#lest she come down and start hitting her and screaming at us to not watch it

[evilyurifan]

i hate when you have shit that you cant like relatably vent post about or talk to anyone about. like my family’s day to day life is just fucking Weird enough that i can only tell people about it when i turn it into jokes.

[wri0thesley]

Nat. NAT. I just saw your concept about naoya "training" his wife by just throwing her in the room and just watching her struggle to defend herself... Until she ofc breaks and begs him to protect her🙈 you have a MASSIVE brain, the biggest and horniest brain nat can you please write this concept for the event😭😭 maybe w 45 and any other dark or spicy add ons that you see fit!

traditional discipline - naoya x fem!reader (3.3k)

naoya has had enough of you, and resorts to an unusual method of discipline.

warnings: not sfw/minors dni. DARK CONTENT. unhealthy relationship/marriage. fearplay, dacryphilia, finger-sucking, cock-sucking, punishment, threat of violence and death. dubious consent. afab reader with fem pronouns. 

[a/n: this concept literally wouldn’t leave me alone. i’m sorry to all of the readers who are naoya’s wife i’m always so horrible to them]

The room goes quiet as Naoya hauls you out of it by your upper arm.

It’s an easy mistake, a simple slip-up; accidentally talking over your husband. But it’s one in a slew you’ve been making recently, despite Naoya thinking that you were polite and well-bred and knew your place. He’s sick of it, to be quite frank; he doesn’t have time to be correcting you when you should already know how to behave.

You’ve done accidental, small things since the two of you were married. Denying him when he rolled you onto your back at night. Not standing quite as far behind him as you should. Pouring tea for other people before him. He’s given you swift reprimand with both his words and his hands, but . . . it’s clearly not sinking into your pretty little head, is it?

He warned you about this.

“Next time,” he’d growled to you, when you’d laughed too loud at a joke that one of his brothers had made and not laughed at one of his, “I’m going to teach you a real lesson.”

He tells you about the ‘training and discipline room’ on the Zenin estate later that night. A room that the family use for honing cursed techniques, both for practising and for learning purposes, when someone needs to be brought down a peg or two. It’s full of cursed spirits – all the way up to grade two, which makes your blood run cold.

Of course, you have cursed energy. You even have a careful little technique; one that would wrap your enemies up in vines, if you’d ever been allowed to train to use it for anything other than keeping your well-appointed garden neat and orderly. Naoya would not have married someone without either of those things, lest they not bear him fruitful children--

But you have never been allowed to use it for anything more.

The women of your clan are pretty decoration, with no need to learn anything other than how to behave and how to please their masters-and-husbands. You would be useless, thrown into the den of the wolves like that.

“Please don’t,” you’d said to him, your voice all soft and gentle, trying to be appeasing. “Please. I promise I’ll try harder.”

Naoya had taken your chin between thumb and forefinger, the grin across his face very sharp as his light eyes took in the pleading in your own gaze. You remember how the light had hit his earrings, the look of satisfaction at your begging and having you utterly and completely under his thumb.

“Be good,” he’d breathed, all slow and drawling. “And I won’t have to, will I?”

And he’d bid you to get on your knees for him and show you just how good you could be. Starting with your mouth.

So you know where he’s dragging you, down the labyrinthine halls of the estate. You try and pull back, feet sliding on the tatami mat, your voice pitching as you say;

“Naoya, please, I’m sorry--”

“Women should be seen and not heard,” he says to you. “Don’t make a fuss like that. You earned this.”

Your eyes are filling with tears, hot fear clawing its way up your throat.

“I’ll do anything,” you say to him, despite knowing that it’s a dangerous bargain to give him. He almost considers it for a moment, pausing – but then, his fingers just dig harder into the softness of your bicep (you’re going to bruise), and he tugs you.

“You’re making a scene,” he says. “If you don’t stop, I’ll leave you in there even longer.” You try to wrench your arm out of his grip, all of your self-defense mechanisms going into overdrive as you recognise the door he’s leading to you too. You’re breathless, so frightened you think that your heart might stop.

Naoya opens the door and pulls you in. You almost stumble at the flight of stairs, but he clicks his tongue at you in annoyance.

“So clumsy,” he drawls. “And here I was, under the impression I was marrying a graceful, lovely, credit to her family--” More steps, until he’s gotten you in the middle of the floor. He gazes around him, and you hear the low hum of a hundred cursed spirit’s voices murmuring the same things, over and over again. “The only time you’re a credit to them is with your legs spread.”

“Naoya,” you whimper, torn between pushing yourself into him for the comfort and protection that you know he can offer, or trying to tear away from him and escape the room yourself. You know the second option won’t work – he’s far faster, far stronger than you – but it’s hard to think of anything when you feel like your very survival is teetering impossibly over your head.

“If you run,” he says, still in that cold, uninterested drawl, “I’ll break one of your ankles.”

You don’t think he’s bluffing. Naoya says a lot of things, yes – but he’s also reckless and proud enough to mean them. You stand there, next to him, feeling yourself begin to tremble.

“W-why aren’t they attacking yet?” You ask him, voice very small. He looks at you pityingly.

“They’re afraid of me, obviously,” he says to you, very slowly, like he’s explaining it to somebody very stupid. “I didn’t get this good at everything by not training myself, darling.” He lets go of you, finally, a whistle escaping his pursed mouth as he rocks on the balls of his feet. He’s supremely unconcerned by your fear. “When I’m gone, they’ll come out for you.”

Your eyes fill with tears.

“What am I supposed to do?” You ask him, desperation leaking into your cracked voice. “I can’t—I can’t protect myself--”

Naoya narrows his eyes.

“You should have thought about that before you were such a pain,” he replies. And, without further ado, he turns around and begins to ascend the stairs again. You turn with him, moving forward, stumbling in your haste and ending up sprawled at the bottom of the stairs with your hand pathetically fisted into the hem of his hakama.

He looks down at you with a disgusted sneer on his face, and you hate that even with that expression his features are still unmistakably handsome.

“Let go,” he says. “Have some dignity.”

“Please,” you repeat. You can feel a fat tear spilling from the corner of your eye down the curve of your cheeks. You know the ‘dignity’ statement is a dig; the fact that you’ve heard his family members calling your clan power-hungry undignified gold-digging whores, but you can’t bring yourself to care when you can see the beginning of shadows spilling out too far into the main floor of the room. “Naoya. Please.”

He kicks out at your wrist, face twisted in distaste, and you let go to avoid it being stood on and crushed under his strength. You cradle it against your chest, looking up at him still all desperate and afraid.

“If I helped,” he said to you, “you’d never learn your lesson.” He takes a step up and turns away completely from you, as if you’re nothing more than an ignored child on the street. “It will be good for you, beloved wife. Character-building.” You hear the smirk in his voice and you hate him.

You want to strangle him. You want to beg him to protect you. You want to tear him limb from limb, but you want him to let you bury your head in his chest as he dispels the spirits with ease. You want--

The door slams shut behind him. He’s too cheerful as he throws behind him;

“Good luck!”

And you are left alone.

It takes a moment before anything slithers out from the shadows, and you clap your hand over your mouth to stop yourself screaming. The first cursed spirit is a hunched over creature with the face of a Pierrot clown, mouth stretched impossibly wide with gaping black abyss where eyes ought to be. It’s whispering something over and over to itself, but the wide mouth is so crowded with teeth that it comes out as an incomprehensible noise, dripping drool as it begins to move horrifically slowly towards you.

Oh, God. You’re not supposed to look at them, are you? You dimly recall something about many sorcerers wearing glasses so the creatures can’t tell where their gazes are, but this one has already got the scent of you; those dark pits staring at your crumpled form.

Everything you’ve ever been told in passing about jujutsu and cursed spirits and cursed technique just seems to flow out of your mind to be replaced by mind-numbing fear. You’ve not been trained for this; when your clan had arranged your marriage with Naoya, you know that they’d expected fine silken kimonos and traditional food and you being a pretty trophy on the arm of the future leader of their clan. You know they’d be horrified if they saw what was happening.

More of them are melting from the shadows, the whispering and moaning reaching a terrifying crescendo. You’re trembling. Your heart is beating so fast inside of your chest you think it might break free of your ribcage and sputter out onto the floor.

The Pierrot monster is close enough that you can see the six hands it drags on the floor are all tipped with claws that are sharp as blades. You scramble up the stairs on your ass, too afraid to turn your back on the creatures. You realise you’re shouting, but it seems just as blurred as anything that the cursed spirits are saying. You’re crying, too – howling, whimpering, so scared you’re surprised any noise is able to come out at all.

You’re going to die.

It hits you with cruel certainty as you reach the top and throw your weight at the door, only for it to not give an inch. You scramble at the heavy wood, not caring about your careful manicure (Naoya wants you to be a credit to him, and that means manicures and facial treatments and a fancy bathroom full of soaps and creams that he expects you to use and that he slathers, too, on himself). You hear a nail break but you can’t bring yourself to worry about that when the Pierrot monster is dragging itself up the flight of stairs, one step at a time. It makes a hideous sliding thump, like it’s both wet and heavy – and you notice, too, the scent of blood invading your senses.

Your tear-blurred eyes can see all of the other monsters, too – not quite as close, but still too close for comfort. Too many eyes and not enough eyes, too many legs, claws and teeth and misshapen bones and blood leaking from holes. What are you supposed to do?

Naoya has left you here, alone, to teach you a lesson. You hadn’t realised the lesson would culminate in your death, but with all of the spirits so close to you, you cannot see any other way.

All of the fight goes out of you and you sag against the door, a broken sob escaping your lips. Your throat is dry from hoarse screaming.

You are going to die. You hope it will come quick; you hope the Pierrot monster will tear you limb from limb and you’ll die in instants from the shock. Your voice whispers Naoya’s name one last, hopeless time.

Will he find another wife? Will they even bother covering up your death, or will they spin some rumour or lie to your family and the whole of jujutsu society that you brought it upon yourself?

You would do anything to be rescued right now. You would crawl on your hands and knees behind Naoya for the rest of your life, refer to him only as ‘Master’, fulfil every single thing he ever asked you with no more than a meek nod of your head. Pull out your tongue so you couldn’t make any more mistakes.

But the time for pleading seems to have gone entirely, and you are useless and stupid and weak as you run out of tears, eyes burning. All you can do, you think, is wait for death.

The door swings open behind you and you’re dragged backwards, onto tatami, by powerful hands gripping your shoulders as it closes once more with a massive clunk that echoes in your ears--

And you find yourself strewn out on the floor, face caked with dried tear-tracks, a trembling, pathetic mess looking up at your husband’s face.

He leans against the door, listening to you scream. He can hear his name mixed in with sobs and screams and pleading; saying that you’ll do anything, you’re sorry, you’ll never disobey him again you’ll take any punishment he metes out with a smile on your face, if he just helps you. He hears you call yourself weak and pathetic and useless around the tears clogging your throat; he hears the thump of you hitting the door and the sound of your nails scratching down the wood, uncaring of anything other than getting away from them.

Yes, he thinks as he opens the door for you and you fall, shivering and sobbing, in front of him. Yes, he thinks you’ve learnt your lesson.

You’re so pretty, he thinks, closing it once more (he sees the cursed spirits begin to creep back to where they came from at the very sight of him, now their preferred victim is protected), with your eyes all glassy and wet. You’re extra pretty looking at him like he’s a conquering hero who’s saved you from certain death – which he supposes he is.

You cling to his arm, pulling yourself up, burying your face in his chest as your hands cling to him like you’ve been lost and he’s the first familiar thing you’ve seen in months. Your tears soak his kimono, but . . . he finds himself not really minding, as big, lean hands pet you gently on the back.

“It’s alright now,” he soothes you, murmuring low. “Your husband has you.”

“Please, please, ‘m so sorry--” You’re mumbling into him, whimpering, your shoulders shaking. “Please never m-make me, again--”

“Shhh,” he continues, gently beginning to move towards his chambers. You cling to him, adrift in a sea of your own fears. “It’s better now. You’ll be better now, won’t you?”

He receives a fierce nod for that, your fingers twisting into his clothing. It’s nice, having you so wrapped around him; seeing him as the strong protector that he knows he is but you needed reminding of. You’re still mewling little pleas into him even as he unlocks the door to his bedroom and gently pushes you in. Letting go of him even for a moment seems to cause you physical pain--

Good. You should feel like that. You should feel incomplete without him at your side. Naoya rewards you with a rare, soft smile.

“You know why you had to be punished like that, don’t you?” He purrs to you, petting your hair and carefully drawing back so he can look at your face. Your lips are all swollen from crying and biting; he thinks you’ve never looked quite so kissable as you do right now.

“Yes,” you nod, fiercely. “I’m sorry. I’ll do a-anything, I promise. I . . .” You swallow, your eyes filling with tears again. Naoya has been hard since the moment he heard you call out his name from inside the training room, your voice filled with choked tears, and watching them well up again does nothing for the stricture against the fabric. “I needed you.”

“And I saved you,” he says, arching an elegant brow – to which you nod again, and your hands drift towards him like you’re aimless without him in front of you to serve. “I’ll protect you, darling, as long as you learn your place.”

“I will!” That’s said with such conviction that he can’t help the smirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I will. N-Naoya . . .” Your voice trembles a little. “’m willing to do anything for you. J-just please . . . not again.”

“Shh,” he reaches out and deigns to touch you, to gently and soothingly rub his thumb over your cheek, where the tears have dried. “If you’re really going to be so good for me, I won’t have to, will I?” You stumble forward onto your knees and Naoya’s brows shoot up in surprise as your hands tug at his hakama.

“Please let me show you how grateful I am,” you whisper, your eyes wide and bright and desperate. “Naoya, please, please, please--”

Oh, there’s something so gratifying about you like this, begging to suck his cock. It stirs between his thighs again, reminding him that he’s painfully stiff; and you are here, a willing mouth, scared out of your skull and desperate to please him. He’s smirking at you but you do not register it as such; all you see is the smile of your rescuer.

Your protector.

Your husband.

“Say what you want to do to me, darling,” he tells you, keeping his voice as sweet as he can make it. “You’re a big girl. You can use your words. What do you want to do, to show me how grateful you are that I saved your paltry life?”

You’re pouting; your mouth is sweet, pretty. He wants to pry your jaw open and fuck the back of your throat, and his body roars as your fingers tug on the hakama again and your meek, soft voice whispers;

“Please let me suck your cock.”

“You have a dirty mouth,” he coos to you, leaning forward to brush a finger over your lower lip. “Not befitting of a woman of your station. I suppose that means that it’s up to me to keep you quiet, hmm?”

You obediently open it, letting his finger gently rest on your tongue for a moment.

Desperate to please, your mouth closes about it, your tongue gently swiping over the pad, your cheeks hollowing a little as you suck on the digit inside of them. Naoya’s smiling again, the victorious grin of someone who’s gotten exactly what they wanted. He pulls his finger out and thrusts back in with two, whispering to you;

“Do you think you deserve my cock, after what you put me through today?”

You shake your head, but you don’t stop lavishing attention on the fingers in your mouth, a string of drool falling from the corner of your mouth as he presses his third finger inside of it. So warm, and wet. He needs his cock to be inside of you or he thinks he may embarrass himself.

The fingers are pulled out, wiped on the hakama fabric, before he says (the carefully adopted tone almost disinterested);

“Take them off, then. Don’t make your promises empty words. I wouldn’t appreciate such thoughtlessness in a wife.”

You’re eager, stripping off his clothes. Your mouth practically waters at the sight of his cock; elegant, flushed, hard and straining with a light upwards curve that he knows will hit you in the right place at the back of your throat to make you gag.

“Wait,” he says, as you lean in to bring him to your lips. “What do you say, darling?”

Your eyes (still brimming with tears, he notices – and fuck, he loves how you look teary-eyed and pouting. He has to make you cry more often) meet his, but the look in yours is worshipful so he doesn’t chide you for having the insolence to meet his gaze directly.

“Thank you,” you breathe. “For saving me. For letting me suck your cock. For everything.”

Naoya is smiling.

“Good girl,” he says, placidly, as you place a delicate kiss on the head of his cock and slowly envelope it in the warmth of your mouth. “Very good.”

[yhwhsdaughter]

HQ!! Manager being protective when people insult their player

(ft. oikawa, hinata, tanaka, yachi, osamu, kuroo)

Warnings: threats, physical altercations, bullying, public humiliation

I usually don’t condone the usage of violence, but I woke up mad today lmao

OIKAWA

the pretty setter was getting ready to serve, his fangirls screaming in support while the rest of the team took a break.

to the side were a couple of guys staring in jealousy, “heh, his weak ass gets a big ego just because—”

they continued their insults and while they didn’t reach oikawa, his team members certainly heard it all

teasing oikawa was different when it came from them because they genuinely cared about him,, but for someone else to continuously bully the setter without reason?? it was infuriating

before any of them could kick their asses, their manager approached them.

(name) was perhaps the most polite individual they’d met; always patient and kind despite their antics

“ah, i can see the misunderstanding that oikawa is a weakling. he’s got a broken knee and constantly pushes himself despite the excruciating pain.”

the aura surrounding them suddenly turned dark and cold as (name) clutched the shoulder of the main bully with an iron grip

“what about you? shall i break your knee so we can find out if you’re stronger than him?”

at that moment, their gentle mannered manager had the eyes of a beast, unyielding as the guy tried to escape their grip

when they left, the players approached (name) who still glared in that direction. “woah we didn’t know you could be so scary (name)”

now calmer, they replied, “you’re my team, i would kill anyone that tries harm you.”

it was such a matter-of-fact that the males couldn’t help but laugh “haha you’re funny too”

“am i laughing?”

that day they learned their precious manager would deadass commit murder for them

extra: when oikawa found you defended him, he ran with open arms, “(name)-channnnn marry me!” squeezing the life out of you

HINATA

competition hadn’t even started and people were already shit talking karasuno

“flightless crows” blah blah blah

as their third manager, you would be in the benches with yachi, supporting the team

however, hinata had gone to the bathroom and he wasn’t back. daichi had sent you to get him since the game was about to start

you found the team’s sunshine nearly corned by a tall player “aah you’re so short and you’re a middle blocker?? i’ll be looking down on you little shrimp!”

he didn’t get to say more because your leg swiftly hit the back of his knees, falling to the ground harshly.

no one and i mean no one messes with hinata without you getting a few hits in, regardless height

“oh look. you’re below him now”

mans was lucky y’all were in a competition, otherwise he wouldn’t have left unscathed

with that, you steered your baby hinata away from that asshole, throwing him a dirty look in case he wanted to try anything

if he did, you would not hold back. literally on sight

fyi hinata was totally not blushing the entire way back. everytime you approach him now he gets all flustered

everyone else is like ???

TANAKA

the ladies man, tanaka had encountered a group of attractive girls at the arcade so he decided to shoot his shot

when they declined, tanaka was prepared to leave them alone, respectful of a woman’s boundaries, but they decided to verbally attack him

“who’d wanna go out with you?” “yeah you’re so ugly, stupid baldie”

wrong move

unfortunately for them, you were also at the arcade, having heard how the entire conversation went down

you knew tanaka would never use violence against a girl, even if they were rude, but you would.

equal rights equal fights bitch

those girls never saw it coming, you grabbing the leader’s hair roughly and yanking it back, “you’re right, longer hair is much better”

you went feral; simultaneously slapping the others away when they tried to pull you off, your tight grip never faltering.

only when tanaka placed a gentle hand on your arm that you released her

“insult him again and you’ll be the baldie next time”

in short, tanaka now sees you as his personal deity. boy will adore you

YACHI

the third years were gone now

kiyoko had left the team in your and yachi’s hands, with you mainly taking charge as the now-third year manager

the team all sat together for lunch (yes, tsukki too), they were waiting for you since you’d been talking with a teacher

a girl in front of you side-eyed yachi, watching with envy as the blonde sweetheart spoke with the handsome volleyball players

plan brewing in that toxic mind of hers, the girl pretended to trip, spilling her lunch all over yachi. the team didn’t have time to react, watching in shock as food splatted on her lap

sis even had the audacity to say “oh sorry didn’t see you there” as if she didn’t just purposefully throw her food on someone else

worry not, because you returned the favor.

as soon as she gave her faux apology, your food was already making its way down her head to her shoes

there wasn’t a part of her left uncovered

“my bad, i thought you were the trash” you did not look sorry at all

half of the cafeteria watched this unfold—tsukki even making some snide remarks. you grabbed yachi’s hand, guiding her to the restroom to help her clean off

from that moment on, people got the message to never mess with the volleyball team lest they face the wrath of their manager

OSAMU

osamu was your best friend, the reason why you joined inarizaki as their manager

currently, you were in home ed, making the assigned dish but it wasn’t difficult so your movements were lax so much that you couldn’t help but overhear the conversation going on in front of your table

at the mention of osamu, your ears perked up

“he was SUCH a jerk. i kept asking hoping he would grow tired and say yes, but nooooo. apparently osamu thinks he’s better than me”

some of her friends looks uneasy at her inability to take ‘no’ for an answer but the girl continued on her rant

the teacher stepped out for a moment. “HAHAHAHHAHA” the class turned to look at you, laughing like a maniac while you chopped vegetables with scary precision and inhuman strength

“you sure got some nerve, harassing someone like that.. especially my best friend”

that was the moment the grew knew she’d fucked up. she couldn’t even answer back because the teacher was back.

you made a point to ask the teacher if you could be partners with that girl for the next lesson, making her gulp in fear as you ran a finger across your throat

to say the least, she stopped talking for the remainder of the class

KUROO

chemistry?? you and kuroo?? friends?? together in class???

a fucking chaos

just kidding. the two of you were actually really good students. the best, if you had to brag

despite being the teacher’s favorite, you were lowkey about it while kuroo liked to insert as many chem jokes as he could in presentations

it was kinda embarrassing and you subtly teased him, but never with malicious intent

during a lab, you got partnered with a bully. you tried to ignore him and continue working, but it kept getting worse.

the breaking point was dragging in kuroo to all of this. you’d rejected his offers of going on a date and when kuroo made a motion to ask if you were ok, the dude took it as a sign to talk shit

“seriously? him? he’s a fucking nerd. his jokes are lame and has shitty hair—”

your eye twitched. “oi you better stop if you don’t want me to burn your face off”

clueless in class, he didn’t know how to handle the material so you were doing all the work. he didn’t believe you

bringing in the acidic substance near his face is when he finally backed away, at which point you had already called the teacher and told them that he was playing around with dangerous chemicals

although it was the other way around, who do you think the teacher believed, their star student or the school bully??

lmao, bitch could ask his detention buddies out on a date now

kuroo: ??

[talatomaz]

lockdown | jj x fem!teen!reader

a/n: i can’t believe that a year ago today, the last ever episode of criminal minds aired. i miss jj so much 🤧

this is sort of in line with my own experiences (to a certain extent). and there’s not as much jj x d!r as i’d intended but I hope you still like it.

(feedback/positive comments are appreciated)

requested by @ouat2017 : “could you do a jj x daughter where the daughter’s school is on lockdown and jj is worried or something like that?”

warnings: gun violence. blood

word count: 2.6k

masterlist | request list | request rules

r is jj’s 18 year old adopted daughter and suddenly finds herself on lockdown after someone brings a gun into her school

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“Look, you’re the one that needs to be tutored so can you please focus?”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest in annoyance.

You were currently in the tutoring centre trying to help a self-absorbed jock pass English so he could remain on the school’s football team.

Looking around you, you saw a handful of students giving both you and Cameron - the man-child you were tutoring - disparaging looks.

“You’re not supposed to be yelling at me. You’re meant to be telling me the answers.”

The aforementioned narcissist leaned against his chair, smirking at you in a way that made you fight to hide a shudder.

You could have easily wiped the grin off his face by mentioning who your mother was and who she worked for but instead, you decided to just continue ignoring his advances and carry on teaching him.

“That’s not how this works, Cameron. Now either you listen to me or you fail and get kicked off the team. And quite frankly, I’d rather the latter happen.”

You watched as his brows furrowed in confusion. Sighing, you answered, “latter means the second thing of two things mentioned in a sentence. Now, for the love of God, just finish writing your paragraph on Heller's satire of capitalism in Catch-22.”

You let out a breath of relief when he finally relented and started to scribble on his sheet of paper. You glanced over at one of your friends, who was also tutoring for extra credit, and smiled when she rolled her eyes at Cameron’s actions.

Leaning against the large desk that stood at the front of the room, you relished in the long-awaited silence aside from hushed whispers that came from other students asking for help.

Taking out your phone, you glanced at the screen to see that it was only midday and soon the lunch bell would be ringing.

You smiled softly at your lock screen.

It was a photo of you and JJ, your adoptive mother.

It was taken a few weeks prior at your 18th birthday party. You’d been living with JJ for almost 5 years now; her having fostered you before later adopting you when you were 14.

You still didn’t know what she saw in you on that day you’d first met her - you’d lost your family in a home invasion, barely surviving yourself - but whatever it was, you were grateful because you’d gotten a second chance at life.

Several minutes passed and you’d only broken from your train of thought when you heard someone clearing their throat beside you.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw your friend, the one who’d rolled her eyes earlier at Cameron, standing beside you.

“I see you finally got him to do his work.” She whispered, loud enough for your ears only.

“Barely. He still has an essay to write and hasn’t even finished a paragraph yet.”

“I would have smacked his sorry ass by now.”

You laughed before clamping your hand over your mouth, her comment having caught you off guard.

“Ally!” You whisper-shouted, playfully hitting her arm.

She looked at you with a raised eyebrow causing you to smirk, “Trust me, I’ve thought about it but-”

Before you could finish your sentence, a large bang rang out, shattering the silence the room had once held.

With wide eyes, your head whipped to the door where the gunshot had presumably come from and you listened as the hallways were filled with panicked screams.

Running to the door, ignoring the gasps and shouts from the other students behind you, you turned the lock on the door, pulled down the blinds, switched off the lights and jammed a chair under the handle.

Looking up, you saw everyone had the same look of panic in their eyes; a few were crying, including Ally, and others were pale with shock, Cameron was one of them.

“Guys, we’re gonna be okay but we have to be quiet.” You whispered harshly, constantly looking over your shoulder at the door, listening for any indication of the shooter coming your way.

Everyone stared at you, as if you were the leader of a camp and they were small children awaiting for further instruction.

You supposed it wasn’t far off.

By taking charge, you were the one who’d been unwillingly given the role of protector.

“First things first,” you walked over to the group of 10 students, “I need you all to make sure your phones are on silent. We can’t risk being caught.”

You watched as everyone followed your instructions.

“I know you all want to call your parents but that’s going to attract attention to us so for right now, we need to be quiet.”

Your heart was beating out of your chest and as you spoke, one thought repeated in your head. JJ.

Taking out your phone, you scrolled to find your mother’s name in your contacts. You watched as your thumb hovered over her name.

Just breathe, y/n. Breathe.

Tapping your mother’s name, you brought the phone to your ear.

“I thought you said we couldn’t call anyone.”

Your eyes locked onto Cameron’s, his face pale and his eyes filled with terror and a hint of anger.

“My Mum works for the FBI.” You whispered as the phone rang out.

Any other time and you probably would have laughed at the way his face grew paler, if that was even possible. But, in a situation this tense, it was going to be difficult to find any levity.

Your Mum picked up on the second ring and you let out a shaky breath when you heard her voice.

“Hi baby. A bit early for your lunch, isn’t it?”

You closed your eyes at her soft tone, as if you were trying to engrave the way she spoke into your mind lest you would never hear it again.

From your lack of response, the blonde sensed there was something up, “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

A single tear dropped down your cheek as you struggled to maintain a steady tone. Catching a glimpse of Ally staring at you, you steeled yourself and spoke.

“Mum, you need to come quick. Someone’s brought a gun into school.”

“Oh my-AARON.”

You winced when you heard her shout for her boss, listening as you could hear her run up stairs. You held your breath as she filled Hotch in on what was happening before telling Garcia to hack into your school’s security system.

“Are you okay? Stupid question. But are you hurt?”

“Mum,” you interrupted her rambling, “I’m fine. I’m in the tutoring centre with 10 other people. I don’t know how many people are injured. It just all happened so fast.”

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be okay.”

Though you could hear the clear panic in her voice, her words did bring some form of reassurance to you.

“Penelope’s hacking into the system so hopefully she can have eyes soon.”

As she spoke, you could hear the clacking of keys in the background of the call; presumably Garcia doing exactly what JJ said.

“Mum?” You questioned when you heard Garcia swear.

Instead of JJ answering, the usually peppy tech analyst replied, her voice shaky and wet, as if she was crying.

“Y/N, thank God you’re okay.”

“What’s wrong, Garcia?”

“Someone’s disabled the cameras remotely. I can only get them back online if someone reprograms them from the inside.”

Grasping what she was explaining, you nodded, “I’ll fix them.”

“What? No!”

Your mother had taken the phone off of Garcia.

“You are not leaving that room, y/n. We’ll find another way in.”

“Mum, someone needs to fix the system from inside the school. I need to do it.”

Ignoring your mother’s worried shouts, you continued to speak, “Mum, I have to. I love you.”

You disconnected the phone and switched it off, preventing her from being able to call you back.

“Y/N, you are not leaving this room.”

You’d only just realised that everyone had been watching you intently during that entire interaction.

“Yes, I am.”

Moving away from the huddle, you rose to your feet and replied to your friend.

Cameron rose to his feet and towered over you as he challenged you, “No, you are not. You’re going to put us in danger.”

“Do you know how to hack into our school’s security system and then reconnect the transformer and enter the Mastercode?”

His face contorted to a look of confusion making you reply,

“Exactly.”

Turning to leave, you felt a large hand enclose around your arm.

“I said, you’re not leaving.”

Your eyes flickered from Cameron’s hand up to his face that dared you to take another step.

“Remove your hand from my arm before I remove your hand from your body. You may letter in football but I’ve been trained by some of the best FBI agents there are and unless you want to end up in a sleeper hold, I suggest you shut up and do what I say for once.”

His harsh grip almost immediately lessened as his hand returned to his side.

“Good. Now, have any of you been shot? No? I didn’t think so. Well, I have and whoever did get shot is probably bleeding out in the hallway. I can’t not do anything.”

No one dared to respond and instead, shook their head ‘no’ at your asking if anyone else would try to stop you.

Content that you weren’t going to deal with any more unnecessary distractions, you made your way to the door and gently removed the chair that was beneath the handle.

“Ally, you’re in charge. Lock the door when I leave. By my count, the FBI will be here soon. And Cameron, you do anything stupid and I’ll shoot you myself.”

Unlocking the door, you stepped out into the empty hallway and hastily made your way to where the main security hub was located.

Just a couple of hours ago, all you had wished for was silence but now that your wish had been granted, all you wanted was to hear the playful shouts and conversations between your friends and fellow students.

The silence that currently fell on your school was unnerving and unbearable. And with each step you took, you flinched at the sound your shoes made against the marble floor. Each noise practically acting as a beacon for the shooter to come find you.

You let out a sigh of relief when you found the Hub and you quickly worked to reconnect the security system. Typing on the laptop that rested atop one of the servers, you couldn’t help the smile that formed when all the cameras re-engaged.

Tapping on one of the keys, you navigated through the various cameras, looking for any indication of the shooter or of any injured people. You stopped when you caught a glimpse of someone.

Squinting at the screen, you saw, what appeared to be a freshman - since you didn’t recognise him as being a part of your year - laying on the ground, a hand clutching his stomach as blood coated his clothing.

Immediately knowing where he was, you cautiously made your way to the east hallway before running when you noticed him laying on the ground, his blood coating the once-white marble floor.

Falling to your knees, you pressed your hands against his wound, trying to stop the steady flow. He groaned out in pain, tears staining his face.

“H-Help me.” He choked out.

“What’s your name?”

“Jackson. But everyone c-calls me J-Jack.”

“Jack, you’re going to be okay. I just need you stay with me, okay? I’m-”

“Y/N.”

You failed to hide the surprise from your face making the younger teen smile despite his predicament.

“You’re t-tutoring Cameron. Everyone knows who you are. Y-You’re the one who doesn’t take any of his shit. I think h-he likes you.”

“Well, tough shit for him. I may be bi but he’s definitely not my type.”

Jack’s laugh quickly turned into another groan of pain.

Unzipping your jacket with one hand, you used the other to keep pressure on his wound. After removing the jacket, you harshly pressed it against his torso and watched as it barely absorbed the blood.

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not. I won’t let you.” You said, tears filling in your eyes as memories rushed back of when you tried to save your brother after he’d been shot.

“You’re going to be okay. I just need you to-”

You stilled when you heard footsteps come up behind you.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You didn’t recognise the voice and couldn’t bring yourself to turn around to face the person who’d caused all this pain.

You opened your mouth before closing it again, unsure of what to say.

Closing your eyes, you readied yourself for your inevitable death when a shot rang out and a body slumped to the ground beside you.

Jumping at the action, you turned around and almost collapsed in relief at what you saw. Your Mum and her team stood behind you with several SWAT members flanking them.

The tears that had once filled your eyes now spilled shamelessly down your cheeks.

Without saying a word, JJ holstered her gun and ran to your side, hugging you as best she could since your hands were still pressed against Jack’s wound.

Paramedics soon followed and after that it was all a blur. It was as if you were floating outside of your body. Logically, you knew it was the effects of an adrenaline crash but you felt so disconnected from your body.

You barely took note as your mother gently lifted you to your feet, allowing you to be briefly looked over by the paramedics. Nor as your mother escorted you to one of the school bathrooms where she rinsed the blood off your hands.

You didn’t even say a word until you’d arrived back at the BAU where a worried Penelope wrapped you in a tight hug which you returned.

“I’m gonna take her up to my old office, Hotch.”

The Unit Chief simply nodded as he and the rest of the team watched as JJ led you to the abandoned office that was still filled with random case files.

Closing the door, she sat you down on her sofa and stared at you, not touching you in fear that even a simple caress would cause you to shatter.

You exhaled a long breath before finally speaking, “I’m sorry.”

Her brows narrowed, “Sorry? Sweetheart, why?”

You looked at your hands that had been coated in blood less than an hour before and then up at your mother; her blue eyes filled with nothing but concern, love and confusion.

“You told me not to leave and I did. I’m sorry.”

And with that, you started to cry heart-wrenching sobs that made your shoulders shake.

JJ gathered you in her arms, gently rocking you as her long blonde hair draped over you.

“It’s okay, y/n. I got you, baby. You’re safe now.”

Her arms wrapped tightly around you as she laid soft kisses on your head, her hand stroking your back.

That only served to make you burrow into her even more, seeking comfort in her motherly embrace.

You muttered your apologies as she continued to reassure you that you were okay.

JJ was afraid that if she stopped, you wouldn’t be here, safe in her arms.

Still rocking you in her arms, she whispered in your ear,

“I got you, baby. You’re safe now.”

[1994sunflower]

Hey! First of all, I love your story SO MUCH, you’re such an amazingly talented writer! Also, I was wondering if you could dig deeper into Micheal’s soft side (never get tired of it) in which maybe Y/N is sick, like she collapses for high fever or something, and he has to take care of her

thank you so much!! and ofc, I love exploring michael's soft side. he can be such a sweetheart when he wants to be (which is like never lol).

in which you’re sick

It would have been bearable if it was just exam week. You’d done that a million times. But the fact that you were also doing grad school applications along with your extracurriculars - suddenly you felt as if there was not enough hours in the day. In a week even.

Even with the sacrifices you’d made. You’d taken to forgetting food times. When you did remember, you’d have to eat during one of your other activities, usually studying and that just led to spills and half eaten food. It had only been about a week into these habits that you had gotten sick with a cold. It wasn’t a surprise, you were overworked, exhausted - no wonder your immune system was depleted. But it made your work and concentration that much more difficult, you’d cried more than once at the circumstances.

But maybe the hardest has been forgoing seeing your beloved boyfriend. It wasn’t that he was a nuisance, it was just that he was distracting and right then, you didn’t have to time to deal with distractions. Lest he succeed in distracting you like he so often does.

It’s been nearly two weeks since the last time you saw him. Something he agreed very begrudgingly to. But he knew how important your grades were so he agreed nonetheless. You texted him nearly hourly but still it felt nothing like having his comforting presence right next to you. It might have been the reason you caved and let him come visit you after he insisted. Not that he likely would have accepted your denial. He missed you just as much and he needed to see you, especially with how worried he was starting to become.

He used the excuse of bringing you lunch and you, weak and missing him, accepted it, knowing he would probably try to stay for much longer than just that.

But you could deal with that and him firmly when it came to that. He always listened to you.

You were at your desk, crumpled papers beside you, tissues, and about ten different tabs open on your computer, with the beginnings of one of your many application essays open on your tablet. You kept alternating between the two works and by the end of it, you almost felt a hysterical scream wanting to leave you. Nothing was good enough.

When you heard the keys clinking at the door, was the only time you had snapped out of your almost unhealthy focus on your work. By the time you realized just how awful you look, it was too late. Your hair was in a ponytail, different strands already falling out of the scrunch by how much you tugged at your hair in frustration. You wore no makeup and the bags under your eyes were more prominent than ever. The sick pallor to your face was probably so much more obvious, if the sniffles and occasional cough didn’t give your sickness away. Not to mention the pajamas that still adorned your body.

But Michael had already opened the door before you could even think of last minute changes to your appearances. All you could do was turn around in your chair to face him, clearing your throat in hopes of pushing back any coughs.

Just as it’d been nearly 2 weeks without seeing him, it’d been 2 weeks of you living this mentally drained lifestyle. And you looked it. Not that it mattered. Michael had never made you feel insecure or anything but the prettiest girl he’d ever laid his eyes on. He loved you, no matter how you looked.

And that was proven when he finally took you in after 2 weeks of not seeing you. His eyes shone with the same love they always held when he looked at you, now with also a sense of relief at finally being right with you. No hint of judgement.

There was a third emotion there too. Worry. But you didn’t have time to try to dissect it because you knew it would just lead him to get you to take a break and lose time you could be spending on working.

Normally you’d be the one who greeted him first, excitedly. But you were too tired to hold that same energy and you hadn’t used your voice for anything other than frustrated groans. All you could do was smile weakly when Michael lifted the bag of food in his hands. The action made you swoon just a bit, you knew it was likely his first time being so attentive to someone, going beside himself to make sure they’re fed and bring it to them. He never would have the same detail with anyone else.

“Got your favorite.” Michael gravely voice finally hit your ears and you had to close your eyes for a second. You’d missed him, much more than you had allowed yourself to think of.

Opening them back up took more effort than you wanted to think of. It seemed that now that you weren’t hyper focused on the work in front of you, the mental tiredness you had been ignoring was finally starting to seep in.

When you stood, you had meant to say a ‘thank you’ before walking over to serve your food but the moment you got to your feet, you felt a wave of dizziness overtake you. Your body swayed for a moment, only stopping when one of your feet that had almost lost its footing, stomped down and you took a hold of the back of the chair you just left. Eyes closed tightly to try to center yourself.

When you opened your eyes, Michael was staring at you with wide eyes, intense with the worry that had been there before much more prominent. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, coughing slightly despite yourself. “Yeah, sorry. I think I might just be hungry.” You tried for a giggle to lessen the mood but Michael didn’t smile or relax at all. His eyes just raked in your figure.

“Are you sick?” That would have been bad enough but if he knew you were sick and didn’t tell him so he could have made sure you were okay, all hell might break loose.

“Sorry I didn’t have time to make myself look better today, okay?” Your tone was a lot snappier than you intended for it to be and that he expected, as evidenced by him rearing back in surprise. You were just so tense. But instead of apologizing you just made your way over to him. No wobbling, no swaying. You were fine.

You didn’t want to deal with defending how you took care of yourself (or rather how you didn’t). You didn’t have time anyway. You’d barely have time to eat what he brought you but the least you could do was eat a bit of it.

“It smells great.” You sniffled. You tried to reach for your food but Michael moved the bag back. His eyes never left you, analyzing every little move you made. It was unnerving. You couldn’t imagine how others withstood his gaze whenever he was angry at them.

“Y/N-” You made an impatient sound. Every time he said your first name, he was serious. And somehow, right then, it made you defensive. “You said you only needed a few weeks to focus on your shit and that you’d be fine without me having to check on you.”

“I am fine.” You muttered yet you couldn’t quite meet his eyes when you said it.

“Yeah? Is that why you got dizzy just from fucking standing up?” His words were harsh and loud but you knew it was because he never really figured out how to show concern any other way. He was worried.

“I told you, I’m just hungry. I didn’t have breakfast today.” But maybe it wasn’t the right thing to say because you saw his eyes flare up with even more concern and anger. But right then, after spending days multitasking and still not even making a dent on the work you needed completed before your rapidly approaching deadline, you were able to match those emotions.

“Michael, I’m really not in the mood to argue with you today, okay? I’m busy and if I’d known you came here to judge everything I’m doing I would have told you not to come. I’m doing my best! Why is that….why…”

It was getting hotter in the room. You’d felt the warmth all day - week even - but as your anger and voice rose, so did the temperature. You barely had time to register the light headedness.

Your breath was shaky by the time you finished your rant and your eyes becoming suddenly distant as you looked around, confused, before you were falling backwards. You would’ve hit the ground if Michael hadn’t moved first and caught you in his arms.

You didn’t hear the frantic calls of your name, more scared than perhaps anyone had ever heard him, the apathetic man he was, sound. You didn’t feel the way Michael’s hands gripped your body, trying not to move you too much lest he do more damage. You didn’t feel the same dropping of his heart when he saw you go down and the freezing fear in his veins. The only thing you felt was his huge, shaky, sigh of relief when you opened your eyes a handful of seconds later.

With much effort, fluttering them to try to keep them open. You couldn’t really see what was in your line of vision, everything was so blurry. Eventually, it was too much effort and you kept them closed, but you felt yourself being picked up and carried. His heartbeat was fast, you felt as he carried you with your face pressed against his chest.

The first movement you made when he finally put you down on the soft bed was furrow your eyebrows, then your hand was rubbing your face. By the time you opened your eyes, confusion set in “What…?”

You didn’t finish when you looked beside you, seeing Michale on his knees next to the bed to be on your level. He looked paler than you’d ever seen him, eyes wide and watching you like a hawk.

It was then that it hit you that you didn’t really know how it ended up that he carried you into your room. You remember getting mad at him, the warmth that slowly overtook you, then the next thing you knew, you were in his arms.

Panic struck you next. How much time had you wasted? You had a final paper due by the end of the week. You had to submit an application in two days.

But when you attempted to sit up, much too fast if your dizzying head was anything to go by, Michael pushed you back down. No longer trying to negotiate with you. His eyes shown fiercely - letting it known that there was no room for compromise.

You couldn’t stop the four coughs that escaped you as you stared at him, pleadingly.

“Don’t.”

“But I have to-”

“You just fainted, Y/N.” Michael almost sounded mad but the waver in his voice gave away his true emotions. “You’re sick and your body’s exhausted, obviously. You’re not going to do shit. You’re going to rest and I’ll…handle it. Contact your professors or whatever so…don’t worry about deadlines or anything.”

His voice made it clear there was no point in fighting against him. Even though his relationships with professors was less than friendly and he never cared enough to ask for extensions for anything before in his life.

He took your hand in his big ones, dropping his head to rest his forehead on top of your fingers. As gentle as you’d ever seen him. “Why haven’t you been taking care of yourself?”

You didn’t answer for a long time and you were grateful that he wasn’t looking at you anymore so he couldn’t see the way your eyes filled with tears and your lip wobbled. You didn’t mean to scare him, or neglect yourself. But if you took the time to do anything else, you’d be behind. You were so tired.

“I d-don’t know.” You said as a few hot tears ran down your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

You felt his hands brush some of your hair from your face softly. “You scared me.” He admitted and somehow, you knew that for Michael, admitting that weakness was hard. But he didn’t mind being vulnerable in front of you.

His eyes bore into you, almost too intensely for you to be able to handle. Until his hand came up to your forehead and you found the excuse to close your eyes so you wouldn’t have to watch the worry in his.

“You have a fever.” He got up and you didn’t even get the chance for your sluggish brain to wonder where he went before he was already back, carrying a small bowl of water with a rectangular mini-towel on top. You weren’t sure how he knew exactly what to do for you, how he seemed so soft and tender in these actions that were so unlike him.

He put the cool, wet towel on your forehead as he sat next to your lying form on the bed. He was so close to you, leaning over you. You were scared he would get sick because of you but when you finally opened your mouth to speak again and told him so, he ignored you. As if that was the last thing he was worried about.

From the moment you collapsed, his attention had been on you and nothing else. Nothing else mattered in his mind. And that translated in every attentive action that made you feel so taken care of. This side of your brash boyfriend, the caring, delicate side at a time when you needed it most nearly brought tears in your eyes. It made it very obvious that despite what he might seem to everyone else, he was the perfect boyfriend, would make the perfect husband. For you. He made you feel supported and at home even when your body and energy seemed to be turning their backs on you.

“I’m hungry, Mikey.” You tugged at his sleeve. You weren’t sure if you were, really. You’d gotten used to the pulsing headache from the lack of food throughout the week. But judging by the heaviness of your eyelids, threatening to close and the weakness in your body, in your energy, if you didn’t eat, you might shut down again.

Your voice was croaky but he didn’t comment on it. His answer was almost automatic, “I’ll get the soup I brought you.”

You’d almost forgotten why he had been there in the first place. He’d insisted because he had missed you. And you missed him. He came to take care of you, going out of his way to do what he would never do for anyone else, just never imagining you were at your limit.

It was almost embarrassing. Being in your weakened state in front of him and having him tend to you like a child. Especially when, sitting up in your bed with a disorientation and a feeling of tiredness that seemed to be the only things you could truly feel at the moment. Plus the muted feeling of stress that never seemed to go away; it was screaming that you should be doing your work, that you’d fall behind.

But you didn’t have time to dwell on it before Michael came back with a bowl of warm soup in his hands and sat next to you again. Saving you even from your own thoughts without realizing it. He placed the soup on your nightstand and it wasn’t until he began to get a spoonful that you realized he meant to actually spoon feed you.

To think of your boyfriend doing anything so nurturing seemed almost unnatural. Yet here he was, without an ounce of hesitation or embarrassment. It was such as mismatch from his personality, his reputation and it melt your heart to think that he cared about you so much to throw all of that away for you and his worry for you.

You could only manage a feeble, “You don’t have to…”

Michael stared at you silently for a while, not a decipherable emotion seen in his face, before bringing the spoonful of soup up to your lips. “I want to.”

And while you knew Michael wasn’t a big talker, those three words dripped with sincerity. Matching the loving actions and gestures he was currently doing for you. It was clear, if it wasn’t already before, that nothing was more important than being there for you when you needed him the most.

He didn’t let you talk again until you finished the food, feeding you each sip. Until he was satisfied that you had eaten enough to compensate for your lack of nutrients the weeks he spent without you. This was just as new to him as it was for you to see, this side of him. Doing things that he never would have dreamed of doing for someone else. But it felt like second nature when he saw the woman he loved more than anything else in such a vulnerable state. He yearned to take care of you, to provide for you. To keep you happy and healthy. Especially with how often you take care of him.

“Was it good?” He asked. Though he knew you would’ve liked it. If not simply for the fact that you hadn't eaten much else then certainly for the fact that he went out of his way to go to your favorite restaurant and pick your favorite item from their menu. The one you got every time he took you there.

You nodded, “Thank you.”

You weren’t expecting it when Michael enveloped you into a hug. So tightly you couldn’t even hug him back even after you got over the shock. His face was buried in your tangled, messy hair. He breathed you in as if taking in the fact that you were okay, he mumbled into your hair, “I know how much you care about school and how hard you try because of that but….none of that shit matters compared to you.”

It was so hard for him to be without you for so long. But he did it for you, to give you the time you had asked for to focus on your work. It had never occurred to him the bad mental state the solitude could leave you in, what it would do to your physically. If he had known, he never would have let you be alone. He would’ve fought you tooth and nail if it was what it took but he would have checked up on you, been there for you. And that’s exactly what he’ll be doing from now on. He’ll be there for you.

“Get some rest,” He reluctantly let you go. “You need to sleep.”

When Michael got up, though you were objectively much too warm because of your fever, you felt a lonely cold. You didn’t want him to stay away so you could study and work anymore. You needed him and all the comfort he brought to your soul. And he didn’t want to leave you anymore either.

“Mikey!” You called to him as he switched off the light to your room. You heard him hum in answer. “Don’t leave, please.”

He didn’t answer you. But you felt him get into bed beside you, kicking off his shoes as if it wasn’t the middle of the day - as if he had nothing else he would rather do than sleep right then next to you. And by the way he put his entire day on hold the minute he saw your condition, you guessed he didn’t. You had an inkling that while you had every intention of not letting him distract you when he had first arrived, that he had already been planning on staying the entire day anyway.

You were glad he did. You wouldn’t have been able to keep going the way you were if he hadn’t forced you to confront your self-neglect and tended to you with such dedication and love.

Both of you were silent and you could feel your tired body begin to drift to sleep when your boyfriend spoke up from beside you. “Promise me you’ll start looking after yourself, no matter how stressed or how much stuff you have to do. Promise.”

You weren’t snuggled into him like you would want. But you could feel him on his side, staring at you in the dark. His voice was serious with a hint of desperation. He needed to hear you say it. To know that his loved one would never be put in such a mistreated circumstance ever again, you didn’t deserve it. Nothing deserved to have you feeling anything but cherished, healthy and confident. Not even yourself. Because he believed in you so completely.

Though he never planned on leaving your side, emotionally or physically, to have any negativity enter your thoughts or habits ever again. He was willing to carry the weight of the world if it meant you would feel the strength and happiness that had been beat out of you.

“I promise.” Your words were small but it was good enough. Michael took you in his arms then, again not caring for any risk he was running of getting sick himself.

The next time you spoke, it was mumbling against his shirt. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this. I must’ve looked so gross because I didn’t really get ready all week and I-”

“Shut up.” His words held absolutely no bite, they were whispered. “I don’t give a damn what you looked like today. You never look bad to me. I only cared about making sure you were okay. And I’ll keep being here to make sure, I’m never leaving you alone again. I promise. No matter what you say.”

Your heart felt so full at his sweet words, just for you.

Then it was back to the comfortable silence. Until you began coughing again, this time against his chest and you tried to pull away quickly, both scared for his health and embarrassed. “Michael, seriously, you’ll get sick.”

But Michael’s strong arms were like steel bracketing you to his body. Unmoving despite your protests. He only cared about finally keeping you to him, where he knew he could protect you and keep you close, especially after so long without you and having your health deteriorate because he wasn't around.

“Yeah, maybe I’ll get my own class extensions then if I do.” He said it seriously, and knowing his academic achievement, or lack thereof, you didn’t doubt he meant it.

But still, you couldn’t help but giggle at his words, knowing he was smiling right alongside you without even having to see it. It felt foreign, laughing after so long of your negative thoughts and stressed lifestyle but nice especially because of all those things. A positive, carefree spirit that filled you because of your loving boyfriend and being so cocooned in his protection right at that moment.

[synmorite]

Good Girl, Bad Boy

Characters: F!Reader, Jared, Jensen

Pairing: J2 x F!Reader

Summary: Jared can't follow Jensen's rules, so Jensen uses Y/N to punish him.

Word Count: 2.2k+

Warnings: polyamory, orgasm denial, cock cages, dom/sub relationships, daddy!kink, dom!jensen, switch!reader, switch!jared, M/M sex, anal play, anal sex, oral (m/f receiving), a miniscule dash of fluff. Y'all this smut from the onset!

A/N: So @hoboal87 and I absolutely LOVE to discuss and theorize fics on Bee's Discord server. We work so well together that @writethelifeyouwant challenged us to collaborate on a fic. @negans-lucille-tblr provided the prompt, "Jensen needs to punish Jared, and he's using Y/N to do it." This was written through a series of reblogs, with Alex and I only writing one part at a time with no discussions about what the other was going to do. The original post is here.

Special thanks to @hoboal87 for putting all of the reblogs together, creating such an awesome graphic, and for finishing the fic when I had to tap out to go to sleep. 😂 This was so fun and I'm excited for the next time we do it. (I also highly recommend checking out Alex's masterlist. She has got some amazing fics on there.🥰)

My Masterlist

Alex's Masterlist

“Since you can’t do as you’re told, we’ll have to use this instead,” Jensen grunts as he fastens the cage around Jared’s now softening cock.

Y/N leaned forward and pulled Jared’s wrists up to hook them into the handcuffs attached to the headboard. Jared whined as Jensen grinned and said, “No touching now, baby boy.”

Y/N moves onto Jared thigh, positioning her bare pussy on top of him as Jensen ties Jared's ankles, keeping him spread eagle. Slowly, Y/N starts to rock forward on Jared’s thigh, spreading her slick along his skin. Jared’s gaze zeroed in on his shiny flesh as he let out a low moan at the sight.

"Nuh-uh, babygirl," Jensen scolds you, letting his voice drop. You were already tense from a day full of teasing and you both know its not going to take much for the coil to snap. "If you're gonna get off, you'd better have my cock in you."

Y/N stopped moving immediately with a small whimper.

“Remember that we’re punishing Jared for coming without permission. You don’t want to be punished too, do you? Now you know what to do next.” Y/N nodded as she ran her hand down Jared’s caged cock, to his balls, to his still gaping hole.

Slowly, Y/N started to tease Jared hole. Jensen had instructed him to keep a plug in him while he was in quarantine, edge himself over and over again, but no cumming. Jared, the brat, of course couldn't help himself, sending you a video of him jerking off, spilling himself onto his tan and taut stomach. He'd begged you not to show Jensen, but you knew better than to hide this from him, lest you get your own punishment.

Part of you just wanted to help Jensen punish Jared though. It was one of the few times that Jensen gave you some control. You still had the rules to follow, of course, but it meant that you could play with Jared and watch him become desperate underneath your hands, your fingers. You smiled as you teased a finger into Jared’s hole to press against his prostate as he jerked beneath you. Jensen laughed, “Better hold on tight if you’re gonna play that game Y/N.”

Your mouth waters as you watch Jared's cock twitch in its cage, and he lets out another whimper as you hit his prostate again. Jensen moves behind you, his hand connecting with the bare flesh of your ass. It's not enough to leave a mark, only to remind you that you might be currently domming Jared, but Jensen was the alpha in the room. You let out a low moan when Jensen's fingers run through your slick, and you can practically see the smirk on his face.

"My two perfect little cock-sluts," Jensen works his thumb over your tightest hole. "Whaddya think I'll be the best way to show Jare that he should always follow Daddy's orders?"

You shivered as you pressed back against Jensen’s finger. You worked another finger into Jared and pressed against his prostate again without letting up. Jared’s back arch and he let out such a delicious whine that had goosebumps rising all over your bare skin. Jensen slowly pushed his own thumb through the tight ring of muscles at your hole and you let out your own gasp. You worked yourself back and forth on his thumb before turning your head and asking Jensen, “Can I pick something from the toy box to use on him, Daddy?”

"I dunno, babygirl," Jensen tsks, slipping two fingers into your dripping pussy, causing you to gasp out. You'd been under the same orders as Jared; two weeks without cumming, and the feel of his thick digits inside of you almost sends you over the edge. "Our baby boy wants to be fucked, and I don't think it'll be much of a punishment" -- Jensen slides a third finger into you -- "if we give 'im what he wants."

Jensen twists and pumps his fingers inside you, searching until he finds that spot inside you. You pull your fingers from Jared’s hole unable to continue playing with him as you moan out. You lean forward draping yourself over Jared’s sweat slick skin as Jensen thrusts his fingers in and out, faster and faster. “No coming yet, baby girl. ‘Member what I said? Can’t come till it’s my cock in you.” You whined and nodded before pressing your mouth against Jared’s chest. After Jensen hit that spot again, you bit down into Jared’s chest leaving teeth marks as Jared gasped out and his cock twitched in its cage.

Jared tugs against his restraints, "please, Jen," he begs, "lemme touch." You love seeing Jared like this, desperate and needy, giving all control up to you and Jensen. You want to have his hands on you as well, but you'll have to wait until Jensen's done doling out Jared's punishment. The most you can settle for at the moment, is a rough and sloppy kiss from Jared. You run your hands into his hair, giving it a tug as your tongue licks into his mouth.

“No, no baby boy. Y/N was a good girl, she waited like she was supposed to. You were bad. You don’t get to touch. You don’t get to decide.” Jensen taunted. He came around the side of the bed closest to Jared. Jared looked up at him as you ran your fingertips down his chest, sucking dark marks into the tan skin as you went. Jared whined at Jensen again. “Please Daddy? I can be good!” Jared pulled involuntarily at the restraints again as you tugged a nipple between your teeth. Jensen smirked down at you both before leaning down taking Jared’s mouth hungrily with his own. You watched the kiss, feeling the wetness pooling even more between your thighs. Jensen pulled away and Jared chased his lips, but Jensen stayed just out of reach. “Why don’t you prove it, baby boy?” Jensen said with another smirk.

Jared nodded eagerly, and Jensen let out a barely audible good boy. Jensen brought his lips to yours and smacked your ass again with a command of ‘up.’ You lift your ass into the air, straddling your body over Jared’s, letting your breasts just barely touch his chest. The sound of Jensen removing his belt is like music to your ears, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Jensen wastes no time, swiftly entering you and burying himself to the root. You’re glad he started to open you up with his fingers, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to enjoy this nearly as much. He holds himself there for a moment, before grabbing you by the nape of your neck, bringing your back flush to his chest. “Bet it won’ take ya long to cum, will it, slut?” he grunts as he starts thrusting into you.

You reach your hands down and grip onto Jared’s hips to hold on as Jensen thrusts grow harder and deeper. You can feel the coil tightening and tightening in your belly as Jensen’s hand slides around the front of your throat gripping just tight enough. His other hand slides down over your breasts and belly to start circling your clit harshly. You close your eyes and lean your head back on Jensen’s shoulder, panting. You feel Jensen bite at your neck before whispering into your ear, “Open your eyes baby girl. Look at what we’re doing to our boy.” You open your eyes and look down at Jared. His knuckles are white as his large hands are wrapped around the chain of the handcuffs and his hips are jerking up softly as his cock leaks precum onto his beautiful stomach. He’s making soft whines and whimpers that immediately make you remember the video he sent to you. The one that got him in trouble. Your gaze moves up from his cock and belly over all the little marks you left on his chest, and over his throat that is tensed as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down with each deep swallow. Finally, your hungry gaze meets his and you cum with a scream as you meet his lust black eyes.

“See?” Jensen grunts, moving one of his hands down your belly and over your clit. He starts rubbing you, working you through your orgasm and straight into another. You’ve barely come down before the coil snaps again and you sag against Jensen’s body.

“Those who follow the rules get rewarded.” If you weren’t on cloud nine, you’d feel bad for Jared, his cock straining against the cage. “Whaddya want now, babygirl?” Jensen groans as he slows his hips. You’re too orgasm drunk to form any coherent thoughts, all you want now is Jared’s mouth, and Jensen seems to notice when your eyes fall on them and you lick your lips. “You wan’ Jared to eat my cum out of you?” Jensen taunts, and you nod your head.

“Okay, baby, because you’ve been such a good girl, we’ll let Jared use his perfect mouth.” Jared hums in approval, and Jensen speeds up his thrusts, and after a few moments, he’s cumming hot and sticky inside you. He pulls out quickly, and you can feel him dripping down your thighs as you crawl back over Jared, placing your pussy above his mouth.

You grip the headboard next to the handcuffs and lower yourself down. Jared leans forward and licks up your inner thighs collecting the cum that escaped your pussy. He hums happily at the taste as he makes his way to your still dripping hole. The chain rattled as Jared pulled against them again. His long tongue dipped into your hole as you pushed down onto him more.

“Would you like me to remove the handcuffs?” Jensen asked from behind you. Jared pulled back a little as you moved your hips to follow his mouth and said “Yes, Daddy.” Jensen chuckled.

“Oh, baby boy, I wasn’t asking you. I was asking Y/N. Do you want Jared to be able to hold you still? While he eats every last drop of my cum?”

“Yes, please daddy. Please let him touch me.” You whined out.

“Ok, baby girl. For you.” Jensen reached forward and opened the cuffs, releasing Jared’s wrists. His hands immediately flew to your hips and yanked you further down onto his mouth. You let out a gasp as Jensen warned, “That’s the only place you can touch for now, baby boy. No where else.”

Jared agrees happily against your pussy, humming as his tongue moves frantically through your folds. His grip on your thighs tighten, and you’re sure that there will be imprints of his hands bruised on you tomorrow, not that you mind. You grind your pussy against his face harder, chasing one final orgasm, but you wanted to be able to see Jensen when you came-- another punishment for Jared. His name, not Jared’s, is the one you’re going to scream out. As you feel your third orgasm start to crest, you stop, and reach behind you for Jensen, you don’t feel him there, and you let out a needy whine. You turn your head and see Jensen on his belly, tonguing Jared’s hole, and slowly stroking his now-released cock. You reach out and tug on his short strands, not enough to elicit a punishment, but just to get his attention.

“What’s a-matter, baby?” Jensen pulls up, and Jared groans at the loss of Jensen.

“Need you, Daddy,” you moan. “Wanna see you when I cum.”

You turn yourself around so that you’re now facing Jensen, who starts working his cock into Jared. You lean forward, so that Jared’s cock is right under you, you look up at Jensen with wide eyes, asking silent permission to take his cock in your mouth.

“You don’t cum until I say so,” Jensen places his hand on Jared’s thigh, and you know he’s talking to both of you. “If you do, I’ll only be using those slutty mouths of yours for the next two weeks, and you won’t be able to cum that whole time, is that understood?”

You lift off of Jared slightly so that Jensen can hear a “Yes, Daddy,” from each of you.

You work Jared into your mouth, swirling your tongue around him, hollowing your cheeks and taking him as deep as you can. One of Jared’s hands disappears from your thigh as starts teasing your hole, working you into a frenzy. Jensen either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, but you’re sure that he’ll make Jared pay for his disobedience later. When Jensen gives him permission, Jared cums with a groan, hot and salty down your throat, and you greedily swallow every drop.

Jensen then pulls out of Jared, stroking himself as his spills over Jared’s stomach. “If you’re good, next time I’ll cum in this tight little ass of yours,” he scolds. “Now, since Y/N is the only one who can be a good girl, you’ve got 30 seconds to make her cum, or you’ll be wearing that cock cage for another week.”

Jensen scoops up his cum with his fingers, and brings them to your mouth, where you eagerly suck them dry. It only takes another moment before you cum a final time on Jared’s face. You take a moment to catch your breath before crawling off of Jared, and lay down next to him, Jensen appearing at your other side, sandwiching you between the boys.

“Y’all miss me?” Jensen breaks the silence.

“You know it’s not the same when you’re not here,” Jared speaks over you. “Now that The Boys is done, you can have a role on Walker. Come home to us every night.”

[kechiwrites]

tension headache

Ground Zero x Publicist!Reader

wc: 2.2k

“Being Ground Zero’s publicist comes with its own set of challenges, luckily there are quite a few benefits to sweeten the deal.” warnings: anal play, dirty talk, light degradation, light spanking, d/s undertones (or overtones w/e), bakugo being the king of bullies

author’s note: i’ve been writing this since august and it’s finally done. special thanks to @lady-bakuhoe​, @some-kindofgnome​, and @nightly-tales​ for betaing! 

Your head is throbbing. The sort of building tension headache you became most familiar with in high school; the kind that starts in the morning and gets stronger with every little irritant. You’re sure it's a tension headache from having your shoulders hunched up to your ears most of the day, a seemingly ever-constant by-product of trying to keep Pro Hero Ground Zero from biting a journalism student's head off. The obscenely large TV hanging above the receptionist’s desk plays Ground Zero’s greatest hits on mute as your heels click-clack towards the steel and glass elevators. 

It’s almost the end of his patrol and you know he’ll be up soon, sidekicks and assistants (two this month, because the first had the good sense to resign soon, lucky bastard) in tow. Four consecutive texts rattle your phone in your pocket to confirm this. Each one an iteration of “on our way up!.” Waving at his secretary, you let yourself into his office setting your purse on the floor. Further behind you can already hear the clamor of voices and activity that announces Ground Zero’s arrival, people no doubt scurrying out of his warpath lest they incur his wrath. He pushes open the heavy door and says nothing to acknowledge your presence. 

Your forehead throbs with irritation at the snub. You know it’s only a matter of time before either of you begin to push the other’s buttons but your employer seems to have a secondary quirk he uses only for you.

You like to call it Extreme Irritation.

“Would it kill you to be nicer to the press?” You give first, sitting on the overstuffed leather couch pushed against the easternmost wall underneath a frankly, unnecessarily large, framed photo of U-A’s graduating class. “Why do you insist on making my job so hard?”

“Can’t pay you for fucking nothing,” he scoffs, leaning against the desk in the center of his office. Carefully he divests himself of his gauntlets, handing one to his senior assistant, and placing its twin onto the desk next to his big gaudy nameplate, muttering; “Take this to Yumikawa, I think I broke the fucking thing.” When he’s halfway past the threshold, Ground Zero adds, “And tell her to do better with her shitty paint jobs!” His gaze snaps to the newest recruit, a tiny shivering thing who looks like a stiff wind could blow her over, “What the fuck are you standing there for? Go with him! Do I have to fucking tell you everything?”

She practically leaves a dust cloud in her wake. You roll your eyes and begin reading through news updates on your tablet, nails clicking lightly against the screen. Tweet after tweet and article after article summarize Ground Zero’s latest exploit, every title and byline more sensational than the last.

“Ground Zero Overshadows Daring Rescue with Another Tirade!”

“Is Ground Zero the Meanest Pro-Hero Ever?!”

‘imagine ground zero calling you stupid 🥴 #imahole’

You could almost laugh if it weren’t for the startlingly large amount of retweets on that last one. Finally, the pro hero deigns to address you; “I did as you asked, I smiled, I laughed, I didn't blow anyone up.” He actually sounds proud. You blubber in shock. “You called the reporter a fuck wit! They can't even air that!” For good measure you hold up the tablet to replay a heavily edited fancam of Ground Zero sneering at some poor junior reporter. “Isn't that what you wanted? Less of my insults on TV?” He is so smug, it drives you crazy. “Not like that!” You toss the tablet onto the couch beside you and stand, stomping towards Bakugo, who’s leaning against his desk, clenching his jaw, arms crossed, as if he didn’t spend the entire morning making you wish you’d never laid eyes on him. The two of you are growing more and more irritated with each other and it’s evident in the rapidly rising volume of your conversation.

"I'm serious, if you want to be ‘Number One’,” you stress through your teeth, “people have to like you, at least a little bit. That. Includes. The. Press.” Every word is punctuated with a strong poke to his sternum, and you try to ignore the pain of jabbing your finger into his brick wall of a chest. It feels as though the pristine white collar of your button-up shirt is digging into your throat while you try to restrain yourself from biting his stupid, perfect nose off.

Now it’s Bakugo’s turn to roll his eyes, “People like me.” He looks to his sidekicks for confirmation and you pointedly ignore them bobbing their heads in unison.

“Who?! Who are these people that like you?”

Bakugo gestures wildy at his sidekicks, “They like me!”

“They’re afraid of you! They respect you but they don’t like you!” You shake your head in disbelief.

“You like me!” He barks at you.

You almost choke on your surprised laughter. He really was absolutely ridiculous.

“I have to like you, you pay me!”  

“That’s right. I sign your cheques, you deal with all the media bullshit and make me look good.”

“You make it impossible for me!” If it weren’t for the intense tunnel vision your arguing was giving you, you would have seen Ground Zero’s sidekicks inching slowly towards the door.

“Well maybe you’re just shit at your job!” He turns away from you to push papers to the side of his desk, the gesture a clear dismissal that only serves to rile you further.

“Oh fucking bite me, Katsuki!” As soon as it’s out you slap your hands over your mouth, eyes wide as dinner plates.

You were exhausted and tense and so mad but it’s not what you agreed on, never at work and never in front of subordinates. In an instant it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. Bakugo’s expression is furious when he whirls on you. You chance a look over at his assistants and all colour has left their faces, ‘Impressive,’ you think idly, ‘Considering Haruto is literally purple.’ 

“Out. Now.” He growls, and his teeth are clenched together so hard you think they might shatter, his throat is rapidly turning red and his hands are clenching and unclenching around nothing. The sidekicks hesitate and you’re a little grateful for their loyalty. 

“Fucking out. NOW!” He yells, and they nearly fall over each other trying to get out the door. 

“And there goes the loyalty,” you murmur while you watch their hasty retreat. “I’m sorry,” you say, turning to face him head-on, apology punctuated with the slamming shut of his office door. You focus on the wall of windows behind him, the city skyline slowly lighting up in the nighttime, preparing for an infamous Ground Zero meltdown. “That was inappropriate, especially in front of subordinates.” Idly, you wonder what the theme this time will be; Disrespect? Insubordination? Or just a good old-fashioned dress down? He’d become quite wordy over the years, you were almost beginning to enjoy them.

While you muse Bakugou inches closer to you, cheeks a mottled red. His shoulders rise and fall repeatedly, like he’s bringing himself down from the peak of his anger. For a moment you think he’ll just outright scream in your face, but when he pulls you, first towards him and then past him until your stomach presses against his desk, you realize quickly what he’s planning. 

His forearm presses against your back until you’re bent over his desk, your hands palm down between the wood and your chest to prevent your face meeting the cool oak. It’s bordering on humiliating how easy he can manipulate you. But they don’t teach hand to hand combat in the business sector, and although you’d toyed with the idea - being in a high-risk industry and all - you never put stock in seriously learning. 

The blond’s hand snakes over your shoulder, slightly damp palm advancing until it’s pressed against the smooth flesh of your throat. Katsuki pulls you towards him this way, and for a short moment breathing is a laboured task. The other hand makes quick work of divesting you of your skirt and underwear, coming down in an instant to make contact with your bare ass. He rubs at it covetously, a shallow attempt at soothing your stinging skin. 

There’s no formality when he thrusts into you, only a few seconds between feeling  the head of his cock parting your embarrassingly slick folds and him being fully seated within you. You grit your teeth against a whine, fingers scrambling for purchase when he withdraws and fucks into you again, and then again, pace slowly gaining momentum until you can swear the heavy oak desk (and seriously that thing weighs a fucking ton) is shifting with the force.  Your stomach presses painfully into the gilded metal decorating its edge but it’s good. Katsuki is so fucking good at taking you apart with every inch he drives into you. Above you he mutters lowly about how fucking wet you are, how eager you must’ve been all day, waiting for him to fill you. It goes on like this for a while, you bouncing between his hips and the desk, him whispering filthy, untrue shit in your ears that makes your nipples hard and your breathing shallow. 

He places his free hand on your back, first up under your shirt, then slowly slides it down, until it’s resting on the roundness of your ass again. You don’t know what he’s planned till his thumb’s parted you, sliding softly over the clenched furl of muscle above your stretched open cunt. 

“Bakugou, no!” you whisper hoarsely, your voice just edging on hysterical as you struggle against his hold. 

“Excuse me?” He hisses between his teeth, thrusts not slowing for a second. The hand around your throat tightens and when he pulls you closer so his sneering mouth is brushing the shell of your ear, you unwillingly tighten around his dick in response. 

“(Y/N),” his voice is almost pleasant, and had you not been split open on his cock in his office, you’d ask him who taught him an ‘interview voice’. 

“Can you tell me who's name is on the building?” While he teases you, you can feel yourself getting wetter around him, thighs tensing and relaxing with the sensation of being spread open beneath him.

“Yours.” You wish you could fall through the fucking floor.

“I’m sorry?” His thumb presses a little more insistently against your pucker. The pressure is foreign, but not at all bad. Dear God, you’re really about to let him do this to you.

“Yours, sir.” You pant, the burning sensation in your cheeks and neck a mix of exertion and shame.

“Fucking say it,” Katsuki tightens his hold on your throat and your whimpers are barely audible over the sound of his hips brutally meeting your ass.

“G-Ground Zero.” you choke out through your clenched teeth. 

“Oh good, so you can read!” Katsuki releases you from his hold and you fall forward. With every thrust, your feet lift off the floor, and you lurch forward like a ragdoll. Katsuki pushes his thumb further inside you, belly-laughing when you cry out in pleasure.

“Where’d all that resistance go, sweetheart?” His digit fucks in and out of you in tandem with his cock, keeping you full constantly. “You know what? Next time, I’m gonna take my time stretching you, keep you wide open, maybe you can wear a plug for me, huh? And then after you’ve been soft and needy all day, I’ll slide right into you, fuck you till you gape for me.” 

You’re incapable of firing back, mouth occupied with moaning incoherently while you drool against the desk. Katsuki chokes off his own moan, using his unoccupied hand to hike up your leg so he can have easier access to your clit. The calloused pad of his fingertips press hard against you. He goes so slow, pushing and nudging at you until your entire body feels feverish and your climax takes you by surprise, forcing a yelp from your lips when your legs begin to shake. 

“That’s it. Come for me. Come on my dick.” Once he’s sure you're done, he pulls his finger from your ass and releases your leg, blanketing your back with his chest. His hips are quick to lose their rhythm as he fills you, ropes of his spend coating your insides. Katsuki shudders against you, hands running a course along your hips. He pulls away, the evidence of your time together sliding down the inside of your thigh without Katsuki’s cock to hold it in.

“I’m going back to working for Hawks.” Your voice is hoarse when you can finally speak again and levering your chest up off the desk onto shaky knees only serves to make your head spin more. You glare at your boss your boyfriend as he dresses.

Katsuki’s grin is derisive while he tucks his softening dick away, “Like fuck, you love working for me way too much to work for that fuckin’ pretty boy.” He leans down in front of you and slides your underwear up from your ankles back into place, followed by your skirt before pressing soft lips to your forehead, smoothing his hands over your cheeks. 

At least your headache is gone.

taglist: @enjifuckersupreme @pleasantanathema

[vanderlindemorgans]

Cross My Heart (Chapter 6)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 7.7k

Chapter-specific Warnings: Descriptions of blood from a gunshot wound, alcohol consumption, talk of drug addiction, more death talk, mentions of entitled kid + parent, everyone being in denial and uh I think that’s about it

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

The strangest thing about dreams were how quickly they disappeared: you could be passed out in bed, a million miles away from the waking world before the rays of sun started to shine over the horizon to rouse you from your slumber, and just like that - whatever world you were in would vanish, being replaced by an often disappointing reality in front of you. For Jack, vivid dreams weren’t too often of an occurrence for him, not that he really remembered anyway. Nightmares were even more rare, though at one point in time they’d plagued him for months on end. That was how he’d spent the first few months after his wife’s passing: waking up in a cold sweat, heart racing in panic from the lingering remnants of dream clung to the back of his mind, horrifying scenes of loss and tragedy playing out to torture him in his most vulnerable state. Usually the nightmares involved him being forced to watch Lily’s death with his own eyes and being powerless to stop it, the illusion always shattering just as her body hit the ground. Other times he’d be confronted by her, blood cascading from the bullet wound in her head and onto her skin while she stared at him with harsh eyes. He’d try to reach out for her, only to feel her hands had gone cold. And then the blame would start. The words that were repeated over and over by her until he felt his brain was going to break.You couldn’t protect me. Those ones were always the worst, and thankfully, the most rare.

All of this being said, Jack hadn’t dreamt of Lily in a long time. As the sting of her passing began to fade with time, leading into hate and anger towards the world for taking her away, the dreams slowly stopped. He still mourned for her every day, feeling frozen in time no matter how many years passed, no matter how fine he seemed on the outside, but the worst of it had left him. Or, so he thought.

Jolting out of bed with a fierce start, he could feel the rough material of the duvet in his hands, his hands grasped around it with an iron grip. He felt compelled to scream, though no sound was able to escape his mouth, and as he took note of his surroundings he started to feel less afraid when he realised where he was. He didn’t know what the time was, if he had to guess it was probably after midnight. Hesitantly, he placed the back of his hand to his temple, feeling the stray beads of sweat running underneath. It’d been a long time since something had managed to scare him to that degree, much less a nightmare. He probably should have felt relaxed once he realised that none of what he just went through was real, but he still felt spooked by the entire experience. Jack couldn’t even remember most of what happened - it all blended together in a frightening blur. The only moment he could still make out in his mind from the dream were its final moments: his wife was standing in front of him, in the middle of the convenience store where she died, with a man holding a gun to the back of her head. He remembered screaming out, pleading for her to be spared. It was too late - the sound of a gunshot rang out and her body fell limp to the floor, a pool of blood forming underneath her head. That wasn’t even the worst of it, as when he looked down upon her corpse he realised that it wasn’t Lily’s body lying dead on the ground anymore. It was yours.

“God fuckin’ damn it” he cursed, placing his head in his hands. On top of everything else that had already happened, he now had to deal with the return of old haunting nightmares that somehow were even worse than the ones he had years ago, because now you were involved. He sat up abruptly, grabbing onto a discarded shirt that he’d thrown over the foot of the bed and pulling it over his head, using nothing but the moonlight pouring through the curtains to guide himself out of the room and into the darkened hall. He stole a glance towards where your room was, a droplet of fear etching itself into his mind. Before he entirely knew what he was doing, he was opening the door to your room, being careful not to make any sound lest you were awakened. His fears subsided when he saw you curled up beneath the covers, sound asleep and none the wiser to his presence. Exhaling gently, he untensed his shoulders and looked over at your sleeping form with a small but sweet smile on lips. Of course she would be fine. You’re being paranoid. 

Pulling the door behind him softly, he turned his attention to the end of the hall where the stairs were, the vague recollections of the nightmare rattling in the back of his mind. If he didn’t do something soon, he would keep himself up all night mulling over the implications of it all, and he wasn’t keen to spend the early hours of Sunday morning losing sleep because of his fucked head. He supposed it wasn’t that out of nowhere to dream about his wife, as he had been talking about her with you just last night. What scared him more so was that you were there, taking the bullet and ending up exactly as she had: dead. He couldn’t begin to fathom its meaning. Did it have to have meaning? Was it nothing more than a nightmare?

Scooping up a glass, he poured himself a generous amount of whiskey to sip on, returning the bottle back to the corners of your liquor cabinet. He probably should have asked before helping himself but it wasn’t like you were awake to answer to him, and he had a feeling you wouldn’t notice anyway, considering he’d found the aforementioned bottle pushed to the furthest reaches of the cabinet. When he noticed the label on the bottle, he couldn’t keep himself from smirking at the irony of it - of course you’d keep the Jack Daniels whiskey towards the back. Reclining into the couch with the glass in his hands, he took an absentminded sip while his mind further delved into the worrying implications of such a dream. 

The only part of it all that made sense was that the dream had been about his deceased wife - with the discussion that happened between the two of you last night about her it was only logical that his subconscious had lingered on some parts of it. After you’d turned in for the night Jack had stayed up for a little while longer, seated out on that veranda with a pensive look and the bottle of bourbon you’d neglected to bring back inside. Your words made rings around his mind, sparking a debate of sorts with himself as he considered your criticisms towards him. The emotional part of him wanted to blindly hate, and to keep on doing exactly what he’d always been doing. But when he realised that blind hate had gotten him into this whole mess in the first place, he’d allowed himself to listen more carefully to your words, and to examine them on a deeper level. Upon knowing your own past with loss and pain at the hands of another, it made him take a step back and actually look at everything that had transpired in Cambodia, all the little things that led him to working against an organisation that he once devoted himself to. Whereas you’d taken steps to try and live in a world without your parents, he’d remained angry and hurt, stuck in a world that had long moved on from the tragedy and still feeling every raw cut of emotion that losing her dealt. Sure, he wasn’t exactly inconsolable over it constantly - he had been able to live for sixteen years without Lily. If he went to a psychiatrist, he knew exactly what they’d say to all that: “You’ve externalised your hate onto someone easier to blame, in this instance addicts, when really the only person you feel should be to blame is yourself for not being there to save her”, or something like that. He couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at the ludicracy of it all. Never in a million years did he think he’d be one for deep introspection. What in the goddamn has this world come to?

Even so, your words wouldn’t leave his mind. Did you have a point? Was it wrong to blame every addict on the planet for the actions of a few? In a rational sense, he could see what you were saying. His actions hadn’t been based on rationality though, it was all emotion. His instincts wanted him to reject the notion of him being ideologically wrong in this, a notion he in turn fought to reject from himself. One thing in particular that Eggsy had said to him during their final confrontation had stuck out to him at that moment: “You’re working for the president?”. He’d denied it at the time, and there was truth to his denial: as he put it himself, he didn’t want any kind of association with that asshole. At the same time, his feelings on the matter did happen to crossover with the president's own agenda, and some part of that in general hadn’t sat right with him. 

Would it even matter by this stage if he’d accounted for his errors? He’d already single -handedly destroyed all that he had by then, the only thing that could properly atone him in his own opinion would probably be death, and he’d be damned if he was gonna let himself die any time soon. The realisation that he might have to spend the rest of his days with the guilt of the incident in Cambodia eating away at him wasn’t too kind on his psyche, but he was ready to accept it in lieu of the alternative. And damn it, if there wasn’t something about that judgemental way you’d looked at him that gave him enough of a kick in the teeth to want to do better. You’d said it yourself that you didn’t believe him to be a bad man. Maybe somehow he could redeem himself enough to even be half of what you’d described of him. 

Drumming a lone finger along the fine seam of the couch cushion, his thoughts circled back around to the disturbing dream and everything it entailed, including the part that had shaken him the most. Why you? Why were you of all people appearing in his nightmares? And not only that, why did you take the place of his long dead wife at the end? His mind was ticking into overdrive to decipher every little detail. There was only one other time in his life he remembered seeing you in his dream, and that was when you two were dating. He could chalk up your sudden appearance in his subconscious to the conversation the both of you were having the night before - it would explain the return of his nightmares about Lily too, although his mind swayed towards ruminating on a much more confronting possibility.

What if it means I’ve fallen back in love with her?

As soon as the concept crossed his mind, Jack frantically sought to purge it from his mind altogether. What a foolish idea, he reasoned to himself, taking a larger sip of whiskey out of the glass. There wasn’t anymore to this, and he shouldn’t be throwing out such wild theories based on a nightmare of all things. He went and thought back to the small moments you two had shared throughout the weeks together, times where one lingering touch almost seemed to convey something more. He realised just how many times he’d caught himself staring at you the last few weeks, or the times his touch lingered on yours a second longer than it should have, things he hadn’t noticed until he began to pick apart his own behaviour and examine it underneath a microscope. Old habits die hard, I guess. He may have teased you about making him coffee by “accident” a couple of weeks back, but there wasn’t meant to be any insinuation behind it. It was just that - a harmless tease, a simple reflex of his infamous flirtatious charm. None of this necessarily meant there were any reignited feelings, and furthermore, if by some insane stroke of dumb luck that did happen to be the case, then they were only small at best, fleeting in nature. He couldn’t fall for you again. He couldn’t. Not after putting you through so much pain.

No matter how hard he tried to convince himself it was nothing, even he wasn’t buying it tonight. If he was falling for you again, how would you take it? Not well he guessed, as you still felt hurt by his actions. Why wouldn’t you? He was the one that hurt you then came back into your life without warning because he had to go screw up the one good thing he still had. It was painful to be reminded of how little still had left by that time: his status as an agent stripped from him, everyone he ever loved being dead and buried, and not able to return back home as he was still on the run. Him being at your ranch at all was putting you in enough danger, a fact that made him uncomfortable in of itself. Falling for you would make things more complicated than they already were.

She doesn’t have to find out. Keep it to yourself, and she’ll never know. 

That’s it. That’s what he’ll do. He won’t ever mention these returning feelings of affection towards you, and in doing that, hopefully they will run their course and die out. Jack would still be courteous towards you, it went without saying since you were implicating yourself in all of this by hiding a fugitive. He could do that, right? Ignore it all, and avoid anything more than general amicable gestures. A part of him hurt to think of that, especially when those thoughts he had when you two were on the veranda together last night pushed themselves to the forefront of his mind. The way your hair had looked splayed out over your shoulders under the dim porch light, the burn in your eyes that gleamed as you’d admonished him for every mistake he ever made that shouldn’t have made him so entranced. He chastised himself for thinking so lewdly of you in that moment, hating how the very image of you in such a light darted straight to his groin. Finishing off the last dredges of whiskey, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and let out a heavy sigh. 

Forget about it. Leave her be. You’ve hurt her enough. 

_______________ 

At long last, there was finally a lull in the day, giving you some off time to relax and decompress a bit. There was still an hour to go before the ranch closed for the night, though nobody else had any riding lessons booked and it was unlikely that anybody was going to show up unannounced at five in the evening. To say the day had been busy would be selling the whole experience short - downright exhausting would have been a more accurate way to put it. There was a function going on for a good chunk of it, a birthday party for the son of some big-shot oil tycoon. You’d been worried your injury would slow down your progress with getting tasks done but to your pleasant surprise you were able to manage just fine, though having your other employees and Jack around had also been a huge help. It’d been four weeks since you’d gotten injured, and according to the doctor during your semi-regular checkups the recovery process was coming along nicely, which had been more than evident to you with the lessening pain. Sadly, you wouldn’t be able to get the cast off for a while, despite your protests. You didn’t see why it all had to take so long: you hadn’t been in any excruciating pain for a good while so it was clearly healing. As well as the cast being a nuisance when bathing and the like, it was also annoyingly itchy, leading you to talking yourself out of shoving a coat hanger down the side of it in an attempt to stop it several times. If only you didn’t have a ranch to run, then you could take an antihistamine pill and be done with it. 

Dragging yourself back into the house, you headed straight for the stairs, eager to lie down and doze a little - normally a long day like that would call for a bottle of scotch. This time round, however, you decided to forego the alcohol in favour of a more straightforward way to relax. Once you’d come to the door to the guest bedroom upstairs you felt compelled to stop, your mind wandering to where Jack was at that very moment. Last you’d seen him that day he’d been bringing the horses in. The two of you had stopped to chat for awhile, your usual bitter-edged banter being exchanged, things playing out just as they should when suddenly that same familiar feeling started to make itself known, the same thing you’d felt when he’d handed you the painkillers, or when you two had been out on the veranda a little while back. That spark, so to speak, the frightening feeling of something burning in you, something that shouldn’t be there in the first place. You’d instinctively ended the conversation soon after, making up some excuse about needing to take care of some accounting and hurrying off. Thinking about it now you couldn’t stop yourself from going a tad pink in the cheeks at your behaviour, thoroughly embarrassed for daring to act like you were inflicted with something as trivial as a schoolgirl crush. 

Don’t be soft on him. Don’t do this. You’re better than this, those words you repeated to yourself like a mantra started to wear thin during those weeks, especially after the conversation you two had shared where you’d divulged some of the pain closest to your heart. You never thought that you’d tell anybody what you felt after your parents had died, not in a million years, so to have you in a position where you were comfortable enough to reveal such details was nothing short of astounding, particularly when one took into account the exact person you’d told it all to. You could justify these choices with the flimsy excuse of being drunk, but even you knew that in order to run your mouth about something that personal, even while intoxicated, meant you had to feel a certain amount of trust to the other person. Did you trust Jack? Was that what was happening here? To that, you couldn’t fully answer, as you didn’t really know. 

Glancing from the doorknob to the stairs and back, you twisted the handle and allowed yourself into the spare bedroom, letting your feet move you towards the closet at the back of the room. Like a woman possessed, you didn’t stop yourself from doing any of this, the feeling of your heartbeat ricocheting through your chest. It had been years since you permitted yourself to look at any of this stuff, let alone giving any of it a second thought. Out of sight, out of mind, you’d thought to yourself when you’d originally boxed it all away, not being able to bear throwing any of it out. Sliding the doors open, you took note of the fact that everything was left in its precise location indicating that true to his word, Jack hadn’t meddled in any of it. A small sigh of relief escaped your lips while you sunk to your knees, poking your head through the rows of old coats that you kept neglecting to donate or sell to the very back of the closet where your eyes locked onto what you’d been originally seeking: a plain velvet blue shoebox shoved underneath an ugly knitted blanket that you plainly despised. 

For as much of a hardline no-nonsense woman others perceived you as, a huge part of you was deeply sentimental towards both people and things, or more specifically, things people had given you, hence the choice to simply box up every gift and memento he’d ever given you rather than setting fire to it in some overly dramatic yet cinematic manner. When Jack and you had broken up, you’d gathered up everything that reminded you of him, thrown it in a box and then tossed it into the back of the closet of your apartment to be forgotten forever. When you’d taken over the family ranch from your parents, the box had ended up in the guest room closet instead due to you not wanting an object holding that many sorrowful memories anywhere near where you slept. Taking the box out and setting it down in front of you, you stared at it frostily for a minute, considering throwing it back into the closet and forgetting that you ever wanted to open it. Ultimately you caved, lifting the lid off and opening up the treasure trove of mementos, symbols of a love that used to be that became tarnished with time. 

A lot of the items in question were photographs, a couple of polaroid shots of the two of you out at some bar in New York thrown in with the myriad of photos depicting you on various other dates with him. One in particular that caught your eye was a polaroid that had a heart drawn in red permanent marker on the white margins - you were wearing Jack’s Stetson and had one arm thrown around his neck, looking as if you hadn’t a care in the world while he looked up at you with those heart-meltingly gorgeous brown eyes of his, as if nobody else in the world existed except for you. You could still recall the smell of the cigarette smoke from that day, how the loud music reverberated through your ears the entire night you’d spent there with your head rested against his shoulder, ignoring all your other friends in favour of him. You caught yourself grinning at the memory as if you were some kind of lovesick fool. Back then you might’ve been. Not anymore though. Not now.

That’s what you continued to tell yourself while you sorted through the box’s contents, pulling out items ranging from small bits of jewelry to a small cat plushie that he’d won for you at the county fair. Your gaze zeroed in on a small silver chain necklace with a little horseshoe charm dangling on the end, earning yet another foolish smirk from you. Jack had bought that for you as a Christmas present, although you had insisted to him that he didn’t have to go all out on a gift for you. He’d even gotten the underside engraved with your name, which you traced over with the pad of your finger at that very moment.

Looking through all these gifts and the significance they once held to you, your mind started to wander back to the possibility you’d considered during your last proper talk with Jack, questioning once more if he deserved such harsh hostility being thrown towards him. You didn’t want to let yourself be hurt again, so it only seemed logical to make yourself guarded and keep him at an arm's length. With that said, time and time again he’d managed to surprise you - he hadn’t been pestering you as much you thought he would. Sure, he did jokingly insinuate that one time you made him coffee that you were growing fond of him but other than that he’d kept the charm to a minimum, or at least, less than you were used to in the past. It all made sense to you after you’d learned what happened to him that brought him back to you, his magnificent fall from grace so to speak. You meant what you said to him that night - you didn’t think he was a bad person, rather just someone who’s done bad things out of hurt and anger. With everything he told you about his wife’s death, you couldn’t help feeling a sense of powerful empathy towards him, a feeling that scared you a little to tell you the truth. It’d been easy for years to write him off as a liar and a player, but in reality, Jack was far more complicated than that.  How ironic: the advice you gave him ended up being a hundred percent relevant to yourself at the same time, you huffed with an absence of amusement. 

If you had to be completely honest with yourself, without any kind of lies or facade to keep up, you didn’t know what you felt about Jack anymore. You couldn’t say you hated him, no, hate was far too strong of a word. Actually, you couldn’t really say you even disliked him that much anymore. But you didn’t really like him either. Or did you? Once again, the thoughts of how his touch had made you feel over those last few weeks invaded your mind, things that by all means shouldn’t make you feel some type of way but did. Hell, even how you continued to make his coffee exactly how he liked it every morning, not bothering to question it anymore than necessary for the sake of your own sanity. 

Shaking your head, you let out a heavy sigh as you glowered down at the box witheringly. Great, now you’d made yourself confused on your own emotions, all because you felt the need to reminisce on the past. You’re being ridiculous about this. You don’t feel that way about Jack, and if you did, you can’t have him. He’s on the run, he’s a criminal now, and more to the point he broke your heart once. Who’s to say he won’t do it twice? Do yourself a favour for once. Ignore those feelings. Ignore it, and they’ll go away.

You quickly boxed up everything soon after that, pushing it to the back of the closet as if you’d never been there at all. Lifting yourself to your feet, you neglected to look back when you maneuvered yourself out the door and back into the hall, pulling your mind back towards any kind of ranch duties you could muster up out of thin air that you had to attend to, anything that could distract you from the small pink tinge that had crept across your cheeks that refused to leave, or the racing of your heart with every step you took. 

 __________

After a day that felt like it dragged on forever, you’d been looking forward to turning in for the night. For whatever reason, everything that could have gone wrong that day decided to go wrong - one of the horses had done a runner during one of the riding lessons and you’d had to go out and try to catch the bastard. It took forever to rope the damn horse back into the property. Jack, you and another one of the instructors managed to catch him in the end but it ended up setting your schedule behind for the rest of the day. Later on in the day, some entitled kid had come down and decided he didn’t like the horse he’d been assigned to ride, waltzing right into the stables and picking out one that he deemed more suited for him. The horse, one of the older boys, was understandably annoyed by this random loud kid appearing out of nowhere and being rough with him, leading to said entitled brat getting chomped on the arm. The rest of the day had to be spent dealing with the screaming kid and his mother, who was every bit as entitled as her son was. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, does it? Despite your damndest to put on a smile and placate the woman who was screaming threats of a lawsuit, she still wasn’t letting up so you’d metaphorically thrown your hands up in frustration and told her straight to shut up. She’d left soon after that, huffing and threatening to get your entire business shut down. You weren’t scared in the least of her empty threats: you’d dealt with hundreds of other people just like her in your stint running the ranch and nine times out of ten nothing ever came from their tantrums. It was still supremely exhausting to deal with, draining your energy and putting you in a foul mood for the rest of the day. 

You’d been angling to end the day as soon as the first instance of idiocy started, so when it was finally late enough in the night and you’d grown tired of the bottle of merlot that you’d been speeding your way through, you’d taken yourself upstairs, thrown on a random t-shirt and sweatpants, and sunk right into bed ready to forget it all and start over.

However, you weren’t so lucky. From the moment you’d first entered your room that night, something had felt off. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it at first, so you’d tried to ignore it, writing it off as feeling slightly on edge from the rough day. The weird feeling wouldn’t go away though - everytime you closed your eyes, you felt like someone else was there, like there was another presence nearby. Five minutes passed before you’d flicked the lamp next to your bed on and looked around the room. You knew Jack had already gone to bed before you, and you couldn’t hear any sort of noise from downstairs that would indicate someone else being there. Nevertheless, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else was there, maybe not in the house precisely but somewhere on the property, as if there were a pair of foreign eyes staring at you from afar. Your eyes darted towards the window, the curtains open to reveal the glimmering starry sky outside, your breath becoming shallow as you were finally able to place the exact feeling that was making you tense up in fear:

You felt like you were being watched. 

Diving out of bed, you scrambled towards the window and scanned the vast expanse of countryside surrounding your property, searching to see if there was anything out there that was unfamiliar to you. Nothing - all you could see were the stretches of field that lay beyond your ranch, with a lone few collection of trees situated off the edge of your property, exactly as it always looked. That alone should have eased your nerves a bit but for whatever reason that feeling of being watched wouldn’t go away. You glanced back at your bed, trying to talk yourself into downplaying it all as you being paranoid. There isn’t anyone out there.You’ve had a rough day, and about three glasses of wine so you’re a little bit tipsy too, you told yourself as you trudged back to bed and pulled the covers over your head, a useless action that did nothing to quell the anxiety festering in you. For the next twenty minutes or so, you did everything you could to push your unease away in favour of sleep to no avail. The entire time you’d been lying there you felt like there were a pair of eyes burning into your back, directly across from where the window was, yet every time you sat yourself up to check there was nobody there. 

Fantastic, guess I’m not sleeping tonight then. Clearly, that creepy feeling wasn’t going to leave and you didn’t feel comfortable in that room anymore. Briefly you contemplated going down to sleep on the couch but that idea was dismissed almost as quickly as it came to you - if you felt like someone was watching the house, then moving sleeping locations wasn’t gonna solve anything. A part of you wanted to go grab a firearm and go on a patrol around the property to be safe, though once remembering that you were a little bit tipsy you didn’t feel it would be the best course of action to go hold a gun right then. Throwing a single glance towards your bedroom door, another idea popped into your head, and before you could try and talk yourself out of it you were already out the door and down the hall to where the spare bedroom was. 

Opening the door as quietly as you possibly could, you poked your head inside and peered over to where Jack was laying in bed, covers tangled up around him and facing away from you, appearing to be fast asleep. “Jack? Are...are you awake?” you called out hesitantly. 

It took a minute for him to respond, by that time you’d come close to convincing yourself that you were being a baby about all of this and that you should go back to bed. “Darlin’? Is there somethin’ wrong?” he replied, his thick southern drawl sounding groggy, matching his dazed expression he wore while he fought to keep his eyes open. 

“Sort of...maybe, I don’t know...I can’t sleep” you admitted. 

“Having nightmares or somethin’?” he asked, sitting himself up in bed to properly face you. You couldn’t help but let your eyes wander down his torso ever so briefly - it wasn’t anything you hadn’t seen a million times before but damn, he did look good. Shaking your head fervently, you attempted to ignore that fleeting thought and focused back on what you’d come there to say, proceeding to reply. “No, no, nothing like that. I just...ok, this might sound a little bit crazy but I can’t help feeling like I’m being watched in there, and it’s freaking me out”.

You could see Jack’s brow furrow through the darkness, a look of concern creeping over his face while he thought on what you’d just said. “Watched? Like how?”. 

“I don’t really know how to explain it, if I’m gonna be totally honest. All I know is that everytime I close my eyes I feel like there’s somebody outside. Whenever I go to look out the window though, I don’t see anyone” you explained, and at almost the very second you finished your sentence you could see Jack’s eyes widen, the last remnants of sleep falling away and being replaced by an alert and alarmed expression. Before you could say anything about it, he was already throwing the covers off him and sliding out of bed, hustling over to where you were standing by the door. “Stay right here. I’ll go take a look for myself” he instructed sternly, pushing himself past you and making a beeline straight for your bedroom. Instinctively, and in all honesty against both his wishes and your own better judgement, you followed in behind him, seeing him linger close to the wall just enough so that he was out of direct sight of the window. Slowly, he advanced forward to a position where he could properly take a look out, his eyes steely as they examined the landscape, the tensity of his demeanour feeding into your own feelings of concern. 

“Jack, what’s going on?” you asked in a small voice, something that was uncharacteristically meek of you. In all fairness, something like this had never happened before. You’d hoped that Jack would come in, take a quick look, confirm there was nobody on the property and give you a little bit of peace of mind but the way he was acting made the possibility of someone actually being out there all the more real to you. 

“Darlin’, I’m sorry, but I’m gonna need you to be quiet for a second” he orders, not tearing his eyes away from the window for a single second. You didn’t know how long you two stood there for - it was probably no more than a minute or two at most, even so it felt like an eternity to you, until at long last you saw some of the tension in Jack’s shoulders dissipate and he finally slunk away from the window. “Give me a second, I just gotta go check something” he mumbled, dashing back out of your room and still looking vaguely distressed at the entire predicament. This time around, you did as he said, not wanting to leave the house on the off chance there really was something to worry about. You heard him run back into his own room briefly before darting off downstairs, hearing the unmistakable click of the front door lock opening. You had no idea what to make of any of this - why was he acting so weird? Was there something you should know? Was there really something to your weird feeling and should you be genuinely scared?

The sound of gravel crunching from the ground below alerted you, leading for you to wander over to the window for what felt like the millionth time that night to see for yourself what was going on. Your eyes first landed on Jack, who was pacing the gravel and looking off into the distance, searching for something. You could see he was holding something in his hand but couldn’t quite get a proper look at it as he was angled away from you. He disappeared from your view and a moment later he was back upstairs with you, appearing to be infinitely more relieved than he was before. Now you could properly see what he’d gone to fetch from his room once he’d left: his gun from his days as an agent, the moonlight streaming in through the window glimmering off the silver barrels and onto the floor. 

“Nothin’ out there, thank fucking christ” he sighed, giving you a smile that was meant to be comforting. His gesture did nothing to ease your worries, despite the confirmation that there wasn’t anything out there like you’d originally hoped. Along with still feeling uneasy being in that room, there was also the matter of what you’d witnessed in Jack before, the plain and unconcealable look of suspicion and worry that had been showing on him. 

“Are you alright? You...seemed worried. The way you were looking out that window, it was...like you were searching for something in particular...”.

“It’s nothing, sweetheart. Don’t worry your pretty little head off about it” he dismissed, obviously wanting to put this whole incident behind the two of you. You were having none of it, so you pressed further, taking a single step closer to where he was standing in the door. “You sure about that? ‘Cause you kinda got your gun out” you pointed out, your eyes flickering down to the weapon resting in his hands knowingly. “Did you think it was Statesman or something?”.

Jack looked surprised that you’d dared to be that direct in your line of questioning. He supposed he shouldn’t have expected any less from you, following your eyes down to where he was holding his gun. “Well, if I’m gonna be honest, yeah. For a moment there, I was worried they’d found me somehow. But there isn’t anybody out there - besides, if they were doin’ surveillance on the house they woulda had me led away in cuffs already. You’re safe as pie, sugar” he confessed. 

Exactly as you thought. You’d wondered if Statesman would ever make an appearance, suddenly becoming hot on Jack’s tail. So far nothing had happened, thankfully, and seeing as your strange feeling tonight turned out to be nothing, you permitted yourself to relax a little, despite the still present feeling of discomfort from being in that room. “Alright...thank you for checking. Sorry I woke you up for something stupid”. 

“Don’t apologise, sweetheart. I haven’t been sleeping great this last week anyway so I wasn’t even fully asleep when you came in. You make sure to get plenty of rest, ok?” he nodded towards you, turning to leave the room, the comfort of his presence slipping away from you and leaving you to feel the same odd and uncomfortable unrest that plagued you all night. 

Glancing back over towards your bed, you dreaded the thought of trying to go back to sleep in that thing tonight. It sounded so childish and silly for you to say, or rather think, but you really didn’t want to be in that room tonight. If you stay in here you aren’t gonna get a wink of sleep.

What you did next was something you never thought you’d do in a million years. In your defense, it’d been a long day, you’d had some alcohol earlier, and you just had to deal with the intense unnerve of being watched only to discover that your feeling was nothing more than a spate of paranoia. With all that taken into account, it was only logical that you asked what you did next. “Jack, wait” you called out before you could stop yourself, freezing once you saw him stop in the hallway and turn back towards you with those sweet eyes of his. “Look, I know this is an odd request but...can I sleep in your room? Only for tonight. I don’t know, I still feel a little on edge and it’s dumb but I’d rather be around someone else right now” you mumbled, simultaneously hating yourself for asking in the first place and feeling utterly embarrassed at your own audacity. 

Some part of you wanted him to laugh in your face. Laugh at you and make some stupid little quip about you being a “big girl” who could handle herself. It would be easier to hate him still that way. Of course, he didn’t do that at all. What he did instead was give you the sweetest damn smile you’d ever seen from him, different from those charming smirks you were used to and harkened closer to those rare moments from when you two were together that he would lay down the bravado and be vulnerable. “Sugar, you don’t need to feel bad for askin’ at all. I understand completely where you’re comin’ from” he reassured, holding his hand out and beckoning for you to come forward. And come forward you did, following him out into the hall and into his own room, the anxiety from before fading into nothing and being replaced by relief. 

“Thank you. I know we’re not...like that anymore but…” you stumbled dumbly as you glided over towards the bed, fatigue overcoming your brain and making you more impatient to be in bed and asleep as fast as possible. It had to be extremely late by then and you wanted to get a decent amount of sleep before having to get up and go about with business as usual the next day.  

Jack, meanwhile, was on the other side of the room throwing his gun back into a chest of drawers. “Say no more, honeybee. If you want, I can sleep on the floor if it makes you more comfortable” he posited, to which you promptly snapped your head back up and stared at him as if he were crazy. “You don’t have to do that, Jack, I’m not about to be kicking you out of your bed”. 

“Technically it’s your bed, not mine”. 

Rolling your eyes at him, you flopped down on the pillow and sighed. “Doesn’t matter, just...stay here. I’d rather have someone close right now, ok?”. If you weren’t already tired beyond all reason, your brain might have been fretting over the oh so horrific implications of staying in the same bed as him, though if you were really being honest you couldn’t care less right then. It’s not like sleeping in the same bed meant anything, plenty of people did that all the time. So what if you wanted someone near after feeling scared? Wouldn’t someone else do the same thing in your position?

“If that’s what you want, sweetheart. I’ll keep to the other side of the bed if you’d like” Jack assured you, sliding into the other side, doing exactly as he said and keeping a safe enough distance from you. It might’ve been silly for you to care so much, but you had to admit it was nice having someone else be there, and at the least it calmed your anxiety enough for you to feel fine sleeping. Stealing one last brief glance over at him, you wished him goodnight and let yourself relax truly for the first time in hours, letting the world fall away and fade into nothing as you closed your eyes and passed out in mere minutes of being there.

 ___________

When you awoke the next morning, it was to the strands of sunlight streaming through the parted breaks in the curtain, shining right over your face and rousing you from your slumber. Through bleary eyes, you became aware of the room around you, memories of the night before flooding back to you instantaneously. You noticed you felt warmer, becoming aware of the heavy feeling on your body, which caused your eyes to snap open fully. Looking back over your shoulder, you saw Jack, still sleeping and curled into your back, his arm lazily stung around you. You knew you two hadn’t fallen asleep like that, reasoning that he must have reached out to you during the night, leading to the position you were in now. You could feel the light tickle of his breath against the nape of your neck, something so small managing to light an unexpected spark in your heart. You should have pushed him off. You should have woken him up. You should have done a million other things in that moment instead of the one thing you did.

When instead of flinging him off you and darting out of bed like a skittish cat you curled yourself further into his light embrace, the mortifying realisation hitting you right then with a full force - Jack Daniels, the man who’d broken your heart, was caressing you in his sleep.

And you didn’t mind it, not one single bit.

Taglist (message me if you wanna be added)

Permanent: @greeneyedblondie44

Cross My Heart: @giselatropicana @absurdthirst

[catrasredemption-moved]

Oh, maybe Catra confusing what's real and what isn't sometimes and not believing that this is real, because she thinks prime is still inside her head, messing with it and creating fake realities?

There were triggers.

It took them awhile to pick out the pattern, unfortunately. And the time in the interim did nothing to endear the princesses to Catra.

Netossa took the blame the first time, when she patted Catra’s head during the celebration party and Catra froze for a moment before whirling and lashing out. She missed, thankfully, her gaze distance and glazed over. She shook it off fast enough, stuttering an apology, but Netossa was easy going enough to apologize for surprising her.

Mermista was less accepting the second time it happened.

No one was really sure of the series of events - Mermista had found Catra and Melog in the hall, and Melog managed to knock Mermista out of the way before Catra struck. They’d pinned Catra down until reality reasserted itself, leaving her pale and shaken. There had been a rather pointed and cruel comment about Adora keeping her pet under control. And Bow had been forced to hold Adora back, lest she accidentally start a war with Salineas.

“What happened?” she asked Catra later, in the safety of their bedroom. Catra hadn’t had much to say in her own defense.

“I don’t know.” She was curled up against the wall, face hidden in her knees. Melog was encircled around her, shielding her from the world. “I felt... I felt like I wasn’t here, like... like this was a dream or something? I don’t know.”

Adora knelt in front of her, keeping her distance, hands up. “It’s okay. You didn’t sleep well last night, right? Maybe you’re just tired.”

She relaxed slightly, letting out a long breath. “Yeah. I guess. Maybe.”

The third time drove the point home that something was really wrong.

“Entrapta, are you sure you’re not going to break the table?” Glimmer asked tiredly, watching Entrapta rewire the war room table to connect it to one of her own machines.

“Absolutely! Ninety-nine-point-nine percent!”

“That’s not-”

“Here we go!”

The pink table flickered for a moment before turning a shade of lime green which lit up the walls in an eerie aura. Catra, who had been resting her head in her arms on the table, immediately shot up, wide-eyed.

“Sorry,” Entrapta said cheerfully. “This is from a hard drive Hordak helped extract from Horde Prime’s ship, it should give us a general idea of where to start with dismantling the rest of his empire and freeing the planets he’s taken over...”

Blood rushed through Catra’s ears, drowning out all external sound.

Little sister...

No. NononononononononononononoNO it couldn’t be, it couldn’t, he was dead-

Did you really think anyone would come for you? You said it yourself - your precious Adora doesn’t care about you. Your life is worthless. You don’t matter to anyone except me.

“No!”

Everyone jumped as Catra screamed, the noise almost immediately followed by her chair falling over as she staggered away from the table. Her back hit the wall and she dropped to her knees, entire body folding in on itself, eyes closed, hands against the back of her neck.

“Catra?” Adora stood, but was immediately blocked by Melog. Even the alien cat was keeping their distance, as if they knew Catra wasn’t in the right stand of mind.

She was back on the ship, listening to the sound of footsteps on metal floors, mechanical sounds whirring overhead, her hair slicked back against her scalp, the chip in the back of her neck-

It’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real-

What’s not real? Horde Prime taunted her. Me? Or your friends?

“Entrapta, turn it off,” Glimmer snapped. The princess immediately listened, glipping off the switch and turning the room back to its regular color. Adora tried again to approach, but Melog growled, keeping her back.

“What’s wrong with her?” Frosta piped up from behind, almost sounding worried. Even Mermista couldn’t keep the shaken concern out of her expression. This wasn’t anything any of them had expected.

“I don’t...”

Catra had fallen asleep in Adora’s lap. Adora had panicked when she felt her (former?) friend’s grip loosen, but of course she was exhausted. The last few days must have been hell.

Bow and Glimmer set up a room for her, and Adora insisted on carrying her, refusing to let her go until she absolutely had to.

There was no warning before Catra woke, right as Adora was setting her down. Her eyes shot open, pupils immediately shrinking to pinpricks; Adora barely missed being clawed before Catra vaulted off the bed, hitting the floor with a painful thud.

“Catra-!”

“Shut up!” Her voice was surprisingly strong. She curled in on herself, hands clasped over the back of her neck. “What do you want?” The question baffled Adora into silence. “She’s not coming back, I already told you, she won’t, she wouldn’t, she...”

Catra drifted off into a dry sob. Adora tensed, teeth clenching together as realization set in.

Oh.

Adora straightened up, hands held out in surrender. “It’s okay,” she told Melog gently. They made a noise, ears falling against their skull, mane flaring purple. “I get it. Let me talk to her, please.”

Melog considered her for a moment before backing up and settling beside Catra. Adora took a few steps forward and knelt, still giving Catra space. She was whispering to herself, too soft to be fully heard, her claws digging into her neck almost enough to draw blood.

“Hey.” She kept her voice soft, noting the shudder that went through Catra’s body. “Catra, look at me.” She shook her head. “Please?” Another head shake. “This is real, I promise. It’s not a trick.”

“She wouldn’t come back for me.” The broken defeat in Catra’s voice was like a knife in Adora’s heart. She ignored it, forcing her laugh.

“And somehow I’m the dummy here.” Catra’s ears flicked slightly. “Do you really think Horde Prime would just fake his own death to trick you? We both know he’s way too egotistical for that.”

Catra choked out a little laughed, although her body didn’t relax. Adora took a chance, reaching out to rest a hand on Catra’s knee. It didn’t immediately spark an attack, which she took as a good sign.

“He’s not real.”

She’s not real.

“You’re here. You’re safe.”

She would never come back for you.

“I love you.”

She’s lying.

Catra shook, letting out a small sob. “Stop...”

Adora’s fingers tightened on her knee. “Focus on me, Catra. I’m here. I’m real. It’s okay.”

Melog’s pulsing mane slowly faded back to blue as Catra retracted her claws. Adora held her breath, waiting. “How do I know you’re real?” she finally whispered.

“Because I kicked Horde Prime’s ass and I’d do it again if I had a chance?”

One hand slowly slid down to rest over Adora’s. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Catra unfurled a bit, allowing Adora to drag her into her arms and hug her tight.

They weren’t flashbacks, exactly - more like hallucinations. That was how the healer in Mystacor tried to explain it when Catra talked to her (after nearly three days of Glimmer trying to convince her that it would be good to talk to someone who understood mental trauma in a way that could help). They were things that hadn’t happened, but that Catra was afraid would happen - that she would wake up back on that ship, that Adora had never come to save her, that she was still Horde Prime’s willing little sister.

Melog helped as an active buffer; a third party who hadn’t been present at any point in Catra’s life before Prime, and something her mind couldn’t really make up. Adora learned a few ways to help Catra ground herself. The problem was that anything could be a possible trigger, and the only way they could learn what set Catra was off was by waiting. They figured out color and touch pretty quickly, but there were other things, like certain words or phrases that would put Catra right back on the ship like she had never left it.

“Maybe you should’ve just left me there,” she muttered dejectedly into her pillow one night. Adora immediately abandoned the map she was working on to sit with Catra, gently brushing her hair back.

“The fact that you thought I really would leave you there is a bit insulting, you know,” she joked.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to offend your hero complex.” There was no heat in the words. “What good am I if I can’t even keep reality straight?”

“You can’t judge yourself based on something that you have no control over.” Adora’s fingers paused over the back of her neck, inches from the scar left by the chip (now surrounded by several fresher, lighter scars from various flashbacks or hallucinations).

“Doesn’t make me any less dangerous.”

“The only person you’re a danger to is yourself.” Adora lightly traced one of the newer scars. Catra shivered slightly. “If I tell you I love you and it’s worth it, can you at least believe that I believe that?”

“Of course I believe you believe that. You have a bleeding heart.”

Rude, but fair. Adora lied beside her, pulling her into a hug. “Then believe that I can make my own choices and I don’t need you to protect me from you.”

Catra was still for a long moment before she leaned into the hug, relaxing. “Remember those stupid drawings we did on your bunk?”

“Our marks, you mean?”

“Yeah, something to remember us by when we were ruling the place as adults.” Catra smiled into her shoulder. “Which one was red and which was blue, again?”

“Uh, I was red, obviously.”

“Why obviously? Red isn’t exactly your color, princess.”

It was one of their small ways of grounding Catra. A lot of their memories had conflicting details despite being shared - even things as tiny as which of Octavia’s eyes Catra had scratched out (Adora swore it was the left eye, Catra would die thinking it was the right eye). Horde Prime’s illusions had never been detailed enough to think of Adora’s memories being different - Adora would have just agreed with anything Catra said. Possibly the most unrealistic thing of all.

“You don’t even know what red is.”

"Oh yeah? Did you hit your head hard enough to fix being colorblind at some point?”

“Are you asking me about brain damage? Seriously?”

They never did get around to figuring out who was what color, but it didn’t really matter - Catra had accomplished what she had wanted to do.

This was reality. No matter how much her brain tried to tell her otherwise.

[hopeswriting]

I meant to do a post about my thoughts on the Daily Life Arc now that I finished rereading it, but I can't seem to find the time and it's been a while now, and if I keep it up I'll forget what my thoughts are to begin with lol, so here's the long story short:

I know it's a long arc, as in it starts being boring and more or less unbearable past some point, because the "gag of the chapter" format only takes you so far, and not actually very far if Amano's humor doesn't work on you much, if at all. I don't think it's an arc you can reread right away/soon either, lest you feel that one flaw even faster.

And I felt it too, starting with the fourty-something chapters I felt like it was dragging on too much, though to be fair that probably had to do too with the fact I knew things much more interesting were coming after that.

Still, all that said, like, it's an enjoyable arc. Amano's humor happens to work on me, and she does it really well, and I liked reading the arc. There are some chapters where you're really asking yourself why they were written for lol, but even then you read it for the characters, and it somehow keeps you going.

And like, even though I think Amano could have seen the fact the comedy was going to turn repetitive and thus boring at some point, and try to diversify it or something, it's just how comedy/humor/gags works? Some jokes land and some doesn't, but for me at least a lot more of them worked than not.

The DLA is a good enough arc is what I'm saying.

------

On than note and on the contrary, of course it's fine if you think it's a bad arc, to each their opinion, but personally I really don't agree it's an unnecessary one.

I'm saying this because apparently it's not uncommon to advice new fans to skip the arc and directly start with the Kokuyo one? (Or so I learned on TV Tropes anyway, this might or might not be still relevent/accurate.)

Now don't get me wrong, the DLA does fail to hook the readers to the story for the reasons stated above, I agree with that, but it literally introduces the main character? And all the other characters, and gets us to know them, and establishes the dynamics between them and why they're the way they are, and, though only in a more or less superficial manner (and more than less) by design of the arc's purpose (not being deep in any way lol), it still gives us an insight into the characters and why they're the way they are. A glimpse into the core of their personality, the "stakes" of their characters, the flaws they have to overcome.

And all that in the context of their daily life, so if you skip it to go directly to the arc that challenges them, you can't appreciate fully how they rise to the challenge, how it shows their growth or reasserts their core values. You can't know how much or what it means, for example, off the top of my head, to have Yamamoto sacrifice his arm to beat Ken, when only a year ago he tried to kill himself over his broken arm. Or Hibari losing against Mukuro, thus telling us how much of a real threat he was. Or Tsuna screaming at Lancia for having hurt his friends, anger on his face, clearly despite himself, that Dame-Tsuna.

All these just wouldn't hit you the same, and it'd be such a shame? I mean I guess the ones who start with the Kokuyo arc go back to read the DLA, or you could compromise like the anime did by splitting the DLA between more serious arcs, but like I said I personally don't find the DLA that bad, so I still wouldn't advice it lol.

Even if, I suppose, it'd mean they might give up on the manga somewhere through the DLA, but like? Some mangas just don't speak to you, and that's fine, and it'd be a little of a shame from my POV as a KHR fan, but still, no big deal.

------

I'm still very impressed with how smoothly Amano went from a gag manga to a shonen one, and how she made it so the DLA still fits with the rest. I mean the sudden change in tone/stakes/etc is jarring, sure, but it's all based on stuff she introduced in the DLA, which she presumably came up with with no intention to ever make it something deeper/more meaningful.

It's easy to believe the foreshadowing, and generally speaking the worldbuilding was planned all along, which, again, probably not, and like? Super impressive.

(Though once more don't get me wrong, there are inconsistencies/plot holes in Amano's plotlines and worldbuilding, but not, like, at their seams, if I can say it like that? It's more often in the details, and it's fairly easy to fill in the blanks ourselves.)

------

Finally it was a lot of fun to rediscover the characters in a new light, and a bit of a disbelieving surprise tbh.

For context before I started my reread of the manga, all this time I was going with the time I read/watched it years ago plus the times I skimmed it, but mostly by all the fanon I was consuming. And it's not to say fanon is wrong per se, but it latched on one to three character's traits, or slapped an easy character archetype on them easy to "relate" to within, and apparently never looked back lol. And also often dialed up those traits (good or bad) in a very noticeable manner.

What I'm saying is, fanon is, in fact, wrong sometimes zldnslsz, and the characters are much more nuanced even in the DLA! (Which still leaves us at a more or less superficial level, because, you know lol, but still!)

------

To name the ones that stood out to me the most:

Nana isn't abused by Iemitsu, nor is she unhappy in her marriage despite Iemitsu being an absent husband (which is not relevent in the context of the DLA, but still, you can tell). She isn't an abusive mother to Tsuna either, and she is literally never an airhead. She literally just isn't, she actually does react very normally to the crazy Reborn brings with him, but much like Yamamoto as long as no one gets hurt (or walks it off), she just brushes it off.

And she has friends she goes listen to piano recitals with, and tries to save on money by eating rests, and gets in two-way arguments with Tsuna, and raises his allowance if he gets better grades to push him to work harder, and all around is just your average mom that really didn't read as just The Mom, if you know what I mean.

She has her flaws, definitely, she's not a great mom, namely is apparently used to call Tsuna Dame-Tsuna, but she's not just that.

She takes care of him, worries over him, and seems to be the only one who hasn't given up on him yet when the story starts. She supports him (though sometimes in a tactless to hurtful way), praises him when he does well, and trusts him to watch over the kids.

She's not that bad is what I'm saying, and 100% redeemable (that is, if you think she needs to be redeemed to begin with, which I actually do think she does, calling Tsuna Dame of all things is just a really shitty thing to do.)

(Though it's interesting to note that she doesn't do it again after what happened with Kyoko iirc, even if she might very well still talk to him in a belittling way at times. I just wish Amano would have commit fully to acknowledge it and resolve it, what with already having made it Kyoko's Dying Will Regret.)

(Edit: I had forgotten but she literally forgets his birthday while preparing someone else's birthday, so I take back that she is 100% redeemable because it's being too nice. But my point still stands.)

------

Haru is literally such a fun character, it makes me even more sad now to know what Amano did with her (nothing ansknslq 😭😂).

She's unhinged, has zero impulse control, does not reflect on the consequences of her lack of impulse control as Tsuna points it out, is ready and willing to throw hands at any given moment and is unapologetic of it, and is the one Amano actually calls an airhead.

The only problem she had with the mafia is that she thought Tsuna was forcing it on Reborn, and when she confirmed it was all true she literally didn't even blink at it, and immediately called herself the future Decimo's wife djosdkkd.

On that note she is literally mafia right from her first appearance, is more or less involved in almost all the mafia shenanigans, was right there with Tsuna & Co when they went to destroy the Tomaso's headquarters.

And like?? Amano could just have left it at that if she wasn't going to do anything else/more with it. Haru had so much potential, and not only Amano did nothing with it, she actually watered her down and took away all her distinct character's traits 😭.

------

Hibari is so much more feral and playful than his fanon cool, overpowered, quiet badass counterpart. Which I love too, don't get me wrong, but these two sides of him don't have to be exclusive!

He talks and smiles and jokes often, and shows off and casually insults you, and licks the blood away from his lips after having beaten bloody other middle schoolers who dared to defy him (I know this happens in the Kokuyo arc, but it illustrates my point the best).

Not much more to add than that, we should just acknowledge that and put it in our works more often.

------

Gokudera is a compelling character from the get go, and as far as the DLA goes, he's the most compelling character second to Tsuna. He's the only one to actually have flashbacks and a backstory. And what stood out to me the most that I don't see often in fanon, is that he's really a good friend.

Yes he has a short fuse and snaps easily and is easy to anger, but he's not always angry. And is seen having and being capable of positive exchanges outside of Tsuna (I'm thinking Yamamoto namely, who's made with Ryohei to be the one he gets angry with the most).

And yes he holds Tsuna on a pedestal and sees him through heavily tinted pink glasses, but even through that he's earnestly a good friend. And tries his best, and is hardworking and overachieving, so much so he messes up without meaning to, but he only ever has honest, straight-forward good intentions behind it all (well, maybe not always lol).

I love him a lot more now is what I'm saying.

------

And Tsuna. I'm not sure I'll be able to articulate my thoughts properly, but like... he's just your average teenager. Which of course is his whole thing, and I'm saying it in a very not judgy way whatsoever, but he's often made to be at least a little more than that, namely about his bullying.

Like, it's kind of dramatised in fics? And I'm not going to elaborate on that more because it might come out wrong and I don't want that, but it's just, like—canonically he is just bullied, simple as that. Like many other teenagers are.

And it's all in a "chill" way (for unfortunate lack of a better word, I don't mean to trivialize bullying at all, it's wrong and unfair and never deserved or okay, just so we're clear), and by the time the story starts Tsuna is used to it and has given up fighting against it, and actually finds refuge and a twisted comfort in embracing his Dame-Tsuna's monicker, because at least he's not gonna hit rock bottom deeper than that if he does.

And I'm not actually going anywhere with this, it's just? It hit me how differently canon and fanon portray his bullying.

Back on the note of him being a (below) average teenager, Tsuna is not an uwu pure cinnamon roll too good for this world.

He's literally so quick to judge and criticise, whether in his head or out loud when he knows more the person (namely Haru lol, poor girl), it was actually a bit of a shock tbh lol. He snaps easily, and is lazy, does not want to try even one bit, and is happy to run away from his responsibilities whenever he can.

And not only I'm not saying that in a judgy way this time either, but I'm actually saying it in a good way. He really felt like your average middle schooler, and it was so refreshing to see. That, plus the fact the narrative never holds it against him, let alone punishes him for it even if he's made to grow out of these traits, and it's literally part of his character arc, is kind of unique for the shonen genre (maybe, I'm not exactly a specialist of shonen mangas lol).

And I can see why you'd want to change it in fics, but personally I think it really makes his character's arc even more meaningful.

[lillywillow]

Curses!

Summary: You have been having the worst week of your life. Sam tries to help you.

 Word Count: 1265

 Square Filled: “Need a medic?”

 Pairings: Sam Wilson x Reader

 Warnings: A terrible, horrible, no good, very bad week

Written for @star-spangled-bingo

 You had never been the type to believe in superstitions. Often you had shrugged it off as a joke or coincidence when bad things happened. This week, however, has you thinking differently.

...

It started on Monday. Like any other morning, you poured your cereal into your bowl only to find out someone had eaten it, leaving just a few crumbs behind. To add insult to injury, the milk had been left in the fridge so long, it was now pretty much cottage cheese. You had tried searching for something else for breakfast but nobody in the tower had bothered going shopping for groceries. Now thoroughly annoyed, you decided to skip breakfast altogether.

 And that was only the beginning of the week.

 The rest of the week was a series of accidents and unfortunate incidents. At lunch one day, you somehow managed to bite your hand eating a sandwich. On a minor mission, an insect flew down the collar of your shirt and stung your back in a place you couldn’t reach. Someone ate the last of your leftovers that you were really looking forward to at the end of the day. One time drinking hot coffee, you tipped the beverage down your front. A chair broke as you sat on it. You even choked while drinking water.

 The hits.

 Just.

 Continued.

 Coming.

 The final straw happened on Thursday. You were walking into the living room when you kicked your little toe hard against the doorway. Letting out an unholy screech and a string of swearwords, you fell to the ground clutching your foot.

 “Need a medic?” Sam smirked, looking down at you.

 “At this point, I think I need an exorcist...”

 “Yeah, I noticed. I thought for sure that scream was the demon escaping...”

 Unable to hold it in anymore, you burst into tears.

 “Hey, hey, hey, now... I was only joking. I’m sorry...” Sam knelt down and pulled you into his arms and rocked softly with you to comfort you.

 “It’s not your fault, Sam. This week has just been the worst... Everything has just been going wrong... yesterday I left my door open, Alpine wandered in and peed in my shoe which I didn’t notice until I put it on and... You know I’m not the superstitions type but this week...” You started crying again.

 Sam held you close and comforted you until you had settled down. It was times like this you were glad to have such a caring boyfriend.

 “Do you want to sit on the couch and watch movies?”

 “Y-yeah,” you whimpered.

 “Yeah? Okay...” Sam helped you get to the couch, taking care not to touch to injured toe which had already blossomed into a massive bruise.

 Sam gently set you down on the couch and put your foot up on the coffee table to keep it elevated. Afterwards, he put the movie on for you, wrapped you up in a blanket and got ice for your damaged appendage. Throughout the movie, Sam fed you snacks and made sure you had something to drink. While you may have been a full grown adult and capable of taking care of yourself (although this week had made you question that last part) it still felt nice to be taken care of. The rest of the day went without incident.

...

 The following day, you absolutely refused to come out of your room, lest something else bad happen to you. Sam knocked on your door.

 “Come on out, Y/N...”

 “No! I’m never coming out again until this stupid week is over!” you whined.

 “I made an appointment with a physic...”

 “You know I don’t believe in that mumbo jumbo...”

 Just then, a shelf on your wall decided it was time to collapse. Taking this as a sign, you opened the door.

 “Let’s go see the physic...” you mumbled with all the attitude of a sulking child. Sam grinned and put his arm around you, helping you to walk as you were still limping due to the severity of the hit to your little toe.

...

 The place Sam brought you to was something out of a movie. There were glass jars filled with mysterious objects lining the shelves and bundles of dried herbs hanging around. The smell of patchouli filled the air. Crystals of various shapes, sizes and colours sparkled in the light. You were about to walk out when a woman emerged from behind the maroon velvet curtains. She wore a purple bandana on her head, many bangles on her wrists and hoop earrings. The woman certainly fit the stereotype of a physic.

 “Welcome to my shop. I am the great Madame Nobunaga. With what can I help you with today?” she spoke in an exotic European accent.

 “Sam, this is stupid,” you whispered.

 “Do you want to get rid of your bad luck or not?”

 You carefully pondered your options before deciding that you did not want to suffer another day with something else going wrong.

 “Hi, um... this week, I’ve had some really bad luck and...”

 “Ah, yes, yes, my child. I can see your aura is a mess. Come with me in the back room and we shall do a cleansing...”

 You gave Sam an unsure look but with his approving nod, you followed Madame Nobunaga into the back where a small table covered by a midnight blue cloth had been set up. You sat on one of the cushions provided.

 “Now... let us begin. Close your eyes... breathe in the positivity, breathe out the negativity...”

 You closed your eyes and breathed as she told you while she pottered around, muttering and humming.

 “You are not focussing. Try to focus on the positive things in your life.”

 Positive things. Right. What was positive about your life? Sam. Sam was a big positive. The way he would comfort you, protect you, be there for you no matter what. Yes, Sam was the love of your life. That was a big positive. What else was there? Your friends, you guessed. The way they would make you laugh and support you... and there was Alpine too. Although Bucky’s cat could be a pain in the butt with the way... no, no, no, don’t go there. That was negative. Focus on the positive...

 By the end of the session, you were surprisingly feeling a lot more relaxed.

 “Would you like to buy a protective charm to keep away the negative energy?” Madame Nobunaga asked.

 “Couldn’t hurt,” Sam shrugged.

 With a sigh, you purchased the charm to put by your bed (even though you felt like it was a bit of a rip-off), paid the woman for her services and left.

 “See? That wasn’t so bad was it?”

 “Yeah, well... we’ll see...” you grumbled.

...

 Over the next few days, you began to actually began to see improvements. Sam helped you fix your shelf, and nothing that was sitting on it was damaged. Bucky was nice enough to buy you a new pair of shoes to replace the one his cat had soiled. Tony had taken you all out to dinner at a nice restaurant and paid for everyone. Fury had given you and Sam a whole week off together. Things were finally looking up again.

 Although you still weren’t sure how real some superstitions were, you would never again doubt the power of luck.

[anonthenullifier]

Wanda and Vision are fighting on some Avengers mission and in the midst of a fight, Vision loses their connection after Wanda takes a nasty hit.

I do love some mission angst 😁 Hope you enjoy!

_____

From an outside perspective, the most parsimonious explanation for their synchronization would be hours upon hours of careful training, of learning maneuvers that combine their powers so that Wanda’s strengths support his weaknesses, and he in turn can bolster her. It is not an unfair conclusion, they have spent countless hours (2,327 to be exact) learning this dance, timing the steps that allow Wanda to distract and enrapture with her scarlet bursts long enough for Vision to phase into position and adjust to the best density for neutralization. Except it is not entirely accurate. What no one can perceive is the link between their minds, the flow of information and senses, every move of her body reverberating in his own muscles, every strategy instantly shared and dissected, every emotion linked, their thoughts an unseen ebb and flow.

“Vision,” Captain Rogers’ voice crackles into his mind half a second before it leaps into Wanda’s, her body tensing slightly at the intrusion, “need you up here with me now.”

“Understood.” He turns towards Wanda, not to inform her, the taut line of her mouth betrays her dislike of separating, but to assure her. “I will be back momentarily.”

The cock of her head to the side occurs in time with the flinging of her arm and a pulse of scarlet, another attack drone falling to the ground, its body split open and wires sparking. “I’ll be fine.”

Vision allows himself half a second to brush his fingers along her lower back, “I am aware,” and another half second to lay a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Be safe.”

Her you too is sent through their mental link as he lifts from the ground, rising ever higher until he reaches the approximate altitude of Captain Rogers, Wanda now a speck of red, powers thrown out like a vortex spinning round and round. Vision smiles at the sight, evening out his body to propel himself to the apex of the building where Captain Rogers waits.

“I know you can get here faster than that.”

It is not the first admonishment of his slightly delayed reaction time, “According to Protocol 65, Section 2a all Avengers are required to ensure their teammates are secure before leaving.”

Captain Rogers blinks twice, his equivalent of the eye roll he would get from Wanda or the smacking of lips Sam provides whenever Vision is being too impertinent, “Not sure our definitions of appropriate securing behaviors are the same.” Unlike the others, the man leaves the conversation there. “Need your help breaking the seal.”

A rough visual examination provides clarity to the statement. The hatch they’d strategically selected for entering the building is welded shut, small hash marks and craters informing him that Steve has already attempted to use his shield to break it. “Any parameters?”

“Schematics we got are from five years ago.”

Ignorance is Vision's least favorite starting point, the schematics streaming through his mind almost unusable given they are from before the supposed experimentation they are thwarting started. “I will do a sweep and then return.”

“Make it quick.”

The molecules of his body shift, density plummeting until he is merely a specter able to phase into the building. Even inside, he maintains his incorporealness lest there is some form of weight-triggered alarm. There is, or more accurately, there is a series of intricately threaded traps amalgamating into a tricky puzzle. Only you would be excited.

Whether the upward pull of his cheeks is from his own delight or Wanda’s, he cannot pinpoint the exact source. I would say intrigued more than excited.

He can feel the revolution of her eyes tugging at his own, taking comfort to have received the normative response since it means all is well. Stay focused, Vizh.

Yes, my love.

Heeding her own advice, the link drops to a tickle along his synapses, a ghost of her neural relay intermingling with his, an experience that used to be overwhelming but is now a source of calm. Slowly he begins phasing, twisting, and shorting out the wires.

“Vision, report.”

Even if Vision’s internal timekeeping was not precise, he would know it has been three minutes as that is the threshold of Captain Roger’s patience on a mission. “I am in the midst of disabling a sophisticated,” his heart begins to race, ramming back and forth as if trapped. “A um,” next comes a cloak of terror, the acidic taste of rising bile not his own, and though his muscles feel frenzied, his hands are calm minus a subtle tremor. “I believe Wanda might-“

Wanda’s slightly frantic voice shudders into the comms. “I need back-up.”

Instantly his body begins to respond, wires falling through his fingers until Steve’s voice shackles him in place, “Sam!”

“On it!”

As if nothing else is happening, as if his pulse is not racing nor his mind down in the battlefield, his stationary arms screaming to swipe without rhythm at the threat, Steve calmly states, “Vision, report.”

“I am,” he strives to keep his voice even, unaffected, knowing how their leader responds to any show of hesitancy, “disabling a sophisticated system of traps.”

“Keep at it.”

“Affirmative.”

He moves with urgency, three fourths of his mind honed in on the delicate puzzle beneath his fingers, while the other quarter remains with Wanda, trying to make sense of the chaos even she is overwhelmed by.

A force crashes into his chest, muscles screaming and lungs struggling to function. Vision straightens out, hand instantly running along the raised texture of his suit, but there is no injury, no threat before him. He reaches out to Wanda and is met with nothing.

His heart stops. Half a second, he reaches out. Nothing. Half a second, another reach. Silence.

He was born into this world alone, separate from humanity, so this is not a new feeling...except it has now been more than a year since he was ever truly alone in his mind. It is deafening.

An uncoordinated and risky pulse of energy sears away the last of the wires, the Mindstone buzzing as he builds up energy. “Captain, move to the side.”

“Um...roger that.”

Vision increases his auditory processor, waiting until he hears the subtle scrape of Steve’s boots to the side and then he unleashes the blast, the hatch door flying off into the distance. Mission etiquette, under Protocol 66, dictates he inform Steve of his flight trajectory, but Vision bypasses it under his own personal Protocol Wanda, bursting out from the building and flying in a straight line to where he left her, phasing and blasting away everything that gets in his way.

When he lands he spots Wanda immediately, slumped forward with her right arm splayed out in an unnatural curvature. There are approximately fifteen hybrid beasts between himself and Wanda, four actively engaged with Sam. Vision inhales, clenches his fists at the still absent mental link, and then he begins a waltz uniquely his own, body twisting and turning, hovering and diving, molecules solidifying and then dissipating as need be until there is nothing in his way.

“Wanda,” he falls onto his knees, hands easing underneath her torso to pry her off the ground before cradling her head to his chest. “Wanda…” An anatomical scan confirms she is breathing, her heart is thrumming, though both slower than they should. Other than potential cracked ribs and bruising, physically she will recover.

This is not comforting since the silence remains.

Vision runs his fingers through her hair, “Wanda.” There is no stirring, no sign of understanding or of her brain functioning to the level of cognitive awareness. Even when they are having a ridiculous spat over something, she still holds tight to his mind. He isn’t even sure he can think without her there to watch. Sam’s presence over his shoulder encourages his next thought to be internal, only for Wanda. I am afraid.

A non-synthetic neuron fires in his temporal lobe. He keeps going, urging her mind to act. I need you with me. Another electrical impulse, this time tracking deep into the amygdala. I love you. The flash of recognition cascades along the neural pathways of her brain, alighting his own into a frenzy of hope. Wanda, please come back to me. Four seconds of silence and then he feels the comforting spread of her powers in every crevice of his mind. There you are.

Though her eyes remain closed, it does not stop them from rolling or make him miss the infinitesimal quirk of her lips. Little melodramatic, Vizh.

All of his worry bubbles up into a half sob-half laugh, arms closing tighter around her until she winces . “Sorry...sorry ,” he loosens his hold, “you may have some broken ribs.”

“Kinda figured.”

The static of the comms precedes a fed up, “Is anyone going to report what is going on down there?”

From behind him Sam clicks his own device, “Just an operation love bird winding down.”

A strained, defeated, “Roger that, Sam.” causes Wanda’s nose to scrunch up, her head shaking slowly from side to side. “You’re getting written up again.”

The only demerits to his otherwise pristine mission record exist solely due to moments like these. “More than likely.” Careful not to aggravate her injuries, he slopes forward, lips hovering just over hers. I regret nothing.

Good. The rush of endorphins as their lips meet is amplified by their mental link, allowing them to move without thought or debate, when his head tilts right, hers goes left, their minds together and love perfectly synchronized

[shoot-the-oneshot]

Counting the days: day 1

Series summary. You go to a friends bachelorette party in Italy and meet the man of your dreams, NOT, you didn’t see the part where you get kidnapped by a gangster on your friends itinerary. How will you handle being thrown into a life of guns and mafias.

Massimo Torricelli x Reader

Series masterlist

A week in Italy, your dream vacation. Only difference is when you imagined it you didn’t see the screaming girls surrounding you.

Sinking further into your seat when the squeals start up again. Your eyes shifting to to the right when Ally jumps in the empty seat next to you.

“You know I don’t think planes work like that.”

You tease, seeing equal annoyance on her face. You both loved Katie, the bride to be.

But her friends that seem determined to hit a new octave with their high pitched yells, not so much.

“Oh hush we’re already here they won’t say anything. Plus you didn’t just spend ten hours sitting next to a freakin squeaky toy.”

Laughing as you pushed her out of the way to grab your bag. Her grabbing hers as you pass her seat when the plane stops.

“Y/n, Ally, come on the cars waiting!”

Katie yells, still wearing a very inappropriate headband which is one of the reasons the two of us were keeping our distance until now. When we meet the group outside they immediately shove sashes over our heads. Ally was miss behaving, while I was hot mess. Rolling my eyes while she laughs.

“At lest you’re hot.”

After dinner we went to the resorts bar and took up a cabana by the pool. After a few hours of her housewife friends throwing subtle digs at you for being not being married yet.

“Clarity!”

“I’m just saying, Y/n is a pretty girl but she can’t wait to settle down forever.”

“Yeah I’d take your advice if I wanted my husband to be sleeping with his assistant.”

Ally coughs as she choked on her drink laughing while everyone else is still shocked that you even knew that. You didn’t, it was a guess but judging by her face you hit the nail on the head. As politely as you could you excused yourself saying you needed to find a bathroom, more like you needed the bar.

While you were still ranting in your head you accidentally bumped into a hard chest. Mumbling apologizes as you backed off, stopping as you looked at his face. Hello tall Italian and handsome. Taking a moment to look him over wearing all black, a few tattoos you can see, intense look in his eyes. As hot as he was there was something about him that send warnings off in your head.

“Are you lost babygirl?”

Before you could reply Ally comes running up, and starts shaking you.

“Y/n, that was amazing did you see her face!”

When you looked back for mystery man he was gone, so you let your guard down and let her drag you to the bar while telling you about the reactions you missed.

You’ve been here for five days. Just enough for you to fall in love with the place and your tan to be just right. You and Ally thankfully shared a room and while the champagne that room service brought every night that neither of you ordered creeped you out your roommate loved it.

And right now was a moment you were happy for the alcohol. The party was out at a restaurant while the food was amazing the company, not so much. Charity has made it her mission to get under your skin and while you found it funny Ally did not.

“Men don’t like women that drink Y/n”

“Shut it Karen!”

“It’s Charity!

“Sure!”

Seeing the two bicker you didn’t want it to ruin your friends bachelorette vacation. Taking yourself from equation was the best option, it was easy enough to slide away coming up with some lie about feeling sick and wanting to go back to the hotel.

Giving a few hugs to the people you actually like before taking your leave. The city was beautiful at night but you were definitely lost. While you weren’t exactly heading back immediately you’d like to at least know what direction the hotel was in.

Just as you were about to give in and call a taxi, the trashcans down the alley suddenly tipped over, your hand coming up to your chest to calm your breathing, laughing when a cat came running out. Turning around you bumped into someone for the second time this week and this man sent up red flags too.

And you should probably learn to listen to those instincts, because the next think you know everything went black.

The first thing the went through your head when you woke up was that this definitely wasn’t your hotel room or even the alley. You weren’t sure if you’d rather woken up here or back there. The room was beautiful, you can admit that. The dark floors and walls contrasted perfectly with the gold accents the biggest shower you’ve ever seen. Big double doors, wait doors! Almost tripping over the dress you were thankfully still wearing in you haste to get to the doors. Locked of course, you’ve seen enough criminal minds to know how this goes. They locked the doors but the windows however were open, Amateurs. They probably thought you wouldn’t risk the two story jump, but you’re pretty sure the climb down is better than what’s on the other side of those doors.

Pushing open the window, getting hit with the ocean breeze. The molding on the outside walls gave almost perfect steps for you to take down. You swear nothing had ever felt as good as the grass under your feet in that moment. you couldn't enjoy it for long before you heard yells, that was quick.

Gathering your dress in your hands you take off running. Looking for a way out when the voices started coming from all around you. You’re trapped, the only thing you can get to is the pool so that’s where you go.

Slowly getting into the pool to not create a splash, taking deep fast breaths until you see shadows come around the corner. Gasping once more slipping under the water keeping your back to the wall. You never thought you’d use anything you learned in those diving classes for once you were glad to be wrong.

All you heard was muffled voices, after what felt like forever they started to fade, waiting a few more seconds before coming up just to be safe. But before you could two hands reach through the water hauling you up.

Choking between screaming and gasping for air, barely noticing the man picking you up until he gently sets you down on a couch.

It’s mystery man! You can only see his back but you’re sure it’s him. Especially when he turned back. You didn’t see the towel that was around your shoulders until he finally spoke. Leaning on his arm that was resting above the very elaborate fireplace.

“Was the idea of being here so bad that you tried to kill yourself twice to get away?”

The words rolled off his tongue, thick with frustration and his Italian accent. Did he think you wanted to be here? You didn’t even know where here was. Oh if only you weren’t trapped in an episode of Dexter this situation would almost be hot.

“While it was incredibly stupid to jump out a window, I must admit I admire your dedication the pool was very smart. But if you try it again I will not be as kind.”

As his sentences went on the closer he got, step by step the more intimidating he became. He ended up only a few inches away from your face. Arms reaching the back of the couch trapping you between them.

“So next time don’t let you catch me”

Those were not the words he wanted to hear, he made that fact very clear but tugging the towel tighter around your neck and pulling you even closer as he growled.

“Don’t test me, If you run again I can always chain you to the bed. How would like that? Think you could run then?”

No you don’t, but you do think you can play nice and slip away once you gain his trust. So you kept quiet, taking your silence as cooperation he backs off back to the fireplace.

“Five years ago my life changed, I watched my father die by a bullet that was meant for the both of us. I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes I saw you, I’ve looked for you for years, no one believed you were real they said you were only my imagination, but when I saw you at the airport I knew I had to make you mine.”

You could see where everyone was coming from. You didn’t believe him either it was insane! “I’m not yours!” You couldn’t help but say. Now Y/n you really shouldn’t tell the psycho that he’s a psycho. You could hear Ally tell you now.

“I know, that’s why I’m giving you a chance to fall in love with me. Not because I forced you but because you want to. I’m giving you 365 days to love me and if in a year nothing changes I’ll let you go.”

Three words. What. The. Hell.

“I have a family, friends, a boyfriend! they’ll look for me!”

“My men have collected your things from the resort, your friends think you left to ease the tension with that woman. Your family thinks you found out your boyfriend cheated on you so you’re staying here to get over it. Y/n, if you give it a chance you’ll love me, I know you will. I’ll do everything to make you love me.”

DAY 2

❤️part one is done. I know it sucked but it will get better but hope you guys Liked it stay tuned for more. My request are still open!❤️

Series tag list: @calirindo

[boymeetsweevil]

SS6 - MYG, FLUFF, 2900w

For @bangtancentricsblogsmain​ because i wanted her to suffer :)

At 3pm, on a Thursday, there’s a knock on Yoongi’s bedroom door. He had come through that very same door not an hour earlier to lock himself away from the world after a particularly draining day. After dropping his bag somewhere on the ground, he showered, removed his contacts, and pushed the laundry waiting to be folded over to the other half of his bed in record time.

Normally he would have joined his roommate and their mutual friend circle who were seated on the couch in the communal living room, eating snacks and watching a game. But this time he begged out with a quiet mumble about needing rest.

When Hoseok knocks, Yoongi makes a feeble sound to signal he’s still, unfortunately, awake.

“What,” Yoongi grumbles. 

He attempts to sit up on one pale elbow and then decides against it. Hoseok’s lips twitch up at how cranky Yoongi is pre-nap before sinking back down as his expression darkens into a pitying and somber mix.

“She’s here. And, uh, she’s asking for you.” Hoseok’s eyes dart back to some unseen spot in the living room.

“Tell her I’m asleep.”

“I know you’re not asleep, Yoongi!” Your voice rings from outside the bedroom and Hoseok cringes sympathetically.

“I’ll just leave,” Hoseok says when you shove your torso through the crack in the doorway.

You wait to start speaking until the bedroom door is shut and the noises from the TV outside wash away.

“Why haven’t you been answering my texts?”

“Sorry, I’ve been busy,” is all you get.

The backpack you carry drops unceremoniously to the ground with a thud and any dregs of sleep cloying to Yoongi’s brain vanish with the sound. It’s with a valiant effort that he shoves his face deeper into his pillow. You cock your head to look at your best friend and snort at him.

Yoongi’s glasses are skewed across his face. There are thin pink lines marring the left side of his face from lying pressed to the wrinkled sheets with glasses on. The platinum blond waves of his hair, normally coiffed styled, are squashed flat against his forehead. Rarely ever does he look this rumpled and it’s hilarious.

“That’s okay, I’ll just tell you what I wrote in the texts,” you say as you make your way further into Yoongi’s small room. 

A look down at your feet shows him that you’ve shoved your feet into the pair of bunny slippers he got for guests you when he and Hoseok first moved in almost a year ago.

“Basically,” you continue. “There’s good news and there’s bad news. Pick one.” You help yourself to his desk chair and swivel it so it faces him.

“Bad news first,” Yoongi says after some deliberation. He pulls the covers up to his chin more securely.

“Smart choice,” you nod sagely. “The bad news is I’m gonna have to paint your face.”

“What the hell,” Yoongi barks.

“But the good news is that I have a new job as a face painter at the kids’ section of the farmer’s market this season!”

“How is that good news for me?”

“It means I’ll be slightly less broke and I can stop asking you to buy me breakfast before our 9am.”

Yoongi doesn’t really know whether to laugh or to cry. Firstly, there’s no way in hell he’s letting you paint his face. You’ve always been shit at drawing and letting you showcase that on his skin doesn’t do him any favors. Secondly, he’s in his twenties and he doesn’t even go to the farmer’s market. There’s no reason for him to set foot on the town commons during sunny Saturdays for local produce, much less to get his face painted next to a pen full of smelly goats and screaming kids. He’s just not seeing the connection between you getting this job and him getting his face painted. He stares at you with the hope that you’ll back off but he finds that you’re just blinking back at him with a huge, proud pretty grin.

For a moment Yoongi wants to smile back like things are normal. He wants to put on a groan and act like he’s annoyed that he’s been “forced” to order you sugary coffee drinks and muffins using his own money for longer than he can remember. He wants to gently muss your hair to see you make that cute shocked face you always make. But he can’t. 

Because if he does all that, he might slip up again like he did last weekend. 

At 10:24pm, Friday of last week, Yoongi told you he loved you while one small bottle of liquid courage was sloshing away in his stomach. After seconds of silence ticked by like the bangs of a gong, you replied. A sing-songy ‘Aww. I love you too, Yoongi’ and a light pat on the arm. Your words were basically the mirror image of his, but somehow also starkly different. Disappointment walked him home early that night and embarrassment laid him low the following week.

But it was just a week, he’d reasoned with himself, you’d hardly notice anyway...

“Yoongi? You okay?”

“No,” he hisses and shakes his head gently to dislodge memories of that pathetic weekend.

“Are you sure?”

“Why do you need to paint my face?”

“For practice! The market doesn’t open for another month but I need to get good. Jungkook said that if I do it really well the parents will leave bigger tips.”

“So Jungkook is behind all this.”

“Yeah,” you chirp. “He’s been really helpful in the last week. Usually I’d vent to you about how broke I am but since you were so busy, I ended up hanging out with Kook. He’s honestly really resourceful and he got me the job really fast.”

The hairs on the back of Yoongi’s neck bristle at the mention of the younger “peer”. Jungkook was a constant presence at group hangouts for a long while but Yoongi could only ever think of him as a friend of a friend. There was something smarmy about the guy’s smile that he didn’t like. And the way he was always draping himself over you, teasing you, buying you food that was all his job. He can’t put his finger on what it is exactly, but something about Jungkook always put Yoongi in a shit mood.

Yoongi curses under his breath. “Why couldn’t he get you a job at the cotton candy station or managing the photo booth or something?”

“What’s up with you lately? Do you really hate the idea of helping me that much?”

“It’s just annoying,” Yoongi huffs childishly from under the blanket.

“Fine, I’ll just ask Jungkook, then.”

“No! Wait!” Your eyes flash with hope. “I’ll do it. Just—don’t bother him. Since he already gave you the job, I mean.”

“Oh, thank god. I felt really bad about asking him for even more help.”

You turn around and pull out a face painting kit from thin air and begin scooting the desk chair towards the bed. When you’re close enough, you frown.

“What?” Yoongi sniffs at his sheets for good measure. All clean.

“Nothing. It’s just...” You look down at the ground and then the chair and then at Yoongi before looking at the chair again. “I usually practice on shorter surfaces so I can get used to working with the kids.”

“Oh, just pull the little lever underneath the chair. Raising and lowering the chair is Hoseok’s favorite thing to do when he comes in here, I swear.”

You reach under the seat like Yoongi instructed, find the little lever, and tug. There’s a low hissing sound before the seat suddenly drops 5 inches. You let out a yelp while Yoongi tries to stifle a laugh at your terrified expression.

“I guess—I guess Hoseok pulled the lever too much,” Yoongi’s voice creaks with laughter. Even when you flick him in the forehead he keeps laughing.

“Yoongi, this isn’t funny. I need to practice.”

“Just so you know there’s no way I’m getting on the floor. I’ve changed my clothes and I’m actually in the bed.”

He knows he’s being a bit of a dick at the moment, but he’s only trying to rile you up. He’s not expecting you to start to get up on the bed after flipping him off. The laundry he placed on his bed that morning to force himself to fold now laughs at him from its position shoved against the wall.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I need to be higher than you to paint your face. And you’re not getting up, right?”

“Well, no. But—”

“So this is where I’m gonna work.”

You shrug like it’s not a big deal that you’re straddling him. Like it’s not a big fucking deal that your soft thighs now rest on either side of his torso, that you casually rest a hand on his ribcage while setting up the painting kit along his sternum. He hopes your hand stays further south only to prevent the rapid beating of his heart from being discovered under your palm.

“What design do you want,” your voice is quiet now that you’re closer. 

Makes sense. No need to yell. But it still drives Yoongi crazy that you’re basically whispering in his ear as you lean over him to grab at the unused cup of water behind the bed frame. You revive your paints with the water while he tries to keep his breathing in check, lest he cause your paints to tumble off his torso and stain his sheets in a pastel rainbow.

“Uhh, how about an old style tiger?”

“Really,” you deadpan, “I tell you I’m just starting to learn to paint and you ask for a tiger?”

“Fine. Stars, then.” He gulps when you look right at him, face flushing to create the perfect pink canvas.

“Oh, I can do that. No reference needed.”

It seems deadly quiet in Yoongi’s room. The sounds of the living room long since died down when a crowd favorite started playing and captured everyone’s attention. Now there’s only yours and his intermingled breathing and the sound of your brush tinkling against glass.

You lean down from your perch to focus on carving out a swatch of night sky to blanket Yoongi’s stars. Your breath softly puffs low against his left cheek at the same moment the wet tip of the paintbrush hits his skin. His breath hitches a little and he’s not sure which is the culprit.

“Hold still, okay?” Your words come out in a whisper. 

“Okay,” he whispers back.

Minutes pass and two shaky stars are born on Yoongi’s cheekbone. You shift around on his chest to stabilize yourself and in your movement you lose your footing a little, your right leg slipping off the edge of the mattress.

“Ah—”

“I got you,” Yoongi grunts a little as his hands fly to your hips.

He easily stops your momentum and your paints, clutched desperately in your hands, remain safe from the ground. The pads of his fingers are still dug lightly into the meat of your hips and waist. In that moment you remember just how big Yoongi’s hands are.

“T-thanks.”

“No problem.” 

A slow grin spreads on Yoongi’s face when he notices that suddenly you can’t make eye contact like you were just a few moments prior.

You do your best to continue, but your gaze keeps flitting to his, only to find that he’s already looking at you. It sets something hot aflutter in your chest. The points of the stars that you thought you had a handle on turn soft and wobbly once more. 

“Look up,” you ask when you’re out of other options and keep having to paint over your work.

Yoongi has to bite his tongue to keep from chuckling at how jittery you seem. It feels good to know that the effects of this proximity are mutual, that you’re feeling just as lightheaded from sitting in his lap as he is from having you sit in it.

“You almost done?” He drawls. He’s been counting the small irregularities in the paint on his ceiling to keep entertained.

“Uh, yeah, almost.”

He feels the cold kiss of the brush tip once, twice more before it returns to its makeshift home of the water glass with a clink.

“Do you...wanna see what it looks like,” you sit up then. 

There’s a small hand mirror across the room that you’re eyeing. But he stops you with a squeeze to your hips, reminding you that his hands have been resting there this whole time.

“Just use my phone,” he nods to the device lying abandoned in the sheets. “Take a picture.”

“Okay.”

For some reason, your hands are shaking even with the paintbrush gone and the need for focus lifted. Mechanically you wake Yoongi’s phone from sleep and access the camera app to take a photo, shifting your weight to your knees to get above him and snap a pic. Curiosity makes you open the photo album app to see the photo you just took instead of showing it to him first. The result takes your breath away. 

Yoongi looks blissfully content, almost smugly so, as he gazes up at the camera. The stars under his eyes and on the bridge of his nose look like glowing yellow freckles amidst the banner of deep navy and rich purples you used to craft the sky across his cheekbones. The paint looks good and it’s probably even your best job yet, but you can’t help yourself from looking elsewhere.

Yoongi’s tousled bed head, soft sleep shirt, and dreamy eyes bring a cloud of butterflies to your stomach. The final killer touch of the photo is the fact that your knees just barely enter the bottom of the photo. Yoongi’s hands rest on each one like they belong there.

“Yoongi.” You breathe his name like a sigh and that’s when he surges up, as if to catch his name on your lips.

The kiss takes you by surprise and you tumble down to him in a soft pile of limbs. He hums a long, pleased sound when your weight settles on top of him. The hands he had on your knees suddenly grow restless and they amble up your thighs, up your waist, around your back. His hands are ever busy gliding over as much of you as they can in the moments that you let your lips press firmly against his.

Idly you pick out the details you notice with your eyes drifting closed. Yoongi’s breath leaves his nose in puffs against your face and his sighs echo quiet in your ears. His hair is soft between your fingers and so is the collar of the worn shirt that he’s wearing. The sheets that have raised around you like makeshift linen mountains smell just like Yoongi’s sweet soap, warmed with sleep.

“Shouldn’t we—”, he plants a kiss on your mouth, “shouldn’t we talk about this,” you mumble against his lips.

Yoongi’s hands stop in their tracks along the midpoint of your spine. The sigh he lets out is long suffering.

“Sorry. I just—I got carried away.”

“I mean, you don’t have to apologize for it. I just...thought you saw me as a friend.”

“Do friends confess their love for each other? That’s new.”

“L-love?” Your eyes turn wide and starry. “When have either of us ever confessed our love?”

“Well, I did. At the bar. Or did you have to block that memory out?”

Your brow furrows at the self-deprecating turn his smile takes and you clasp one of his still-wandering hands.

“You mean—Yoongi, I thought you were just being mushy. I thought you meant, like, ‘I love that we’re all here together as friends right now’. If I had known that was a real confession,” you trail off.

“You what?” 

Yoongi’s mood elevates once more, enjoying the sudden turn your rambling is taking. Teasingly he bucks his hips under you, startling you out of your bashful silence and forcing you to press two hands to his chest for balance. A cute little sound leaves your lips and he’s tempted to do it again.

“You were saying,” he grins up at you and his hands start to wander once again.

“I would have—”

“Baby, speak up.” He’s all coos but there’s a little venom in his voice. He likes how embarrassed you are.

“I would have left with you that night. If I had known.”

His shirt wrinkles up where your fingers twist anxiously. Normally you trample through Yoongi’s space, no shame or hesitation in the way you leave him on his toes. It had always been a fun game for you to see how close you could get before he’d have to draw a line, before his besotted smile would become too hard to hide. But now you’re not so sure you can handle it directed at you in all its glory.

“That’s a nice idea,” he says. 

In one moment he looks like he’s really weighing the idea, serious in his appraisal. The next moment he’s tugging you down when you least expect it, bringing a corner of the blanket to envelope you both. Under the cover of weak darkness, he threads a hand through the hair at the base of your neck. 

“Why don’t you tell me about it?”

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Among Us

Shinobu Kochou x Fem Reader 

Also Featuring: Giyuu, Obanai, Mitsuri, Nezuko, Tanjirou, Kanao, Zenitsu, and Inosuke.

A/N: Y’all already know what it is. Enjoy this modern, kinda crack, fic.

“Start!” Inosuke screamed in everyone’s ears the second the lobby was filled. “Inosuke, you don’t need to yell!” Tanjirou winced. “I said start! Who’s running this thing? Let’s go! I wanna crush all of you!” Inosuke’s voice boomed over the discord server, his character moving erratically about the lobby space. “Inosuke, just hold on a second. I’m adjusting the settings!” (Y/n) tried to explain over the boy’s howls.

“Oh, hey, guys? Is it okay if I stream this?” Mitsuri asked. “My subscribers have been begging to see me play,” “I don’t have a problem with it,” (Y/n) shrugged, “What does everyone else think? Speak now or forever hold your regret,” A bunch of muddled voices resounded through (Y/n) headphones and she listened hard to pick up any objections. “Sounds like You’re good to go Mitsuri,” “Thanks guys!” “Start! Start! Start!” Inosuke chanted. “Oh my god,” (Y/n) groaned, “Okay, I hope they get you first,” she muttered as she clicked the start button. “What?!” The screen fades, (Y/n) sighs, relieved that she’s a crewmate this round. Imposter is much too stressful. “Oooo I’m so excited!” Mitsuri’s voice broke through as the game began. “Mitsuri, mute,” Shinobu and Obanai gently reminded her before re-muting themselves. “Eep! Sorry!” Mitsuri replied before all was silent. (Y/n) opened her map and decided she’d work right to left for now. She made her way to weapons and saw Nezuko’s little brown bean with bear ears shooting asteroids while Tanjirou and Zenitsu watched. (Y/n) made a mental note of it and continued to navigation for her download and spaceship task. She walked into the empty room and began her download. As the download neared its completion, (Y/n) prayed no meeting would be called before the final file was retrieved, lest she have to do it all over again. When the screen closed, (Y/n) jumped in her seat when she saw Shinobu’s little purple character hovering over hers. “Are you downloading Shinobu, or are you being nefarious?” (Y/n) muttered to herself. She eyed Shinobu suspiciously before moving to complete her spaceship task. When she finished that, Shinobu had moved to stand directly in front of her, the helmets of their little avatars meeting in a kiss. “Nope nope nope, stop that,” (Y/n) moved to get the hell out of nav but before she could, a body had been reported. “I found Inosuke’s body in electrical,” Giyuu spoke. “Zenitsu has been following me everywhere!” Tanjirou shared, “It’s very unsettling.” “It’s because I’m scared, Tanjirou!” Zenitsu cried. “Where is everyone what do we know?” Obanai asked. “I’m in reactor doing the pattern game!” Mitsuri shared. “Zenitsu, Nezuko, and I ended in admin.” Tanjirou supplied. “I was in nav with (Y/n).” Shinobu’s calming voice shined through. “That’s true,” (Y/n) affirmed, “I also saw Nezuko do asteroids so she’s clear. Kanao, where were you?” “Med bay,” came the quiet and precise reply. “Obanai, where were you?” Giyuu asked. “I was in storage filling my gas can,” he replied, coolly. “That’s close to electrical,” Giyuu noted. “Are you accusing me, Tomioka?” “Just making an observation,” “I think Tomioka self reported,” Shinobu sing-songed as she submitted her vote. “Ooo, defense Tomioka-san?” Mitsuri asked. “...I didn’t do it.” “I’ve heard all I needed to hear,” Obanai deadpanned while submitting a vote for Giyuu. “Okay, but I think we should hold off a round, we don’t have a lot to go off on. We should skip,” Tanjirou reasoned. “Just keep an eye on Giyuu. Maybe Kanao too, she could have vented to med bay from electrical,” “I agree!” Mitsuri voiced along with (Y/n) and a hum from Nezuko. The votes were cast with moments to spare. Three votes against Giyuu and the rest were skips. “Zenitsu, why did you vote for Giyuu?” Tanjirou asked. “He’s suspicious and I don’t want to die!” The game faded back in and (Y/n) decided to go to admin to card swipe and finish her upload. Shinobu followed close behind, along with Tanjirou and Zenitsu. (Y/n) began her upload, feeling relatively safe with three other people in the room. By the time she was done, Obanai had joined them as well. Though he appeared to be looking at the admin table rather than continuing his tasks. (Y/n) let him be and went to the card swipe, quickly completing the task before moving on. She followed Tanjirou and Zenitsu to storage and completed a set of wires while the green and yellow characters continued downward towards the right side. When she came out of the task, the lights were out. She moved as fast as her character’s stubby little legs would allow and found Mitsuri already fixing the lights. Soon, light flooded the map once more and (Y/n) checked the upper area and was shocked to find Giyuu standing over a black halved corpse, Obanai. She quickly reported with Mitsuri right behind her. “Nezukoooooo!” Zenitsu and Tanjirou yelled in unison. “Who killed my baby sister!” Tanjirou cried. “Oh dear,” came Shinobu’s sympathetic voice, “she was the only cleared one out of all of us,” “Guys, I’m sad too, but listen to what Mitsuri and I saw!” (Y/n) said, trying to talk over the rowdy boys’ wails. “What did you see, love?” Shinobu’s melodic voice sent shivers down (Y/n)’s spine, but she quickly recovered. “Giyuu was standing over Obanai’s body in electrical,” “He was!” Mitsuri confirmed, “My poor snake-y boi!” “I didn’t see him,” Giyuu claimed. “How could you not have seen him? You were literally standing on his body,” (Y/n) rose her arms in disbelief. “I was doing a task. The spinning circle thing,” he explained monotonously. “I know you’re incompetent Tomioka, but even you can’t be that clueless,” Shinobu chided. “Let’s not forget Obanai accused him of killing Inosuke last round,” “She’s right, I think we need to vote you out, sorry Giyuu,” Tanjirou called mournfully. “...But you don’t vote on seven.” Giyuu replied, seemingly emotionless. “When you know, you know. Sorry Giyuu,” (Y/n) voted, soon followed by the others. “But I have trash,” “Just vote, Tomioka,” Shinobu ordered with a mocking sweetness. A unanimous vote, besides Giyuu who skipped, sent the blue bean spinning into space. “Oh shiiiit,” (Y/n) groaned, as the white text appeared on screen. Giyuu was not an imposter. “A double kill and it’s all over.” As soon as the game resumed, the reactor went off. (Y/n) followed after everyone, counting the seconds until inevitable death. Shinobu and Zenitsu went top reactor so (Y/n) went to lower. There she found Kanao and Tanjirou who had originally headed the pack. “What?!” (Y/n) yelled, not caring if Shinobu could hear her from the living room, because Kanao’s white character with its cute little flower atop its head, just sliced Tanjirou up right in front of her. “I can’t believe I hit the report button before there was a double kill!” (Y/n) spoke quickly, “Kanao, sweet baby Kanao, killed sunshine boy Tanjirou in front of my very own eyes!” “Tanjirooooouuuu!” Zenitsu cried. “Kanao, is that true?” Shinobu asked. “...Yes,” Kanao answered after a short pause. “I have always appreciated your honesty, but you are allowed to lie in this game, Kanao,” “Okay, Nee-san” Kanao replied. “...I didn’t do it,” “It’s a little late for that now, but keep it in mind for the future.” “So wait, we’re voting off Kanao?” Mitsuri asked. “If (Y/n) is to be believed, then yes,” Shinobu replied. “What do you mean ‘if I’m to be believed?’” (Y/n) asked feeling a bit hurt, “I honestly saw her do it,” “You also played a major part in Tomioka getting booted off the ship. In fact, I’d say you and Mitsuri are quite suspicious,” “Hey!” Mitsuri whined, “How am I suspicious?” “You never showed up to reactor,” Shinobu explained, “You left your fellow imposter hanging. I assume (Y/n) only killed Tanjirou because she expected you to attack as well,” “I- I meant to help at reactor, really, but I got distracted by another arrow and went the wrong way!” Mitsuri sputtered. “I don’t know what to believe!” Zenitsu screamed. “Zenitsu, Shinobu, listen to me. I swear it’s Kanao, she admitted to it, remember?” (Y/n) couldn’t believe they were still debating this at all. “I believe (Y/n)!” Mitsuri declared and then promptly voted. “Well, we do need to vote... I suppose I’ll believe you (Y/n). After all, you could have killed me back in nav at the beginning of the game,” Shinobu decided. “Did you come up with that theory before just to spite me or what?” (Y/n) felt her eye twitch as her girlfriend’s melodic laughter rang through her ears. “Perhaps,” Shinobu teased, “I really do have my doubts about Mitsuri though.” “Shinobuuuu, don’t be mean!” (Y/n) could practically hear the pout in Mitsuri’s tone. The votes were soon counted. Everyone had voted for Kanao, including the quiet girl herself, and she was sent into space. The white text confirming that she was indeed an imposter. There were only four of them now, (Y/n), Shinobu, Zenitsu, and Mitsuri. (Y/n) cursed as she glanced at the task bar. It was barely half filled. “I’ll bet you anything Inosuke hasn’t done a single goddamn task this whole time,” she mumbled to herself as she followed Mitsuri’s pink character and the little hamster rolling behind her. (Y/n) stopped at security and did wires while Mitsuri continued downward to lower engine. (Y/n) then double backed to reactor after opening her map and realizing she had numbers to do as well. Once she completed that, (Y/n) only had one more set of wires to complete in the cafeteria. As she made her way up the map, o2 went off. (Y/n) bypassed the wires she needed to fix, and headed to admin where she was the only one around. She opened the task and was about to push the last number when a body was reported. “Mitsuri, care to explain yourself?” Shinobu spoke, her voice eerily calm. “Shinobu, you killed Zenitsu in front of me!” Mitsuri squealed. “It’s a self report (Y/n), I swear!” “(Y/n), would I ever lie to you?” Shinobu asked sweetly. “Yes, yes you would,” (Y/n) replied without hesitation. “You’re a beast at this game. I bet if we played in the same room you could still lie right to my face,” “That’s fair,” Shinobu replied. “Then I implore you to think back to the previous rounds.” “She’s stalling! I swear she did it, (Y/n)!” “(Y/n), when you were in electrical and saw Tomioka standing over Obanai’s body, wasn’t Mitsuri in there before you?” “Yeah, but she was fixing the lights,” (Y/n) recalled. “But how easy would it have been for her to lull Obanai into a false sense of security? Tomioka was indisposed, she probably killed Obanai while he was distracted then quickly turned off the lights, giving herself a cover as she fixed her own sabotage,” “That’s not true!” Mitsuri objected. “Then of course she ran away from reactor when it was in meltdown.” “(Y/n), I know this looks bad but I swear Shinobu is the evil one,” Mitsuri pleaded over the discord. “I-“ “(Y/n), we did a download in nav together at the beginning of the game. I even gave you a little kiss in front of the spaceship task. Does that sound like the work of a murderous space alien, (Y/n)” Shinobu added, interrupting (Y/n)’s train of thought. “N-no, but-“ “Love, trust me,” Shinobu practically purrs as she submits her vote, the sound tickled (Y/n)’s ears and made her become even more flustered. “(Y/n), no! Fight it! You know this isn’t right!” Mitsuri spoke passionately, submitting her vote for Shinobu. “AHHHHH I don’t know!” (Y/n) throws her arms up as the timer clicks dangerously low, she has to vote, one more kill for the imposter means game over. This was the crewmates’ last shot at victory. Then she thinks back to how the game should have ended with a double kill during the reactor meltdown. (Y/n)’s heart speeds up and she’s hit with a rush of premature euphoria. There is no way Shinobu would have messed up that double kill, not with her brutal history as an imposter! “Aha!” (Y/n) cheered, voting for Mitsuri at the very last second. She was practically bouncing in her seat she was so excited. “Nooooo!” Feed my hamster (Y/n), I forgive you!” Mitsuri cried, her voice comically fading out as her pink spaceman floated across the screen. “Isn’t this romantic, just a murderous alien and her human lover,” Shinobu’s sweet voice joyously sang. “Wait, what...? No! No fucking way!” (Y/n) cursed as the defeat message filled her screen. “You fool! I can’t believe you fell for that, idiot!” Inosuke cackled into his mic. “That was unfortunate, if it makes you feel any better I would have believed her too,” Tanjirou comforted. “I told you guys I didn’t kill anyone.” “Shut up, Tomioka,” Obanai huffed. “But, at reactor, why didn’t you do the double kill?” (Y/n) floundered, “Why drag it out? You could have ended it right there!” “And miss out on having my girlfriend and a nice spaceship all to myself? I think not,” Shinobu teased. “Aww that’s so sweet,” Mitsuri cooed. “You do realize that what you are calling ‘sweet’ is what led to you being sucked into space, right?” Obanai asked, his voice filled with more warmth than when he spoke to Giyuu. “Yes, but still.” “Enough pointless chatter! Start! Start another round!” Inosuke demanded. “If you get crewmate again you better finish your tasks, Inosuke. I know for a fact you weren’t doing them as a ghost,” Zenitsu grumbled. “Hmm hmm!” Nezuko agreed, seemingly angry. “Nezuko, are you eating another baguette right now?” Kanao asked. “Eyshureum,” Nezuko paused to swallow and spoke again more clearly, “I sure am.” “Impressive,” Kanao simply stated before going about her own business, moving her little white character in a figure eight pattern around the boxes in the lobby. “(Y/n)! Lord Inosuke commands you to start the next game!” Inosuke commands as his little cyan astronaut with a crown dances over (Y/n)’s character which stood completely still. “(Y/n)? You still there?” Mitsuri asked. “She’s probably still in shock, honestly,” Obanai scoffed, “Hey, (L/n), shake it off and get back in the game, let’s go,” “Sorry everyone, you’ll need to start a new lobby. (Y/n) and I have to go, bye!” Shinobu quickly jumped in out of nowhere. “Wh-“ Shinobu disconnected from discord and the game and pulled (Y/n) further into herself, a prideful smirk on her lips. “You are an evil genius and I totally hate you right now,” (Y/n) gasped after their lips met in a heated kiss. “Aww, don’t be bitter. Mitsuri won’t harbor any hard feelings,” Shinobu murmured, brushing her lips against (Y/n)’s as she spoke. “Besides, you know you love my sadistic side.” “Shut up, and kiss me some more before I change my mind,” (Y/n) frowned and tightened her grip on Shinobu’s shirt. “Happily,” Shinobu whispered, pushing (Y/n) back to lay across the couch. (Y/n)’s frown quickly melted away when Shinobu’s lips met hers once more.

[snakeboistan]

Just Out Of Reach

My exams are finally over so have some touch-starved!Nagisa 

Pairing: Nagisa x 3-E

AO3 LINK

Shiota Nagisa was a loner. He always had been for as long as he could remember.

When he was in elementary school, he was the weird kid - the strange girl-boy that hardly talked and no one could understand. His male classmates thought that he was too girly to take part in their games or join their conversations and whilst his female classmates didn’t mind his appearance that much, they knew better than to associate with him lest they too fall victim to the taunts and sneers that followed him everywhere, or the relentless bullying that inconvenienced him every breaktime. However, he didn’t mind - friends were a luxury he couldn’t afford anyway (his mother didn’t approve of him spending time out of the apartment, away from her). He would have his own fun by sitting himself down in his school’s library and bury his head in a book, getting lost in worlds that weren’t mean, or cold, or judgemental. Or he’d sit on a bench in the school playground, homemade lunch in hand, and observe his peers hug and high five and laugh together, whilst ignoring the strange pang of something that would curl in his stomach, wanting more than ever for something he could never have.

 Even during his first year of Junior High, when he met the red haired genius of a delinquent called Karma, he didn’t let himself indulge in what normal friends would do. Sure, he felt comfortable around the first friend he’d ever had (though the unnatural comfort was often overshadowed by the awe and admiration that he was allowed in the company of someone as brilliant as Akabane Karma) but Karma had his own walls, his own issues and lack of trust, so there was always that unspoken distance between them, that slight tenseness that lingered between every (very) rare arm that was slung over his shoulder. Though they walked side by side, it was never hand in hand. Though they spent every free minute together there were never any fist bumps or high fives or hugs (Nagisa wondered if Karma even knew what hugs were). Karma kept to himself and so did he - they both had boundaries that the other respected.

 Until, Karma left. And he was alone again. 

 And as much as he said that he didn’t mind it - as much as he told himself that he was used to it ever since he woke up that one day and his father was nowhere to be found, the shouts and screams of his parents having their nth argument ringing in his ears even though his house was pitch quiet for once - it hurt. So when he was sent to E-Class with his head hung low and the voices of his former classes whispering their disgust trailing after him, he looked at the grenade in his hand and knew that he had nothing left to lose.

  (So why did Koro-Sensei save him? And why did it feel so good? )

  (And why did that mucus-like membrane shrouding him make his chest heat up with a feeling he’s never felt before?)

  It was during their lunch break when it happened.

 Nagisa was sitting by cross-legged at the base of a tree, reading an article about an upcoming superhero flick, whilst a group of his classmates were throwing, hitting and bouncing a ball in a game that Yada had called ‘don’t let the ball touch the ground’ but Kimura dubbed ‘the floor is lava for the ball and not us’ (he’ll let the jury decide which title was better) when he heard some rustling above him followed by groans.

 “Okajima,” Maehara whined, “you hit it too high.”

 “I’m sorry okay,” Okajima said, “I didn’t mean to get it stuck in some branch.”

 “Don’t worry,” Yada smiled at him, “I’m sure that we can get it down if we stand on each others shoulders or something.”

 “I don’t know,” Kataoka frowned. She looked up, making sure to cover her eyes from the sun, at the cursed branch, “it’s pretty high up. It’s safer for us to go and get a ladder.”

 “No need,” Nagisa said. Unbeknownst to them, the moment Nagisa had gotten whiff of what had happened, he jumped up and, as silent as a serpent, leaped nimbly from branch to branch until he reached the one with the ball. He carefully plucked it from where it was nestled in a groove before making his way back down again, all just before Kataoka spoke. He threw it into her hands.

 “What the- how the hell did you even do that?” Maehara’s jaw was dropped, frantically looking between the ball and the branch it was (he swore) a second ago.

 “How did no one even see him?” Okajima whispered.

 “Thank you, Nagisa,” Kurahashi beamed with the intensity of a thousand suns and threw her arms around him in one of her famous bear hugs, laughing in that usual bubbly way she always does. Nagisa freezes mid-flinch, almost petrified at the sudden contact. An unfamiliar warmth starts to spread across his chest. It was nice and almost comforting, drowning him with bright yellows and gentle goldens - making him feel like he was special. It took everything in him to not melt into it, a keening noise stuck at the base of his throat.

 When his mother touches him, he feels the sharp talons of her nails digging into his skin. When she pecks his cheek or forehead, he has to stop himself from wincing at the way cyanide seems to burn him where her lips leave. In all honesty, he’d rather the sharp slaps and objects flying at him, at least those forms of pain where only physical and didn’t leave a confusing sense of dichotomy where his emotions that craved for the positive contact to linger battled where his fight-or-flight survival instincts screamed at him to scrub every single atom of her off of him. Touch was something he could neither afford nor understand. 

 If he wanted warmth, he’d wrap himself up in scarves and throw on soft jumpers; if he wanted to feel safe, he’d make sure to do everything he can to not trigger his mother into another eruption; if he wanted contact then he’d find his old plushies buried deep in the confines of his closet and embrace them in hopes that it would be enough. For him, the closest he’s ever gotten to feeling that void in his chest was when words of affirmation would wash over him (it’s no secret to anyone that compliments can render him unable to function)(but can you blame him when compliments to him are as rare as painite?).

 When Kurahashi let go of him to go regale Yada with stories from a nature documentary she watched the night prior, he’s still stock still, dumbstruck, from that momentary embrace. He wanted her to come back so that he could feel it again. He wanted to feel her arms around his body like a safe little cocoon. He wanted to submit to that sunshine-like comfort and never get out of it. He craved that warmth so much it hurt him - why did it hurt so much?

 It made him feel so wanted . And lov-

 Is this why people hold hands all the time? 

 Later that night, he crushed one of his stuffed animals against his chest as he wrapped his arms around his body. He wondered why his pillowcase had wet stains on it when he woke up the next day.

 (He ignored the answer that gnawed him at the back of his mind)

  The second time he felt it was during a ‘completely necessary class bonding sleepover extravaganza’ (as Fuwa had put it) at the Nakamura household. With the blonde’s parents out of the country to visit her older brother, she had her entire house to herself - a house that was miraculously large enough to house twenty-seven teenage assassins in training (as well the phones that contained ‘Mobile Ritsu’).

“I still don’t understand why we can’t watch anime,” Fuwa pouted from her position on the kitchen island, her One-Piece-themed-socks-clad feet kicking up and down as she took another spoonful from the bowl of snickerdoodle cookie dough she had nicked from Hara and swallowed it, “it’s practically a staple for every good sleepover.”

 “Because, Fuwa,” Nakamura drawled in reply, her own hands busy pouring popcorn into bowls, “none of us want to see you go full otaku during our relaxing evening.”

 “It’s nothing against you Fuwa,” Nagisa had cut in quickly, having had made eye-contact with Isogai and Hara as the three of them were washing and drying the baking equipment they were using (“‘You know we have a dishwasher right?” Nakamura had called in amusement) and their combined parental instincts had deemed it necessary to extinguish anything that could potentially start something (and knowing this class, mountains can be made out of molehills as quickly as Koro-Sensei can fly from continent to continent), “it’s just that we think it might be a good idea to have more variety tonight. Next time we have a class movie night, you can choose anything you want.”

 “I’m holding you to that, Shiota,” Fuwa pointed her spoon at him with narrowed eyes before sliding herself off the table and sauntering off towards the living room.

 “She’s not going to get sick, eating all of that raw cookie dough, is she?” Nakamura asked, staring at the doorway.

 Hara smiled at her, “don’t worry, we made the dough edible.” She gave Nagisa a head pat with a slightly soapy hand, “you can finish with that bowl you’re drying and help me bring these trays to the living room, ‘kay Nagisa?”

 Nagisa nodded bashfully, trying to hide the redness that blossomed over his cheeks in reaction to Hara’s hand making contact with his scalp.

  "What do you mean 'we should watch a horror movie'?" Isogai asked his friend.

 "Exactly that class prez," Maehara grinned at the brunette, "you can't have a sleepover without a few screams."

 "Nor can you have one without anime but here we are," Fuwa grumbled to herself.

 "But what if people get scared?" Isogai asked, as always being the Ikeman he is and thinking about others. Bless him.

 "That's the point," Nakamura chirped, "it's the perfect bonding exercise. Nothing can bring together a group of rag-tag misfits like fear."

 "But-"

 "Don't worry," Nakamura said, "we have Karma and Hazama with us. I can assure that whatever we see on the television will be nowhere nearly as scary as them."

 "True that," the class sighed as the two students in question gave eerie, self-satisfied smirks.

 "Not to mention that we're all assassins in training," Okano said, "no evil spirit or crazy murderer would stand a chance against us."

 "And if they do, we can just sacrifice Terasaka to them," Hazama piped up, not even looking up from her book.

 "HEY! WHAT THE HELL?!"

 "Yeah, Hazama," Karma smirked, "as if they would even want him."

 "OI AKABANE, WHAT'S YOUR DEAL?!"

 "Hey, Nagisa," Kayano turned to her friend as Karma stuck his tongue out at Terasaka, "what kind of horror movies do you like?"

 “I don’t know,” Nagisa replied, idly tracing the outlines of the cartoon sushi pieces that patterned his pyjama bottoms, “I’ve never watched any horror movies so I wouldn’t know what is good.”

 Maehara grinned at them from under the hood of his Pikachu onesie, “Then have no fear, Nagisa. As a movie connoisseur-”

 “I thought that title was reserved for me?” Mimura raised his hand with an arched eyebrow.

 “-I would be more than happy to educate you, my young padawan-”

 “-I’m pretty sure he’s older than you,” Okano pointed out.

 “On the art of Horror Movie Binge-athons,” Maehara declared, ignoring the interruptions and pointing at the blunette in a very Fuwa-esque way.

 So that was how Nagisa found himself on one of the couches, two scream-fests later, sandwiched between Karma and Sugino, watching the end credits of The Ring. From his perch, he watched in interest at the horror-struck faces of his classmates below.

 “Dude,” Kimura breathed out in fear when the screen turned black, a shaky hand attempting to comfort a very visibly distressed Okajima, who had the athlete in a bone-crushing hug from behind as he hid behind him, “I am never going to answer a phone again.”

 After a full ten seconds of silence, the smartphone that was lying in front of him lit up, and the Sonic theme song ‘Gotta Go Fast’ cut through the air like a knife. Kimura jumped about a foot in the air, screaming, whilst the others around him did the same. Muramatsu and Yoshida, clung tighter onto Hazama, yelling about how they were too young to die whilst Okajima and Okano began praying to the gods.

 “Karma, stop it,” Nagisa sighed without even looking at the redhead next to him. When Karma smirked and ended the call on his phone, thus terminating the ringing, he turned and raised an unamused eyebrow at a snickering Nakamura who was filming the entire scene on her own phone. The blonde winked at him and raised a peace sign.

 “I know what we should watch next,” Yoshida said after a while and took the remote. He began to scroll through the movie suggestions on the screen, “Coraline.”

 “Isn’t ‘Coraline’ a kids’ movie?” Kataoka furrowed her eyebrows as she eyed the cartoonish movie poster on the television.

 Coraline was not a kids’ movie. It was a horrific abomination of nightmare fuel dolled up with pretty colours and a talking cat. At least with the other films they had watched that night, he was able to stand - jump scares don’t really work on someone that’s constantly on edge and no CGI generated creature of the supernatural could terrify him as the very real harpy that he shares a roof with. At most he stiffens up or just trains his eyes onto the kernels of popcorn that get sent flying whenever Okajima gets particularly frightened. He usually just tries to deconstruct the story from a logical standpoint, making sure to point out to himself the plot-holes to enhance the fact that it’s nothing more than fiction (instead of making these comments out loud like Sugaya and end up having a brigade of throw pillows assaulted onto him). However watching The Other Mother, who spoke with a honey-sweet tone but had that distinct aura of ‘threat threat threat’ made him feel more chills than watching the disfigured Samara Morgan crawl out of a television and murder people and whilst the revelation of her true colours weren’t completely unpredictable, it didn’t and the fear and acid crawling up his stomach.

  ‘You may come out... when you've learned to be a loving daughter!’

  ‘How dare you disobey your mother!’

 It was after watching that vile woman drag Coraline into that dark chamber and locking her inside it when he couldn’t take it. His frozen facade and almost petrified posture just broke. He lurched, fumbling for the blanket draped over his legs and pulled it up so that he could cover his head and buried himself under it. With his knees drawn up under the covers, he focused on controlling his breathing and trying to steady his shaking hands and starting-to-blur eyes in an attempt to push away the unpleasant flashbacks hissing around in his head like a viper. Suddenly out of nowhere, he felt a hand gently circle his wrist. He tensed, heart rate speeding up in a panic, before his skin registered the familiar feel of polyester - the material of Sugino’s red sweatbands (wait, does he even wear them to sleep? ). When he had physically relaxed, the- Sugino’s hand slowly and carefully - giving him ample time to pull away - moved his own and away from his legs and then interlocked his fingers between his. The skin on skin contact at the base of his fingers had caused the same warmth he had felt with Kurahashi spreading across his entire arm, stopping at his chest and swirling around like a mixture of comfort and elation, like he had just drank a cup of steaming milk tea. He steadily curled his own fingers downwards, letting the tips press down against the baseball-lover’s knuckles. The only response he got was a tight squeeze in return - not hard enough to sting but still grounding in a sense.

 Okay.

 He was okay, he can do this.

 It was during the climax of the film, when Coraline confronts that button-for-eyes-wearing she-devil, when Nagisa abandoned all inhibitions and pulled on the hand intertwined with his own, simultaneously pulling Sugino down and bringing himself up so that he could wrap his arms around the black-haired boy. His uncharacteristic actions even shocked himself but all of his usual anxiety’s of forcing his problems on others were pushed back by the voice in his head saying ‘safe safe safe get closer closer ’. With his eyes squeezed shut so tight they almost hurt, he felt something wet roll down his cheek and so he tightened the hold he had on his best friend. Sugino reciprocated, one of his own hands gently cupping the back of his head, fingers burying past silken blue hair, so that he could very lightly bring the other’s face closer and tuck it underneath his chin. Now normally, Nagisa would have combusted with embarrassment at being so close to another student, especially in such a public setting like this, but right now he felt like nothing more than some primal urge begging him to soak in as much of that embrace as possible. To be selfish for once and just stay as close as he can even if it means he dies there. To let himself be vulnerable for a change. The movie, those memories they all washed away and he felt nothing but safe….

  The next morning he woke up with his head on someone’s shoulder, a fluffy blanket raised upto his chin. He blinked the haziness out of his eyes to find himself in front of inky locks.

 “You alright there, Nagisa?” Sugino looked at him with a smile. Oh he was already up. That’s new.

 Nagisa’s eyes widened, his face erupting with redness as the events of the previous night replayed in his inner-theatre like those epic fail compilations Karma likes to laugh at. He jumped back to the other end of the couch, as far away from Sugino as possible.

 “Oh god, Sugino, I am so sorry,” Nagisa whispered as loudly as he could without waking up his still snoozing classmates, “what happened last night was so weird and I put you in such an awkward position and I’m super sorry I swear that will never happen again and you must’ve been so embarrassed honestly you should've just pushed me off when I fell asleep I really wouldn’t have minded this was so weird and-”

 “Nagisa, chill,” Sugino moved closer and placed a hand on the rambling boy’s shoulder, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards with slight amusement, “it’s cool. It’s normal for people to get scared during horror movies - it’s kind of the reason why they were made, you know. Besides if you looked really distressed and if I couldn’t do anything to help you then why are we even friends.”

 “Yeah but-”

 “No buts,” Sugino cut in, “you’re always ready to help others so don’t be surprised to find otu that others want to help you.”

 Nagisa sighed. He looked up at the other boy with a slight blush, “well, um, thank you. For that. It was really nice of you.”

 Sugino’s hand squeezed on his shoulder and he felt that familiar thrill shoot down his arm as the taller smiled, “no problem, Nagisa.”

 (“Next time we decide to do a bonding activity,” Fuwa says during breakfast as she’s munching through a honey dripping pancake, “we should all go camping.”

 Collectively the class shuddered, their minds being filled with visions of Fuwa holding up a chainsaw on full speed and running around like a mad woman, of fire enveloping a forest and demolishing a once peaceful campsite and dark grey mushroom clouds puffing out like an ashy eruption, “no thank you.”)

  For some reason he finds himself in these sort of situations more and more. Like when he feels himself clinging closer to Okano when she bridal carries him up the mountain after he had injured his leg during a training exercise (which is interesting because normally being in such an unmasculine position would make his insecurities flare up like crazy); or when his arms tighten around Karma so much that it feels like their bodies are going to fuse together when the red head piggy-back carries him during a race; or when he just sighs in contentment when Maehara slings him over his shoulder instead of flailing around like he usually would when the brown-eyed boy declared that he was studying too hard and ‘offered’ to take him karaoke singing with everyone else.

 In the back of his mind, he feels like the amount of affectionate touches he receives have almost quadrupled in size -  there hasn’t been a day where he hasn’t gotten either a head pat, friendly noogie or side hug. There was even a tickling incident that led to his male classmates dogpiling him (because in 3-E the A in PDA can also mean aggression).

 No one comments on it though.

 It’s almost like Irina-Sensei’s comment about the students of 3-E having ‘some creepy hive mind’ is actually true.

 (That comment actually lead to the class planning via group chat to speak in monotonic unison in front of her for an entire half an hour just to mess with her. It worked.)

  “I still don’t understand why you people like drinking this leaf juice,” Fuwa scrunched her nose at the ceramic cup in her hand. Due to the pleasant weather, Kanzaki, Kayano and Okuda decided to have a tea party and Nagisa being the tea lover that he was was more than happy to accept their invitation.

 “Hey,” Kayano glared at her, making a shooing gesture with one of her hands, “Group four only.”

 “Kayano,” Nagisa said firmly, “she can stay if she wants.”

 “But she’s disrespecting the tea.”

 Nagisa shook his head and sighed whilst Kanzaki giggled into her cup.

 “Listen Fuwa,” Kayano rounded on the female otaku, “whilst I stand by the statement that pudding is the closest thing to perfection humanity has ever created and I would sell this entire class for a lifetime supply of pudding cups without a second thought (“Say what now?” Nagisa backtracked), a cup of nice warm tea can truly heal your soul. It’s science.”

 “That is true,” Okuda piped up, gently pushing her glasses up, “a cup of hot anything in your hands mimics human warmth which is said to have calming properties. So it basically means that warm drinks can mimic the need for human care and touch.”

 ‘ Well ,’ Nagisa blinked, thinking back to the mountain of tea bags that reside in his bedroom’s dustbin, ‘ that explains a lot. ’

 “So if you guys ever feel too single,” Fuwa laughed and gave them double finger guns, “you know what to do.”

 Whilst the rest of his company gave responding giggles, Nagisa felt a tug on his elbow and let it go limp to allow the greenette sitting next to him to tug it downwards. When he felt her link her pinky with his he turned to look at her to see a sunny beam directed straight at him.

 And he smiles back.

 Because he’s not alone anymore.