mmm… Alfred, cause i think he’s the easiest.”

A little amused quirk of his brow, “What bird is he then?”

“Penguin. Cause he’s always dressed all fancy, and penguins got that sleek fancy vibe about them. They are kinda short for Alfred though…”

Bruce nods, as if taking your words into consideration, “Emperor penguin then. They’re the biggest penguin species.”

Contuiting on just to have something to blabber about you confidently say, “Jason is an emu.”

——————

After a very engaging deep dive into what types of birds everyone was-

(Tim was a woodpecker on account of all the times you’ve seen him slam his head into his desk while working; Dick was an ostrich because if Jason was an Emu then those two had to match; Cassandra got the honor of being a crow; Damien was a kinglet, a ruby crowned kinglet, purely because they are small and for some reason you only recall pictures of seeing those bird look annoyed, Bruce was a harpy eagle because they look big and grumpy, And finally you were a pigeon.)

-You were now half asleep as Bruce read to you like you were a little kid.

It was… nice. Like all the other times you were forced to hang out with the Wayne family. (Only this time you hadn’t been forced, you had called for him.) Nice but with that ever present little weight in the back of your mind, reminding you of just how much these people had taken from you.

Right now though, that little weight was… it was a lot easier to ignore.

You let Bruce’s calming voice wash over you, you were barely listening at this point but he paid no kind to your lack of attention.

This was nice.

No one had ever taken care of you when you went into one of your episodes before. Usually you had to suck it up and work yourself up to go get some food and water before laying in bed until the feeling went away.

It was a terrible feeling, a staggering sensation just on the edge of emptiness. But not there enough for you to not feel anything, it was almost as if everything was muted. All sensations dull, your thoughts weren't but you were apathetic to them.

In short, it sucked. Majorly.

But now, here you were, tucked into bed, fed a warm hearty meal, and being read to with such tenderness and care.

You didn’t even notice that your eyes started to water. But Bruce did. He noticed everything.

Gently, so gently, he wiped away the tear about to fall from your eye. His own were soft as they stared at you. Soft and filled with a look you couldn’t decipher, a look you didn’t want to decipher because the closest thing you could even begin to compare it to was- …was love.

Love.

Fuck- love.

You knew there was something wrong with this family, of course you did- they kidnapped you for pete’s sake, but- but they also had been unconditionally kind to you didn’t they?

You… You couldn’t-

“-do this anymore.”

Your voice was soft, just barely above a whisper. A quiet confession.

‘I can’t do this anymore.’

Bruce sighed, his voice level, but quiet, fitting of the atmosphere. “You don’t have to, it’ll be so much easier if you just give in kiddo.”

He cupped your face in his hand. His own skin was scarred, rough, callous, and yet he held you with such care. It was almost reverent. He gazed at you with an almost sad look, as if your passive struggle hurt you more than him.

(It probably did. He didn’t have anything to worry about after all, you would break eventually. You could only keep telling yourself this was pretend for so long.)

“…”

Stubborn. Always so stubborn in the most muted way; silence. You weren't one to make large outbursts, or outwardly resist, but even so, passive stubbornness. It was something Bruce was fond of; how resilient you were.

You look away from his gaze, not meeting his eyes. His eyes, always so intense, always so much behind those icy blue scaleras.

“Is it-“ You start, the chemical imbalance in your brain making you honest right now.

You realize suddenly that this is the first real conversation you’ve had in months. There was no keeping up the act here. No holding your tongue or dancing with your words, no overthinking about what response would make you the perfect sibling, the perfect child. No catering, no push and pull of deciding how much of you you want to put into your words.

This was honest. The most honest you’ve been since you were kidnapped.

Bruce tilts his head slightly, patiently waiting for you to continue. He could sense a breakthrough, and he always did know when it was better to hold his tongue.

“…Is it worth it?” You say, eyes filled with so much emotion simmering just under the surface.

Bruce has a good idea as to what you’re asking. He knows you. Knows the way you think, the way you come to conclusions, your speech patterns, he knows you well.

(And yet it’s not nearly as much as he wants to. He wants to know more, to know everything, he wants for you to share such details about yourself willingly. He wants you to come to him after a rough day and listen to you rant. He wants to hear you laugh as you discover a new interest. He wants-)

“Yes.”

He strokes your hair gently, voice impossibly soft.

“It’s worth it.”

He answers your asked, unasked questions without a moment's hesitation.

‘Is it worth it to do all this? To keep me here against my will? To have me locked away like some canary in a gilded cage?’

“If it means you are safe and happy.”

“Is this really happiness?”

“It can be if you let it.”

“…”

“Don’t you like it here? You have a loving family, a nice house, you never have to worry about food or safety ever again.”

“…”

He cups your face with both his hands now, making you meet his gaze. Always intense. Too intense. You can’t handle the weight of his love for you.

Flicking your eyes to the wall you mumble, “There’s a saying. If you love something, let it go.” It’s weak, half hearted, you aren’t even sure you really mean it. (You aren’t even sure if you want to be let go anymore… you can’t imagine returning to a life before all this.)

(And Bruce knows this.)

You look back at him, meeting his eyes because you- you just- you know it’s stupid to ask but you can’t stop yourself-

“Why?”

You don’t need to explain any further. Bruce always seems to know what you’re asking.

‘Why me? Why do any of this? Why go through all the trouble just to keep some random kid?’

“Because I love you.”

He says it so easily. So simply, so calmly, as if it is undeniable fact, so once more you ask with more feeling this time,

“Why?”

You can’t stop yourself from leaning into his hold as he gently presses a kiss to your forehead. It’s childish, it’s stupid, it’s dumb, it’s humiliating-

He wipes away new forming tears, still cupping your face, “Because you’re precious.”

You choke out, “You don’t even know me.”

“So then, let me know you.”

Weakly, you shake your head, his hands fall from your face as you choke out, “I- I don’t- i can’t.”

“Hey, look at me sweetheart.”

You do, looking up at him and seeing only the love of a father. You don’t know how to handle such a sight. It’s foreign and it burns and yet, you are drawn in like a moth to a flame.

“We already love you kid. Nothing could change that.”

“You love the idea of me.” You counter, shuffling to prop yourself up a bit because laying down for this just seems too- too vulnerable.

He sighs, “If you think that then we seriously should have had this talk sooner.” He mentally tsk’s, he knows he’s been putting it off for so long because well- you’ve been good. And the family was happy and you were adjusting better than anyone expected you to.

It seems his negligence has resulting in this problem growing however.

He says your name, folds his hands and looks at you calmly, “-If the family wanted another child, then we would have gone to an orphanage.”

You swallow, he continues, “But, we didn’t want just any old person. We wanted you.”

You try to deny his words, no one’s ever wanted that before, and yet you can’t. Because it’s the only thing that even begins to make sense in your head. The only logical reason any of this would have happened.

You can’t deny it.

They love you.

They’re insane, they kidnapped you and yet- yet they- it doesn’t-

“-make sense.” You whisper, even though it’s the only thing that makes any semblance of sense.

“I know, you’re confused and not used to this and scared, but you’re the only thing holding yourself back. If you just let yourself believe we’re a family, you’ll feel so much better. This mindset is only hurting you sweetheart, you need to let it go.”

You look at him, eyes wet and so vulnerable as you whisper in a small voice, “I don’t know how to.”

And he pulls you close now, into a hug, it’s a bit of an awkward angle because he’s on a chair next to the bed and you’re on the bed, but you barely even notice with the way he’s pressing you to his chest. He’s warm as he wraps his arms around you and gently strokes your hair, consisting, comforting.

“We’ll be there every step of the way, start small.”

You shudder. The weight in the back of your mind is back in full force. He's asking you to give up your last bit of resistance. Your last act defiance. He’s asking you to give yourself up voluntarily. To fully endorse the idea that they are your family.

The worst part is, you don’t find yourself all that horrified with the idea.

If anything, you’re more scared that you’ll mess up somehow and piss them off with the real you and end up locked in a basement or something.

You don’t- you don’t know how to have a family. How to have siblings, a father- you don’t know how to interact or what to say and what to do- what if you fuck it up? what if you aren’t acting enough like a family and-

“-breathe with me kid. Com’on, in for 5.” He’s stroking your hair still, talking with you as he counts. You find yourself unconsciously following the deep rumble of his words.

“That’s it… hold for 4. One, two-“ It’s actually really nice to listen to him. Pressed so close like this you can hear the purr and rumble of his words in his chest. You can feel his chest expand with his own steadying breaths.

“Exhale for 6. One, two, three-“ You repeat his number sequence until you find your breathing is back to normal. Not that you had noticed how frantic it got to begin with.

Bruce hums, you feel the vibrations. You can hear his heartbeat like this. It’s nice, being held in his arms. “Good job kid, better?” His voice is a smooth rumble.

You nod weakly against him.

The two of you stay like that for a bit, him holding you as you listen to each other's heartbeats. You ground yourself with his and find your eyes drooping once more with sleep.

You make a noise; a hum of sorts and he sends you his own in return, soft, questioning.

“I-“ You clamp your mouth shut, thinking about what you’re about to say, thinking about if this is what you really want.

In the end you settle on this being the best choice, “I’ll try.” You swallow, mouth suddenly feeling dry, Bruce doesn’t give you any time to regret it though. He presses his face to your hair, affectionate.

“I’ll make the transition as comfortable as possible.” He promises against your hair, not being able to hide the smile in his voice.

You swallow again, starting up with slight nerves clear in your voice, “B-but i told you i’m not exactly very likable s-so don't regret it when i start speaking my mind and-“

That gets a laugh out of him, an amused kid huff, “You can’t possibly be any worse than Jason or Damein.”

You give a weak smile, “I dunno old man, think I could give ‘em a run for their money in bluntless.”

Bruce is smiling, you see it when he pulls away and looks down at you with such adoration. “We’ll have to see then.”

He’s happy, more than happy at finally hearing you be you. As much as he wants to keep you in his arms and listen to you for the rest of eternity however, that was a rather exhausting conversation. You look more than ready for some rest.

Gently, (always so gentle with you, as if you were somthing to be treasured), he laid you back down on the bed.

You let yourself be tucked in. You let him press a kiss to the top of your head. You let him turn off the lights.

“Um hey B- D-Dad?”

Bruce notices the slip up, but he lets it go. You’ve just made a lot of progress, and you’re clearly trying.

“Yes?”

“Do you uh- can i call you something else? Dad just feels really weird and kinda artificial at times so I was thinking maybe something more natural like maybe Pops? Or something like that i don’t know i just-“

“Of course you can.” He cuts off your nervous ramble easily, “You can call me whatever feels most natural, kid.”

You suck in a breath, soothed by his clam tone.

“O-okay. Cool… cool cool cool. Uh well then, could you maybe- maybe er- read to me? If that’s- if that’s alright..?”

Bruce was so proud of you. So much progress was made not too long ago and you were already trying to push yourself out of your comfort zone. You were trying so hard, bless you, you precious darling child.

He turned on the bedside lamp and took his seat on the chair once more, picking up the abandoned book.

Truth be told, Bruce was a busy man and he should be leaving because he has patrol in an hour, but he’ll be damned if he can’t carve out time for you. Especially when you asked to see him today.

(Especially when you were finally willing to view him as a father.)

“Would you like me to continue this one or do you want a different book?”

You jerkily nod, “That one’s fine.”

So, he begins to read once more, his voice a calming drawl that washes over you. Your eyelids grow heavier and heavier, and soon you are yawning and drifting off.

Once Bruce is sure you’re asleep he closes the book. With such a soft gaze he gently brushes the hair out of your face, smiling to himself. Then he gets up and turns the light off, walking out of your room and letting the door close with a soft click.

He isn’t surprised to find all of his boys camping out at the door.

He sighs, looking over the lot of them. From the looks of it they’ve been camping out here all day, or have been continuously coming back.

The only one who even has the decency to act sheepish that he’d been caught is Dick, and even then, he barely looks sorry.

Bruce shakes his head fondly at his boys, ushering them all out of the hallway to your room to let you sleep in peace

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Not bothering to send this on anon because I'm 75% sure no one in this story even has Tumblr, and I'm 100% sure the main person in the story hasn't used Tumblr since 2017.

AITA for not waking up my friend?

Asking this because a birthday of a deceased loved one is coming up soon and I would really feel like an asshole if I didn't text my friend, but we're not on speaking terms at the moment.

Okay, so story begins 5 days ago: me and some friends (all F between 22-24 years old) including me (24F) and B (23F) were going to hang out at a park near B's house. Everyone except B was ~1 hour drive away, but this park has a migrating species visiting this time of year, and this park was special because B's mom also took her there before she passed away when B was a teenager. So me and other friends drive up, and we are all in a group chat discussing what time we're leaving, so there are text records of when we left, but nobody texted an ETA to B until we got there. B's house is about 5 minutes away, so we figured it wasn't a big deal and she'd meet us soon, so we wait in the parking lot. An hour of us texting and calling her goes by with no responses from B, calls went straight to voicemail. Eventually, she texts back saying she just woke up (it was past noon at this point, and she had texted us ~10am) and that she was still in bed. We all decide to leave without her, and that's when she starts blowing up everyone's phones.

She eventually shows up and finds us, and she had clearly been crying. She started chewing us out on the walking path telling us we should have gone to her house to wake her up, or called her dad to wake her up. (She lives with her dad, but it was the middle of a work day, so I didn't even know he would be home.) She was very upset about us not waking her up and not telling her our exact ETA before we got there, but we were all kind of annoyed that we had waited so long for her too, so it was a very tense hang out.

I was willing to let it go, honestly, even though we've been fighting about a couple other things recently (that deserve their own post, but I know I'm not the AH in that one) and because I had a similar issue last year where I slept through a hang out, and I just ended up showing up late, no big deal. I actually apologized for sleeping through my alarms, which B has still not done. If she'd apologized and THEN said we should have told her our ETA, I would have apologized for that. I have not and do not plan to apologize for not waking her up or calling her dad, because I find that kind of thing childish, but if I'm ruled TAH, I will. I know one friend from the group is on ny side entirely, I don't know the opinion of the other.

We fought about the situation more that night, and after I said it was childish of me to call her dad to get her, she stopped responding. B did text me back the next day telling me she didn't have time to discuss then, but she'd text me back when she did, and now it's been radio silence for almost a week. Now B's mom's birthday is tomorrow, and I feel bad not saying anything to her. In past years we've always talked or hung out, because I know that day is especially hard for her. I definitely feel a little like TAH, but I'm also still mad. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[unhappy-last-resort]

Fevered Dreams ( PGR Chrome & ??? x GN Reader)

Warnings: implied somnophilia, manipulation, reader is sick (possibly COVID sick, depends on how my test goes), I am currently ill so I decided to write comfort that's less comfort and more discomfort instead

Lmk any mistakes or improvements I can make.

It started with something small. Just a sore throat and nothing more, but by the next afternoon it had slowly grown into into something more troublesome.

Shortness of breath and fatigue and all while you were on a mission too, how convenient. Gray Raven was quick to shuffle you back to base once a nearby squad arrived to help and off you went back on a ship straight to Babylonia with Liv to accompany you just in case you got worse on the flight back (you did.)

You couldn't help but be frustrated, the day was going well and now everything is going to grind to a halt. You were already dreading what the night would be like when you were struggling even to take a nap. You sit up in your bed and stare a hole into the bedsheets. You didn't feel like doing much of anything, you just wanted to sleep, but that seemed impossible. You kept tossing and turning and even when you did fall asleep for a second you'd have these terrible nightmares; a swelling red tide full of all the cries of the ones you love and care about with their broken hands reaching out to you, looming towers disrupting your vision and transforming your friends- and even yourself into something crazed and horrid, towering trees made of fire and hellish twin faces, a sister in white slowly being torn apart limb by limb as her two red sisters scream in horror and pain of losing each other again as one red sister begs you to do something while the other says to stay away and that you'll never be enough. You're sure there's more, but you're too tired and miserable to try and remember any further.

A light knock disrupts your thoughts, and you're thankful for it. "Come in." You try to say it loud enough so the other person can hear, but you end up giving yourself a coughing fit instead.

"Commandant, I've warned you many times about the cost of exhausting your body." A familiar yet surprising voice sounds through your room and you look up between coughs.

"Chrome?" You croak and your brows furrow slightly in confusion. You're not surprised that he's visiting you, you're surprised that he's back so soon.

You remember earlier...you don't remember when and you can't figure out a time estimate, but he came to see you.

In the midst of your tossing and turning, you opened your eyes faintly to see a blurry figure, the face wasn't close enough for you to tell who it was and judging by the black in the blurry colors, it certainly wasn't Liv. Ah, what was that? It looked like a flash of red, Lucia? But you're not sure that's right either.

You open your mouth to ask who it is when the figure speaks first. "Rest. You don't need to fret, I'll be watching over you."

It's masculine, so definitely not Lucia or Liv...your brain is so scattered you can't seem to decide on who it is. Names and faces appear and disappear like shards of glass in your mind's eye, fleeting and falling through your fingers before you could catch them.

A light pressure forms on your shoulder, pushing you down gently in an attempt to stop the writhing you hadn't realized you were doing. "There's no need to panic, I won't hurt you, I just want to watch over you for a while. I'll look after you and keep you safe."

Noan? Lee? Chrome?...Chrome. It must be Chrome you decided, but why is he here now? You remember Liv saying he would visit at 5 PM and while you don't know the exact time now, you knew it was too early to be 5PM.

"Chrome? Didn't you say you'd visit later?" You ask nasally, your throat irritating you to no end. There's a brief moment of silence from the figure before he speaks again.

"I finished my work early, so I decided to come see you early. Is that alright...Commandant?" The voice is melodic, if you didn't know Chrome you'd think he was mocking you right now.

"It's fine, just wondering is all." You mumble as your head falls back onto the pillow, so tired and yet unable to sleep.

"Of course, you wouldn't want a wolf to come in and endanger you." Chrome replies, you feel a finger glide over the line of your torso before stopping right at your midriff. You laugh softly into a coughing fit at his 'joke'.

"Oh my, you really are quite ill aren't you?" A moment later you feel your head being raised and a cool glass press against your lips. Obediently you open your mouth and drink the water and when you've had enough, 'Chrome' gently sets you down again and cups your face.

You keep your eyes closed as he stays like that for a while. You feel his gaze over your face before it slowly drifts down and lingers at your lips, what you assume is a finger runs over your bottom lip before his heavy gaze travels further, studying your neck, then your chest, your arms, your stomach, your hips, and resting a moment between your thighs before the gaze travels the dips and curves of your body back up to your face.

"Go to sleep." If you hadn't known Chrome better it would've sounded like a warning. Regardless, you did somehow manage to fall back into a sleep punctuated with the occasional ghostly sensation of gloved fingers on your skin followed by a soft press of lips, but you couldn't tell if that was from a dream or not, since every time you tried to see who it was...there was nothing.

"Commandant?" Blue eyes swirling with concern and a slight twinge of fear wait anxiously for your answer, a gloved hand stretches out before abruptly hesitating and pulling back. "Commandant, can you hear me?"

"Yeah sorry, I didn't realize I zoned out." You give Chrome a faint smile. "But you don't need to check up on me so often."

Chrome's brows furrow, he seems more anxious suddenly. "Commandant, this is the first time I've seen you today. Did you...perhaps have a dream?"

"Huh? No, you definitely came here earlier." There was no doubt in your mind that that was real. You saw him earlier, you were absolutely certain. You'd even bet your life upon it, that's how certain you were.

"...I wasn't here earlier." Chrome replies, there's no tone of judgement, or mockery in his voice. He says it calmly, confidently, and gently, the same way he does when informing you of strategies or what types of enemies are on the field.

You don't know what to say so you quietly look over the memory again in your mind, combing through it and looking for anything suspicious. It must've shown on your face because Chrome suddenly crouches down in front of you.

"It's...alright if you dreamt of me," Chrome's cheeks flush ever so slightly and he averts his gaze before finding his words once more. "But I want to make sure you know the difference between dreams and reality, Commandant."

There is no hint of judgment in his face, only the sincere and genuine care he has always shown you. "I...you're right, maybe I've been pushing myself too hard lately. I'll ask Liv if I can take some sleeping pills." You're still certain those events were reality, but knowing how concerned everyone already is, you don't want to add hallucinations onto their list of things to fret about so you just go with it instead.

Chrome smiles gently and then it falters for a moment, becoming confused then strained as his gaze lingers on the side of your neck. "Chrome?" You call, wondering what's wrong. Your fingers reach up towards your neck before being stopped suddenly, you look down and realize it was Chrome's hand on your wrist. You stare at each other for a moment before Chrome stands up and clears his throat, letting go of your wrist in the process.

"Ahem...it's nothing, Commandant. I was just thinking about missions. Please get some rest." And with that, Chrome leaves. Quietly shutting the door behind you and leaving you in solitude once more.

Solitude? My, after such a wonderful performance you gave me you think I'd simply leave you to suffer alone? Never, dear little rabbit of mine, would I ever do such a thing.

[a-kaash-me-outside]

a bit dirty - ch5

in which you hook up with osamu in a club bathroom and that's just the beginning. prev | ch5 | next (coming soon) [masterlist]

// can't be a bad idea ~ ᴏsᴀᴍᴜ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ~ 6538 ᴡᴏʀᴅs

a look into this chapter: 18+ minors dni nsfw, more bathroom fucking, somewhat publicish? but when isn't it i guess, meeting friends p2 ~ ah!, names names names pet names a million pet names, some nice fruition, a lot of feelings, soft and fluffy fr, afab she/her pronouns

tori talks: ch6 will not be out next week as (to be honest) it isn't finished yet. i thought i'd have finished it by now, but my life is kinda crazy right now!! and i am very!!! ah! so! it will be coming, i promise. just not next week. thank you for being patient and sweet as always. ♡ ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢs ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴs ᴍᴇᴀɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ♡

osamu has ‘trusted’ atsumu with working the night shift and closing the restaurant, and that’s how you know how important this night is to him. plus, atsumu kinda owes you two.

but it’s not just that he’s letting atsumu work the night shift and close the restaurant (or, rather, shove receipts into a paper bag until osamu’s back to deal with it), he made plans and arranged the schedule so that the two of you weren’t working the morning shift the following day either, and he did it all within a week. 

usually osamu liked to plan ahead, organize his weeks months in advance, iron out details and double/triple check, especially when it came to his restaurant, but the second that he dropped you home that night, he was moving around shifts and trading favors for promises. he didn’t want to wait weeks and weeks and months and months to take you out on a proper date. in fact, even waiting until the end of the week was too long, but he’d survive. 

particularly, he’d survive when most of his shifts leading up to your date were ones that he shared with you. some days with just you, some nights with some extra coworkers, and the night before your date spent all alone. it was slow anyways, barely enough dine-in customers all night to count on both hands. 

as time ticked on, as it got later and later into the night, all osamu had were to-go orders and solo lingering customers at the bar. he was ready to close up shop early, to turn the sign to close and call it an early night in preparation of his date tomorrow, but the door chimes and along with it a loud chatter as a group of guys enter from outside. “hey guys, was just about to close up, but i’d be happy to do a to-go for ya,” osamu calls out as he delivers the last bill to the single woman in the middle of the bar. 

“shit,” tsukishima says under his breath, reaching over to smack kuroo in the back of his head, “shoulda fuckin’ left an hour ago, when i said.”

“miya osamu closing early?” you tease, and osamu instantly swivels his head to find where the voice is coming from, “what’s the rush? gotta hot date?” you ask, light as air as you enter the restaurant for the first time as just a customer. 

when osamu sees you, his chill attitude is put on pause, not gone, but not at the forefront, as you walk over to greet him, to pull menus from behind the bar and set them on the corner booth, but you don’t get that far. you’re not on the clock. you’re just here with your friends as the cute girl he’s going on a date with tomorrow, so he reaches his arms out, wraps them around you and pulls you into a tight, but quick hug. it really isn’t long enough. 

“what’re ya doin’ here?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed, smile huge. 

you nod towards the direction of the four guys bickering in the doorway. “friends were hungry, recommended the best place i knew,” you say, lightly nudging your elbow against his side, “plus i knew you were all alone tonight, figured you’d want company as you closed.”

he smiles even bigger at this, goes to nod in affirmation, but you rush on, “but if you’re really closing up early and stuff, it’s not a big deal, we can-”

“go sit down,” he says, chin pointing to the exact booth you were going to put menus on, “whadya want to drink?”

“surprise me,” you say, sly smile kissed away as he leans down and places a small peck against it and you’re ready to call off the entire date tomorrow, because you’re not sure that you need it. this casual kiss, the tight greeting hug, you could just take him back to your place tonight and spend the entire day tomorrow telling him all the reasons why you’ve fallen for him this past year. 

but osamu, ever the romantic, classic, but with an exciting twist, probably wouldn’t let that happen, needs to take you out on a real date, has probably put a lot of thought into where he’s taking you and what he’s going to wear and what you’re going to wear and you don’t want to deprive him of that. 

you kiss him once more because you can, and then you walk, menus in hand, over to the large booth in the corner and motion with your hand for your friends to join you. “is osamu really okay with us staying?” akaashi asks, sliding into the booth next to bokuto. you sit on the other side of bokuto, able to get up and grab things from behind the bar or the kitchen if you need to.

“definitely,” you say, smiling as you start spewing recommendations, food that isn’t really on the menu and items that are better than others because they’re osamu’s favorites and osamu makes his favorite foods with a bit more love than the rest. when osamu makes his way over to your table, everyone knows exactly what they want, rattles off a long order of hidden dishes and kitchen favorites and osamu smiles at you every single time.

“do you need help?” you ask, body already moving to join him in the kitchen.

he clicks his tongue, hand on your shoulder to keep you seated, “i’m okay, i promise.”

“i know you’re okay, but if you need something, i can-,” you start, but are cut off by osamu’s sweetly stern statement. 

“you’re not working, angel, quit,” he says, waving you off as he walks backwards towards the kitchen and you know you’re not going to hear the end of it when he walks through that swinging door. “just be a bit,” he calls as he disappears into the back room. 

you throw a look to your group of friends, narrowing your eyes as their smiles grow. kuroo’s the first one to talk. “well, if i knew that’s all i had to do to make you quiet, i’d’ve started calling you angel a long time ago,” he jeers. 

“seriously, did you see how fast she just gave it up?” tsukishima asks, because, of course, the only time that kuroo and tsukishima get along is when they’re poking fun at you. 

“oh hush,” akaashi says, defending you as he does, “maybe if you guys were as hot as osamu, somebody might listen to you.”

“kaashi’s got a point,” bokuto agrees, nodding along happily, because bokuto will always agree with akaashi.

you put your hand on bokuto’s arm, “he absolutely does, bo.” and the rest of the table is quiet, eerily quiet, and so are you, terrified that someone is going to say something else or embarrass you in some way, but the thing that breaks the silence is kuroo.

“he really is hot though,” he says, nodding, and everyone is in agreement there. 

/\ /\ /\

“seriously, everything was so good,” akaashi praises for the sixth time tonight, head leaning on bokuto’s shoulder because he keeps telling everyone not to let him eat another bite and then he keeps fighting everyone and eating another bite. 

“thanks, i appreciate it,” osamu says for the millionth time tonight, because it’s not just akaashi who is fawning over the food, it’s everyone at the table. 

you’re sitting next to osamu who’s pulled up a chair on the edge of the table and is finishing up his own dinner with you and your friends. his hand is on your knee, just resting while the two of you eat the last bites of food on your plate, just to let you know that he’s there. 

“so where are you bringing yn tomorrow?” bokuto asks, finally calling attention to the two of you dating for the first time tonight.

“oh,” osamu laughs, “kinda a surprise,” he admits, “but i guess i can show ya.” he pulls his phone out of his pocket, types something into it, glares at you when he shows your friends, makes sure that you’re not sneaking a peek. they all look confused at first, but then he types something else out on his phone and shows them again and they all understand now. 

“this is totally not fair,” you say, shaking your head, “spilling the surprise, but i don’t get to know.”

“just be patient, yn, god,” tsukishima teases, residual smile from reading whatever it was on osamu’s phone. “you’ll see tomorrow.”

“you will see tomorrow, doll,” he says, last bite from his bowl gone after he finishes his sentence. “speaking of,” he stands up, “you guys are welcome to stay as long as you want, but i do have to start cleanin’ up and closin’ down.” the open sign was turned to closed about an hour ago, but the six of you were chatting and eating and osamu happily welcomed the company in the final hours of the day.

“ah, yeah, we gotta get goin’, actually,” kuroo says, reaching into his pocket to grab his wallet as he nods towards you, “yn’s got a big date tomorrow, gotta get her home early.”

“it’s funny when i make the joke,” you say, narrowing your eyes, “not you.”

“i thought it was funny,” bokuto admits. 

“i’ll take the bill whenever you’ve got a second,” kuroo calls out, credit card in the air, but osamu waves his hand. 

“don’t worry about it,” osamu calls out from the kitchen, walking back into the dining area as he wipes his hands on his apron. 

“no way,” kuroo says, shaking his head.

“serious,” osamu replies, “on me.”

“that’s really nice of you, but we ate so much food,” akaashi reasons, gesturing to the table of plenty of empty dishes. 

“just happy to meet yn’s friends,” osamu says as your friends meet him by the exit, “nice to share a meal with ya guys, thanks for the company.” 

kuroo sticks his hand out of a handshake and osamu takes it despite how weirdly formal it feels for him. tsukishima offers a wave and a sincere thank you. akaashi pulls him into a half-hug and bokuto nearly tackles him. they all pour gratitude and appreciation, and you’re sure they feel special, but it’s nothing compared to how you’re feeling right now. 

you feel like you could walk across the clouds, light as a feather, happy as a clam. you wrap your arms around osamu’s neck, pull him down into a soft, sweet kiss, and then pull him into a tight hug. he squeezes his arms around your waist, picks you up off the ground as he tightens his grip around you. “i’ll see ya tomorrow, sweetheart,” he says and then presses a kiss into the side of your cheek.

“can’t wait to see this mystery place,” you say, one last small peck on the lips for good measure before pushing the door open and joining your friends outside. you wave at him through the glass, and he waves right back.

“you’ve gotta cool boyfriend, yn,” tsukishima says once the doors close completely and the four of you start walking back to his car.  

“not my boyfriend,” you say, smacking his arm, but you feel giddy, like you’re twirling your hair around your finger and your eyes are made of hearts as your finish, “yet.”

/\ /\ /\

there are quite a few things that you’re feeling while you lean against the arm of your couch, phone in hand, waiting for a text from osamu to tell you that he’s outside of your apartment, and it hits you very suddenly that amidst all of them, amidst the floating and the excitement and the curiosity, you can’t seem to find nervousness anywhere. 

receiving osamu’s be there in 10 text, there are no jolts of anxiety or simmering bouts of apprehension that usually accompany a first date. you’re not worried about saying the wrong things or figuring out halfway through dinner that you’re incompatible or fearing that your date has the wrong idea of your level of interest. 

if labels didn’t exist at all, the way that you and osamu interact would put you way past friends and casual hookups. if the circumstances of meeting for the second time weren’t as they were, tonight would feel less like a first date and more like a date night. 

even the unexpected knock on the door doesn’t scare you. in fact, you’re not sure why you weren’t just expecting it, as if osamu would make you walk from your door to the car all on your own. you’ve been ready for the better half of an hour, shoes on and waiting by the door, not because osamu is late, he’s perfectly and attentively on time, but because you’ve been ecstatic about this all day. you open the door, already grinning before you can even see him, just at the presence of him on the other side. 

when you see him, your beaming grin turns more into a smitten smirk, quieter and more fluttery, and despite the fact that you saw him less than 24 hours ago, you have to restrain yourself from tackling him. he looks good, great, perfect actually, and seeing him look so perfect doesn’t make you feel any less dressed up, just more excited to be here with him and to see where he’s taking you.  

his eyes meet yours and they linger, helplessly and unapologetically, before skimming down your body, lips in a tight smile as he lets go a, “you look really great.” he leans in, palm resting against your jaw as he presses a sickeningly sweet kiss into your smile. you’re not exactly sure how you’re still upright, knees slightly weak as he snakes his arm around your waist, holding you tightly. “ready to go?”

you nod, follow him down the sidewalk to his closely parked car, and he helps you into the passenger seat, his hand moving with your waist to feel you against his palm for as long as he can.

the only turmoil you’re feeling is the fact that you have to behave all night when osamu looks like that and you’re both off the clock and out in a romantic environment and he keeps touching you like that and when the expectations of tonight are the same in both of your heads. 

/\ /\ /\

osamu has a way of making even abandoned oceanside buildings feel romantic. 

it wasn’t exactly the type of place that you were expecting osamu to take you on your first date, but for some reason, you trust him. actually, it isn’t anywhere near the images that you had in your head, but when he parks, turns off the car, a bit of underlying nerves in his demeanor, and turns to you with a look that says i know this is weird, and i don’t really know how to explain it without showing you so just trust me, you throw him one right back that says, of course i trust you. 

though, it’s not adding up in your head either, where you are and how he looks. you stay in your seat until he opens your door because you know osamu enough to wait the extra few seconds. he doesn’t rush to grab something else from the backseat or trunk, doesn’t lead you down the river past the abandoned building to sparkling lights and a set up spot. 

when you step out of the car, you walk with osamu, arm wrapped around his, towards the gravel path and the wooden fence separating the pathway from the cold ocean and rocky shore below. he leans against the rotting wood, hand sliding down your arm to grab yours. you can feel the breath that he takes in his grasp, see it in the rise of his chest from the corner of your eye. 

and then he explains everything perfectly in a single sentence. “this is the restaurant that made me want to open my own.” he could’ve stopped there, sat in silence for the rest of the night, not have taken you anywhere else or done anything else, and you’re positive that your heart would have been full enough for ages. you hum, just a short breath of acknowledgement as you squeeze his hand, side step closer into him.

he continues on, “i used to go here after school with sumu, used to do homework in a booth in the corner, eat lunch and dinner when our parents weren’t around or were working late. it was my first job in the kitchen, brought my first girlfriend here, figured out my life inside those walls.”

“i didn’t even realize that i wanted to open up a restaurant until my senior year of high school, really. thought i’d be doin’ the same thing as sumu for the rest of my life until one day i came here on my own because sumu and i had a really bad fight and the owner made me this onigiri, something that wasn’t on the menu, and she didn’t charge me for it because i was uncharacteristically quiet.”

osamu shifts slightly, clears his throat at the memory. “and she said somethin’ like a good meal can heal the heart a little faster, and i remember that the onigiri was so good that despite the fact that my brother was,” osamu sighs and shakes his head, a tiny smile on his face given how relevant his next words are, “a fucking asshole, i still wanted to save half of it to show him how good it was.”

there are still remnants of a restaurant that you can spot now that you’re looking for them: peeks of booths behind paper-covered windows and a patio with a broken gate and places where tables used to be, faded letters on a sign that was situated long enough to cause the paint around it to dull. you can see him here when you close your eyes, through these different phases in his life, for different reasons, with different people. 

“they closed down a few years ago, went out of business while mine was starting up,” he explains and you rest your head on his shoulder, “reminds me of how lucky i am that mine is still goin’, still kickin’. makes me think of the future too, of relocating or opening a new location.”

“it’s scary to think about losing it, terrifies me every day,” he says, shifting again, standing up off of the wood, his attention still on the abandoned restaurant, “but i think there’s something cool about being so scared to lose something… like when something in your life is so special that have no choice but to worry about what it would be like if it weren’t there.” 

osamu turns to you, looks down into your eyes, and he doesn’t have to say it, you understand completely, but he just has to make sure, “kinda like how i feel about you.” 

you already knew exactly what he meant before he said it, you were absolutely certain of the looming analogy he was making, but when it comes out of his mouth, your entire body feels warm. 

you don’t know what to say, how to match the sentiment of what osamu’s just said to you, which words to choose to follow the foundations of dreams and what was essentially just a confession. really, the only words that feel right feel like they’re coming too soon. 

it’s a weird dynamic that you have here, the notion that this is your first date, but in this moment, you feel like you’ve known osamu for years. and more than that, the two of you have had feelings for each other, feelings that have bubbled and grown and manifested despite the precarious situation between you two, for almost a year now. 

you haven’t been dating him in the months you’ve worked at onigiri miya, but you’ve been learning about him and the people closest to him, you’ve seen him almost every single day, you spend hours with him after close just eating dinner with him and you come in on your days off to bring him a coffee from down the street. you’ve both been too busy navigating unsaid feelings and difficult situations to care about labels and professions, so maybe a first date isn’t too soon.

“we’re not eating here obviously, i just wanted to show ya,” he says, sheepishly rubbing his palm against the back of his neck when you don’t respond for a few seconds too long.

your eyes dart from his soft gray eyes to his lips and back again, not sure where they should land to tell him something like this. your breath is caught in your throat, not because you’re worried, but because you’re so excited. “i love you, samu.”

there’s a soft stun in his eyes that might’ve caused some form of nerves to stir in your stomach if you weren’t so sure about this, if you didn’t trust him so much. his eyes widen just a bit and you swear you can feel his heart skip a beat, or maybe that was yours. the pink tint that takes over the tops of his cheeks is warm when you caress your palm against it. you don’t need to hear it back. you heard it whispered between every single word of his story and screamed in the way that he looked at you just a few moments ago.

when his mind catches up to him, he leans down quickly, finger under your chin to tilt your lips into his. it’s soft and sweet and disgustingly romantic, but not as romantic as the way he pulls you closer as he pulls away from the kiss. “i love you, angel.”

you don’t need to hear it back, but fuck, is it really nice.

/\ /\ /\

now, this? this is exactly what you had in mind when you envisioned the place that osamu would take you for your first date, a restaurant with minimal overhead lighting and flickering candles on each table and no prices on the menu and more choices for wine than there were food. 

when you walk to the table, osamu places a strong hand on your lower back, fingers curling around the fabric of your tight clothes, gripping and kneading into the fat of your hip as he makes polite conversation with the person who guides you to the private room with a chilling bottle of wine on small round table. 

and you’d think that sitting across from osamu, unable to wrap his arm around your waist or throw his arm over your shoulder, would be easier. there is an entire table of distance between the two of you, but that doesn’t stop him. he moves his chair just slightly to the side of the round table, not sitting next to you, just closer, and now he can rest his arm on your knee and the inside of your thigh the entire night.

he doesn’t bring any attention to it either, doesn’t send you mischievous smiles or knowingly glances, he just talks to you as if he’s not driving you absolutely fucking insane right now, pushing his fingers under the hem of your skirt, dragging his nails against your thin tights. he asks you about your day and about what you and your friends did after you left the restaurant last night and about how you met your friends and nothing that’s coming out of his mouth is even remotely about how wet he’s making you right now with his feather soft touches and assuredly harsh grips. 

the place is amazing, gorgeous, and the dinner is delicious, but the company is much better than the two combined and you’re having a really difficult time being patient, because as much as you don’t want this moment to end or this dinner to be over, you really fucking want this dinner to be over. 

you get your thank you and gratitudes out of the way before the bill is even on the table and osamu doesn’t tease you for your assumptions in his refusal to split the check. you wait until he’s placed the cash with the check and closed the front of the little black book to mutter, “samu, i don’t know if i can wait until we get home.”

he knows exactly what you’re talking about the second that it leaves your mouth. he doesn’t play dumb or make you explain yourself, but he does ask, with narrowed eyes and a slightly tilted head, “is this a test?”

“no,” you shake your head, similarly narrowed eyes now, “why would it be a test?”

“you just complained about the fact that we’ve only ever fucked in bathrooms last week,” he explains, and you’re wondering if the drag of his fingers pulling on the thin fabric of your tights is habitual or not because it doesn’t stop even as you’re having this conversation.

“okay, fair, yes, i did do that, but,” you say, head tilting back and forth as you try to think of some form of difference between then and now, “yea i don’t know if i have an excuse. you’ve been teasing me all night and i’ve spent all week thinking about you and i really want you,” you say, low.

“you can’t wait until we drive back to mine?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.

realistically, you probably could wait the drive home and maybe if you weren’t so comfortable with fucking in bathrooms, you would’ve easily done it, but if you didn’t have to wait to feel him against your skin and deep inside of you, why would you? you shake your head now, teeth scraping against your bottom lip, eyes soft and impatient. 

he lets out a sigh, shakes his head and rolls his eyes, but these actions aren’t quite matching the loving touch he gives you or the hungry smile he’s wearing as he helps you up. “no use in beating around the bush then, huh?” he asks, nodding towards the restrooms in the back of the restaurant. 

as you’re walking to the bathroom, your brain catches up with you, and you almost laugh at how easy the explanation for why you don’t mind doing this again is, “i think it’s because i know you’re going to take me back to your place for a glass of wine tonight, even after you’ve fucked me, and i’m going to spend the night and then in the morning, we’ll make true to all of the promises that we’ve made about never fucking in a bathroom again.”

osamu presses a kiss into the side of your head as he walks with his arm draped around your shoulders. “well, i don’t know about never,” he jokes, or maybe not jokes.

you don’t have time to protest or to agree because when you make it to the bathroom, you realize a very distinct lack of private bathrooms, of single rooms with lockable doors. you also don’t have time to hesitate or worry about logistics because osamu is tugging you into the women's restroom quickly and with less fear than he maybe should. 

you can barely appreciate how nice it is in here either, only realize how clean and spacious the stalls are because osamu closes the two of you into the nearest one and you can’t stop giggling at how fast he made all of the decisions to end up here.

“what was that?” you ask, eyebrows knit together as you swivel your head in disbelief, “didn’t even have enough time to take in my surroundings or make a single choice.”

osamu tilts his head slightly, pushes you gently up against the non-stall wall, and your jeers and taunts melt away. “didn’t wanna make you wait any longer, bunny, been teasin’ you all night.”

a whimper leaves your lips in place of meaningful words, but that’s perfect for osamu. he smiles down at you, presses his palm into your hip to keep you pinned against the wall as he kisses down your neck and chest, tugging on the thin straps of your top until they fall down your shoulder. 

his lips are everywhere but yours, drastically different than how he usually is, and you understand why very quickly. he pulls your top down, bunches it up around your waist as he quickly captures your nipple into his mouth. you move to let your head fall backwards at the feeling, but there’s nowhere for you to go, no room for your body to squirm in response to his wet tongue circling around your hard bud. 

your other tit is in his hand, kneaded and massaged as his thumb flicks across your nipple, pointer finger migrating to roll it between his two fingers. “fuck,” he says, so quietly, between licks and soft suckles, “can’t believe it’s taken me this long to see your pretty fuckin’ tits, babygirl.”

there are knots and butterflies taking up the space in your stomach and the words can’t come out fast enough, “want you to fuck them, samu.” you’re much louder than he is, so loud that he throws you a warning look, turning his head from side to side to remind you of where the two of you are. the thought of not hearing osamu as much as you normally get to isn’t sitting right with you, but he’s gently coaxing you to your knees and fumbling with his belt and y’know what, you’ll get over it.

before his hardening cock slips between your soft tits, you capture his head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his thick head, taking as much of him into your mouth as you can. when you pull off, you let the spit drool off of your tongue and onto the length, spitting any remaining between your tits, and then you let him do the rest. 

he holds your tits in both of his hands, has to stop himself from getting distracted by the weight of them or the softness of your skin as he thrusts forward between the fat. he tilts his head back, chin to the ceiling as he squeezes your tits around his cock, slit drooling precome onto your chest as he fucks through it. 

every new part of your body that he gets to touch and hold and feel and fuck is just as perfect as the last, but so completely different. he watches your tits bounce as his balls hit your stomach, focuses on the ripples in your skin and the jiggle of the fat, and your pretty eyes looking up at him through your lashes. he compares the sensation to fucking your thighs and your mouth and perfect cunt, and fuck, he can’t stop the amount of precome leaking from the thought. 

he’s silent, though, save for a few strong exhales and harsh swallows, and the longer that he’s fucking your tits, the tighter his grip is, the more powerful his thrusts are until he’s convinced that he’s going to come all over your face. you can feel his cock pulsing between your tits, his face focused on the sight, and you’ve fucked him enough times to know that he’s getting close.  

you don’t say a word either, only place your hand on his hip until he slows his movements, and stand up and turn around. he doesn’t need you to explain anything to him, the way that you arch your back, both arms crossed over one another and pressed up against the wall above you is plenty tell enough. he reaches under your skirt, pulls your tights down just enough to spread your legs, and then pushes inside of you. 

how full osamu makes you feel will never get old. it will never not be the most incredible feeling in the world, being filled to the brim, inch by agonizing inch until you can feel his balls brush up against the inside of your thighs. the first few thrusts inside of you are harsh, too harsh, the clapping echoes off of the walls, bounces right back to you, it’s so loud. 

he’s slower after that, long, steady strokes inside of you that allow you to feel every inch, every throb. the small circles that he’s rubbing into your messy clit are only making your pussy clench around him tighter. you can’t tell him anything, can’t communicate how close you are or how good he’s making you feel, so you’re very grateful for how well he knows you, how easy it is for him to feel the signs. 

he picks up the pace just long enough to make you come, sacrifices a bit of noise to make you drip all down his cock, to tighten around his throbbing cock, quivering gummy walls coaxing him just as close as you are. 

you hear the door to the bathroom push open, voices accompanying it, and osamu stills, not moving a single muscle at the first notice, and then quickly moving with you onto the toilet to fuck you through the rest of your orgasm. he’s full sheathed inside of you, holding your legs up by the backs of your thighs as he lifts off of the toilet seat, thrusting into you, holding you in place above him as he pulls out. 

you wish you could think more about how insane this is, but all you can think about is how good he’s making you feel, how safe and supported you feel in this wild position. you lean back into his chest, back of your head on his shoulder, and the second that you’re close enough, he kisses the side of your face, saying so soft and so slow that you’re certain no one else in the world hears it, “love you, pretty girl.”

as soon as you’re alone again, you scramble to your feet, turning around and facing him. he pulls you into him, tugs the sides of your tights back up and pulls you into his lap, legs as wrapped around him as they possibly can be. he kisses you, gently, and the tone of this entire hookup has shifted dramatically since he said those words to you again for the second time tonight. 

he doesn’t ask or apologize as he grabs your tights between your legs and tears a hole in them big enough to slip inside of you again. he only laughs when he notices how shocked you look, can’t help it, and then kisses the corner of your mouth as the shock fades, replaced with the feeling of being incredibly full and extremely close. 

it doesn’t take long at all for the eye contact and the rhythmic thrusts to get osamu just as close as he was before, head falling against your shoulder, arms wrapped around your lower back as he lifts off of the toilet to fuck his cock into you deeper, but he doesn’t have enough room to fuck you faster, needs more space to give you nice, long strokes. he leans your forward, both of your hands splaying out to brace yourself on either sides of the wall.

he fucks into you faster, harder, one hand under your lower back, the other on your stomach to pull you back onto his cock, and you’re so perfectly warm and tight around him, look so pretty under him like this. you can feel his cock begin to pulse, streams of come ready to spray inside of your snug walls, but he pulls out at the last second, shoots his load between your legs instead, ropes of thick come landing on the insides of your thighs, the fabric of your panties and the outsides of your tights. 

the two of you stay like this for a second in this exact position as osamu catches his breath and lets you recover as well. when he finally moves, he sits back down on the toilet with you on his lap and he presses a soft kiss into the bottom of your jaw. he doesn’t need to look to reach for the toilet paper. you close your eyes at the feeling of the tissue on your skin as he cleans you up as best as he can for how unplanned his release was.

“i can’t believe you tore my tights,” is the first thing that you say when you’ve recovered enough to talk. 

he laughs, kissing the bottom of your jaw again and squeezing his arms around you tighter. “i’ll buy you new ones, baby, i promise.”

it’s quiet in the bathroom. you feel okay enough to keep talking, only slightly on edge about someone walking in on the conversation, but you can’t wait until you’re outside to ask him, “are you gonna fuck me again, can we just establish that? no more beating around the bush or wondering how the other feels because the situation is complicated?”

“can you- can we just-,” you’re struggling to finish the question because it feels dumb, futile given the fact that you’ve already told him that you love him. but you suppose that the question is trying to be so much more than that, you just can’t communicate it correctly. 

“oh, sweetheart, i want to do so much more than fuck you,” he says, hand moving up to cup your face, “i want to love you in every way possible.”

your face is so hot, stomach flipping, and the only words you can say in response are a breathy, “i can’t believe you just said the most romantic thing i’ve ever heard in a bathroom stall.”

“in a fancy bathroom stall,” he corrects, still beaming, “but then, i should probably wait until we go back outside to ask if you’ll be my girlfriend?”

“yea, samu! probably!” you say, but you can’t hide your matching smile.

“and is this before or after i invite you back to my place tonight?” he asks, and you’re 99% sure he’s fucking with you now, asking you all of these questions like this just to get you riled up. not that you were questioning the validity of them, just the timing and the tone. 

you feel like you’re combusting. how are you going to explain to your friends and family about how you and osamu got together? on your first date? after you told him you loved him? after you fucked him in the bathroom of a nice restaurant? but don’t worry that was also after he told you that he loved you back. oh, but he asked you to be his girlfriend before you went back to his place and after you had sex in the bathroom, yes, you get it now.

you lower your head into his shoulder, exhaling a big sigh as he picks your head up and presses a kiss into your forehead, cheek, jaw, and then your lips. you’re wearing a slight pout even after he pulls away and he laughs. “alright, alright,” he nods, “how about i ask you now if you’ll go back to my place and i can ask if you’ll be my girlfriend there?”

“deal,” you say.“best deal i’ve ever made,” he says back.

♡ tori's polls ♡ fav moment of ch5 !!!!!!

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[marshallpupfan]

I'm about to make yet another lengthy post... easily my longest yet. This time, it's not about the movies or any issues I have with PAW Patrol in its current state. No, it's instead about a problem I've been dealing with... except said problem is less a what and more of a who. I'm sure some of you already know about this, but for those of you that don't, let me tell you about a person who's been a thorn in my side for three years now.

Back in October of 2020, I encountered a user who seemed to be doing the whole Daily Marshall Pics as me. However, I soon discovered they weren't just doing the same thing... they were actually using the exact screenshot I posted, the exact same hashtag, and quite often, the exact same text. They did this for every daily I posted... or just any picture, really. As soon as I'd post something, they'd immediately take it and repost it onto their account. At the time, I didn't know what to do, or if I could do anything.

Cut to around December of the same year, and I decided to make a new winter-themed avatar and banner for my Twitter account. Less than a day later, that user seen I did that and... no joke... took both and applied them to his own account. Suddenly, with him posting the exact same content with the exact same avatar and banner, his account looked exactly like mine. Some people even admitted they thought he WAS me, and a few were starting to get seriously confused. At this point, I started referring to him as my copycat, since anything I'd do or post, he'd do or post it, too.

However, this time, I confronted the user and asked him why he took my new avatar and banner. He claimed he liked them so much, he had to use them. I asked him not to, telling him that I put a lot of work into making something unique for myself, and of course, he got mad... and then, in the same reply, asked me to make something for him. Just to be nice, I made him a banner... to which he offered no gratitude.

He wouldn't change the avatar, so I created myself a new one. Not even a day later, the exact moment he seen it, he took that avatar and applied it to his account, too. Yet again, I confronted him, demanding to know why he'd do that, as well as why he didn't even thank me for making that banner I made for him. He responded by claiming that I "made him cry"... and then quickly asked me to make him an avatar, too. I ignored his request.

Near the middle of December, a pal here on Tumblr messaged me about a concern he had. He made a text post about his plans to start his own daily pics, and that user on Twitter, now on Tumblr, copied and pasted his exact post onto his own account. If he copied all of my posts, he was surely going to do the same to my pal, too. We knew we had to put a stop to this, so we came up with a solution...

On December 18, 2020, I posted my first Daily, with text indicating it was mine. We were both curious to see how that copycat would react once he seen it.

He... didn't take it well.

This was actually his fifth message; he left four other ones, mere minutes apart from each other. When I didn't reply back after ten minutes (yes, ten minutes), he said this to me. Once I seen this, I blocked him, as anyone honestly would. He quickly followed me with some alternate account of his, but I found out it was him and blocked it, too. Afterwards, I figured this was going to be end of it; just another rude, childish person on Twitter, blocked and out of my life...

...right?

Nope. Ever since that day, he's been absolutely furious with me. Even to this day, he's refuses to let it go, and his copycat tendencies and attitude has only grown worse. Ah, but let's not get ahead of ourselves... no, there's more to the story. A lot more...

To say the least, when he left that message above and found out I blocked him, he started bad-mouthing me to many other people. Just about everyone took my side, and much to my surprise, Twitter banned him. At first, that seemed like the end of it again... but nope, he simply created another account not even a half-hour later... and he went back to using my avatar and banner again, because of course.

Less than a month later, another account started following me, this time themed around Chase. Suspiciously, I was one of the first it followed... and one of the first replies they left on my tweets?

"Can you remove your watermarks?"

Gee, I wonder who this might be? I ignored the message, and their third reply was... well, I'm sure you can guess it wasn't friendly.

I blocked this account, too. Again, I hoped this would be the end of it, but of course, it wasn't. You see, the one thing I learned about this user is that he's incredibly lazy. He doesn't want to do things in Photoshop or go hunting for pictures, so he just wants to take everything from me... and the official PAW Patrol account (he constantly reposts their content, too). When I stopped him from doing that, he became hostile. When I refused to remove my watermark, it just made things worse.

I don't have a picture of this, but a few days later, he created yet another account. This time, he pretended to be the "second official PAW Patrol account", using the actual PAW Patrol account's avatar and banner at the time (themed after Moto Pups, if I recall correctly). Naturally, I'm the first one he went to, and he left a reply on my latest daily about how I'm going to get into "trouble" if I don't stop being mean. I tore into him for this, telling him that no one will take his side, Twitter will just ban his account again, and to leave me alone.

He deleted the account less than a day later.

Things remained quiet for some time... or so I thought. From what others told me, he kept trying to get everyone to turn on me, usually by sending private messages to many users in the hopes of getting them to see me as some sort of bully. His plan failed, as nothing ever came out of it. Maybe it has to do with the fact I like trying to be positive and encouraging, and many of my followers have seen that over the years... whereas he's screamed at people for simply putting stickers on their Nintendo Switch. No, seriously... he has.

He kept trying, of course... often asking other users to tell me how "sorry" he was, despite the fact he kept leaving me nasty remarks the very same day. In fact, at one point, the Nick Jr. Twitter account made a post about asking their followers to post pics of their pets, I did so, Nick Jr. replied to me, and he found out and replied to them by saying "DON'T TALK TO HIM HE'S A BULLY HE'S MEAN TO ME!!!!" Needless to say, they ignored him, too.

This continued for a while, and over the following months, new accounts would pop up every now and then, usually based on certain PAW Patrol characters. They were all ran by him, and of course, I was always the first person he came to... and he'd always ask me to create a new avatar and banner for that account, and then he'd get mad when I either said no or ignored him. After so many accounts, I got tired of constantly blocking him, so when he popped up with yet another Marshall-themed account, I decided to just mute it and let him do or say whatever he wanted.

...He didn't take kindly to that, either. A few months later, he exploded into a fit of rage, claiming that I was being a bully by ignoring him. Let me repeat that; by ignoring him, I was being a bully. Oh, for Pete's sake...

A few folks took his side, but once I explained to them what was going on, most of them understood and apologized (trust me, I harbor no ill will against these folks). Once I made another tweet about the situation, I blocked that user yet again, noticing that he was continuing to badmouth me. I think he ended up deleting his account, telling everyone that's what I apparently wanted (I never once said any such thing, but whatever). I crossed my fingers and prayed that this would finally be the end of it all... but of course, it wasn't.

After a while, he came back with yet another account, only this time, he got a little less lazy. He finally decided to learn how to use a photo editing program... and how did he use his new-found skills? Why, to copy me again, of course!

Indeed, his dailies started to look exactly like mine. And yes, once he discovered the name of the font style I was using, he started using that, too. And it's not just a coincidence that he used the same pic...

As I soon realized, if he knew the exact episode I got my daily from, he'd use the same one. He did this at any opportunity he could, even when I posted a daily based on the first theatrical film.

At this point, some of you probably asking... why? Why's he doing this? Why go to such lengths to copy me? The answer is... I really don't know. He just really wants to be me, I guess.

Anyway, around the beginning of 2022, I created a new template for my Daily Marshall Pics. I'm still using that template now. Of course, when he found out, he got upset and started screaming at me again to make one for him (using another newly-created alternate account to get around me blocking him... which I promptly blocked).

What followed over the next year was the situation getting worse and worse. If I did anything of note, he'd create new accounts to voice his displeasure. If he got banned, he'd create a new account and head straight for me. There was a point where I blocked him, he created a new account, I blocked him, he created a new account... and we did this for eight accounts within a single day. I'm dead serious. Of course, his copycat tendencies just got worse, as his new-found skills in editing started leading him to do stuff like this...

Yup, he started covering my watermark with his own to make it seem like he was the one who made the picture. Oh, and it didn't just stop at pictures... nope, he did it with videos, too.

Actually, Twitter banned him for this one... and yes, he created a new account immediately afterwards again, and continued doing and posting the exact same things like it never happened. And I'm the first person he tried following, of course. But hey, at least his dailies don't look like mine anymore, right?

Sigh...

And no, it didn't even stop there. He tried to copy my banner, too.

Yes, his avatar shares similarities with mine, too. Funnily enough, a few users came to my defense and tried to get him to change his Daily template to something different so it would no longer look like mine. Surprisingly, he did change it, and I even gave my approval. I was cool with his new template...

...but I guess it didn't get him the attention he wanted, because he went right back to using something that looks exactly like mine again. He's still using it now, much to my annoyance.

The sad thing is, even if I change my template to something else, he'll just inevitably copy it. If I change my avatar and/or banner, he'll copy them, too. If I do anything, he'll copy it. If my followers come to my defense, report him, and he gets banned... he'll just create another account and continue doing the exact same thing anyway.

Oh, and he once made the claim that he's only doing this because he "doesn't know how to". Yes, he said that. He apparently doesn't know how, yet he sure knows how to cover my watermark with his own... and create a template that looks like mine. Yup, he's a dirty liar, too.

(Back in 2020, I did try to answer a few of his questions, including what editor I use. Once I told him it costs money, he went silent.)

As a reminder, this has been going on for three years.

I've tried ignoring the user, and it does no good. I've confronted him, and it does no good. I've asked him to stop, and it does no good. I've defended myself, and he acts like he's the victim. I ask him to let his anger go and stop, and he tells me I'm the one who needs to let it go and stop. Others have defended me, and he just whines and claims I'm a bully. And all of this is because I blocked him for leaving a rude reply when he lost his patience after ten minutes.

(By the way, someone confronted him about the whole ten minutes thing. He said it didn't matter, that I should've responded right away. I guess I'm supposed to stop everything I'm doing to reply to him...?)

To tell you all the truth, I've tried to be patient. I've tried to be nice... but after three years, I'm sick of it. This person is psychotic. Even when I block him, he keeps a tight eye on everything I do. He's become so obsessed with me, to the point that he's basically a stalker now. He wants to be me, yet he doesn't possess my skills, and that jealousy has turned to sheer bitterness. And whenever someone takes my side, he becomes aggressive, often creating even more alternate accounts to show he's not happy.

And yet, he thinks he's the victim. He's said before he wants me to stop talking about him, yet he continues taking or copying things from me. And again, when I ask him to stop, he refuses. At this point, I suppose he's only doing this now because he feels justified in doing so. I guess he thinks I need to pay for... what, not replying back after ten minutes? For wanting to be credited for my work when I make unique content and post them on my account? For trying to stop him from lazily reposting the things I post for his own gain?

When I started these MarshallPupFan accounts, I thought I was going to post some pics of a cute, cartoon puppy, make people laugh and smile with some videos, and have a fun time. I never expected I'd run into someone so... crazy. Honestly, I don't even care that he's posting daily pics of Marshall. I've seen others do the same, and I've even liked, replied and followed some of them. I enjoy inspiring others to be creative and share their love for their favorite characters... but why use my exact template? Why try to look exactly like me? Why not try to develop an identity for himself, so his account offers something unique? Instead, he constantly wants to bounce off of me, pretend to be me... and when I or anyone else intervenes, he becomes aggressive.

It's pathetic... and it'll probably go on for another year.

I recently created a new avatar for myself. I put a lot of work into making it something truly unique...but I don't know if I want to put it out there, since the moment I do, he'll inevitably copy it. I also updated the visuals for my Episode Updates pics... and as soon as I reveal it, it's only a matter of time before he copies it, too. And of course, if I or anyone else confronts him, he'll whine and get mad... and continue doing what he's always done anyway.

Truth be told, there are so many other examples of his terrible behavior I could post here... such as when he began hounding me on Youtube and screaming at me whenever he seen a comment I left on other PAW Patrol-themed accounts (to the point the owner of the channel had to intervene and tell him to stop... to which he replied "stop what?"). I have so many more stories to tell, but this post is turning out long enough, and I think I've stressed the point quite well.

It sucks that people like him have to exist, and it's so sad that he refuses to let go of a three year grudge, now going onto four. All I know is that it's getting to the point where I'm tired of it. I'm tired of seeing him use my Daily template, tired of him acting like an absolute crybaby when I defend myself, tired of... well, the whole thing. At this point, maybe I need to start fighting back more, because ignoring him sure isn't getting the job done.

If he's going to insist on using my template, then maybe I shouldn't take it so lightly anymore... 🤔

---

Oh, one last thing. You want to see something funny? He has no problem taking stuff from me, but when someone does that to him... that's just wrong! Maybe someone needs to give him a dose of his own medicine more often... perhaps then he'd show more respect to others.

[milky-fixx]

day 4, illumi: sexting

kinktobruary day 4

illumi zoldyck x reader // hunter x hunter

summary: while you consider yourself a fairly well adjusted and versatile person, you have needs. needs that transcend the boring, missionary-style, often impersonal sex the two of you have. which is why one day, you mention to him: “illu… let’s spice up our sex life.” 

he turns to you with a pensive frown.

“since when have seasonings belonged in sex?”

tw/cw: 18+ only, minors dni, sexting (attempted), phone sex, dirty talk (attempted)

--note: i’ve done it. i’ve created the crackiest illumi smut. probably ooc. the only way illumi would agree to this. also the only way Illumi would have a boo who isn’t the result of an arranged marriage/who his fam doesn’t kill. hopefully not too unbelievable ahslfjh

word count: 2.4K

You consider yourself to be a rather open-minded person. Your romantic interests range from the guy next door to world-class athletes. Of course, that’s how you somehow end up smack-dab in the middle of that range with Illumi Zoldyck, a member of one of the world’s most feared assassin families. How your paths crossed and you got together was a thing of chance and luck. While his wooing of you consisted of him admitting, with a blank stare, “I suppose you wouldn’t be the worst person to marry,” you typically enjoyed a different approach, a more romantic one. (“Later on, dear, maybe two years down the line,” you responded, entwining your hands together. He seemed unamused.)

However, Illumi and romance are like two planets constantly orbiting each other, never crossing paths. He thinks of anniversaries as nothing more than days on a page, and it’s only after much prodding and hinting from you that you find a bouquet of flowers on your bedside table, the card accompanying it bearing a sparse, generic message in what looked suspiciously like Gotoh’s handwriting Illumi’s cursive.

Anything else about romance, he hardly bothers to learn. Or rather, he has no interest in. After meeting his family in what was possibly the most awkward dinner ever (his younger, portly brother made disparaging remarks about your figure, his father said nothing, but his steel gaze seemed to judge every aspect of your appearance, and his mother gave you an endless stream of backhanded compliments), you can see why Illumi is so... detached. He had to be, to be able to deal with these unhinged family members.

And you try to be understanding. But you soon learn with Illumi that if you aren’t vocal, he tends to forget about you. And while you consider yourself a fairly-well adjusted and versatile person, you have needs. Needs that transcend the boring, missionary-style, impersonal sex the two of you often have. Which is why one day, you mention to him: “Illu… let’s spice up our sex life.”

He turns to you with a pensive frown.

“Since when have seasonings belonged in sex?”

“Ah...”

It appears you have your work cut out for you. 

—

Your first attempt to diversify your sex life involves sexting. Something simple and easy, right? Even the most obtuse of men could understand how to respond to a risque message. Plus, Illumi always responded when you asked him to grab cookies on the way home, telling you to get it yourself, or that Gotoh, his bitch, was already on it.

“Hey there, handsome. Whatcha wearing?” you send him.

He responds soon enough. “(Y/N), you saw me two weeks ago. I am wearing the exact same outfit.”

Undeterred, you try again. “Whatcha wearing under that?”

“Undergarments.”

Maybe this approach isn’t working for you.

The next day, you try again.

“Thinking of you…. ;)”

That garners no response for several hours, and when he finally does respond, it’s a mere, “OK.” With all caps.

You decide to step up your efforts. The next time you text him somewhat scandalous photo of you, in only an oversized shirt of his and panties. You angle the picture so that the focus is on the way your curves press against the material, and the way his shirt rides up on your stomach to show a peek of flesh with that black lace. It takes you probably close to an hour to pose in a way that looks suggestive enough, but not overtly seductive. You don’t want to scare off his inexperienced sensibilities, and risk spurning him. Then you click send.

The text you receive back is wordy, compared to his usual ones. “It is not wise to save such pictures of yourself on your phone, when you can easily be hacked.” You can practically smell the disapproval through the phone screen.

Frustrated and more than a little worked up from the imagined, idealresponses to your text you were envisioning, involving him responding with some equal kind of ardor—or as much as Illumi could muster up—you call him; to your surprise, he picks up.

“(Y/N),” he greets, not even sounding the slightest bit aroused, or bothered by your photos. Your eye twitches unconsciously.

There’s a cacophony of sounds in the background. “Illumi, what are you—” Screams, bodies slamming into each other. The ring of something metallic slicing through the air, accompanied by choked groans.

“I’m in the middle of a kill,” he says casually. “Normally, I wouldn’t entertain such calls, but I do think it is important to impress on you the odds of your phone getting hacked.”

Illumi spends a good fifteen minutes lecturing on you how easy it would be for Milluki to hack your phone and spread your risqué photos online, and only ends the conversation once you promise him you’ll delete all them.

But of course, once you end the call, you’re backing up those pictures, because it’s not often you look this fine. Illumi doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.

—

Later that night, to your surprise, he’s the one to call you. But the timing of his call is less than ideal. Still clothes in your getup from earlier, your fingers are just about to delve into your panties when your phone lights up with his name. You glower at it, debating whether or not you’ll even give him the time of day, much less your personal time. Out of even greater frustration with him, however, and the slightest hope that something good may come out of this, you answer.

“Yes?”

“Are you occupied?”

Occupied. How you wish you were, but since he isn’t here, and he threw away your dildo stash once he found it...

“Oh no,” you say, more than a touch irritated at the memory, and of his imperviousness to your attempts. “I was just in the middle of deleting all my risqué photos, because god knows they end up on the internet somehow from your brother hacking my phone.”

You can just picture his nod. “A wise decision.”

You scowl at him through the phone screen. There’s a pause. He seems to sense something amiss. “Were you about to take part in something?”

“Goodbye!” You end the call swiftly, tossing your phone to the side.

When he calls again, you’ve only managed a few strokes to your clit, just barely on the edge of starting to feel something. You know it’s him; you don’t bother responding. However, when the phone starts ringing again, you snatch the phone, putting it to your ear.

“What?”

He’s silent for a beat. “Are you pleasuring yourself?”

Your mouth goes dry. For some reason, his usual flat tone combined with the question has shame creeping up your spine. “I—“ Your silence is the answer.

What sounds like cloth shifting—was he getting comfortable? Lounging in a bed as well? “I… would not be averse to you sending me more images like that last one.”

Your mind stutters to a halt, gears locking. “Provided you still have them,” he continues. “I assumed... well, you always find ways around my orders, anyways. “

And then the gears are starting up again. “Didn’t you just say—”

“I—know what I said.” Illumi’s usual flat tone has a slight inflection to it. He sounds just as out of his element as you feel. “Given the circumstances, I don’t think it’s wise. However….”

At this point you can hear the slightest rustle of clothing, the hint of illumi’s measured breathing not being quite so. He’s an assassin, he knows how to control his body as well as others, yet still—

“Are you—are you also…”

“It has been awhile since we last saw each other,” he answers, sounding somewhat distracted.

It’s quiet, awkwardly so. Clearly Illumi has no idea how to proceed, so you caution. “What are you thinking of?”

“I am waiting for you to provide me with stimuli,” he says bluntly.

You try not to falter in your approach, opting for a different route. “I didn’t know you masturbated.”

“I…. I never made a habit of it, but lately…” He quiets as he becomes aware of the slight squelching sounds of your finger stroking along the walls of your entrance. You can’t help it; just the thought of your taciturn, sexually repressed lover jerking himself off to the thought of you...

“What are you inserting? Inside of you.”

“My fingers,” you say, your voice growing more breathy.

“I—”

“Someone threw me away my toys.” You send him a withering look through the phone.

“You don’t need those things.”

“If only my fiance wasn’t gone so often I wouldn’t.”

His next words are inflected with a curious kind of pensivity. “You would like me to be home more often.” It’s not a question but it does sound like one.

“Yes, I would. I miss you, Ilu. These nights gets so lonely without you. And your—” Your breath catches as you stroke a spot inside you that has your toes curling. “Your touch.”

“I am an assassin. It’s my job to be away.” He hesitates. “However... you are my fiancée. You are also, in a sense, my responsibility.”

The admission is as earnest as a confession you’ll ever get out of him.

“T-tell me, Ilu,” you gasp. “What do you want to be responsible for?”

“Your... sexual gratification.”

Illumi’s flat, bland tone doesn’t naturally invoke sexiness, but you’re so starved for responsiveness that it sounds like it to you.

You’re louder now, moaning softly into the receiver, and Illumi doesn’t say anything, but you do hear more of fabric rustling. You can just picture him uncovering his length, stroking it slightly, unsurely, as if he’s not sure himself if he should be doing this.

It’s a risky attack, but you know this isn’t his area of expertise, so you ask.

“Illu… are you touching yourself?”

“I am,” he states, matter-of-factly.

“What are you thinking of?”

“I…” He pauses. “...You.” Youto let him press on, but when he doesn’t, you continue.

“What… about me, Illu?”

He sighs, as if it’s a chore to state the obvious. “Your snugness. When I enter you. It’s…” you can just picture his owlish blinking. “Pleasant.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” This time, he sounds impatient. You bite back a laugh.

Curious about how Illumi will respond to a more vulgar kind of dirty talk, you say, “You know... you’re so big, Ilu. You always hit all the nice spots. My fingers could never replace you. I’m almost jealous I don’t get to see you right now.”

“Ah... is that so.” He coughs slightly, and you’d like to think he’s affected.

You continue stroking, voicing soft moans into the receiver, and Illumi makes a frustrated sound. “What is it?”

“I…” You can picture his tensed brow. He sounds unusually annoyed. “This is… unsatisfactory.”

You choke on your next words, and he continues. “I would prefer to be able to see you. This way, I can’t finish.”

Just as your heart plummets as you consider he doesn’t want to continue, he’s going to hang up, the door slams open. You scramble to cover yourself with the sheets, then you’re staring up at a familiar pair of large, black eyes. “Illu?!?”

He tosses his phone to the side, before surging forwards to press his mouth to yours firmly. It’s a little awkward, like all forms of affection with him are, his lips pressing against you but not moving at all. What’s not awkward, to you at least, is the way his tented groin nudges against you. When you break the kiss, he’s frowning. 

“This is better,” he says, not a trace of emotion on his face.

“How did you—”

“I certainly need to ensure your windows are reinforced,” he says offhandedly. “But also... what did I say about making sure no one else is in your apartment?” His frown deepens at the corners.

“Wait, where you—here, this whole time?”

He stares at you as if the answer is obvious. “Of course. I was just about to inform you over the phone, when I heard you were... preoccupied.”

Heat creeps up your face. “I was going to let you finish, however...”

He grabs your phone from your hand, tossing it aside as well. He’s deftly removing his pants with one hand, while yanking your fingers out from inside of you, but not before scrutinizing your drenched fingers with his blank stare. Then his hand is entwining with yours, and he’s surging into you. You choke back a moan. 

“Ah... yes.” Illumi makes a sound in his throat that sounds close to a purr. For him at least. “This is much better.” His hips begin pistoning into you.

You arch your back, releasing a staggered cry of his name. Illumi is spurred to pound into you, his thin hips slapping into your ass with every thrust. His eyes are wide-open, betraying little as usual, but you can spot a sheen of sweat forming on his forehead, a frantic intensity about him. His long hair falls like a curtain over you two and you push some behind his ear, the brush of your palm lingering near his cheek.

He tilts his head to the side, slamming into you with a force that has your body tensing up. When his long, dexterous fingers dip between your bodies to rub against your throbbing nub, you’re hurtling towards a quick end, your orgasm bursting inside of you as you cry out his name once more.

Your free hand comes to grasp his wrist. A warning to stop. His fingers twitch, as if wanting to defy it, but with your spasms drawing him in closer, he concedes to wrapping his hand around your shoulder as his hips thrust into you for a final time, his hot spend shooting out in spurts inside of you.

Your hand slacks in his hold, and he relaxes his form against you, his eyes slipping shut. Your labored breathing is a contrast to his silent cooldown, but when he finally glances up, you’re grinning at him.

He feels the bite of irritation before he even knows what you’re up to. “What?”

“The sexting totally worked,” you say smugly.

“The... you mean those awful messages you sent me?” If he could, Illumi would be rolling his eyes. As it is, his tone conveys that well enough. “Those were hardly comparable to the real thing.”

“Admit it, though. It kind of worked.”

Illumi, in fact, will not admit it. He will also not admit that he saved that picture of you in his shirt in an extremely private, password-protected, Milluki’s-computer-will-automatically-catch-on-fire-if-he-attempts-to-breach-it folder.

Instead, he shows you how technology pales to his skills over and over that night.

[nightghoul381]

No Room to Breathe~ Harrison Gray

Chapter 2

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

No Warnings for this part

Part 1 | Part 2 | Premium End | Epilogue

(Hm, Maybe, no, even if he is...)

(--Are we the exact opposite?)

My heart flutters as I remember hearing that lovers who are compatible are those who are similar.

(Every time I acted differently from Harry, Harry… looked down.)

(And…)

Harry didn’t touch me last night even though we slept together.

(If you are disappointed…what should I do…)

Harrison: “Hey, are you ready to go out yet? I managed to finish it, but…”

Kate: “Ah, I finished changing, but my hair is…”

Harrison: “Give it here. Let me do your hair. I’ve always wanted to try it.”

Kate: “Eh?”

Harrison came around behind me and clumsily tied up my hair.

Harrison: “…Hey, help me out and raise your arm a little more.”

Kate: “Ah, yes. Like…this?”

The handcuffs jingle as I move my hand and Harry’s breath touches my neck.

That one small gesture made my heart jump.

Harrison: “Hmm, it’s done… but it’s really clunky, did you want to try again?”

Kate: “I’m fine with this. I’m glad you did this for me, Harry.”

Harrison: “Pfft, yeah? Well, okay, you’re as cute as ever.”

Harrison: “Besides, this…. I can figure out later.”

With a quick kiss on the nape of my neck, Harry stood up.

Harrison: “Well then, we should get on with the Ferris Circus. Let’s go.”

Kate: “Yes!”

(Maybe he was kind to me because he noticed that I was upset?)

(…That’s what I really, really love about him.)

Of course, I wanted the mission to be a success, but I didn’t want to put Harry in danger.

(Never do something to hold him back. Alright, let’s read Harry’s actions and act!)

We headed to the inn where the Ferris Circus group was staying.

Oliver: “You guys! You came here looking for the key, I’ve been looking for it since then, but I still can’t find it…”

Kate: “Don’t get upset. Thank you for looking for us, Oliver.”

Oliver: “So, why are you here?”

Harrison: “I have a request. For now, could you please let me meet the leader?”

Oliver took us to the back room where the leader was.

His protruding belly shaking, the leader greets us cheerfully.

Ferris Circus Leader: “My family caused you trouble last night. So, what do you require?”

Harrison: “I work for a publishing company, and I have a business trip tomorrow. I want to find the key as soon as possible.”

Harrison: “So I was wondering if you would let us search with you.”

Harry lied steadily, and the leader nodded exaggeratedly.

Ferris Circus Leader: “Of course! I’m rather sorry to have put your hand out of commission.”

(…He’s very friendly. I don’t think he’s doing anything wrong for the children.)

However, as I spend more time with Crown, I began to understand clearly,

That evil sometimes takes on the appearance of a good person.

The moment we got permission to search and left the room, someone hugged my leg.

Ferris Circus Child: “Big brother, Big sister. Hello.”

Kate: “Ah, you had bumped into me earlier.”

Oliver: “This is Lionel. Don’t ask me if I’m playing with these two people.”

Kate: “Ahaha, yeah—”

Was about to say “okay”, and then I gasped.

(That was my decision, but knowing Harry, he would have gone looking for information right away.)

Harrison: “…”

Harrison: “Okay, let’s play. After we play for a little bit, can you take us to the tent?”

Lionel: “Yup, yay!”

Kate: “…Harry, are you sure?”

Harrison: “Ah, it’s okay once in a while.”

After playing for a bit, we decided to look for the key inside the tent under Oliver’s guidance.

(Of course we need to find the key, but we also have to uncover the secret behind the crime.)

Oliver: “Hmm, maybe it didn’t fall off after all… that’s weird…”

Harrison: “Aah, what’s the box over there?”

When Harry raises his arm to reach for a box on the shelf, Oliver jumps.

Like he’s afraid of being hit.

(…It’s like he’s being beaten on a daily basis.)

Oliver: “Ah… um, that was….”

Harrison: “…”

Harrison: “…are you having fun?”

Oliver: “Eh?”

Harrison: “Do you enjoy working here?”

Oliver’s eyes flickered in response to Harrison’s question, then he blurted out.

Oliver: “It’s fun to work! Oh man, I’ve been passed around from place to place, having no redeeming qualities.”

Oliver: “But, now. Coming here? I found the meaning of life. Hehe…”

Oliver: “…But. But being forced to do thing that I can’t face the heavens—”

(…I knew it!)

Just as we were about to uncover the truth, Oliver suddenly looked up.

Oliver: “Wow, you’re a good actor aren’t you? I’m a performer you know.”

The big smile on his face is to prevent us from going any further.

Harrison: “If you say so, then it must be so…”

Harrison: “We can’t help those who are not prepared to be saved. Just remember that.”

--Outside

We split up with Oliver and proceed down the hallway, looking for the key.

Kate: “…Looking at Oliver’s behavior, it’s clear that something is wrong with him.”

Harrison: “Yeah. All we need is to suppress the scene or have some physical evidence and we can move quickly—”

Just as Harry was about to say something, a thumping sound was heard from the other side of the hallway.

(……I wonder what.)

Kate: “…Harry.”

Harrison: “Ah, let’s go. Kate, stay close. Be more careful than usual…--”

As we walked toward the direction of the noise, I saw the shadow of a person in the warehouse.

Ferris Circus Leader: “It’s all about the free food! What do you mean you were so busy playing that you forgot to do your job?”

Who was at the end of the leader’s whip?

(……Lionel!)

Lionel: “I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”

Ferris Circus Leader: “It seems like you were also dragging your feet with your “work” the other day. That’s why you failed to steal anything!”

Harrison: “…stealing. Now that’s black.”

(Gah, he’s going to die like that! We have to go help him soon.)

(But, can I move however I want?)

For a moment, I envision a future where I move in the opposite direction and hold Harry back.

(What would Harry do? Harry--)

Lionel: “Agh… it hurts. I’m sorry…sorry…”

(…)

Kate: “…Harry, I’m sorry for doing something selfish. But…”

Harrison: “Hmm, Kate?”

I jumped out and hugged Lionel with my still connected arms.

Lionel: “…….Big sister…?”

Kate: “It’s alright now. It was scary.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “Pfft, haha! You fell for it.”

Harrison: “…Kate, Up!”

(…!)

When I looked up, I saw a large cage falling from the sky.

I immediately pushed Lionel away and Harry and I were locked in the cage.

Kate: “Mm.”

Harrison: “…Did you deliberately use a child out to lure us in?”

Ferris Circus Leader: “Yes, that’s right. I knew you were coming to do something.”

(Why?...There was no reason to be suspicious.)

Ferris Circus Leader: “Ordinary people don’t own guns. And it’s even less likely if you’re a woman.”

I realized that the gun I keep in a holster strapped to my leg has been discovered.

(I’m usually careful not to be noticed, but I’m distracted by the handcuffs…)

Ferris Circus Leader: “Besides, people who have committed murder, even once, can easily recognize their own kind.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “Are you guys hired killers by the police or people with a grudge?...Well it doesn’t matter.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “After tonight’s show, I’ll teach the two of you a lesson and kill you.”

Kate: “…ah”

Ferris Circus Leader: “Oh, yeah. It’s no use calling for help.”

Ferris Circus Leader: “These children are puppets who follow my will. They won’t do anything I don’t want, hahaha!”

Lionel: “…”

The leader and Lionel disappear from view, and the area is filled with silence.

(It’s all my fault that I was noticed and that this happened.)

Kate: “I-I’m sorry… If I’d followed you, Harry, you would have been able to make a calmer decision.”

Kate: “I was trying not to cause any trouble, but I acted on impulse…”

Harrison: “Trying not to cause trouble?”

Kate: “…Because we’re opposites.”

Harrison: “Maybe so. Being connected with you made me realize that.”

Kate: “…”

Harrison: “But, I don’t think that’s bad or a nuisance.”

Harrison smiled and gently pinched my cheek.

Kate: “…?”

Harrison: “There are things that can be solved just by being with you.”

Harrison: “Look, here’s proof.”

Oliver: "...both of you."

Kate: "Oliver, why are you here?"

Oliver: "Lionel called the guys over."

Behind Oliver, many of the children who work here came to help.

Oliver: "...Honestly, this has happened many times before. But Lionel called me out of desperation..."

Lionel: "B-big sister protected me. It's the first time anyone has done something like that. That's why..."

It must have been so scary to jump out of the cage where you were tied up and try to help.

Kate: "...Thank you, Lionel. Thank you, all of you."

The children worked together and helped us out of the heavy cage.

Oliver: "Big brother, you seem pretty relaxed. Did you already have a plan to get out of here?"

Harrison: "Well, yeah."

Harrison: "But, there are other important things we need to do too."

Harrison: "I thought this rescue was your cry for help. You need help, right?"

Lionel: "...uh,... yes."

Lionel: "Please, please help me..."

Harrison: "I mean, what should I do, Kate?"

Kate: "There is only one answer. Let me take care of that."

Harrison: "As expected of our excellent fairy tale master."

Harrison: "Well then--"

Harrison / Kate: "The counterattack has begun."

Part 1 | Part 2 | Premium End | Epilogue

[icon-cloud]

Sleep Helps

Sometimes you wake up feeling like shit.

Includes: Sick character, Overall, pretty soft

WC: 946

Waking up, Swiss didn’t feel right. He wasn’t usually someone to stay in bed for long, aside from of course, the fun activities. There were just too many things to do, and too many people to annoy and launch himself dramatically at. Why would he stay in bed and willingly subject himself to boredom when there was something to do? 

Today felt different though. His eyes felt dry, a little crusty. It stung a little to open his eyes actually. His skin felt a little more sensitive than usual he supposed. Like it was stretched a little too much. 

Sitting up, he took a deep breath and groaned loudly, while rubbing his hand harshly on his face. Slouching forward, he pulled his arms close to his lap before doing a cursory look around his room and decided to take a shower. 

Showers usually helped. The steam opened up his nasal passage and rehydrated his eyes significantly. Plus, it always helps to just start the day clean, it felt nice and it was a good way to wake up in his mind. 

Stepping out the shower he got dressed relatively quickly and shuffled his way into the kitchen, to the coffee pot. 

Rain soon found Swiss glaring at the coffee machine, almost as if it spoke to him, and accused him of being a eunuch. Slowly, he approached before asking softly, “Hey wisp, are you alright? You’re usually up earlier than this… and more coherent.”

Squinting, Swiss turned his gaze towards Rain and replied in a scratchy voice, “The da-” his voice cut off harshly as he turned his face to cough into his elbow. Closing his eyes, Swiss angled his head to the ceiling. Methodically, he took a few shallow breaths to calm his breathing before continuing, “The damned coffee is empty, and my head hurts too much to fix it.” 

Rain winced at the multi ghouls voice. What was usually a low timbre, had morphed into a dry hoarse mockery of his usual tone. All around Swiss didn’t look like his usual, bubbly self. 

Frowning, he approached Swiss and gently grasped his arm to pull him softly, before saying, “Come on my wisp. You don’t sound too good. So, let's get you laid down and I can bring you something warm.” Looking to Swiss, he tilted his head before giving a shy smile and said, “I don’t think coffee is what you need at the time being anyway.”

Swiss didn’t protest when Rain pulled him closer. Instead, he chose to lean his head onto his current partner’s shoulder when he wrapped his arm around him, allowing the water ghoul to lead them both back to his room. 

Opening the door to his room, they shuffled to Rain’s bed. “Alright Smiles, give me a second and you can lay back down. You wanna strip down or have some PJ’s?”

Grumbling he replied hoarsely, “Skin hurts. Don't want anything.” Stiffly, he worked his way out of his short worn outfit of the day until he got to his boxers. 

Hunched awkwardly, he smiled gently to himself as he watched rain worry over the state of his bed before he whispered, “The bed is fine the way it is Lilly, lemme get in please.”

Turning to Swiss, he bit his lip softly as he observed the sick ghouls slouched figure. “Alright, yea go on and get comfortable.” Leaning against the bed, he tilted his head while he watched Swiss gingerly climb into the bed. Once he got to the center he flounced forward, sighing in relief. 

Gathering the blankets around him, he asked Rain where Aether was, frowning when the other answered displeased. “Aether was called away this morning. Apparently a different location needs a skilled Quint to help train some newly summoned. Aeth is gonna be away for a little bit.”

“Ah well, he’s always lecturing us about how we can’t always rely on him. I suppose it was bound to happen,” was the scratchy reply given by Swiss. Whining he asked in a small voice, “Can you just… I feel real crappy Lils, can you just hold me a little?” 

Squinting mirthfully, Rain snorted before saying, “Is that not the exact reason why I shouldn’t get in bed with you at the moment?” Laughing he said, “Move over ya big lump, you’re taking up all the room!”

Swiss gave him an impish grin and said, “Scuse you, I’m sick. I don’t need to move at all. You can make room.” As he said this he playfully turned his head away from Rain with a small grin, only to give a short squeal when the other began shoving him to the side.

Rain grinned down at him, causing small wrinkles to form around his eyes. Haloed by the golden light coming in through the sheer curtains of the room, he appeared to be almost celestial to Swiss. 

Unable to help himself, Swiss hooked an arm around the other's neck to gently pull him down. Settled on top of him, Swiss cupped Rain’s cheek, and nuzzled him gently before giving in to kiss Rain.

Closing his eyes, Rain smiled against the other, before turning his head and leaned into Swiss’ neck. Hugging himself against the other’s body, he pulled them both onto their sides and whispered, “Go to sleep Wisp. There’s always the chance you’ll feel better in the afternoon.”

Sighing quietly he replied, “Yea, you’re right. Thanks Rain, love you.” 

It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep. He couldn’t quite breath right, and his throat hurt, but he knew he was safe. Should anything happen he knew Rain would look after him while he slept.

[shiny-jr]

you’re my favorite (IV)

Warning: Probably a pinch of yandere in this post but nothing extreme. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Jamil Viper, Kalim Al-Asim.

Summary: What happens if you are one of the character’s favorite fictional character of all time? The students of night raven college are but fictional characters, but in their eyes you are only a character of someone else’s figment of imagination. However, they can’t help but adore you either way. So imagine their surprise when the infamous magicless student they meet one day, turns out to be a carbon copy of the character they love so much.

Note: Sorry, I couldn’t help myself. 

SCARABIA 

Jamil Viper 

To be perfectly honest, his childhood wasn’t the very best. For as long as he could remember, he was tasked with caring for the young heir of the Asims. When they were tired of games outside in the courtyard or bored of board games, Kalim loved this one particular show. Of course, as his retainer, Jamil had no choice but to settle with the channel the young heir picked. But after a few episodes, Viper couldn’t say he minded. The scheduled showings of the series in the afternoon soon became something he looked forward to. Not only did he enjoy watching the series, but he couldn’t be told to go help in the kitchen or do chores because Kalim always wanted to watch the show with him. 

It was about a magicless person who adopted a magic fire-breathing cat, and together they traveled to different parts of the world. After a busy day, tired from watching over the young heir, the show took Jamil’s mind off his problems and filled him with such wonder, placing hopes and dreams in him. One day, he wanted to have the freedom to relax and travel just as the magicless human did. Oh, if he could do whatever he wanted, win and prove himself, actually experience a taste of that freedom, just like they did... Ah, but it’s only a childish fantasy. Even if it was ridiculous, he couldn’t help but cling to that dream with the tiniest bit of hope, inspired by that fictional character. As he got older and busier with more responsibilities to shoulder, he had less and less time to himself. Every once in a while, when there was time late at night, he shrugged on his pajamas. The shirt was a large comfy fitting, and it was merchandise of the series. Then, he’d settle down, and sometimes recall the wondrous feelings the show brought him.

What a bad day. First he got injured in the kitchen days before the Magift tournament. Now he had to deal with these nosy students. But Jamil keeps his calm facade, easily hiding his annoyance as he engages in conversation. A gray cat was suddenly asking about his injury... He gaze traveled up to the people behind the furry creature, and among the small group he spotted a weirdly familiar figure. A magic cat and a magicless human... Instantly he recognized them. Could they have been the actors? No, that was impossible. The show was several years ago and the actors would’ve showed obvious signs of age. Actually, he had heard rumor of how this mysterious human was not from Twisted Wonderland. How peculiar... Perhaps today would not be such a bad day. 

Kalim Al-Asim 

As the young heir of a fabulously wealthy and elite family, Kalim got practically everything he wanted. Toys, games, you name it. If you pay close attention, at one point in Kalim’s childhood, a lot of his most treasured items were of a particular duo, a magicless human and a magical cat. On some days, his parents would even task the most talented seamstresses to create exact replicas of the main character’s outfits, just for the young heir to wear. And he would happily wear them. Dressed to the nines in his little costume with his life-sized gray cat plushie in his arms, as he sat beside Jamil and eagerly watched the television screen with sparkling eyes and the widest smile. 

It was Kalim’s favorite show of all time. Everyday he’d glance at the clock, waiting impatiently for the show to start. And five minutes before it did, he’d grab Jamil’s hand and run with him inside where they could find a place to watch it. It was such a fun show, it made him laugh and always fascinated him! Why? Because as the young heir, he didn't get to live a normal life. Yes, he had every material item he could ever want, but he was always protected from the outside. His siblings and the other servant children were practically his only friends since he was homeschooled. It was almost a lonely type of childhood, which is why the show captivated him so. Through the main character, he was able to learn about what regular people experienced, what their version of normal was like. It’s how he was able to pick up on the right habits, it taught him how people normally interacted, and the right social cues (although he tended to still miss those). Slowly overtime he watched the show less and less, but it was always a series very dear to him. 

Kalim had encountered Grim once. That was when the cat set his robes on fire during the orientation ceremony, but he didn’t quite connect the dots at the time. It was only during their second meeting, when Kalim instantly recognized Grim as the raccoon that set me on fire did he slowly begin to connect the dots. You could visibly see him looking at you then Grim, then back to you and back to Grim, back and forth. He’s zoning out, deaf to Jamil and the others speaking. It takes a few seconds, but when he’s finally realized, he loudly gasps and breaks out into the brightest beaming smile. Instantly he’s over you two, especially you, as he grabs your hands and holds it firmly, all while gazing up at you with awestruck eyes and blabbering about some show. It seems that he truly thinks you are the fictional character he admired from his childhood. 

[anonymousewrites]

A Study of the Heart and Brain (Book 3) Chapter Eight

Father Figure! Sherlock Holmes x Teen! Reader

Chapter Eight: Bloody Guardsman

Summary: Sherlock tells a story of one of John, (Y/N), and his cases.

A while ago…

            Sherlock stood in front of the wall of wedding information he’d compiled for the wedding. He had approached preparation like a case, with categories for wine, catering, transport, and rehearsal. Sherlock had been so honored that John had chosen him as his best man that he had decided nothing would stop him from making sure the entire day was perfect (which inevitably meant it wouldn’t be, but the heart was there).

             Mary had a 3D model of the reception venue in front of her, John was on his phone (the stress was getting to him), and (Y/N) had the guest and RSVP list in front of them.

            “Need to work on your half of the church, Mary. Looking a bit thin,” said Sherlock.

            “Ah, the orphan’s lot. Friends—that’s all I have. Lots of friends,” said Mary. She smiled, and (Y/N) cocked their head. There was something in the muscles that twitched in her face, something in the size of her smile, that put (Y/N) off.

            “Schedule the organ music to begin at precisely 11:48,” said Sherlock, and (Y/N) focused back on the task at hand.

            “But the rehearsal’s not for another two weeks,” said Mary.

            “I thought people wanted everything to be ready soon,” said (Y/N), looking up from the lists they were correcting.

            Mary sighed. “Let’s get back to the reception. (Y/N), there’s John’s cousin. Top table?” she asked, gesturing to the RSVP card.

            (Y/N) glanced at the name and card. “No, she hates you. Doesn’t even like thinking about you.”

            “Seriously?” asked Mary, surprised.

            “Second-class post, cheap card bought at a petrol station, last minute, the stamp has three attempts at licking, so she unconsciously retained saliva. All signs of dislike,” said (Y/N).

            “Ah. Let’s stick her by the bogs,” said Mary.

            (Y/N) tossed the RSVP card into the pile that had been designated as the worst guests (aka: should be shoved as far away from the bride and groom as possible)

            “Who else hates me?” asked Mary.

            “(Y/N) made a list,” said Sherlock. (Y/N) held it out silently.

            “Oh, great—thanks!” said Mary with faux-brightness as she took it.

            “Priceless painting nicked. Looks interesting,” said John, looking at his phone.

            “Table four?” said Mary, looking at Sherlock and (Y/N).

            “Done,” said Sherlock.

            John chuckled as he looked at another case in the inbox. “ ‘My husband is three people.’ ”

            “Table five,” continued Mary.

            “Major James Sholto. Who’s he?” asked (Y/N).

            “Oh, John’s old commanding officer. I don’t think he’s coming,” said Mary.

            “He’ll be there,” said John.

            “Well, he needs to RSVP, then,” said Mary.

            “He’ll be there,” said John firmly. He looked at Sherlock and repeated the latest case possibility he’d found. “ ‘My husband is three people.’ It’s interesting. Says he has three distinct patterns of moles on his skin.”

            “Identical triplets—one in half a million births. Solved it without leaving the flat,” said Sherlock, and then he got back to the wedding planning. “Now, serviettes.” He reached under the coffee table and pulled out a tray with two folded napkins. “Swan or Sydney Opera House?”

            Mary stared in surprise. “Where’d you learn to do that?!” she exclaimed.

            “Many unexpected skills required in the field of investigation—”

            “Fibbing, Sherlock,” said Mary, calling him out immediately.

            “I once broke an alibi by demonstrating the exact severity of—”

            “I’m not John, I can tell when you’re fibbing,” said Mary.

            “Okay—I learned it on YouTube,” said Sherlock.

            “You’re very good,” said (Y/N). Mary had surprising skills at times. She was…smarter, or at least more preceptive and aware, than most people.

            “Thanks,” said Mary, smiling. She looked at Sherlock. “Um, Opera House, please. Ooh, hang on. I’m buzzing.” She pulled out her phone and headed towards the hall.

            John stood. “If that’s Beth, it’s probably for me, too. Hang on.”

            “What do we do while they’re gone?” asked (Y/N).

            “Fold,” said Sherlock, tossing napkins to them. They had watched the videos while he did, so they could do it.

            The pair sat down and mechanically began folding. (Y/N) liked the repetitive motion. In the midst of all the chaos and planning, it was calming.

            John finally walked back into the room and stared at the mass of Opera-House-napkins piling up around the father and kid.

            “That just sort of…happened,” said Sherlock in response to the stare.

            “Sherlock, (Y/N), um…I’ve…” John sighed and sat down. (Y/N) and Sherlock exchanged glances and followed him. “I’ve smelled eighteen different perfumes. I’ve sampled nine different slices of cake, which all tasted identical. I like the bridesmaids in purple—”

            “Lilac,” said (Y/N).

            “—Lilac. Um, there are no decisions left to make. I don’t even understand the decisions that we have made. I’m faking opinions, and it’s exhausting,” sighed John. “So, please, before I have to do anything else, pick something.” He held out his phone to them, on the page to show case offers. “Anything. Pick one.”

            “Pick what?” asked Sherlock.

            “A case. Your inbox is bursting. Just…get me out of here,” said John.

            “You want to go out on a case? Now?” questioned Sherlock.

            “Please, for me. I just need a break,” sighed John. (Really, he knew (Y/N) and Sherlock needed one since they were working way too hard on this).

            As dutiful friends as ever, Sherlock and (Y/N) nodded.

            “We’ll get you out of this,” said (Y/N) while Sherlock looked at the options.

            “ ‘Dear Mr. Holmes,’ ” he read aloud. “ ‘My name is Bainbridge. I’m a Private in Her Majesty’s Household Guard. I’m writing to you about a personal matter one I don’t care to bring before my superiors—it would sound so trivial—but I think someone’s stalking me. I’m used to tourists—it’s part of the job—but this is different. Someone’s watching me. He’s taking pictures of me every day. Don’t want to mention it to my major, but its’ really preying on my mind.’ ”

            (Y/N) hummed in consideration and flipped over their lollipop.

            “Uniform fetish,” decided Sherlock. “All the nice girls like a soldier.”

            “I think the phrase is ‘sailor,’ ” said John. “And Bainbridge thinks his stalker is a bloke.”

            “It could be a gay man, but the odds aren’t exactly in that idea’s favor,” said (Y/N).

            “Let’s go and investigate, please?” said John, looking between the two detectives.

            “Elite guard,” mused Sherlock.

            “Forty enlisted men and officers…Wonder why this grenadier is special,” said (Y/N).

            John grinned. They were in. “Now you two are talking.”

            “Okay,” said Sherlock, handing back the phone to John.

            (Y/N) stood up from the ground and walked to the door with John and Sherlock. Mary entered the room at the same moment.

            “Bye,” she said into the phone.

            “Er, we’re just going to…I need, um, Sherlock and (Y/N) to help me choose some, uh, socks,” said John.

            “Ties,” said Sherlock at the same moment.

            “Pocket squares,” said (Y/N) simultaneously.

            “Why don’t we go with ties?” said Mary, obviously amused.

            “Yeah…” said John, laughing nervously.

            “I mean, I know (Y/N) still hasn’t bought one,” said Mary.

            “I’ve been a bit busy,” said (Y/N), shrugging and going along with the lie they all knew was one.

            “And you want it to go well with the theme of the wedding,” said Mary.

            “Right,” said Sherlock, nodding.

            “It’ll take a while, right?” continued Mary in amusement.

            “My coat in there?” asked John, walking to the kitchen.

            “Yes,” said Mary, smiling.

            “Just going to take him out to run him down,” said Sherlock.

            “You said you’d find him a case,” said Mary, grinning. She was playing them all (though, by the look on their face, (Y/N) was a little more aware than the others that Mary was orchestrating time for John and Sherlock to relax and have fun).

            “Come on, you two,” said John, pulling on his coat and opening the door.

            “Coming,” said (Y/N) and Sherlock going after him.

            Mary gave them a thumbs up and happily closed the door for some peace and quiet of her own.

l

            The trio arrived at the barracks, and Sherlock and (Y/N) let John walk ahead since he was the veteran among them. He held up his military ID to the duty sergeant at the barrack entrance.

            “We’re here to see Private Stephen Bainbridge,” said John.

            “He’s on duty right now, sir, but I’ll certainly let him know when he’s free,” said the sergeant.

            “And when will that be?” asked Sherlock.

            “Another hour,” said the sergeant.

            John, Sherlock, and (Y/N) left the door to the barracks and headed to a bench facing the gates. They sat down, leaned back, and waited.

            Eventually, Sherlock spoke up and remarked upon something that had been on his mind since the morning. “So, why don’t you see him anymore?” he asked.

            “Who?” asked John.

            “Your previous commander, Sholto,” said Sherlock.

            “Previous commander,” repeated John.

            “You ex,” said (Y/N).

            “Previous suggests I have a current commander,” said John. He eyed Sherlock. “Which I don’t.”

            “Sure,” said (Y/N).

            “He was decorated, wasn’t he? A war hero,” said Sherlock.

            “Not to everyone. He led a team of crows into battle,” said John.

            “Crows?” asked (Y/N).

            “New recruits. It’s standard procedure, break the new boys in—but it went wrong,” said John. He looked down. “They all died; he was the only survivor. The press and the families gave him hell. He gets more death threats than you.”

            “Probably not from worse people,” remarked (Y/N), and Sherlock nodded in agreement.

            “Why have you two suddenly taken an interest in another human being?” asked John suspiciously.

            “Just chatting,” said Sherlock. John raised an eyebrow in complete disbelief. “Won’t be trying that again,” decided Sherlock.

            “Changing the subject completely,” said John, saving everyone from embarrassment or vulnerability. “You two know it won’t alter anything, right, with me and Mary getting married? We’ll still be doing this.”

            “Oh, good,” said Sherlock, and (Y/N) nodded.

            “If you two were worried,” said John.

            “Wasn’t worried,” said Sherlock.

            John sighed and looked down at his hands. “See, the thing about Mary—she has completely turned my life around, changed everything. But, for the record, over the last few years there are three people who have don’t that…and the other two are—” He looked back up and found that Sherlock and (Y/N) had disappeared. “—complete dickheads.”

l

            (Y/N) and Sherlock marched behind the guards playfully to get into the building. Honestly, (Y/N) was surprised the guards weren’t guarding that well, but they weren’t about to complain.

            The pair took off the hats they’d put on and fixed their flattened hair before continuing on through the halls. Two guards in khaki army uniforms were on patrol, and (Y/N) and Sherlock hid around the side of the stairs until they were gone. They crept onwards, and they came across a room with voices within. (Y/N) opened the door for a moment and peeked inside. It was a group of soldiers chatting and relaxing. They closed the door, shook their head, and continued on with Sherlock.

            “Hey, you two!” shouted a guard.

            Damn, I guess some of them are good at their jobs, thought (Y/N).

l

            “Sir, caught these two snooping around,” said the sergeant who had found Sherlock and (Y/N) as he shoved them into the changing rooms of the guards.

            A body lay on the ground, wet and soapy, clearly having died while in the processing of showering. John was already standing inside, and judging by his and Major Reed’s (they had noticed his office earlier, and seeing as he was the man in charge, it was definitely him) expressions, they were all in trouble.

            “Is that what all this was about?” demanded Reed, glaring at John. “Distracting me so these two could get in here and kill Bainbridge?”

            (Y/N) cocked their head. Their client was dead, and that meant there was something more to this case than met the eye.

            “Kill him with what? Where’s the weapon?” said Sherlock, instantly dispelling the idea they had killed anyone (and making sure (Y/N) wasn’t pushed around anymore).

            “What?” asked Reed, furrowing his brow.

            “Search us. We don’t have any weapons,” said (Y/N).

            “Bainbridge was on parade. He came off duty five minutes ago. When’s this supposed to have happened?” asked John.

            “Those two obviously stabbed him before he got into the shower,” said Reed.

            “No,” said (Y/N).

            “No?!” cried Reed incredulously.

            “He’s soaking wet, and there’s still shampoo in his hair. He got into the shower, and then someone stabbed him,” said Sherlock.

            “The cubicle was locked from the inside, sir. I had to break it open,” said the sergeant that had come across the body.

            “One of you must’ve climbed over the top,” said Reed stubbornly.

            “We’d be wet, too,” said (Y/N), crossing their arms.

            “Major, please,” snapped John, his voice full of authority and irritation. “I’m John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Three years in Afghanistan, a veteran of Kandahar, Helmand, and Bart’s bloody Hospital. Let me examine this body.”

            Reed stared at John for a moment before looking at Bainbridge’s body and then back again. He nodded sharply.

            “Thank you,” said John in exasperation, and he knelt beside the body. Sherlock and (Y/N) leaned over him.

            “Suicide?” asked the duty sergeant.

            “No, the weapon again—no knife,” said Sherlock.

            (Y/N) cocked their head as they noticed someone and leaned closer. “There’s a wound in his abdomen, isn’t there?”

            John nodded. “Very fine, but yeah.”

            “Man stabbed to death. No murder weapon. Door locked from the inside. Only one way in or out of there,” mused Sherlock.

            (Y/N) peeled back one of his eyelids to check for any other signs of death. A soft breath landed on their hand. They blinked. “He’s still breathing.”

            Everyone’s head snapped towards them.

            “Oh my god!” exclaimed the sergeant.

            “What do we do?” asked Sherlock, looking at John.

            “Give me your scarf,” said John, in complete doctor mode.

            “What?” asked Sherlock.

            “Now,” said John, and Sherlock unwound his scarf and handed it to John. He looked at the sergeants and Reed. “Call an ambulance.”

            “What?” asked one of the sergeants.

            “Now!” ordered John, and the sergeant jumped to obey while John pressed the scarf to Bainbridge’s wound. “Nurse, press here, hard.”

            “Nurse?” said Sherlock and (Y/N).

            “I’m making do,” said John, reaching out with one hand and dragging Sherlock closer so he could put pressure on the wound. “Keep that on there.” He moved back to Bainbridge’s head. “Stephen? Stephen, stay with us.”

            (Y/N) looked at Sherlock and John as they saved Bainbridge’s life. Their eyes flicked from his face as he tried to breath to the wound Sherlock was pressing on. It was in a rather specific place. Long, thin, precisely made…If only (Y/N) could put it together.

Taglist:

@stilesstilinskiforlife-blog

@im-making-an-effort

@ilse235

@schrodingers-intelligence

@awsedrftgyhujikol

@lxserthxngzzz

@forever1313

@mentallyunstablemanlover