#because she's not really dangerous she's just weird and lonely

[lathrine]

when i say hexadecimal would be a smash hit with the queer crowd, this is what im talking about

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Hi! I really like your writing, and I was wondering if I could request a Yandere!Platonic 1st Years (+Grim) with an Eri!Reader?

How would they feel learning of her abused, trauma, and her unfamiliarity with general society and social norms? (Who’s looking murderous when they see just the scars littered around her arms and legs when her bandages are removed?)

Though it’s a whole different story when she says she sees her power as nothing but a ‘curse’, and her existence a ‘burden’ that only makes others suffer? All because of the man named ‘Overhaul’, the one who did this so her? (Who’s about to go feral when she admits she doesn’t remember how to smile?)

But she starts to become more positive thanks to Grim and slowly the others (She likes Grim and is very sparkly eyed because he talks, breaths fire and thinks he’s amazing)

Imagine when she says she made a friend all on her very own who’s ‘like her’, though they lightly chastise her that she shouldn’t talk with strangers (It’s Malleus, they’re both lonely, have horns she has 1, while Malleus has 2, have an incredible power that’s very dangerous, and they’re unfamiliar/slow with society)

Eri Reader | Yandere Twisted Wonderland

You’ve been through so much….so you’ve been told. The pain, the heartbreak, the constant voice in your head that has guilt weighing on your little heart. Your transportation to Twisted Wonderland couldn’t come at a better time. They’re going to welcome you cage you to this new world more than willing to spoil you to your hearts content:

Grim 

“Oi oi servant they all think we’re monsters!”

“...yeah?”

“Yeah! So we gotta show them we’re gonna be the greatest mages in here!”

“Oh….okay!”

He’s the perfect chaotic companion

He teaches you to allow yourself to do what you want

Granted his guidance isn’t all knowing

No matter how tasty Heartslabyul’s tarts are you shouldn’t eat them everytime you visit — especially without permission

Either way you’re learning to forgive yourself and allow you to have fun

And leave it to Grim to say whatever snarky thing you’d like to say when your big-brothers get in the way

“Nyeh! You won’t be able to do anything against my flames, nyah!”

Ace Trappola

“Hey if I catch you moping about that plague doctor guy, I’ll sock ya in the head!”

“Ace?!”

“I-i-i won’t!”

In a weird way you’re so used to being bullied (by kai) that you tend to take his bully-affection to heart

You know he cares, he just won’t tell you often

He reminds you of a certain blonde…

It also makes you more privy to his very willing desire to steamroll over anyone he deems a problem for you

“I think he meant that as a joke, Ace…”

“Joke schmoke, I warned you, you stain! I’m putting you in the medical wing.”

“Ace, please!” 

Deuce Spade

“(Y/n), did you eat today? Are you feeling well? Do you need me to carry you!”

Mother hen of the group

He’s hovering close behind even when you don’t see him

Always making sure you’re safe and happy as can be

He’s teeming with anxiety if he’s not watching you himself

Even worse if you get hurt accidentally or on purpose

Now he’s Mama bear totally bearing the claws to protect you

He’s not going to leave you to defend yourself

Especially when your abilities hinge on your mental state

He’s trying his best

“Are you doing the breathing techniques Crewel recommended? Where’s your paper bag?”

Jack Howl

“Hello little one.”

“Hi.”

“Would you…like to sit on my shoulders?”

“Yes!”

Your #1 guard dog

Doesn’t have to worry considering Deuce is freaking out for him

He’ll be the sane voice of reason because Ace isn’t anywhere close to reliable in his eyes

Naturally he entrances you with his tail and overall dog-like personality

But don’t forget he’s got the bite force of a wolf that he’s not afraid to use if he deems fit

“Pup, don’t stop yourself from having fun or being…young. I–we will keep you safe.”

Epel Felmier

“You’re so pretty.”

“...Thanks.”

You’re the only one who can get away with calling him that

And he loves nothing more than escaping Vil to find out what other sweet makes you smile sweetly 

He’s also one of the first to join Ace as part of the self-proclaimed protection committee

He’s also one of the first to suggest taking it further than a mere beatdown

Anything for his new little sibling

“If there’s no body…there’ll be no problems.”

Sebek Zigvolt

“TINY HORNED HUMAN! WHERE IS YOUR DIASOMNIA PIN!” 

“Uhm…Ace took it from me…said it was unfair.”

“THAT FOOL. COME CHILD I SHALL BESTOW UPON YOU THE PIN AGAIN.”

Is definitely apart of a brainwash committee of his own and is insistent you become Diasomnia’s new mascot…under Malleus of course

His loudness sometimes scares you off but he means well

And will no doubt join the others if a few heads need to roll

“Rest easy, child. On my watch, no one will harm you.”

[trainsinanime]

Perfection

It’s been months and I still think we’re not talking enough about Cloud Kagami in Perfection. I think Cloud Kagami is one of the most haunting, most beautiful but also sad akumas in the show. Most people will probably point to Chat Blanc as the winner in that category, and fair’s fair, you can’t argue with that body count. But for me, Cloud Kagami wins because she’s less literal, more metaphorical.

Kagami is depressed and lonely in this episode. She feels isolated, like she doesn’t fit in. And so her akuma persona doesn’t do anything offensive - she just physically doesn’t fit in. Her mental image of herself is too large, too weird, but also hollow, without substance. Not even that something was stolen from her; she feels like maybe she was never real at all.

The whole thing comes with a perspective shift for her. She’s too tall to see the small stuff, and she’s can’t even see the people anymore. Paris for her is just streets and buildings, a view like from a map. She is no longer able to see it as a place made up of people.

Swifties will of course recognise that this is exactly the same feeling and imagery as in the song Antihero:

Sometimes I feel like everybody is a sexy baby And I’m a monster on the hill Too big to hang out, slowly lurching toward your favorite city Pierced through the heart, but never killed

And it comes to a head when Kagami says that she might just fade away, and that it would be better that way. This is the only episode where the danger is not the akuma doing something bad, but the akuma dying. That’s really harsh.

On the flip side, it’s so important that Kagami doesn’t shrink down or becomes invisible. She is here, and we and the characters see and share in her pain. Our heroes know what’s going on and are worried about her. When Kagami says nobody would miss her, would notice when she’s gone, she’s categorically wrong. She is actually this huge presence, literally, in the city. She just can’t see and comprehend it, because her depression makes it impossible for her to recognise how much the people around her care.

I think this story is really harrowing, but I also love how beautifully they wrote and rendered it. This is really a stealth greatest episode of the show.

[just-j-really]

Snow White-adjacent Dreamling AU?

Dream is the prince of Time and Night's kingdom (with skin as pale as snow, and hair as black as ebony). Hob has some sort of huntsman-ish role in the palace. Dream goes out hunting fairly often, not for the sake of hunting itself but to have some space from the weight of his responsibilities (and from other people) and the ability to be alone with his thoughts. Maybe to mope a little.

Hob has liked Dream from the moment he set eyes on him, half-despite-half-because he was acting like an arrogant little snot at the time. And although Hob's initial infatuation was mostly just that, infatuation, he really did want to get to know Dream better. So when Death told Dream that he should get out among the people more, which led to Dream, grudgingly, attempting to make conversation with Hob the next time they were alone together, Hob genuinely made an effort to keep the conversation going and get to know him. They meet up every month or so, Hob talks about what he's been up to, a beautiful friendship blossoms, etc.

But they're in a weird space, with each other. Hob thinks of Dream as a friend, and Dream... wants to do the same, but he's too aware of the difference in their stations and the politics of the court, the way it would be so easy for Hob to just be- pretending to like Dream, in order to get something from him. He wouldn't even have to try very hard. Dream's lonely.

And maybe, given enough time, they could have reached an understanding. But the problem is, everyone is aware of Dream's tendency to be alone, in the dangerous forest, with only his huntsman for company, and someone (Night? Time? Desire?) gets Hob alone and asks/bribes/orders him to kill Dream next time they go out hunting.

Hob does not want to do this. Obviously. But the person who ordered him to do it is literally royalty and could have him painfully executed if he doesn't. Not to mention that he has no idea how deep the conspiracy against Dream goes, if there's anyone else in the palace he can trust to help, who'd go running straight to Dream's enemies if they caught him making plans. But he can at least warn Dream, right? Maybe come up with some sort of plan to fake Dream's death and get him to safety.

So the next time Dream goes hunting, as soon as they're far enough from the palace, Hob tells Dream that his father ordered him to ensure that Dream didn't come home from this little excursion.

Dream, obviously, assumes that this is the prelude to Hob stabbing him, punches him in the face, and runs. Hob is left going "Wait! Come back! I said that really badly! I meant it as a warning, I want to help you!"

He chases after Dream, but between the punch and the fact that Dream has some level of magic powers over his namesake- either he made Hob hallucinate or put him to sleep for a bit- Hob isn't able to catch him. He panics for a bit, but he figures at this point the only thing he can do is feed Dream's enemies as much misinformation as possible. So he goes back to the palace and tells Time-or-whoever that he killed Dream and left the body in the woods, giving the completely wrong direction so that when/if someone goes searching for Dream's body they don't find him.

Now, obviously Time doesn't fully believe that Hob went through with it and killed Dream, especially since there's no body. But the fact that Hob's nose is fully broken helps sell the story, at least for a couple of days. Hob spends those days trying to figure out a way to sneak out of the palace- he doesn't want to be executed, but also, if it's at all possible, he wants to make sure Dream got away. (And as long as he's daydreaming, he'd like a chance to apologize.)

He gets his chance when Death tries to kill him for killing her little brother. Unlike Dream, she actually gives Hob the chance to explain, and when he does, she helps him sneak out (under strict orders that he find Dream).

Hob is much happier to obey those.

Meanwhile, Dream has found shelter with a group of raven shapeshifters living in the woods (definitely Matthew, Jessamy, and Lucienne, maybe include other Dreaming residents to make seven). He is much happier being Dream, who lives in the woods and writes stories, than he was being Dream, prince who is hated to the point of assassination attempts. He's maybe making a little money granting people restful sleep and good dreams using his powers. He misses Hob, though. With some distance from the utter betrayal and terror of the moment Hob said he'd been sent to kill him, he's beginning to wonder if he hadn't overreacted, maybe just a smidge. But that's all tied up in and complicated by the fact that he's also beginning to realize he was probably in love with Hob, and he's not sure he can trust any of what he feels about him.

Unfortunately, the king of the neighboring kingdom, Roderick Burgess, hears about a powerful magic user living in the woods and decides to take that power for himself.

Double-unfortunately, Time realizes Dream is alive and sends one of Dream's former bodyguards, the Corinthian, to kill him. Dream's able to fight him off, but he's exhausted to the point of his powers turning on him and putting him into a coma, and that's when Burgess swoops in and captures him.

Dream is caught in a strange, deathlike sleep, making him mostly useless to Burgess. But having him nearby means that everyone around him sleeps peacefully, and occasionally has prophetic dreams, and Burgess is doing the same 'I'll force him to work for me' thing he does in canon except the logic is 'one day I'll figure out how to wake him up (and force him to work for me), and/or how to actively use his powers while he's still asleep.'

So Burgess has a glass coffin built for Dream, and seals him inside.

Back with Hob, he's spent most of this time on the run from Dream's enemies, unable to actively look for Dream, and slowly going mad with worry over what might have happened to him. He's also slowly, painfully come to realize that the feelings he'd felt for Dream were a little closer to 'love' than 'friendship'. It is a bad time. But eventually he hears rumors about Roderick Burgess, who 'rescued' a comatose prince from the woods and is offering a reward to anyone who can wake him up.

Hob goes chasing after these rumors- Dream showing up alive took a lot of the heat off him- eventually ends up in Burgess' kingdom, and decides to try his hand at waking up Coma Prince. Worst case scenario, it's not Dream. Best case scenario, it's Dream, he's able to rescue him and explain, and- well. Dream will go off and do whatever it is he wants to do, and maybe he and Hob can be friends.

(Hob doesn't let himself hope for anything more, any sort of soft little happily-ever-after.)

But for all that Roderick is pretending to have rescued Dream out of the goodness of his heart, Hob steps one foot into the room with the glass coffin and is immediately aware that isn't the case. He doesn't know much about magic, aside from the couple of times Dream showed off his powers for him. But it's not exactly difficult to spot that the glass coffin, and all the magic circles surrounding it, are somehow vampirically feeding off of Dream, and even though he only understands every third word of the larger explanation he's given, it's more than enough to confirm his suspicions. Burgess' fellow mages give Hob the tour of the apparatus, snickering among themselves because clearly this idiot won't be able to do anything magical that they couldn't. Hob nods along and plays up the 'idiot peasant with delusions of grandeur' vibe right up until everyone has stepped back to see what he'll do.

And then he drags his heel straight down the middle of the largest circle of runes, sending the spell completely haywire.

The backlash of the spell collapsing causes Roderick and his mages to pass out, and gives Hob time to smash open the glass coffin and get Dream away from all the spell circles.

But Dream doesn't wake up, even as the spell collapses. Just remains in Hob's arms, cool and lifeless.

Hob is not about to let it end like that. Sure, none of the most talented mages in the land had been able to wake Dream, but none of them tried getting him out of the stupid coffin, first, so Hob's clearly a step ahead of them already.

He sneaks out of Roderick's palace, carrying Dream, while Roderick and his servants are asleep. Gets him to relative safety (with the help of Jessamy, who'd been waiting for a chance to break Dream out and jumped in to help the moment Hob started breaking things).

And Dream's still in the weird death-trance but he isn't dead. Hob's sure of it. It might be wishful thinking but he swears Dream looks a little better now that they're away from Roderick's palace- a little more color in his cheeks, the faintest, threadiest suggestion of a pulse when Hob feels for one.

So Hob keeps a vigil at Dream's bedside that night, but eventually exhaustion causes him to drift off to sleep.

When he does, Dream is waiting for him.

"You need not have come to my defense," he says, staring at Hob suspiciously.

"Yes, I did," Hob tells him. "You're my friend. Of course I did."

Dream sizes him up for a long while. He's powerful enough, in this dreamscape, to tell that Hob genuinely means what he's saying. It takes a long time for him to decide it might be worth it to tell Hob how to shock him out of the dream he's trapped in (by fulfilling one of his most treasured dreams), but finally, he says, "You might be able to wake me up."

Hob's immediately like "Yes of course how whatever you need."

"Kiss me," Dream says, and then, while Hob is still trying to process that, "This dream is over."

And Hob wakes up.

And yeah, a good part of him dismisses the dream as some extremely strange wish-fulfillment fantasy. But it had seemed so real.

So, with the extremely romantic thought, alright it's worth a shot, Hob leans forward and kisses Dream.

Almost immediately, there's a little shiver of breath against his lips, and when he pulls away, Dream is blinking sleepily up at him.

Hob immediately pulls Dream into a hug, and by the time Dream is actually, fully conscious, Hob is sitting in the bed with him, supporting him with an arm around his shoulders, fussing over him just the tiniest bit frantically.

And Dream, eventually, manages to explain why Hob kissing him awake worked, which means that OBVIOUSLY Hob needs to kiss him some more.

(And they both get a soft little happily-ever-after)

[dirtyvulture]

Dear Diary

*Set in the Darkest Knight AU*

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Mutant!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Word count: 4459

Summary: Natasha embraces her new life as an X-Men.

AN: I'm back with a little one shot. :) Enjoy!

December 6, 2023

Dear Diary,

Is that an appropriate way to start one of these? I’ve never kept a diary or a journal before. But Marie gave me this cute little notebook and said writing stuff down helps clear her mind, so I don’t think there’s any harm in giving it a shot. They would never let us have something like this in the Red Room. Too much evidence lying around for someone to stumble upon. Should I put a lock on this? Y/N wouldn’t snoop around to read this, would she? Well, I guess if she is–leave my diary alone, you big dummy!

The professor said the Red Room soldiers and Widows are coming tomorrow. This is all my fault. I’ve put these good people and innocent children in danger. Earlier, we went to help the kids pack their bags and board the buses. I’m not sure if Y/N has any kids of her own (or ever did at all), but I can tell she really cares about them. Although she was not happy with some of the excessive luggage some of them were bringing. No one would tell me where they’re sending the kids, but I overheard Ororo mention something about a private resort they had to buy out.

I still don’t quite understand why these people are willing to sacrifice so much for me. I’m basically a stranger to them. I have nothing to give them in return if they ask. Maybe they’ll finally throw me out when they realize how worthless I am. That’s what I really deserve. Not these warm clothes, the home-cooked meals, and this roof over my head. And I definitely don’t deserve the kindness and care Y/N has shown me. I really like her, but I’m afraid she’ll leave me when she realizes how boring and inexperienced I am. 

Oh, I think she’s coming out of the shower now. I’ll continue this later.

Love,

Nat

***********************************************************************

December 15, 2023

Dear Diary,

It’s weird how life goes back to normal so fast here. The Red Room soldiers and Widows were here not even a week ago, tearing down doors and blasting out windows, and everything is already repaired and the students are back at it like nothing happened.

A lot of them are excited to go back to their homes and families for the holiday. But a lot of them will also be staying at the mansion, because their families won’t accept them or they just don’t have any home to go back to. The professor asked Y/N to help plan some holiday games so the kids staying don’t get too bored or lonely. She’s acting like it’s the dumbest assignment he’s ever given her, but I’ve seen her spending all her free time ordering presents and decorations (with the professor’s credit card, of course), so I know she takes it very seriously and the kids are going to love whatever she comes up with.

I’m really glad I get to spend Christmas here. It’s been a long time since I’ve actually been able to celebrate it with people I love. I feel so welcomed here and no one looks at me like I’m any different, when I come from a past where there’s red all over my ledger. Sometimes I’m surprised anyone even lets me be around these kids alone, but some of them have powers that even make Y/N nervous, and I think they know they can trust me.

It’ll take some more time before I can be fully comfortable here, but it’s really starting to grow on me and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Love,

Nat

***********************************************************************

December 25, 2023

Natasha wakes up alone. She looks around the bedroom, in case you might be on the floor doing push-ups or in the bathroom showering, but the room is completely empty. Her heartbeat picks up as she jumps out of bed, afraid that you’ve left her, when she notices a note on the desk.

Downstairs making breakfast. Come join when you’re up - Y/N

She relaxes immediately, touched how you made sure to let her know in advance where you would be. She quickly washes up and puts on a robe, then hurries downstairs to a chaotic mess of torn gift wrapping, screaming children, and flashing new toys. She steps into the kitchen, where you are wearing a flowered apron and are threatening Marie with a spatula.

“Stop, those aren’t ready–Marie!” You swat at her hands as she swipes for a pancake.

“Merry Christmas, Miss Nat!” Marie says, moving your attention away from her as your girlfriend appears.

“Merry Christmas, Marie.” Natasha gives the girl a hug, not missing the folded pancake in her hand. 

“Merry Christmas, darling,” you say next, waiting for her to come over. “I made a special plate for you. It’s over here so the kids don’t get into it.” You point to a foil-covered plate off to the side of the stove. Natasha goes to investigate, peeling back the foil to find the plate fully-loaded with two different types of pancakes, one next to a little container of jam and honey, and the other still steaming and garnished with flecks of green onion. There’s even a bowl of grainy buckwheat porridge. Her heart soars at the sight of her favorite native breakfast. With a delighted squeal, she throws herself into your arms.

“Thankyou thankyou thankyou,” she choruses, squeezing you tightly as you rub her back.

“You’re welcome, darling.” 

At this point, you shoo everyone out of the kitchen to finish the preparations. Natasha joins Marie in the dining hall, helping set up the plates and silverware. She watches with great curiosity as Kitty tries getting Peter to step under the mistletoe she hung above the doorway, and then is distracted when Jean and Scott come down for breakfast.

“Y/N cooks Christmas breakfast for us every year,” Jean explains to Natasha. “The kids always look forward to it.”

“Hey, Y/N!” Scott yells into the kitchen. “Keep the walnuts away from my food, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Natasha hears you dismissively respond.

“Scott’s allergic,” Jean whispers to her. “Now there’s no proof how, but he ended up with a plateful of them last year and I almost had to take him to the hospital. Needless to say, it was an eventful Christmas.”

Natasha giggles to herself, already having a feeling she knows exactly how those walnuts got on Scott’s plate.

Everyone finds a seat at the table, the empty one next to Natasha reserved for you. You finally emerge from the kitchen, no longer in the flowered apron but one of your classic checkerboard flannels. You’re carrying an impressive tower of pancakes in one hand and a pan filled half and half with bacon and sausage in the other. The students break out in appreciation and applause as Bobby scoots aside some dishes to make room for the last trays.

“Don’t take more than you can finish,” you remind the kids, going around the table to sit next to Natasha and presenting her with her special plate. “And uh, Merry Christmas, happy holidays, and all that other stuff.” You raise your apple cider in a toast and everyone follows your lead.

“Thanks for breakfast, Y/N,” Ororo says, clinking her glass to yours. The students erupt with more thanks before they start reaching for the food, passing around the mountainous plate of pancakes, scooping whole fried eggs onto each other’s plates.

“Thanks again, babe,” Natasha says, putting her hand on your thigh as she leans over to kiss you on the cheek.

“You should try it first before thanking me,” you tease, still not used to all the praise. You were just trying to be a good partner, and it was somewhat of a Christmas tradition for you to cook breakfast for all the students who stayed at the mansion over break. You didn’t mind it at all, in fact you really did enjoy spending time in the kitchen and it made you feel good to take care of others.

Natasha leaves her hand on your knee as she eats, and eventually you put your hand on top of hers comfortingly. Neither of you engage much in conversation as you eat and listen, happy with the company. Once all of the food has been finished, Ororo rounds up the students to help clean everything before they can continue opening presents. 

Kitty gets you a Johnny Cash vinyl record. Marie and Bobby got you a variety pack of exotic flavors of jerky, including alligator, ostrich, and buffalo. Storm gives you and Natasha tickets to a weekend getaway at a Canadian resort. Jean and Scott also throw in a joint gift of a new set of winter bedsheets. You are very thankful for the presents and pile them neatly by your feet, when Natasha pulls out a box and puts it on your lap. Inside is a familiar-looking flannel shirt.

“It’s a brand new one,” Natasha says. “To replace all the ones I steal from your closet,” Natasha says.

“Thanks,” you say, putting your arm around her to pull her closer so you can kiss her cheek. “This one is from me.” You hand her a very small box.

Natasha opens it delicately and gasps when she sees what you’ve given her. It’s a wooden ring, carved a little roughly around the edges  with little turquoise-colored gems pressed into the outside.

“Did you make this?” Natasha asks, running her finger over the gems.

“Uh, yeah.” You’re suddenly nervous that she doesn’t like it. Woodworking was not your finest hobby, despite your decades to fine-tune the skill, but you preferred to build vast structures and furniture. Tiny little pieces of jewelry were extremely difficult to handle, but hopefully it was worth the numerous cuts and splinters you gave yourself. 

Natasha slips it on her right ring finger–a perfect fit. Maybe you needed to give yourself more credit for your handiwork.

“It’s beautiful,” she says, holding her hand up to admire the ring. “I love it. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome.” 

Natasha snuggles closer to you and rests her head on your shoulder while you sit back and watch everyone else finish opening their gifts.

***********************************************************************

The rest of the day is busy but productive. Natasha has never felt happier watching the students competitively decorate gingerbread houses, then go outside and play in the snow. You don’t join in anymore, preferring to watch from the side. You’re already wearing the flannel Natasha got for you and Natasha gazes at you adoringly from afar. Despite the differences the two of you had from time to time, she hasn’t loved another person the way she loves you. But sometimes she worries that you don’t feel the same way. 

You still don’t talk very much, hardly opening up about your past the way Natasha has spilled about hers. Although you seem mostly content at the mansion, Natasha can tell you’re still adjusting to being around so many people. The life of solitude in the cabin in the woods had clearly been more your style, and she feels guilty for dragging you away from that. But as much as she would love to spend all day with you cozied up in a cabin you built with your own hands, it wasn’t a realistic option. Not with all the threats and dangers that could come her way.

Which is why it was so important to Natasha that the Red Room be dealt with, as soon as possible.

She didn’t like how dismissive you got every time she brought it up, but she understood why. You had found your domestic bliss and didn’t want to let it go anytime soon. She wasn’t going to blame you. But she wished you would actually listen to her instead of shutting her down all the time. She would figure out how to broach the topic with you eventually, but today was not that day.

After a quiet dinner, which is basically just warmed up leftovers from breakfast, Natasha finds you sitting by yourself on the couch in front of a dying fire. Most of the students had retired to their rooms, exhausted by the day’s festivities. Natasha sits next to you, leaning her shoulder against yours.

“Hey,” she whispers.

“Hi.” You offer her your hand and she clasps onto it, threading her fingers with yours. You smile when you see the wooden ring on her finger. It looks perfect on her. “Did you have fun today?” you ask. 

“It was the best Christmas I ever had,” she replies. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“Of course.”

Natasha is tired, but there’s still one more thing she wants to do with you. She rests her hand on your thigh, subtly at first, then she slowly starts to stroke your leg, her fingers barely perceptible through your jeans. You ignore her and her movements become bolder, creeping towards the inside of your thigh now and squeezing it lightly.

“Can I help you with something?” you finally ask. Natasha has always been a little more shy when it comes to asking for intimacy with you. But you were patient with her and never pressured her, and that encouraged her to have the confidence to ask if you were in the mood–even if she didn’t always do it with words. 

“Do you want to go upstairs?” she says, leaning forward until her lips almost touch yours. “I still have one more present to give you.”

“Oh, do you now?” you ask, trying to kiss her but she pulls away.

“You have to come upstairs,” she repeats, offering you her hand as she stands up.

“All right, all right.” Your knees creak as you push off the couch, taking Natasha’s hand and following her upstairs. You can hear her heartbeat pounding with excitement or maybe that’s…yours? You hope everyone else has gone to sleep by now, otherwise they wouldn’t be falling asleep anytime soon.

Back in the privacy of the bedroom, you let Natasha lead you to the bed and you sit down on the edge with her climbing onto your lap. 

“Is this okay?” she asks, her hands locking around the back of your neck.

“Of course,” you whisper, leaning in until your foreheads touch. Your arms circle her waist to hold her securely in place. Her breath fans over your face and her heartbeat pumps at an almost alarmingly quick rate. 

“I want you,” she says, rocking her hips against your thighs. “I want you to take me.”

“How do you want me?” you ask, before she presses her lips roughly to yours, her fingers digging into your neck. Her arousal spikes and so does yours. You open your mouth when she licks your lips to deepen the kiss. She tastes like vanilla and cookies and you instinctively pull her closer to you, wanting to devour her until the morning.

Natasha grabs the collar of your flannel, pulling apart the top buttons and running her hands down your chest and abs. Your skin burns where she touches you and you nip lightly on her bottom lip when she rests her hands on the buckle of your belt.

“I want to taste you,” you pant, hoping your request doesn’t come across as too greedy. Natasha has to fight down her thrill of excitement at your suggestion, wondering how you knew exactly what she wanted. She doesn’t even take the time to agree with you, instead hurriedly stripping off her clothes to show you how eager she is. You take off the flannel, setting it aside with reverence, then removing your undershirt and jeans. Natasha tackles you back on the bed, your thigh fitting between her legs and you feel the heat from her center rubbing against you.

“You’re so wet for me,” you say, holding her hips again and guiding her up until she’s hovering over your chest. “My good girl.”

“Your good girl,” Natasha reiterates, grabbing onto the headboard for support before she positions herself over your face. The scent of her arousal is almost overwhelming to you, and you waste no time bringing your arms over her thighs to pull her down. Natasha whines when your mouth makes contact with her slick center, your tongue slipping into her and coating with her juices. 

Natasha moans, grinding down so you can enter her deeper. Your arms tighten to prevent her from moving too much; you want to do things at your own pace. Her taste is so intoxicating and addictive, you could lie here forever eating her out. Natasha grips the headboard tighter, struggling to rock against your face for more friction, but you won’t let her. She whines in desperation, the noises music to your ears. Your tongue dips into her again before tracing up to her clit, flicking against it and Natasha grinds down harder on your chin, gasping and moaning. 

“Y/N,” she begs. “Y/N, please.”

You stop, pulling away from her far enough to say, “What do you want, baby?”

“I want you,” she repeats, her voice breaking. “I need you.”

“I know, baby. I got you.” As much as you love teasing her, this is not the time. You knew Natasha could sometimes be insecure about your relationship with her. But you had no regrets in choosing to be with her and loved her so much. You would never miss an opportunity to show her, either.

You loosen your arms around her so she has some freedom to move and Natasha quickly adjusts herself until she’s comfortable. When she settles back down on your face again, you find her clit and wrap your lips around it, rewarded with a long, drawn-out moan. Natasha rolls her hips to help you find a good rhythm. You feel her thighs tremble and more of her slick spills onto your tongue. 

“Oh, god. Oh fuck, Y/N,” she whimpers, the headboard flexing dangerously from how hard she’s holding onto it. 

Your stomach practically burns from how aroused you are with Natasha riding your face, and you’re hoping she’ll help you relieve some of the tension once you make her finish. You’ve held out as long as you could, and you can tell Natasha is ready to fall over the edge. Your tongue rests on her clit again, swiping upwards in a straight line, then dragging down at a diagonal angle, then going back up.

N.

Your tongue moves in an inverted V next, drawing an imaginary bar between them.

A.

You lick down her clit once more, then swipe perpendicular.

T.

Natasha is panting and shaking, completely unaware that you’re trying to spell her name on her with your tongue. One of her hands has left the headboard and is holding tightly onto your hair in an attempt to guide you, but your own plan is already in action.

She doesn’t make it the next A, her back arching and thighs clamping around your head as she finally cums. You don’t let a drop of it go to waste, lapping at her sensitive folds until she’s whimpering and trying to pull your head away. Natasha lifts herself off your face with a contented sigh, turning herself away from the headboard now, but you’re not quite done with her yet.

You pull her back down on your face and she falls forward with her hands on your chest. 

“Did I say you could go anywhere?” you grumble playfully. 

“Y/N,” Natasha giggles. 

“Can I have one more, darling?” you ask, and she responds by sitting back on your face. But now Natasha is the one with other ideas, as she eyes the veins on your flexing abdomen that disappear behind the band of your underwear. You feel her hands run across your stomach and your breath hitches when she tugs down your underwear.

“Nat, what are you–oh, shit.” Now it’s your turn to gasp and moan when Natasha leans over and places her mouth on your dripping center. You completely lose focus of what you were doing, instinctively spreading your legs open further to give her better access. “Fuck baby, oh fuck,” you whine, your head dropping back on the pillow.

“Did I say you could stop?” Natasha teases, turning your own words back against you. It takes a monumental effort, but you calm yourself enough to put your mouth to work again. Natasha almost soaks herself when she realizes how turned on you’ve gotten just from eating her out. Now she has only one mission in mind: make you cum before she does a second time. But you’re refusing to make it easy for her, and Natasha is already dangerously close despite having finished mere minutes ago. She knows she has to hurry, but judging from the tremble in your thighs, you’re closer than you’re letting on.

Natasha’s tongue circles your clit and she can feel you panting against her, your own efforts faltering in their rhythm. She pushes back against your face to remind you of what you promised her. Your fingers dig into the curve of her ass and you feel her breasts rubbing against your abs. Her mouth is so hot and wet and perfect on you, making you lose your breath every time her tongue touches you.

“Fuck, Nat,” you whimper, feeling like you’re losing control of yourself. You’re not even sure if what you’re doing to her anymore is working because all you can think about is the throbbing in your lower stomach that begs to be released. Your back arches off the bed when her tongue lashes at your clit and she struggles and fails to push down on your thighs to keep you grounded. “Nat, I can’t,” you warn, a little embarrassed at how fast you’re ready to release. 

“It’s okay,” you hear Natasha say, “Cum for me, baby.” 

White floods your vision and all the muscles in your body tighten as you spill into her mouth, a moan catching in your throat. Your head spins in a rush of endorphins and you’re practically convulsing underneath Natasha when you finally come down from your high. She purrs in delight at her success, gently squeezing at your thighs. And as much as you want to flip her around and press her head against your chest, you still do owe her.

Natasha’s second orgasm is a little more subdued but just as pleasurable. She bites the inside of your thigh to quiet the noise of her moan and you almost cum again. But once she finds the strength to move, Natasha crawls back up to you, nuzzling the side of your head and kissing you. Normally, you could go several rounds without even stopping for a break, but you’re unusually exhausted today. Maybe it was from waking up at four o’clock to work on breakfast for everyone or making sure that the Christmas activities throughout the day ran smoothly. 

Natasha rests her head on your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat and you rub her shoulder, tilting your head down to breathe in the faded scent of her shampoo. 

“Merry Christmas, Y/N,” she whispers.

“Merry Christmas, darling.”

***********************************************************************

January 2, 2024

Dear Diary,

Professor Xavier called me personally to his office today. I was really nervous that I was in trouble for something. I’m still not sure how I feel about his mind-reading thing. I try to keep my thoughts in check when he’s around, but I think that makes it seem like I’m hiding something. But other than that, he’s only ever been polite and respectful to me, and I can tell Y/N really looks up to him as a mentor and father figure.

He told me he has a lead on where the Red Room could be and asked if I still want to pursue them. Of course I do, but I know Y/N isn’t happy about it. I thought she would understand more. I know she’s got her own past that she hasn’t told me the entirety of yet (not that she’s required to), but she’s told a few stories so I know her situation is similar enough to mine. I wish she was more supportive instead of trying to talk me out of it, but I know she’s worried too. She doesn’t want me rushing back into danger and I totally get that. But I just…I can’t stay here and be cared for and protected and loved when there are so many of my sisters still being held against their will and forced into doing horrible things.

Luckily, the professor seems more understanding of things. But I don’t want him or anyone else here risking their lives for me. If I have to go alone, I will. I don’t know if I can do it alone, though. I’m sure Y/N will insist on tagging along no matter what. I just hope she doesn’t get too grumpy about the whole thing.

Love,

Nat

***********************************************************************

January 4, 2024

Dear Diary,

I still haven’t told Y/N what the professor told me 2 days ago (assuming she hasn’t already gone through my diary and read about it here). I tried to mention it after dinner, but I could tell as soon as I let the “R” word slip she was not paying attention to the conversation anymore. I don’t want my frustration to build up, so I’ll probably have to be straightforward about it, which isn’t easy.

I know the professor can hear all of my thoughts, so I wonder if he’s going to get tired of them and just talk to Y/N himself. But probably not. This is my problem to handle. I’ll find the courage somehow to deal with it. 

I just hope it doesn’t cause Y/N to look down on me for this. I’m already nervous that I’m constantly annoying her, and if she gets fed up enough and kicks me out I will literally have nowhere to go and at that point, I’d welcome back the Red Room with open arms. That probably seems a little dramatic, but I really don’t want to risk losing the best person that ever came into my life. I have Y/N to thank for everything I have here, and I think most people in my position would call me crazy for trying to make any changes to my situation. 

But I’m not like most people. And I have to do what I think is right, even if others try to stop me. 

I’ll bring it up to Y/N later again. Maybe if I catch her in a good mood she’ll be more receptive to the idea. Wishing luck to my future self.

Love,

Nat

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

AN: Please leave likes, comments, and reblog! Follow for more content. 🥰

Multipart sequel in the works!

[iridescentdove]

👏I👏AM👏TIRED

of seeing so many Yandere! BSD x Reader, and it’s always the character or everyone being Yandere for Reader, I have to request a Platonic! BSD x Yandere! Teen! Reader, in which Reader is in any organization of your choice, and since Reader is underage, they see said organization as their family, precious people that they hold dear to their hearts, and don’t wish for any of them to die or leave and abandon them. This triggers their Yandere instincts, and ultimately they kill anybody who’s hurt their darlings in any way or attempts to "steal" their attention or worse, guide them away from Reader.

LONELINESS NO MORE.

platonic!bsd x yandere!teen!reader

A/N: It's nice to go a bit gruesome sometimes lol- anyways, so I just decided to choose the PM for this.

Let's just say you were similar to Dazai in a way. As a homeless young child, you had no home or family and friends to even call your own.

And to say the least? It was a little lonely.

This was something rather different, as you grew up to have an understanding that the world is never fair. Even before being taken into the Port Mafia by MORI, you were already much of an unhinged criminal yourself.

In a way, it was bad due to how young you were, but given this was a wretched world on it's own – many things can happen.

You killed, you stole, you did many things. At some point you probably rivaled Dazai's crime list because yours looked like an entire fucking receipt.

And that is what lesd you to the mafia.

MORI had found you, and went 'fuck it', deciding to just grab you and take you back with him to the base.

Well at first – you got a bit defensive, not knowing his real intention and thinking of fighting back yourself. But it was when he gave you new clothes, gave you food, and actually took responsibility of you was when you realized.

This man was just ... taking care of you.

And for the first time? You were really excited. It didn't take very long for you to grow accustomed to the Port Mafia.

Sure they made you do dangerous and gruesome missions, but you were used to it honestly. So it didn't matter that much. You met new faces and grew very attached to them, the dreaded loneliness that creeped into your heart grew into–

Obsession.

Yes, that's right. You found no other reason to dislike them at all, and they treated you like no one else ever did.

Like family.

CHUUYA was rather nice to you, despite his aggression and the rough edges he seems to pull off. Since you're underage, he drinks grape juice with you. Lmao ye, we love that shit. You liked being around him, defending him against accusations and giving him a shoulder to lean on.

He was like a brother to you. You adored most things about the fancy hat man. Scratch that, everything about him.

He releases one of those rare genuine smiles – mostly only to you, and he just thought you were the sweetest.

Oh, how wrong he was.

It was only one simple conversation. CHUUYA was talking to another mafia members in the lower ranks, discussing about the topic for the next PM meeting at hand.

Of course at first glance, they didn't look close at all. Just a normal chat between acquaintances. But did it make you mad?

Obviouely it did.

The very next day, the orange haired-man was looking for the same said man he spoke with the day before. Yet he was rather confused to see he wasn't around.

What the hell? Well that was weird, he could have sworn that he asked to meet them in this same spot right now.

Well, guess he wouldn't be meeting with them after all. In the distance, you were smiling – hiding that dead, cold expression on your face as you wiped the blood off the saw, a few splashee of blood and guts on the weapon.

But of course, you wouldn't let him know anything~ ♡

And simply, KOUYOU made it much easier. She was like a sweet, elder sister that spoiled you and taught you everything that you needed to know.

You simply loved her, and loved the times when you'd just hang around each other and dress one another up in various clothes. Be it trendy outfits or putting makeup on one another.

She took care of you as she should, and she grew very attached as well. KOUYOU was rather protective and sweet.

So when you saw her spoiling another girl in the picture, you were fucking livid.

How dare she pay more attention to another kid than you?

She was treating KYOUKA in private as if she was more important than you ever were. And it began to hardem your heart once more, growing angry at your elder sis paying more attention to some useless assassin.

You were way better than her, stronger even.

So imagine how relieved and prideful you felt when that girl had left the mafia to be with the detective agency instead. She wasn't even loyal! She doesn't deserve to be in the PM!

It left KOUYOU feeling agitated and sad, so you did what a younger sibling would do. You were the one comforting her, even manipulating her with your sweet words. You lured her in and had her give you more attention than before.

Just like how you wanted it to be.

AKUTAGAWA was honestly a tough nut to crack. You can easily tell he doesn't care about you at all. Well, he'd acknowledge your abilities a little but that's all you're getting.

But that won't stop you from killing those who tried to get even the slightest close to him.

After all, family members must stay with one another forever.

You didn't really mind much about that blonde girl who admires him and follows him around. It's not like she can take him away, he doesn't give a damn about her.

Plus, his sister was very nice! She gave you the love you needed, and she actually cared. Even though her brother was pretty cold, you'd think she also was – but in reality, GIN is a sweet, somewhat shy girl who gave you gifts and attention.

No matter which mafia member it was – wheneve ryou were with them, you were so sweet and caring, such an adorable teen who looks out for all of them and their wellbeing.

Yet behind closed doors, while they weren't looking, you glared daggers at other kids or people they payed attention to, your greedy self wanting all of it to yourself.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't!

You never held back. You spilled their guts out, you ripped out those fools' hearts – crushing it under your foot, knowing you deserved the love more than their ignorants asses ever did.

And most of all? No one noticed a thing. MORI had continued to send you out mission after mission. He didn't notice the desperate pleads of those immature adults, the heartbreaking cries of those innocent children.

If it was for family, you'd do anything.

After doing all that – you give them a sickly sweet smile, as you pull them to hang out and play with you, no questions asked.

They never noticed.

And quite clear, you were a sadistic young teen. After being so pissed seeing those people getting close to them, it's like a breath of fresh air when you hear the bloodcurdling screams coming from their mouths.

TACHIHARA wasn't that observant, but he could tell that there was something not right about you at all. Yet, he himself was not free from the depths of your pure, honest love. He'll find himself spoiling you, loving you – like you're his very own sister.

He was going to fall into the trap whenever he likes it or not, because you love them way too much.

If someone else tries to destroy that happiness,

They'll just have to dissapear like the rest.

[tsumuhours]

AMERICAN JESUS PAIRING: suna rintarō x fem!reader TAGS: alternate universe – gang world, smut, oral, flirty suna WORD COUNT: 10k

Life always has a weird way of fucking you over.

Whether it be in the form of finding an injured member of a notorious gang near your apartment, or trading silence for safety, or how he pulls you into a complicated relationship which goes against integrity and... possibly laws.

mature content !

Life always has a weird way of fucking you over.

Not to say you haven't deserved half of the mandated karma – you haven't always been the best person, given the borderline psychopathic attempt of climbing to the top – but a break, or a nice surprise would be a great change in routines.

Whoever said success is a lonely road was, painfully, correct. To think that you spent your high school years working hard to get into an ivy league, spent those four years working at internships to make those desired connections people dream of!

Only to get out at the age of twenty-two and spend the next year as some glorified, under-paid, under appreciated, assistant. And no, that's not what the job description is supposed to entail, you're meant to be an associate – associates are not supposed to run around getting coffee – with the main purpose of developing your career and hopefully making partner in seven to ten years time.

Not to mention, since the city has unbelievable prices of living, you had to move to a neighbouring borough just for the possibility of having a studio apartment that isn't the size of a closet for the same price. Is it the most convenient?

No, not really, considering the fact the commute is over thirty-minutes and you have to go back and forth from work at unreasonable hours because your boss insists on bringing you to every little, insignificant meeting, or post-work drinks at nine at night – which is an excuse for the woman to spiral further into alcoholism – where you will inevitably end up carrying your boss back to her penthouse on the upper east side.

And no, it doesn't get better, because afterwards, after spending two hours at an expensive bar with the drunken, divorced, mess of a boss you have by the time she gets home safe, you're expected to deal with the city's delayed – and inconsistent – subway times at this ungodly hour and spend the next thirty-minutes in a train with rando's and sketchies.

Oh! No, that's not where it ends, because by the time you get off the subway, it's almost midnight, and you have to take a lovely – scary – ten-minute walk alone to your apartment, but walking anywhere at night is terrifying... Except for the rumour, or fact, that violence has been making its way around the borough, and according to new statistics – regarding the quarterly crime rate review – it's been looking a bit too stabby for your liking.

Now, this walk home is nothing different to how it is every day. You stride down the street with purpose, clutching your taser, and eerily aware of your surroundings. Although, remember how life always has a new way of fucking you over through some odd, irrelevant, way of testing your resilience?

This is one of those occasions.

Let's say it's not common for a man to be curled up in the small alley where residents keep their trash, but then again, crime rates have increased by a percentage that can make anyone uncomfortable – still, committing those types of crimes in a residential neighbourhood where people are simply trying to live their lives is ridiculous. Have some class.

Sure, as a law abiding citizen or natural samaritan would help, but no, not you. Living in a densely populated city means one thing, and one thing only, keep your head down. It's a game of see nothing, know nothing. Everyone minds their own business, that's how you stay safe and avoid danger – including scammers, or the random cult recruiters.

So, you intend on reaching for your keys to the front entrance of your small building, until you hear a small groan come from the neighbours dumpster alley. Sighing, you swallow your pride – and maybe your safety – holding your phone in one hand, and taser in another, and go over to look. The flashlight turned on, as you flash it on the curled up body.

You cannot see his face, but you instantly recognize the leather jacket and matching bandana. Of fucking course, out of everyone in the world, you happen to come across a member of a gang – as if this is some cruel joke from the universe. What do they call themselves? The Foxes? That awful group that parades around in black and maroon, with their emblem of a fox printed on leather jackets that they display for the world to see.

You're reluctant to step forward, maybe it's the threatening affiliation this guy has wound himself with, or the blood on his hands – literally and figuratively – as he grips onto the side of his stomach. The thing is, you've got a massive report to read over and playing doctor with someone is not on your list of side-quests – as it doesn't benefit your position, or reputability on the job any better. However, people are always watching, so if word were to magically get out that you saw a member of this notorious, tight-knit gang and ignored him, that could put a dangerous target on your back.

But, if you help him, you can probably lawyer your way into securing safety for your silence. You could exchange saving his life, for him, inevitably, saving yours in turn – ensuring that you're home, your spaces, where you are at all times is a no-go zone. Sure, that means turning your back on the entire legal system you've spent studying is thrown on the backburner, but you need to look out for yourself.

What is success if it means you've got strangers pinning a vendetta against you, and watching your every move before they strike? How could you ever reach partner if you get killed? How could you ever live with the benefits of making partner, if you get killed before you can exercise those benefits?

The short-term pride is not worth it if you don't get to brag about it... and silence for safety seems like the best option on the table. No one ever said that law always has to be good, it's unjust – at times – unfair and just as corrupt. Only ten percent of people who go into this job do it out of the good of their heart, the rest, the majority do it for the money and respect.

And it isn't part of your job description to be a good person, you're not a doctor. You didn't pledge to an oath about refraining from causing harm or hurt, or to act honestly and responsibility. No, you are conducting yourself with dignity and conscience – and as far as you care, freedom of speech and association still exists, and what you're doing isn't necessarily illegal unless you get recruited or actively participate in a crime.

And since when helping someone not die a crime? He's part of the Foxes, for christ sake. They can invoke power anywhere, he can potentially make you untouchable. You can live your life somewhat more peacefully if it means that safety is a guarantee. If you save one of them, they have no choice but to repay you. That's how the system works.

Sighing, you step closer, bending down to get a better look at him. Flashlight illuminating the severe wound on the side of his stomach, the blood surrounding his black top and his hands. "Fuck my life," you mutter. He's practically losing consciousness with every second, you doubt he's capable of standing up by himself, and there's no way you're going to attempt to fix him by a pile of trash.

So, you do what you can, gently lifting up his upper body, draping his arm around your shoulders as you begin to stand. God is he big, and getting him up the stairs will undoubtedly be a struggle. Still, as if on impulse, his feet start moving as you carry more than half of his weight towards the front door of your building, up the stairs to the second floor – where your apartment remains.

Forcefully, pushing open the door, you find all the strength in your body to lead him to the couch – internally crying at the stain that will taint the grey cushions – where he falls over and lays on his back. Absolutely winded, you walk into your bathroom, searching for that old – raggedy – first aid kit in the cupboards along with cotton balls and comically large band aids that you have no reason for owning.

God, it's as if this was planned, fucking written in the stars. Yes, you were meant to end up in this situation because you are one of the only people in the world who thought it'd be fun and convenient to own large band aids that can temporarily cover a stab wound. Good going!

Gathering all the materials in your hand, you walk over to the couch where he remains in limbo. Again, you're no medical professional, no, the most training you have consists of a short one hour life skills lesson and a topic on human physiology that was part of your biology course in high school. So, yes, you're a bit rusty – but that doesn't mean you're incompetent.

Kneeling down on the floor, scattering the items next to you on the floor, reaching for the cotton balls and bottle of disinfectant. But as your fingers graze over the skin on his torso to lift up his shirt, he flinches, and for the first time since running into him, you look at his face with an offended look on yours – as if he's able to see you through his shut eyelids.

He catches you off guard, the delicate and mesmerising features. Strong jaw, dark hair, furrowed eyebrows that mix in well with the discomfort he must be feeling. Yes, he's beautiful, but he's also bleeding out on your couch and part of an infamous gang that got himself stabbed. Letting out a frustrated, hmph, you lift up his shirt to examine the wound – as if you have any idea what you're doing.

First, you need to unarm him. You run your hands through the pockets of his cargos, pulling out a phone, wallet, and pocket knife, then dig through the pockets of his leather jacket finding nothing alarming.

Next, you cover your hands with latex gloves, then get to work. Letting the cotton balls absorb the disinfectant before running it along his skin, in which he finches in response. "Stop flinching, I'm helping you." You mutter, sure, maybe using water would be a better alternative than bathing him in on the shelf disinfectant, but water is not going to effectively clean him up.

You don't even know what you're doing, and your body, mind, even fucking adrenaline knows that by the way your hands shake. Do you need to stitch him up? You don't know how to suture a wound, you don't even know how to stitch! You don't even own string, yarn yes, but you doubt that sealing someone up with lilac yarn is the most sanitary or safe.

So, of course, you do the most reasonable thing and search it up, and given the short research it confirms that you don't have to do anything – then again, how many people get stabbed and don't receive certified medical attention?

Hands still shaking, you dive into the medical box, looking for antibiotic ointment. "I hate you, you know?" You begin speaking to yourself as you uncap the cream, "You're bleeding out on my couch. Is it a good couch? No, it is uncomfortable, and by the way your legs hand off the arm rests, it's not the biggest. But it's my couch, I found it on the street."

You apply the cream around the puncture, hearing his quiet groans and incoherent murmurs. After that, you reach for the band aid – or non-adherent pad as they call it – peeling off the back and gently placing it over the puncture. It's not a good replacement for proper medical care, but it will suffice until he manages to crawl his way back to wherever he lives and gets professionally treated.

"You better pay for a new couch, or a deep cleaning." You continue, beginning to pack up all your things before standing as you remove your gloves, and move to the kitchen to toss them out. "I have things to do, you know?" You say from the kitchen, washing your hands thoroughly.

That's partially a lie, the things you claim to have insist on reading a fucking brief or case while sitting on your couch watching something on Netflix – because cable is a waste of money – with one of many microwave meals stocking up your small white fridge. Still, this momentary distraction has moved those plans to tomorrow night. A Saturday night.

"I don't know who you are, or what your rank is in this stupid gang of yours, but I don't care." You continue your rant, grabbing a glass of water and pain-killers – placing them on the small cushioned ottoman, because who has the space to own a coffee table? – pacing back and forth in your apartment, where you can finally kick off your shoes by the front door and grab the purse you discarded by the small circular dining table next to the fridge. "I have work to do."

You storm towards your bedroom, dumping your purse on your bed and digging through it for your laptop and thick file, then you grab a highlighter sitting on the bedside table. And hopefully by the time he wakes up, you would have done something worthwhile and beneficial to your career.

So, yes, in conclusion, life always has a weird way of fucking you over. 

An hour has passed since you fixed up the stranger who lays, practically comatose, on your couch. Since then, you've changed out your clothes, showered, and gone through at least fifteen pages of this case you're supposed to assist with and eventually write a report for. Sitting in bed, music softly plays through your laptop as you bite on the end of a highlighter, re-reading the same paragraph over and over again.

It's safe to say that your mind is a bit distracted, maybe it's the fact you're harbouring a criminal in your apartment, waiting for him to wake up and possibly kill you. The Foxes are notorious for many things, heists, robbery, petty murder, but particularly famous for the sale of illegal goods – whether it be drugs, or unlicensed arms – and you happen to have one sitting in your living room.

All for what? The fear of getting murdered? Having a target on your back? Trading integrity for safety? To be fair, those are all valid reasons why you've decided to take him in. You can call the police, turn him in, do greater good for the grand community. He's docile and helpless right now, you've searched him for weapons and you keep his belongings hostage on your bed. But, what are the cops going to do?

You hear a groan coming from the living room, and immediately shoot up from the bed, swinging your feet over the mattress and feeling them hit the cold wooden floors as you turn around to grab the baseball bat leaning against the mattress.

The first, and big thing he feels is pain. An unbearable type of pain on the side of his stomach. He places a hand over the plaster, expecting to feel blood or an infection, but jolts awake when he's proven wrong. He sits up, painfully, and scans the apartment for any sign that will tell him where he is. The messy decor of the room, the glass encased bookshelf that's filled to the brim with trinkets, novels, DVD's, CD's, and records. Behind him, on the wall are framed movie posters and paintings. Lamps, candles, and a full wall tapestry behind the tv. A plethora of coats and bags hanging on the door. So much clutter in this little living room.

He turns his gaze to the small kitchen, a shelf lined with snacks, spices, a bowl of onions and garlic, and a concerning amount of liquor. On the counter, are dishes, coloured pots and pans, empty jars. Whoever lives here loves their fair share of pink, grey, and light blue cups, bowls, and plates. They apparently also love their fair share of tea and instant chai latte mixes, and colourful string lights.

He has no idea where he is, or who happened to pick him up from the streets. All he knows is that he was ambushed by the Crows and left for dead, talk about sending a fucking message. Understandably, he turns his head to look behind him, where you stand holding a baseball bat to your side. He reaches for his pocket, where his knife always remains, only to feel nothing. You've disarmed him.

While he should be focusing on that thought. The logical sense that you must know who he is; hence why you've hidden all his belongings and why you're holding a baseball bat for defence, or the fact that you must've called the police by now. But no, his mind is focused on who you are, why you've brought him into your apartment to avoid death, and how those little shorts look on you. Those little black shorts, that tank top, and that big knitted cardigan.

So what if he's about to get arrested, he loves this sight.

"You brought me here?" He asks, watching the way you nod your head.

"You were bleeding out near a pile of trash, and while I considered leaving you for dead, I figured that I could get something out of saving your life." You explain nonchalantly, well as nonchalant as you can given that you've invited a known criminal into your house.

"Who do you work for?" He questions. There are always upcoming rivals or new recruits circling the scene, they love dirty work and favours – an eye for an eye – and will extort, abuse, and come up with the worst reparations. While you don't look threatening at all, especially in that little outfit, he can't underestimate you.

"Specter and Hastings, the law firm." You reply, causing him to laugh out of pure irony. Out of everyone he could have gotten entwined with, it had to be a lawyer. The universe really loves to play games on him, doesn't it?

"What do you want?" He sighs, "Names? Operations? You want me to snitch?" He'd rather die than rat out his friends, his family, just cuff him and take him down to the station because he's not speaking.

"No." You say, "I want safety." A flash of curiosity flashes across his face, allowing you to elaborate. "I want to make sure that wherever I go will be unharmed, untouched, or fall victim to whatever wars you guys get into. I want to be left out of danger, and never have to worry about getting followed home, mugged, or stabbed. I want the guarantee of safety... for my silence."

"What?"

"Is it so hard to understand?" You huff, "I save your life, you look out for mine. And in doing so, I will pretend that I didn't potentially break a law by not turning you in, I will turn a blind eye and ignore that tonight ever happened."

She's looking out for herself. He can't blame her. If anyone were to find out that she left him for dead, she would be a target. However, as someone whose job literally regards the law, you can't blame him for thinking you're hypocritical and maybe the slightest bit untrustworthy. If you can't even stick by your career, how can he expect you not to snitch on him?

"So?" You say, "Is that a good arrangement?"

"I can't guarantee anything sweetheart," he claims.

"Fine, then can you at least keep the stabbings out of this neighbourhood?" You question, "When I get home at night, I'd rather not come across another bloody body and risk getting more blood on my couch out of fear of being targeted."

That he can do. He can tell the guys to avoid this particular area, in exchange for a stranger – who happens to be a lawyer – that saved his life. Not to mention, you didn't call the cops, didn't turn him in, and you're supposedly open to turning a blind eye. In regards to the blood he got on your couch, he can easily fix that. He nods, "That I can do." There's no reason why he should deny anything, you already know he's part of the Foxes – that's the only reason you bothered saving him – and you are well aware about the culture and how no good deed goes without payment.

"Okay, great." You nod, resting the baseball bat against the frame, you've negotiated poorly, and your terms and conditions are promised to be met. Now, you can move along with your life. "Excuse me for a moment," you say, disappearing back into your bedroom to gather up all the things you took from his pockets.

In your short-lived absence, the man glances over at the painkillers and glass of water on the ottoman. He grabs the packet, reading the warning on the bottom half of the box that informs the users of the small percentage of codeine and its addictive properties, only to ignore it and swallows down the pill. It's drugstore painkillers, so of course, it's not going to be the strongest but when it kicks in, it'll help.

You return holding his things, hanging them to him before sitting on the curved back armchair next to the couch. You are unsure of what to do, or say to the brunette. You've never been put in a situation where a gang member is sitting in your apartment, wounded, and you've offered up your silence in turn of safety. Is it time for you to kick him out, or should you try to make conversation?

He, on the other hand, glances down at his phone, texting away to his friends about what happened and how he'll be back soon. There's no doubt that they're all mad about the situation, how he got ambushed by their rivals, and left by a pair of trash bags to bleed out. Though, it's not all that bad, he got saved by a pretty girl who graces him with skimpy shorts and a tank top that loves to plague his imagination. Better yet, this girl happens to be a lawyer, and if he plays his cards right, he can get a run down of loopholes and secure defence.

"So, do I get a name?" You ask, wrapping your cardigan closer around your body. "Or is that confidential? I'm not going to rat you out, I'm barely a lawyer, let alone a narc. And I need a solid ally in case anyone part of your... um, group ambushes me."

"We're allies now?"

"Are you going to give me a name or what?"

You've already seen his face, and he doubts you'll ever be able to say anything to the authorities without ratting yourself out in the process. Also, he's sure he's never going to see you again, or the maximalist, messy design of your apartment... including the row of CD's and records that you keep in that bookshelf despite being in the age of digital streaming.

"You can call me Rin," half a name, but one nonetheless. "Yeah, Rin is good, or Suna, whatever floats your boat." If he could, he'd try and leave, but he doubts he's in a good enough physical state to do so. Also, being stuck in an apartment with a pretty girl makes him want to stay even more. "Do I get a name from you?"

"No."

"Whatever you say sweetheart," Suna shrugs. "So... a lawyer, what made you go down that route?" He questions, wanting to get his mind off the unbearable ache in his body and sharp pain on his side, as he lays back down on the couch. Might as well get some information on you while he's here.

"I'm doing it for the money." You reply, crossing one leg over the other – unaware of how his eyes follow your movements – as you lean back against the seat, finding some sort of strange comfort in talking to a criminal. "I'm an associate, and in ten years I hope to make partner and move out of this place to somewhere closer to my job. I'm aiming for an apartment on the upper east side, maybe west."

"Is that all?" He hums, watching as you glare at him, "Just for the money?"

"Isn't that why we do anything?" You remark, "For the money, so we can sustain ourselves and live. And it's not like I'm doing court law, or criminal justice, I'm mainly interested in business law – contract and tort law – which is what my firm focuses on, including divorce law, because that's where all the money is."

"So, you're just a lawyer who conveniently knows how to bandage up a wound and goes around saving gang members?" Suna comments, "Oh, and how can I forget the whole trading a life thing for safety."

"Well, it's better than running around on the streets causing havoc." You retort, "Besides, becoming a lawyer is in my blood, meaning both my parents are lawyers and I was told as a young girl that I'd be a good one. Whether or not that was a compliment, can be debated. It's a stable career, a respectable one, and once I move up the ranks, I'll be able to order myself town cars."

"And law is something you really want to do?"

You're quiet for a moment before getting up to walk to your kitchen to brew yourself a cup of tea, "Yes. It is. I don't see what else I could do; the arts are a dying career where only one in a million makes a name for themselves, I don't plan on being the next big entrepreneur, and I hated biology and anything medical." You flip on the kettle, hearing it begin to boil as you dig through your tea bags. "Besides, law seemed easy enough, and there's nothing wrong with sitting through prenuptial meetings."

Suna feels a lot better about getting trapped with a lawyer now. He was initially scared of getting trapped with a potential narc with a six-foot pole up their ass, but you, you're just like every other sleazebag lawyer who's in it for the money. It's refreshing.

"Yeah, and I guess there's that whole thing of justice, but I don't even work in that field." You continue, "The justice system is fucked up anyway, and why would I want to contribute to that? I mean, I could get an innocent life out of prison but then again, I could fuck up and let a guilty person run free or risk them getting a reduced sentence. But, I don't work in that type of field, I just praise the people who do."

You wait for the kettle to finish boiling, and once it does, you pour the water into your mug, adding in honey or sugar into the mix before walking back to the living room. Not before grabbing a bag of chips from your shelf, tossing it at him. He is a guest, can't be that rude.

Reluctantly, Suna accepts it. He hasn't been around you long, but the way you've abandoned your baseball bat and returned all his belongings must mean you don't see him as that big of a threat. Well, how could you? You saw him at his weakest, and he hasn't given you a reason to be afraid... or he hopes he hasn't. Additionally, you're not that much of a threat either, you're smart enough to get through law school, attend an ivy, and work as an associate at a well-known firm in the city. And while he doesn't see much of what you do in your private life, he can see the few small framed photographs on the lamp tables next to him.

He can see you partying with friends, clearly drunk at the time when the photograph was taken, which must mean that you do know how to have fun in whatever spare time you have. Also, your refusal to give him a name eliminates the idea of him ever searching you up online. Meaning, whatever worries he's supposed to have can easily be debunked.

"So, what exactly is your role?" You ask.

"I work in the background, I help plan out whatever, I stay on guard, I'm there to protect them." He explains as vaguely as he can, not wanting to give the gorey details of his role or job description. By the way you nod, it's clear you accept that fact since you don't bat an eye or demand an explanation. Both of you know that the less you know the better. "Are you not scared of me?"

You can't blame him for wondering. Usually, you'd be terrified or the slightest bit frightened, but enough has happened tonight to make talking to a criminal the most normal thing. However, he's not exactly the worst presence. Sure, you can see the way he's looking at you, feel his gaze burn into your skin, how they trail up and down your body – and while it gets a piece of your heart racing, at least you know that he isn't planning on harming you.

"No." You shake your head, "I mean, you probably would scare me if I were to be walking alone on the street at this time of night, and I would definitely be terrified if you happened to be with all your friends. But you're alone, in my apartment, I can see your face, and you're wounded. You can't hurt me, at this point in time, I'm a lot stronger than you."

Unfortunately, you make a good point. He doubts he can walk comfortably, let alone act as a proper threat. "Right, of course," he hums, noticing the obvious blood stain on your couch. "Sorry about that, sweetheart." He comments, "I'll get you a new couch."

"Good," you say, biting back a smile. "I'd prefer one in cream, or even this light grey. In terms of style, I'd like one with a wider back and comfy cushions – like a cloud couch – if you can find one that will fit this apartment, that'd be great."

Suna's lips twitch up in a smile as he listens to you give him a detailed description, you avoid his eyes, staring down at the steam coming out of your mug. He tries to sit up to get your attention before it fades away – and for the act of dramatics, he lets out an exaggerated groan, which causes you to rush towards him – you place your mug on the lamp table behind you and crawl onto the floor in front of him.

You push him back down onto the couch, the force being more painful than when he tried to get up, you lift his shirt up to examine the damage you poorly tried to cover up, it looks fine physically, but you can't imagine what he's feeling. "I can't do much, as I said, I'm not a licensed medical professional." You say, moving down his stained shirt. Your touch ignites a trail of flames along his abdomen that takes all his willpower to fight.

"At least, I'm alive and not curled up by a pile of trash." He remarks.

"Yeah, but who's to say that's going to happen again?" You question, "Next time you get into a situation like this, I can't guarantee that someone will be there to patch you up in time."

"If it's not you patching me up, I don't want to live."

"Oh," you say, surprised, backing up from him. "Well, that doesn't give you an excuse to show up to my doorstep all bloody if it does end up happening again."

It has been a week since you've seen Suna.

Last friday you were nursing a gang member back to life with the promise of safety for silence, and a new couch – both of which you aren't sure you're going to get anytime soon. Instead, you still clutch your taser while you walk home, and you've done your best to wash the stain on the couch cushion. However, nothing is getting rid of that disgusting, faded stain, so you've opted to flip it over and hope time will make you forget.

The individual lamps and overhead lights illuminate the apartment, the candles flames are burning– casting a mixed scent of florals, vanilla, and lavender – creating the perfect ambiance for a Friday night in.

You sigh, collecting a mountain of rice – from your ready-made curry – on your spoon, curled up on your couch, gaze fixed on the television that plays an old show you were obsessed with in your teens. Beside you, is a glass of wine filled with ice cubes, and the bottle is placed on the floor awaiting refill. What else is there for you to do than stay home on a Friday night?

"Previously on Pretty Little Liars," you hear play through the speakers, shoving a mountain of food into your mouth, "It's Mona– Hanna won so Mona loses..."

You sink down into the couch, suddenly engrossed in the recap. It's been a while since you've had time to catch up on television, so the recaps serve a well-needed purpose to remind you of the over-the-top drama and plethora of plotholes. There is nothing better than unwinding after a long, long, week at work. Grabbing the wine glass, ice cubes clinking as you bring the drink up to your lips.

It's an odd combination, putting ice cubes in wine– that's unheard of – but you don't mind the diluted taste, also, you aren't the biggest fan of wine, it just seemed classier than making yourself a sad looking cocktail. Though, given the fact you're watching one of the more questionable teen mystery dramas, wine with ice does not seem like the worst situation.

You could have easily gone out, but all your friends are all too tired to go out, and drinks at bars are far too expensive. And let's be honest, going out by yourself is possibly one of the most depressing things a person could do, also that would mean walking home by yourself intoxicated. Obviously, that's not the smartest or safest decision, given the current rise in crime.

Engrossed in the show, absentmindedly feeding yourself until you're scraping the plastic container with your spoon picking up scraps. Sighing, you slide off the sofa, dragging your feet towards the kitchen where you toss out the empty container and dump your spoon into the sink. Half of your attention is still focused on the television, not wanting to miss anything going on.

Drifting back towards the couch, leaning against the armrest as you refill your wine glass, bringing the bitter alcohol to your lips and tasting it on your tongue. This will be your second glass of the night, the first glass came and went as quickly as the previous episode did.

A loud knock on the door sounds throughout the apartment, causing you to choke on your drink. Frightened, you place the glass down on the lamp table, pushing yourself away from the couch as cautiously and quietly as you can. Walking on your tiptoes back to the kitchen, reaching into a drawer for a knife.

Of course you're not going to open the door, you're not stupid. You're simply going to sit against it, clutching the knife until whoever is on the other side goes away... like a responsible, intelligent, adult. It could be someone with the wrong address, despite how persistent they are on knocking. And no criminal would think of knocking either!

Maybe you should turn off the television, give the illusion that no is home, or alternatively, you could turn the volume all the way up and drown out the sound of their fist pounding against wood. Nevertheless, hiding out in front of this door with a knife seems like the safest option. If things go wrong, and the intruder does break in, you can stab them and leave their body on the street.

Crime isn't news around this area, unfortunate things occur all the time! And the police, being police, won't bother stepping in. It's an accidental murder in a bad part of town, or another victim to gang violence, they won't bother finding out it was a kitchen knife that caused the death. Morally, will it crush you? Yes. It will.

You lean back against the door, the continuous knocks do not falter... Until they do, you hear them rest their head against the wood. Maybe they've finally given up. Slowly, you get up from the floor, the faint noise of police sirens flying by. You backpedal until your back hits the counter, reluctantly, you place the knife on the surface behind you.

Heart racing in your chest, then you hear it. You hear him. "Sweetheart, open the door." His voice is muffled, but a simple piece of wood is not going to hide the exhaustion lacing his tone. "Please," he adds.

You hope that your home isn't the new hideout for gang members running from the police, but you can't stop yourself from quickly striding towards the front door and swinging it open. "Oh my god," you gasp, catching him in your arms before he plummets onto the floor. Stumbling back, you quickly catch your balance and drop him on the couch – the same way you did last week – where he falls back, arms resting on the back cushions.

Apparently, Suna has taken an involuntary liking towards you and insists on showing up outside your apartment, and door every time he gets hurt. At least, this time around, he's not shot, stabbed, or badly wounded, he just looks a little... beat up. Busted lip, and black eye that's beginning to form. You know this is not the time, but god does he look so good.

Lord knows what he's gotten himself into, why he's bruised or why out of all the places he could run, he ran here... to you. What happened? Why is he suddenly out of breath, unable to stand, and exhausted on your couch? You climb over him, straddling his lap, and grab his face between your fingers, forcing him to look at you. "What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" You huff, slapping the side of his face to jolt him awake, "This is no time for a nap Rin, you need to tell me what happened."

Even in this dazed state of mind, even after running five blocks, being chased by both the police and the Crows as a distraction while his team can get away. Getting cornered, beat up (not as bad as the others), picking the lock to get into your building, then running up the stairs, and waiting for you to let him in. He can still appreciate the sight in front of him, including those shorts, his hands running up your thighs, leaning his head back while his lips turn up into a smirk.

"Sorry, sweetheart, I had to run, and believe it or not, this is the safest place for me." He mutters, sitting up to lean in close to you. "And I know you won't refuse me," he hums. Suna's breath is hot against yours, his touch running up and down your thighs setting a fire to burn and a shiver to involuntarily run down your spine. He kicks off his shoes, opting to make himself comfortable on your couch.

"This is not your safe haven," you scoff, pressing a hand flat on his chest to push him back from you as you climb off his lap. You storm over to the kitchen, opening the small freezer hatch on your fridge to pull out a frozen bag of peas for his eye. Sure, it's not your job to care for him, but you can't help doing it – as if it has been engraved in your memory after one experience. You toss the frozen peas at him, which he luckily knows what they're for. "I did you a favour, which you have yet to return, by the way."

He holds the frozen bag of peas up to his eye, this is not the warm welcome he's been expecting, and for your information he has kept up one side of his deal. He has kept your street a no-go zone, and he has been making sure that you are safe. Sure, his methods are a bit stalkerish, he's been trailing you to and from work – lurking from the shadows and wiping out any potential threats that come your way. In terms of the new couch... he's working on it.

"Don't tell me that you're running from the police," you say, beginning to pace back and forth in your living room. "What do you think you're doing?" You exclaim, "You can't keep coming here to hide from the police! Do they know what you look like? Do they know that you came here? Do you know that my entire career can be ruined?"

"Calm down sweetheart," Suna hums. "No one knows I'm here, you're fine. And speaking of the police... yeah, I'm running from them, but I managed to get away through a couple short cuts. Trust me, you're safe." He stands from the couch, one long stride taken to reach you, his hands running down your arms in a somewhat reassuring manner. With one hand tilting up your chin, "And I wanted to see you."

His eyes are mesmerising, a perfect combination of green, yellow, and grey. It's hard to not melt under their gaze. Your hand wraps around his wrist, moving his touch away from your face before turning on your heel to walk towards your bedroom. He hates to see you leave, but he loves to watch you walk away. Maybe this is the universe repaying him for almost dying, it sent an angel in the form of you.

"Wanted to see me," you mutter to yourself, packing up the mess on your bed. The files, loose papers, highlighters, notes, and your laptop. You move them to sit on your cluttered vanity. "As flattering as that is," you continue, "I'd rather you come see me when you're not running from law enforcement. You owe me."

"Sorry to add insult to injury, but I was wondering if I could camp out here for the night?" Suna asks, leaning against the doorframe of your room. He knows you're not going to deny him refuge, whether you want to admit it or not. You don't have it in your heart to leave him out in the rain. Even if you want him gone, he's not going to leave. He's never been that good at taking hints – hence the black eye and busted lip. "Just for the night."

"One night." You sigh, "Only if –" there's always a catch "– you avoid robbing my bank, and stay clear of where I work, and make sure that everyone knows that. And no more attracting police to this side of town," you list. "And if you're going to stay here frequently, I'm going to need some sort of compensation."

"Is that all?"

"Yes." You nod, "now," you begin pushing the brunette back into the living room and onto the couch. Since he's here, may as well check up on how that old stab wound is going. You force him down onto the sofa, his back hitting the cushions – the wind escaping his lungs – as you lift up his shirt. There's still a nasty cut that's bound to turn into an even worse scar, but at least it's healing correctly.

"You sure are quite aggressive," he comments, propping his head up with his hands as he looks up at you. "I don't mind, kinda like it." He purrs, softly laughing at the way you pull his shirt back down and storm up off the ground, grabbing your wine glass and downing the rest of the contents. "I was just teasing babe, no need to overreact."

"Are you aware that you're an idiot?" You comment, placing your glass and the wine bottle on the kitchen counter.

"Do you like that I'm an idiot?" He retorts. He's got a bit of a little infatuation with you. A hot shot associate with a morally grey high ground, and a weakness for criminals like him. It is not everyday a pretty normal girl like you fixes him up and lets him into the apartment while he's running from the cops.

"The same way I like how I continuously find myself harbouring a fugitive." You reply, "It could be better. And can you please either use the frozen peas or put them back in the freezer."

You have better things to do! Sure, the situation could be worse. At least Suna is decent to look at, and he's alright company who doesn't want to kill you, and you have felt the slightest bit safer on your walks to and from work. Though, it's not like you're thrilled to have him in your apartment.

He gets up from the couch, places the peas back where they belong, then slides in next to you. He grabs the wine bottle, taking a swig from the bottle. You watch him intently, the way his Adam's apple moves, the beginning traces of a bruise forming around his eye, and the cut on his lip. He still wears that stupid leather jacket, but at least there's no blood on his hands, legs, or torso. Suna glances at you from the corner of his eye, holding the bottle firmly in his hand, "Take a picture. It lasts longer."

"I would," you say, "but that would mean proving a direct affiliation with you. And lord knows if you ever get caught, I'd rather die than testify in court and risk losing all respect I have in this industry."

"I get it," he shrugs, "I'm bad news, but that doesn't mean I'm necessarily a bad person. I mean, you make money off people's brokens marriages, shouldn't that equate to something? I think that we both do bad things, but we're not bad people."

"Comparing me to you is a low blow," you snort. "That's like comparing apples and oranges."

"They're both fruit aren't they? They both grow on trees, they both make juice." Suna argues, "One is sure, significantly better than the other, but that all depends on personal preference."

You meet his eyes, seeing nothing other than the greyish-green hues. He's got that tough exterior that can draw any girl toward him – including you – the danger that people write about, the allure and flirty personality that makes him less of an asshole and more human. He is the fallen angel that the universe sent to you as a form of twisted karma and dilemma of morals that cross a line. He's beautiful, prideful, a criminal, but has got a strong sense of loyalty and protection. Why else will he make himself the scapegoat to every situation?

"Yeah, well, anyone with a brain can tell who's the better one of the both of us."

"If this is about breaking the law," he says, placing the bottle down on the counter. He steps in front of you, trapping you between his arms, pushing you back against the counter as his body presses against yours. "You're breaking a lot by being here with me, hiding me from the law, trading silence for safety, I'm sure there's something in the constitution that you've broken by not turning me in." He lowers his voice, dipping his head down to yours, "I'm sure if I string enough together, you can be charged with aiding and abetting."

"That's one thing out of the many covering your roster."

He bends down, lips brushing against your own. Heart pounding against your chest. He's so close. Remnants of his cologne fill your senses; oak, wood, musk, sweet amber, cardamom, raspberry. He's addictive in all the ways he shouldn't be. A real fallen angel. Beautiful, perfect, but dangerous, treacherous, and duplicitous. But what does that make you? You're addicting, the light in his dark tunnel, his bittersweet obsession that he cannot indulge in.

"You don't care." He rasps, "If you did, you would have kicked me out. You like me, you like having a dirty little secret, you fucking revel in it."

You don't respond, verbally that is. You break the small gap between the two of you. He reciprocates the action, deepens the kiss, presses you further back against the counter. A hand gripping your hip, while the other travels up your neck, holding under your jaw tight between his fingers. His body against yours, fingers wrapping around the belt loops of his jeans trying desperately to pull him closer. It's messy, driven, and lustful.

Your hands travel under his shirt, feeling the burning skin and the shiver that runs down his spine. The hand he has on your hips, his fingers dig harder into your side while the one around your neck shifts to the nape, reaching up to tug at the roots of your hair. The throaty moan that he elicits from you sends him into overdrive, fuck you're addictive. He wants you, so bad. He needs you.

Palms placed flat on his stomach you step forward, pushing him back onto the couch. He takes in the sight of you, standing over him in those little shorts and tank top that hugs your body so well. You climb on top of him, straddling his lap, and his hands instinctively run up the back of your thighs, sliding under your shorts. Rough hands making themselves comfortable, holding the flesh in his hands, squeezing hard as he helps you grind down onto him. He's hard as a fucking rock, and your moving against him so needy. The friction against your clit, slow and tortuous, small whimpers and staggered breaths that Suna swallows.

Your hands move to move the leather jacket off his body, which he tosses across the living room, leaving him in a black muscle tee that shows off all the hidden, scattered tattoos on his arms you've never had the pleasure of seeing. His fingers grab the front of your tank top, tugging down the fabric to expose you to him. His cold hand cupping your tit, the pad of his thumb running over a hardened nipple as goosebumps scatter down your body and you press down further into the bulge in his jeans.

"Fuck," he groans at your reaction, breaking away from your lips to kiss down your jaw, neck, collarbones, before his lips wrap around your chest. His tongue pressing against you, teeth grazing your skin, while his hand continues to work and massage against the other.

Your back arches, hands tangling themselves in his brown hair, continuously grinding against him as his leaves scatter hickey across your chest. "Sweetheart, you're killing me." He murmurs, reconnecting your lips together. You hum against him, lifting your arms in the air as he pulls off your top, throwing it across your apartment before he does the same with his shirt.

You begin to kiss down his chest, his torso, his stomach, falling down to the floor in front of him – between his legs – as you undo his belt. Suna's eyes fixed on you, the sweetly dangerous glimmer in your eyes as you unbutton and unzip his jeans. He lips his hips, allowing you to pull them down – jeans and briefs – letting his clothes drop to the floor. He shudders the second your hand wraps around his dick, head dropping back and hands gripping onto your hair.

Wrapping your lips around the sensitive tip, you tease the spot hearing desperate whimpers escape his throat. Tongue flat against him, head beginning to bob back and forth, cheeks hollowing out as you literally suck the soul out of him. The salty taste of pre-cum on your tongue, his hands firmly entwined in your hair as he lets out a strain of whimpers, bucking his hips up, controlling your movements making you take him deeper in your mouth, his cock hitting the back of your throat repeatedly.

Tears begin to prickle in your eyes. Head moving back and forth at a faster pace, his hands knotted in your hair as he takes control, fucking your mouth. Looking up through teary eyes, laying eyes on a sinful sight. His abdomen flexing, head thrown back, eyes shut, and Adam's apple moving at every repressed whimper and moan. You grip onto his thighs as he increases his pace.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck." Breathless moans coming out in repeated pleas that chase a high. He's so close, impatient, and seeking a heavy and desperate release. "Just like that baby, keep going."

You don't stop, you continue as a mess of fallen tears, pre-cum and saliva. You can't breathe, throat filled with his cock. He fucks your throat, using you for pleasure. He fucks your mouth, swollen head hitting the back of your throat, shuddering as you to swallow or gasp for air. You feel his dick twitch, and in seconds a hot load is shot down your throat and his grip on you loosens. You swallow down his cum, tongue and lips cleaning him up. Once, your lips remove themselves from his cock, he wastes no time to pull you up and reconnect your lips, tasting him on your tongue. You stand from your knees, and he pulls down your shorts along with the simple black panties, then pulls you down onto the couch, laying you on your back.

He hovers over you, hand wrapping itself around your throat as he kisses you. The other, spreads your leg, calloused rough fingers pressing against your cunt. Using the arousal to rub against your clit, a harsh play of light and rough. Fingers pressing hard against your clit, causing a strained moan to sound through the living room, he rubs against the bud. Playing between teasing movements, to forceful mechanisms. He's fast and slow, teasing you, edging you.

"Rin," you muster out, biting down on his lip which pushes him to give you what you need. Working his fingers swiftly, skillfully, roughly against your clit. You squirm beneath him, he's vicious against you, his free hand kneading your tit in a hard grasp. "Fuck, Rin." You moan, chest rising and falling, as he quickens his pace. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you grip onto the armrest of the couch, mouth agape.

Legs twitching, as he brings you to an insatiable climax. His fingers are covered in your slick. He brings them up to his mouth, getting a taste of what he's missing out of. He doesn't waste time, wrapping your legs around his shoulders before he buries himself in your cunt. Lips wrapping themselves around your clit, sucking on it, his tongue moving at a rapid pace. He feels how sensitive you are. Fingers digging into your thighs, sucking your clit into his mouth.

You're a mess, a writhing, mess. And the way he looks up at you through half lidded eyes, buried between your thighs. You sink your hands into his hair, looking for something to hold onto. A groan rumbles in his throat, sending you farther over the edge. He increases his pace, devouring you like a starved man who hasn't eaten in years. He's pushing you over the edge, your heels digging into his back, pulling at his hair, forcing him deeper into you.

To add fuel to the fire, he thrusts two fingers inside you, curling into your sweet spot that has you bucking your hips into his mouth. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, perfectly matching the pace of his tongue. He continues until he feels you come undone, pleasure and heat clouding your vision as he pulls away from you. He examines the sight, leaning in close to you.

"I need to feel you." He pleads, the blood already rushing back to his dick, "I need you sweetheart."

You nod, "Please." Whispering, "It's fine, I'm on the pill." You reassure.

He almost collapses right there and then, letting out a whimper as he slides into you. Feeling you raw and whole, he's going crazy, losing his mind at the way you suck him in. Your walls around his dick, warm and so good that he could come right there and then. His find is spinning, he's going absolutely feral over being in you. He slowly moves out, before bottoming out, stealing your breath in the process. That's all he needed, the feeling of having you grip around him.

Suna thrusts into you, picking up a faster speed and your ragged breaths urging him on. He revels in the way your tits bounce, his movements causing the sinful shake of your body. Your nails digging into his back, scratching the skin. If he could save this as a permanent memory in his mind, he would, and he'd replay it over and over again in his dreams. He bottoms out, rolling his hips each time he does so, thrusting in and out at a faster speed and pace.

He then pulls out, the lack of touch jolting you back from your daze, only for him to flip you over onto your stomach, harsh grip on your hips as he lifts your ass in the air. He grips onto the flesh, holding it in his palms while he tugs them towards him in a big thrust. You let out a moan, face buried into the couch cushions, as he pounds into you.

Dick reaches deep into your cunt, watches you shake under him, the couch shakes, and the lamps shake. He holds both your wrists in his hands, pinning them behind your back, as he pushes himself faster, rougher, crazier than he did before. The sound of skin slapping on skin echoing throughout the apartment, mixed in with your strained whimpers and his throaty groans. "You like this?" He mutters.

This is so much better than he imagined. All the nights he spent with his hand wrapped around his dick in the shower and in bed. The thought of you crumbling beneath him, moaning out his name, becoming nothing but putty underneath him. The thought of him pounding into you relentlessly, feeling you bare and raw, the way your walls wrap around his cock. Imagination never could have prepared him for this, it's so much better than he imagined.

You're so wet around him. He fucks into you, in and out so quickly that you can't even grasp onto the feeling despite your cunt quivering and tightening around him every time he fills you. He lands a hard slap on your ass, only to rub over the red spot, roughly massaging and kneading the flesh. Suna continues to go harder, faster, more feral, moving both your hips to meet. Back is arched and he pushes you further down into the cushions, if that's even possible.

"You're no saint sweetheart," his hips stuttering, "you fucking love getting fucked dirty by a criminal." He rasps, tugging you up by your arms, whispers close to your ear sending a shiver down your spine. "Tell me how much you love it," he instructs. "Go on."

"I love it." You breathe out. Suna forcefully pushes you back down onto the couch, harshly pounding into you, "Fuck, so good."

"No one's ever gonna fuck you as good as I will. I'm going to make you mine, I'm going to corrupt you, I'll protect you." His voice falters at the feeling of you tightening around him, his cock twitching in response. "Fuck, you're mine. Mine only, and I'll fucking kill anyone who comes near you."

You listen to him, losing all sense of strength in your body. You're so close, he knows you are. "Rin, please keep going, I'm so close." You whimper, and he endures, picking up his pace and pushing into you faster, deeper, and harder until you become a limp mess, tightening around him, giving him the greenlight to release.

He cums inside you, white liquid filling you and dripping out as he pulls out. Your hips fall to the couch, as you flip over in time for him to collapse on top of you. If you didn't need a new couch before, you definitely need one now. His arms wrap under your body, he lays between your legs, head resting on your rising and falling chest, hearing your heartbeat in his ears. You brush your fingers through his hair.

He meant what he said. You're his, and he will fucking kill anyone who comes near you. 

[onceuponastory]

an unexpected meeting - bucky barnes x reader

But I'm so fucking lonely, no one really knows me You are still a heart I hope to hold - weekends by freya ridings Plot: Two years after breaking up with his girlfriend, Bucky unexpectedly bumps into her again. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader (previously) Warnings: Mentions of a breakup and heartbreak, Bucky isolating himself and blaming himself after what happened with HYDRA/The Winter Soldier, and with the breakup. He also self sabotages himself a lot in this. A few tiny mentions of nightmares, blood and violence but nothing too graphic. And of course, some angst. But as always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know. Notes: This is for @angstober Day 12: "On Our Own." Please ignore that I'm one day late. Sue me. I love this song so much, so I had to write this based on it.

Not beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

Making his way down the street, Bucky shivers, wrapping his coat tightly around himself as another bitterly cold wind blows against his face. The temptation to just go home and forget today is too real. But deep down, he knows he has to do this.  Bucky has been reclusive for the last two years, shutting himself up in his apartment and only going out for missions and essentials. His friends tried to convince him to come out, whether for coffee or something stronger, but Bucky still rarely left the safe space of his New York apartment. He prefers to be alone. It’s better to be alone.

Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself as he sat alone in his apartment night after night, hearing the noise of the hustle and bustle outside, as he scrolled through his friends’ countless pictures together, seeing how happy they were together, without him…. And as he tried desperately to ignore how isolated he felt.

That was Bucky’s life until a few weeks ago, when Steve and Sam stepped in and insisted that getting out in the fresh air would do him the world of good. Bucky wasn’t so sure about their promises, but since the alternative was his two best friends dragging him outside themselves, going outside on his own terms sounded much more appealing. And walking to the store to buy some things is small, it’s manageable. It’s not like a mission or something more serious. 

And although he’d rather die than admit it to them… he was getting fed up with being stuck inside his apartment all the time, staring at the same four walls day in and day out. Steve and Sam just gave him the push he needed. 

That and he’s dangerously close to running out of coffee. Priorities.

He soon reaches the store, grabbing a basket and heading inside. The sooner he leaves, the better. He wanders around aimlessly, looking down at the various fruits and vegetables on offer. No doubt Steve and Sam would tell him he needs to eat more of those. He grabs some apples and plums, tossing them into the basket with little thought.

And then, he sees her, standing alone by the grapes. He’s shocked to see her here, of all places. In fact, most times he’s seen Y/N, she’s been a hallucination, gone in the blink of an eye when Bucky tried to get too close. But no matter how much he blinks, and how long he keeps his eyes closed, Y/N is still there. And she looks just as beautiful as she always does. Bucky’s heart begins to beat quicker, and his stomach churns in a weird mixture of excitement and fear.

He hasn’t seen her since they broke up, and when Bucky decided he was better off alone. Not because of anything Y/N did, though. God no, it was never Y/N’s fault. She’s the most beautiful, loving woman in the world, with a smile that puts the sun to shame. And that’s exactly why he broke up with her. 

After everything he’s been through with HYDRA and his work as an Avenger, Bucky's life is an intense and dangerous one. When they were still together, Y/N insisted she was fine with him being away for months and didn’t mind staying up beside the phone all night, anxiously awaiting to hear if he was still alive. But Bucky knew she was lying. Love or not, nobody wants to deal with that from their partner, to say goodbye and wonder if they'd ever come home again. Not just that, Bucky knows he’s a lot to deal with. With his troubled past, he has many... issues, to put it mildly. Issues he doesn’t want to drag Y/N into, ever. With all the innocent blood he’s spilled, Bucky knows he doesn’t deserve anything good. 

Especially not Y/N. All Bucky ever wanted was to protect her from certain heartbreak. So, he walked away, promising her it was the best thing for her. And he’s regretted the break up ever since. That’s why he’s locked himself away for so long - he couldn’t bear the thought of life without her, of going to places they loved without her, knowing that a piece of himself is missing, yet being unable to get it back no matter how hard he tried. But most of all, he couldn’t live knowing that it’s his fault everything fell apart.

And now, here she is. Right beside him at the store. Just the two of them.

“Y/N.” His voice is soft, almost as if he doesn’t believe that she’s actually there this time, and no longer a figment of his imagination. His words are nothing more than a whisper in the wind. And yet, despite how interested she’s pretending to be in this fruit, how long it’s been since she’s heard his voice, and how quiet it is, Y/N still hears it. It’s almost as if his words brush against her cheek, just like the way his lips did the last time he kissed her. When she cried and begged him to stay, insisting that whatever it was, they could just work it out if he would just please listen. And Bucky just shook his head, kissing her softly and promising that this was for the best. He still remembers the warmth of her skin as his lips brushed against hers, and the feeling of her tears rolling down her cheeks as she continued to ask him to stay. Although Bucky knows his tears were mixed with hers, too. That day, he savoured every moment he could, knowing it would be the last time he would ever see her.

But like he said, he looked for her, though, being disappointed every time. But this time, it’s real.

Y/N turns to him, locking eyes with him once more. The last time she did that was when he walked out, their relationship destroyed beyond repair. Because of him. And once again, Bucky reminds himself that it’s all his fault. “Bucky. Hi.” She smiles. Her smile looks different, and doesn’t reach her eyes like the usual warm ones that he’s used to. Back when things were great between them. Clearly, the breakup has affected her too.

“Of course it did, you idiot. She loved you.” Deep in Bucky’s gut, that familiar feeling of guilt twinges again. The same one he feels whenever he remembers just what he did to all those poor souls. Y/N never judged him for that, though. She sat with him every night, holding him as he screamed and thrashed around. Running her fingers through his hair, whispering sweet nothings whilst she peppered kisses across his body, knowing it calmed him down. 

He never deserved her. That’s why he let her go.

But it feels so wrong now. The bitter taste of regret seeps through him.

“How are you?” She asks. It’s a polite response, thankfully… but it’s curt. Before, she used to ask him to tell him every aspect about his day, anything he could share about his missions. Just something more than this. And as he spoke about everything and nothing, she’d hang onto his every word. Now, though, she looks like she couldn’t care less. 

And despite this raw, aching feeling in his chest, Bucky knows he deserves it. He can't destroy their relationship and then reappear to mend the pieces after two years.

“Good. Good.” He lies. “So, um… what are you up to?” He asks, regretting his words the moment they leave his mouth. 

“Getting groceries.” Y/N replies, another curt response. “Like you evidently.” She gestures to his basket.

“Oh. Right.” Because of course she is. Why else would she be here? And then, an uncomfortable silence descends, enveloping the two of them so deeply they could drown in it. But Bucky’s been drowning in the consequences of his actions for a long time.

This time, though, he’s been spat back out… and what a hellish form of karma this is.

“Was I not enough for you?” She asks, bluntly. The question takes him aback. He wasn’t expecting this question, of all things. …But she deserves the truth, and to ask him whatever she wants after it ended the way it did.

“Of course you were enough, Y/N. I promise you that.” She was more than enough, more than he could ever deserve, especially after the things he’s done. In fact, that’s probably why he ruined their relationship. Because whilst Y/N nurtures and supports everything she touches, Bucky destroys them. And he refused to let Y/N be the next thing he destroyed. But with the way she looks at him now, Bucky knows he’s destroyed her too. And that realisation hurts more than anything he’s ever done.

“You had a funny way of showing it then.” She hisses, loud enough for him to hear. Another strike of guilt. Guilt that he deserves, of course.

“Y/N.” He sighs. “I’m so sorry. Please, just-“

“Hey! There you are!” A man’s voice sounds, cutting through Bucky’s explanation. The man walks up to Y/N, wrapping his arm around her and kissing her temple. Immediately, the icy sting of jealousy wraps itself around Bucky, and his eyes narrow. Who the hell is this guy? He better take good care of Y/N, and treat her like the Queen she is, like Bucky did. Or else… there’ll be trouble. 

“Did you, though?” A little voice in the back of his head pipes up. “Because…I don’t think you ever did. At least, not at the end.” The words hit Bucky like being doused in ice cold water. His lungs constrict, and tears sting in his waterline. 

Although he still loves Y/N, so much so that he wants to shout it from the rooftops, deep down he knows that the voice is right. After what he did… he has no right to feel so protective of her. He has no hold over her heart anymore. 

And besides, maybe Y/N should’ve been protected from him instead.

“Who’s this?” The man asks, looking at Bucky curiously. 

“Um.” Y/N murmurs. A small glimmer of hope lightens deep in Bucky’s gut then. Maybe there’s a slight chance for redemption here, to make things right. Maybe, just maybe, she would say something nice about him, proving her feelings towards him have changed, if even only a little. And perhaps she still feels the same love for him as he does for her. Maybe, somewhere down the line, they can make things right again. “He’s just someone I know.” 

And that makes the flicker of hope inside of him fizzle out into nothing. 

“I’m Bucky. Nice to meet you.” Bucky nods, trying with all his might to not collapse in the middle of the aisle.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Chris.” The man smiles. Bucky stares at him, looking for something, anything, that seems off about Chris. Maybe he’s gripping her arm just too tightly, or shooting her dirty looks when he thinks Bucky isn’t watching. But there’s nothing. Chris seems perfect. He’s the perfect boyfriend Y/N deserves, and the one Bucky failed spectacularly at being.

As Chris makes polite conversation, Bucky nods, glancing around for an exit strategy. Usually, he does that to ensure the safety of his team, and protect them against whichever monster or villain they’re dealing with.

Now though, he’s doing it so his ex-girlfriend, who he definitely isn’t over and her new boyfriend don’t see him start sobbing in the middle of the fruit and vegetable section.

“Well, I better get going.” Bucky quickly announces. “It was nice seeing you Y/N.” 

“Yeah… you too.” She murmurs. Bucky quickly turns and walks away, abandoning his basket somewhere in the store. 

As soon as he’s outside, a few loose tears escape, running down his cheeks despite Bucky's best efforts not to break in public. It feels like his heart is being ripped apart all over again, just like it did when he broke up with Y/N. But this time, though, it hurts even more, like millions of stab wounds to the heart over and over again. 

Thankfully, he makes it home quickly, slamming the door behind him. He barely makes it a few steps before collapsing on the floor, his body wracked with sobs. If he could turn the clock back and fix this, if he could reverse his actions, he would.

But he can’t. He made his choice, and now he has to live with it. 

Despite how much it hurts. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for telling my mother to stop calling my disability a superpower?

I (17M) and my brother (11M) are both autistic. I was diagnosed significantly later in life than my brother as I was able to mask my autistic traits until puberty hit. My mother is not autistic, and our dad is. Recently, we were having a conversation about our diagnosis in the car with her, and she started on a very common tangent by calling our disability a "superpower", and explaining that because we're autistic, we are able to analyze situations in different ways. My mother says this kind of thing often, and usually I stay quiet about it.

My autism actually significantly impaired my ability to understand situations where I was in danger,  and led to me being bullied a lot when I was younger. I was incredibly lonely as a child and due to being isolated by people around me for being "weird" (undiagnosed autistic) I became severely depressed, believing it was entirely my fault. I also developed PTSD and an anxiety disorder due to the bullying by both my peers and teachers. I brought this up, and my brother also brought up the fact that he had really bad issues being able to work well in class before we were able to get accommodations set up for him, to the point where he was almost expelled from school due to lashing out because of overstimulation several times.

My brother and I both said that it was hurtful to call something that had impacted our lives so overwhelmingly negatively a superpower, and asked her to stop. She got upset at this, and asked if I was upset that she was trying to "boost our self-esteem" so we didn't feel bad about it. I told her no, but it felt condescending and upsetting to be told that something that disabled us a superpower. She got even angrier then, and seemed to only focus on me and not my brother at this point.

She asked if I hated this or just hated her, to which i told her no, I just don't like being told my disability is a good thing. She said she meant well and I told her that even if something is done in good faith, it doesn't always end up actually being a good thing. After this, she got really quiet but you could still feel the anger radiating off of her. When we got home, she was very snappy and sent both my brother and myself to our rooms.

I don't think I said anything wrong, but I can't really read tone very well and maybe I said something to upset her. AITA?

What are these acronyms?

[ur-fav-inactive-writer]

𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐋𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫/𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞...

Being Luthers daughter would be rather boring

You never knew who your mother was, Luther had been with a few women on missions and one day you appeared on the doorstep. They DNA tested you and you and Luther were a match

(Yes I'm aware in canon Luther is a virgin until he goes to some furry convention but shhhh, its for the story)

Because he was on the moon, you didn't get to see him for so long

You became adjusted to being raised by Grace

You, like your father, had been born with special abilities. You didn't find out for years what it was but as you got older you discovered that you had the power of telekinesis

When Luther was around when you were younger, he was a very boring dad

You'd be grounded instantly for the tiniest things

There were very few times you had fun with him when you were much younger, he rarely ever had time for you

Then he had to go to moon and that was the last time you saw him for years

There were very high expectations for you after being raised by Grace, Reginald and Pogo for 4 years while your father was gone

Reginald decided to train you, even called you number eight

Grace never referred to you as number eight, only ever by name

You were taught by them so you were very smart

They kept you inside, not many people knew of your existence, only those you lived with knew about you

Once Reginald had died, you met the rest of your family

And you were also reunited with your dad

He was much bigger when he came back, but so were you

When he saw you for the first time he was rather shocked

"(Y-Y/N)? Is that you?"

"Well.. yeah. Thought you might recognise your own daughter."

"O-oh, you're just so much... older."

"Thats kinda how aging works, dad."

As boring as he was as a father, you were so happy to be reunited with him

Once you started talking to Klaus though, you were wreaking havoc constantly

You got to meet Allison and quickly sensed something between her and your dad, which was weird considering she was your aunt

It was probably nothing.. right?

Diego didn't exactly like you in the beginning because you were Luthers daughter

He quickly learned to love you once he learned you weren't like Luther, he loved to team up against your dad with you

He always took you out and let you do things your dad never let you do, doing all this just to spite your dad and it worked

"Diego! I told you she wasn't allowed to have that!"

"No shit, that's why I did it"

You just stood in the corner laughing, thinking of the next thing you'd get Diego to do for you

Meeting Five was... strange

He was impressed by your smarts compared to Luther

You didn't ever get a chance to properly bond with Five, yknow with all the saving the world stuff

Your dad didn't really like you being around Viktor, he thought that if you tried bonding with him he'd spill your secrets and even reveal your existence and put you in danger

You had never actually left the house so once you met your uncles and they let you out of the house, you were ecstatic

Once you got to the 1960s, you felt so lost and lonely

You'd never been by yourself before, it was terrifying for you, you had always been with someone

You had to try find your way around a world you'd barely ever explored, eventually you learned how to navigate yourself and be by yourself

Well not entirely by yourself, when people found some strange teenage girl wandering around by herself, looking scared to death they took you to an orphanage and you stayed there for 2 years

People never wanted to adopt teenagers, especially not when they were nearing adulthood. Until one day when you were called into a room to meet someone

It was your dad, he had somehow figured out where you were, you soon learned he had found out because of his boss but you didnt care, you were just overjoyed to see your dad again

He took you back to some random store, where you were reunited with your family, you couldn't have been happier to finally see everyone again. Though you didn't know your family that well, you loved them more than anything and when they saw you, they leaped to hug you.

You had to attend the family dinner with your dad, uncles and aunt

You just sat there awkwardly throughout the whole experience, Reginald was shocked to learn he had a grandchild and was further shocked by your intelligence

You demonstrated your powers to him and began to recite things he had taught you, he kept you behind after the dinner to talk to you

Luther was very opposed to this idea but allowed it to happen

When you were at the farm and the battle began, your father was purely focused on protecting you. As the bullets flew through the air, he picked you up and used himself as your personal shield. Your eyes were ringing from the sounds of the shots and he covered your ears for you

You were terrified, you'd never really been exposed to this before. The only time that you had experienced something like this was at the bowling alley and at Viktors violin show but even that didn't even compare to what you were experiencing there.

Once all the commission was wiped out, you were in the barn, watching as Diego had a heart to heart with Lila until a shot rang out

Diego collapsed to the floor, the handler stood in the doorway with a gun and suddenly

She fired it at all of you

You collapsed to the floor

Then Five reversed time and you then had to travel back to your original timeline.

Well, you thought it was the original timeline

(Not gonna do HC for season 3 in this because there's already so much for Luther)

𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐨, #2

Diego is a funnish (???) dad

You came from a one night stand that Diego forgot about

Nearly a year later, Al called him to tell him a 3 month-old had just been dropped off at the gym and it apparently belonged to Diego

Though, as soon as he saw you, he remembered the hook up because you looked just like your mother will small resemblances to Diego

He was scared to be a dad, his father was so cruel, abusive and distant

Diego didn't want you to be raised with the same hatred that he had for his own father

He's a busy guy, you were mostly raised at the gym with Al

You were also raised by Eudora, she was like a mother to you

But any free time Diego had, he was determined to spend with you

He loved you dearly, he lived for you

When you were much younger, around 4, you had wandered out of Al's sight and watched your dad training

You were inspired by watching your dad train, you wanted to try too

Diego heard some small grunts and looked over to you

There you were, mimicking the sounds and punching moved he was making, his heart melted

But he was very mad at Al for letting you wander out of sight

After seeing you, he decided to start training you

You had lots of fun with your dad

You went to public school, your dad couldn't afford anything fancy

If you ever got detentions, Diego would just laugh, he found it hilarious

When he was with Eudora, she encouraged you to be a good student, you rarely listened but you truly loved her so you did try

Then your grandfather died, which meant Diego had to attend his funeral, but he didnt want you staying at the gym for too long by yourself and decided to take you with him

That's when you finally met the rest of your family, they were rather shocked to learn Diego had a kid

When Eudora died, your heart broke, you just cried, cried and cried

Diego attempted to comfort you but it didn't work too well, you really did miss her

You were used to being around Klaus, your dad often picked him up from jail when he got in trouble or would find him on the side of the road and take him back to your place

Klaus was fascinated to know that he now had another niece, he bonded with you quickly and took care of you when Diego was gone

Well, he tried to take care of you, he more messed around with you whilst Ben reminded him to be gentle and responsible with you

Klaus was your best friend, you didn't get along with a lot of people at school and Klaus was your escape from that

He was so funny and eccentric, he was way better than all the kids at school. Diego didn't think the same, he thought Klaus was a bad influence on you but you never cared

Meeting the rest of your family was certainly strange

Luther didn't exactly like you but fuck him, he was annoying anyway so you didn't care

Allison liked you slightly more because you reminded her of Claire in some ways

Your dad didn't let you speak to Viktor, the most you could do was give an awkward wave

It was strange to finally meet your family, but you were happy you did

(Sorry loves, I'm not gonna write much for Diego because I've already done something pretty much exactly like this in the past)

(A/N) : Hope you enjoy reading this, I really hate it but i hope you guys like it!

Taglist: @book-place @shefollowedthestars

[wilcze-kudly]

Sure we can rag on Bolin for not realising he joined the Earth Kingdom equivalent of the Nazi party and call him an idiot for it (deserved) but honestly I can't really fault him for it?

Like the ostrich effect is a thing and we are watching it in full effect here. We've seen that Bolin is a character that deals very poorly with conflict. Like it's super obvious he'd avoid standing up to Kuvira as much as he could.

One of Bolin's biggest hurdles as a character is that he is looking for a purpose, the rest of team Avatar having 'found themselves'. So it's not out of character for him to join Kuvira.

I feel like he's also compensating for the loss of Korra, who was in recovery at the time by following Kuvira.

It's very obvious that Korra had a huge impact on Bolin's life, as she did with all of Team Avatar. But Bolin had definetly attached himself very strongly to her. He's been following Mako around his entire life, been a follower for most of his life. And then his first real friendship outside of family follows a similar pattern.

Korra is like the perfect character for Bolin to project his weird codependency thing onto. She's an effortless leader, very forceful, decisive and straightforward. Someone who he can easily listen to and carve out a path he can follow. And following the Avatar around allows him to do something worthwile and good. To actually help. With the added benefit that it gets him people's approval, something he so clearly desperately needs and craves.

Then Korra becomes so injured that she has to be placed in physical therapy for an indeterminate ampunt of time.

So Bolin projects that need and codependency on someone else. Kuvira. In his argument with Mako he states it clear as day: 'I mean, Kuvira is basically just like Korra. She might seem hard to deal with, but just because she's so passionate and believes in what she's doing.'

He gets to continue doing good and making people like him while under very clear orders he can follow.

I mean, this boy is traumatised. Clearly, Mako took the brunt of the horrors of their childhood, but it would be incredibly stupid to say that Bolin isn't fucked up as well. Clearly in a different way but fucked up nonetheless. I think this codependency thing is something both brothers benefitted from as kids but that's a conversation for another day.

And the events of the first three books are also traumatic?

Like he's just been part of a civil war/end of the world so excuse him for hoping to catch a break. I will once again refer you to the ostrich effect. Another war breaking out is probably like worst case scenario in his mind.

I feel like for him, if he opens his eyes to what Kuvira is doing is accepting that there is once again a 'big conflict' in his life. And that his loved ones are once again in danger. And worse, that he's contributed to it.

I can also see it all being a case of 'well ive waded neck deep into this swamp, now i gotta see this through'. Like he's sunk so much time and energy into this cause, it can't be all wrong, right?

Sure, ego is probably a big part of his behaviour. Everyone is telling him that Kuvira is bad and that automatically puts up the defences. Bit I can see how these warnings feel like a direct personal attack at Bolin himself. He was also incredibly isolated from most of his friends when serving Kuvira. Other than Zhu Li and Varrick, who aren't exactly peers.

So he's lonely on a train most of his time and when he does reuinte with his loved ones they start criticising his life choices . I can see him getting defensive and automatically resistant to critisism.

And Kuvira is also shown to be very good at emotuonal manipulation and threats and stuff. And Bolin, a chronic people pleaser whith a lot of trauma is, like, the perfect victim for those shenanigans. Bolin is canonically bad at reading situations that are detrimental to him (look at the entirety of his relationship with Eska)

You know, sure, he's an idiot for staying with her as long as he did. But it's not as black and white as a lot of people make it out to be?

[kiwi-channn]

Scared to love

John price × fem reader (nurse)

∆ reader has trust issues and doesn't admit her feelings ∆

(reader referred to as "she")

.........🪻🪻🪻..........

She doesn't understand that man at all... With his weird mustache...and the hat he rarely removes...

She has been a nurse in the military for two years... And since she started working with 141 task force... She started feeling more and more upset by every passing day... All because of this man... John price... She sometimes feels that he is so nice to her... Treating her specially... She hates it...

She thought working in the military will get her away from romantic feelings... But she was wrong...

Since he stopped a few soldiers from pestering her .. she can't stop looking at him since then... She can't get him out of her head... His warm blue eyes.. his kind smile (she really thinks it's so cute) ... The way he always smokes his cigars... looking dangerous The way he always covers his head with that hat .. and how he gets angry when he loses his hat or one of his cigars ... The way he talks.. the way he looks at her... The way he asks her if she wants anything at the end of his work... the way he checks on her every now and then during the day ... She hates it...

~I don't know if Iam ready for love again... I mean the last two times I tried, it didn't work out at all... Every time iam left... With a feeling of being unwanted at all... I don't believe that anyonr can love me ... No matter how good iam.. no matter how hard I try... It never keeps anyone... I don't wanna even think about being with someone anymore... I just wanna stay safe ... I wanna protect my heart... Yeah.. sometimes I feel so lonely... So lonely to even eat my meals...~

~But when he talks so nicely to me... When he do small good things to me, like defending me when someone annoyes me.. or help me feel better when iam depressed... encouraging me when iam feeling down.... Those little things push me through my day... Make my heart warm... It make me feel alive... But Iam scared... I don't wanna be hurt... I don't wanna feel the same way I felt before.. I don't wanna be someone's second option again...~

~He is just a man like all men... At the end of the day, he will do the same thing.. he will just abondon me little by little... He will just break my heart ...~

~Iam never gonna fall for this again.. iam not gonna fall for a man just treating me softly... I won't fall again for a man's lies... I will never believe him... Nor trust him...Never...~

She won't give up to her feelings and thoughts ever....

[gingerylangylang1979]

If he gets his shit together Carmy could be an amazing husband and father

Currently, Carmy is a hot mess. But I really hope the show doesn’t intend for that to be his end game. Yes, he will always struggle with mental health issues. People aren’t cured of them, it’s a matter of managing life with them. If only mentally healthy people had spouses and children most of us wouldn’t be here and the world would be a lonely place. Unless someone is a danger to themselves and others I hate it when I hear people trying to dictate who should reproduce and who shouldn’t. I don’t even want to get into the mildly hinting at eugenicist implications of such statements.

Carmy has a way to go. Some may say he shouldn’t have had a romantic relationship. Looking back I actually think it was good that he at least tried. At the moment he thinks it was a mistake and he shouldn’t try again. But that will change as he progresses. It was a learning experience. It showed that he is capable of giving his heart, caring for a partner, being romantic, letting loose, being domestic. It also shows that there is a part of him that is unfulfilled without a relationship. It was just bad timing with the wrong person. 

Beyond that I think part of Carmy’s character is a sense of respect and care for women. He speaks up when Richie harasses Sydney and when the guys were being vulgar about Claire at Christmas. He hasn’t really had a role model for chivalry and feminism but he has those values and isn’t afraid of being called “weird”. He doesn’t seem to care about fitting into the Berzatto male paradigm. He actively tries to escape it when it comes to worldview. This is why Richie calls him “woke”. Richie is built different. Mikey is built different. 

Carmy is a product of the best traits of his generation and exposure to different lifestyles. He’s traveled. He’s worked with women as his superiors and equals. He’s not afraid to bring Sydney on as his CDC, Tina on as her Sous, and Natalie as project manager. He has anger issues that are often directed at Sydney but it’s not because she’s a woman. We never see him try to dominate in his relationship with Claire. He also isn’t intimidated that Claire has post-graduate education and may have more long term earning potential than him unless he really becomes a culinary mogul. 

Carmy has paternal instincts. At the kid’s birthday party he knew they would want ketchup, he made the ecto-cooler, he was more concerned than anyone else about them being sedated. He made Tiff probably the best Sprite on the planet. I’m sure when Nat’s baby arrives he will be smitten, even if a fish out of water. I’m curious if he has interacted with Ava. 

With the staff he is nurturing when opportunities arise. He sold off some of his prized denim to keep the place afloat. He still makes the beef even if it’s the wrong cut. He continues service after the toilet explodes because they have to keep it movin. He consoles Marcus when he fucked up service. He also warns him to stay on track but didn’t hold it against him when he actually did go off point. He bails Richie out with their parachute. He sends Marcus to Copenhagen, Tina and Ebra to culinary school, Richie to Chef Terry. He gives Sydney the space to experiment and fail. He keeps everyone on and paid. He fucks up big time and becomes unhinged but he earnestly apologizes. He’s trying. He cares. He knows he needs work. He wants to provide in the best way he’s able at the moment. 

So with time, patience, and consistency, perhaps years from now I can really see him being a great partner and father. Carmy is a survivor. He doesn’t give up, he’s gonna make shit happen, he’s good at pivoting, he stays committed. Please let him have a wife and kid(s) someday if he desires. Thinking he should be alone forever is deeply pessimistic. 

Adding: Carmy is also very attentive. His radar goes off immediately when Sydney is upset. He tries to fix it. He’s struggling now but he wants to put in the work and won’t leave things with them at odds. He’s not too proud to apologize.

[storiesbyrhi]

🧚 🧚🏽‍♀️ 🧚‍♂️

i would love to hear about this fairy fic 🖤

It's only 700 words or so. I had this idea that Eddie, after everything that happened, moved to the city. But his time in the Upside Down left him magically marked. This gets the attention of the secret fairy living in his apartment block.

It's part magic realism (you know me) and part some weird size kink bullshit hehe.

I have a lot of thoughts and ideas, but haven't really decided how thw story is going to go. However, I am happy to share what I have! Unedited and very likely to change.

Love youuuuuuuuuuu.

Eddie Munson tried to not think of leaving Hawkins as running away. He had sworn to himself, standing against a tornado of demobats, that he was never going to do that again. No, Eddie would be brave in the face of danger. There was no battle he couldn’t fight. No enemy to send him cowering in the corner. But Hawkins… Hawkins wasn’t just any monster.

Hawkins had thousands of eyes, all peering at Eddie whenever he ventured further than the trailer. Her mouth could speak in an endless number of different voices, all whispering about cults and murder and Chrissy Cunningham’s body. She had power too, Hawkins, power enough to stop Eddie from getting work after he graduated from his hospital bed. She had him frozen in time and place.

Eddie didn’t know how many more days of fight he had in him, but a kind twist of fate offered Eddie an escape plan in the form of his sweet friend Jeff. A plan in which Eddie could play the hero, rather than the deserter.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do, man!” Jeff paced back in forth in front of Eddie. “Everything was all set up but I can’t pay rent on my own. My dad says to put a notice in the paper but even that costs money… And I don’t want to live with a stranger! What if they’re like… an axe murderer!”

It was refreshing to hear about someone’s normal problems. It seemed a lot easier than working out how to communicate cross-dimensionally or where the hell Nancy Wheeler’s missing guns went.

“I’m sorry, dude,” Jeff apologised. “I shouldn’t complain to you,”

“Why?” Eddie fished.

Jeff hesitated. “Well… You know…”

“Because I was accused of murder, attacked by wild dogs, and almost killed in an earthquake?” Eddie was obviously being sarcastic, but it still made Jeff wince.

“…Yes?”

Eddie laughed, shocked that people had really bought ‘attacked by wild dogs’ … but they needed some sort of cover story for the bite marks. Despite his best efforts, Eddie couldn’t even make himself the hero of that adventure. Goddamn Steve Harrington had saved him from the rabid pack, earning himself some matching battle wounds.

“It’s cool,” Eddie reassured his friend.

The pair sat and watched whatever shit was on television for a little while longer. When the idea popped into Eddie’s head, he sat up straight from his lounging position, moving quickly enough to startle Jeff.

“Jesus!”

“I have an idea,” Eddie announced. “What if I come with you? Take the room? Nobody knows me there. I can get a job. Actually leave the fucking house. You don’t have to live with stranger. We can still jam… It’s a good idea, right?”

“You really want to move to Chicago?”

“I mean… S’not like I have grand plans in Hawkins. This town fucking hates me… I’d miss Wayne but… Yeah… Yeah, I wanna move to Chicago… If you’ll have me.” Eddie grinned at his friend, the wide smile full of fun that Jeff hadn’t really seen since before everything went down.

“Eddie Munson. My hero.”

…

It was a dark magic. It was cold. Lonely. And there was only a whisper of it, thankfully, but it was there. From your window, you watched him unload a U-Haul onto the sidewalk. A group of people were moving boxes and furniture into the building; the noise followed them to the second floor, to the vacant apartment across from yours.

The magic was only coming from him. All his friends were unremarkable, just a mismatched crew of boisterous boys. None were scarred like him either. Even from your window, you could see the pink ripples of scar tissue on his face, neck, and arms. The war must have been recent, you decided, the pink fresh and his movements stunted by discomfort and pain.

“Eddie, dude, you’re not meant to be lifting the heavy ones,” his friend yelled, coming to take the box away from him.

“I’m fine,”

“Whatever. I don’t wanna scoop ya guts up when you pop a fuckin’ stitch, man.” The imagery was strong and it forced a smile on your lips. He was loved, the boy with the scars, despite the dark magic.

…

 It only took Eddie a week to realise something was happening.

[blinkpen]

i've seen actually a few different people/users leave comments or tags about wanting to check out scavenger's reign after seeing my glowing praise of it, but also being very nervous to do so, because they're excited for a lesbian who looks like them (azi), but despite my gushing, i keep mentioning how the show is full of body horror, brutal deaths and characters having a bad time;

this is a very valid concern to have, given how a character like azi might be treated in another show, i was going in with tempered caution as well

without spoiling too much, you can lay those worries down. the show treats her very well.

if you'd like some more elaboration, i've put it under this readmore!

azi is put into stomach-churningly dire "an alien is about to eat you/do a big big body horror/assimilate you" situations the least of any of the characters, and not even because she's being given a lack of stuff to do/experience in the plot!

i think we only see her get "afflicted" by something the way sam does once, and its very mild compared to everyone else (basically she gets a really bad itchy rash after successfully prying some weird would-be paralytic puffballs that get stuck to her) and even this one instance is quickly resolved by other fauna, in a very nice sequence of scenes that is clearly a healing/relaxing experience for her.

while she is put into danger and is trying to survive like everyone else, she gets tossed about in action setpieces she makes it through with minimal injury, more than enduring The Horrors;

she gets to have better luck because more of her narrative screentime is, by design, already dedicated to emotionally bonding with her robot buddy, levi, as they suddenly and rapidly attain self-awareness, and levi encourages her to find the beauty and harmony in this nightmarish nature documentary they got marooned in.

this helps her lighten up just in time, too, because she is, very understandably, stressed almost to her breaking point by the point the show starts, having one of the better crash landing sites of any of the survivors, and i bet the other survivors all wish they had a robot tagging along to help, but being stranded and lonely and trying to not lose hope of rescue. she misses her girlfriend, and is feeling increasingly vulnerable (negative) and afraid, especially when situations occur where she gets reminded she does need help. azi starts the series being kind of mean to levi, and having to balance her confusion, worry, and then awe of levi's transformation, and let herself accept she does need that help.

azi is not the gruff grr nothing phases me nothing hurts me the writers dont have to try giving me depth i'm just the badass butch who exists to fill the death quota later so a lighter/more fem character can survive;

her vulnerability reveals itself without much fuss, and is eventually tended to both by herself and others. we get flashbacks that show she was naturally introverted, but clearly wanting to overcome that in order to socialize and get closer to someone (girls...)

she goes through it for other reasons, but i promise you, the show treats her very well, i feel. she and levi are probably-nah, definitely, my favorite characters in it, and the show would not have blown me away the way it did without them here

SR has 3 main story threads; Azi and Levi, Sam and Ursula, Kamen and The Hollow. of the three, Azi and Levi's is the heart, and is the most romantic, in multiple senses of the term. i might right a breakdown of what i love most about all three threads? but yeah

now, if you still need the "okay but does she or her gf die" y/n:

.

.

.

.

azi and her girlfriend both survive the events of the show, and reunite in one piece! they may or may not throuple up with the robot.

i sure hope they do.

you can't tease us with scenes like this and Not

OH: also, when a new antagonist shows up later in the form of a lethally pragmatic blonde woman named Kris who tries to boss azi around, i did get nervous, but Azi soured to max on her and spoke exactly what i hoped was the intent at the exact moment i felt it was critical to avoid me going "hrrmmm don't like these Implications" (the Instant azi detects blondie is trying to haze her into being a new teammate to be bossed around, azi immediately gets rightfully pissed and rejects it, and schemes to get the tagalong kid to see this also and on azi's side in the long run, which plays out and kris gets rapidly shuttled out of the plot and then pretty damn well humbled in the only blatant Sequel Hook present. i Appreciated that. Would have loved to love you Kris I love evil women but then you pulled That Stunt and now you can go wither alone in the corner

[prettyrealm]

nmixx lily mini personality reading

positives + negatives edition

this reading is part of a paid commision, thank you so much for trusting in me! <3 celebrity commissions • personal commissions

+ positives

a very hard working person, she will do a lot to move forward (suffer in silence, compromise, take on extra tasks). good at keeping the peace (if she’s about to shower and someone’s like “oh I was about to do that” she won’t mind letting them go first). she’s good at being optimistic, looking towards the future and being appreciative (appreciates good times because she knows they don’t last, doesn’t fret over bad times because she knows they don’t last). she’s a good talker and communicator, she’s a good conversationalist but also a good listener, she’s also not confusing with her communication (for the most part she’s easy to understand and aims to be pretty straight forward). she’s original (in the sense it’s important for her to feel like she’s being herself) and it’s important to her to stay grounded. she’s spiritual - whether she’s religious or not, she has an innate moral code that she follows because she thinks life/there is something bigger than herself (so she tries to be a good person). she’s super resilient and will stand up for herself (people can take her compromising nature to think she’s also a pushover but she fights when she needs to). she’s pretty stable and uncomplicated - she wants simple things and doesn’t have “complex” emotions (for example: she doesn’t have deep trust issues that interfere with how she communicates or interacts with people, she doesn’t get upset over “weird” things, she doesn’t feel the need to watch out for people close to her betraying her).

- negatives

while she works hard, she has had more help to get to where she is today than she sees or acknowledges, she’s on a pedestal in this sense and can be arrogant. she’s very easily bored due to her lack of imagination (she isn’t imaginative enough to know how bring a spark to her life, other people have to do it for her), it’s like she only really knows what her goals are because she’s been told what they should be, she struggles to come up with ideas and is overall uninspired. due to her being so positive, she doesn’t take bad times seriously enough (this can hold her back from truly sorting out problems or learning from her experiences). but at the same time, she can also have problem not knowing when to give up and let certain situations or projects go (she struggles with balance here, essentially she either cares not enough or too much). she relies too much on the people around her for her sense of identity (very much an extraverted person and not as self-aware or individualistic as she thinks she is). since she isn’t a suspicious person, people tend to get one over on her pretty easily (she doesn’t look for or sometimes doesn’t even understand red flags). she doesn’t get that just because certain things are okay with her (compromising, letting other people choose) doesn’t mean she SHOULD be okay with it, there’s a lot of people around her that don’t respect her and only use her. she feels like a bit of an outsider due to being mixed, she doesn’t feel like she has an identity (especially since she relies so much on her community for her sense of identity, she feels more lonely than she’s willing to acknowledge that there’s not many people like her around her), she feels Australian, but she also feels Korean, but she doesn’t feel like she’s both if that makes sense. she’s too “innocent” and has too much faith in the world (I think she’s been very fortunate in the industry not to have seen or gone through what many of the things her peers have, it’s like a kid with no stranger danger). she can lack empathy purely because she lacks experiences and can’t fully understand things (if someone with a hard 9-5 job says they’re at a breaking point and can’t take it anymore she may try to comfort them in a way that feels sympathetic, but not totally understanding).