#no matter how hard you try and bait me into saying it.

[dykeogenes]

sick and fucking tired of abled people wanting me to hold their hand and reassure them we can still be friends if they don’t wear masks. fuck you. don’t you dare ask me “is it okay if i keep my mask off?” you KNOW the answer is no. you already know i don’t want your fucking covid because you have EYES and I’M WEARING A GODDAMN N95.

people only ever ask that question because they KNOW your response is going to be “oh, um, i don’t care...” bc responding any other way makes you look unhinged and demanding. nobody is ever gonna tell you to put a mask on. do you understand that? nobody is EVER gonna ask you to put a mask on, no matter how high fucking risk they are. “you can’t tell me what to do with my body” NONE OF US EVER WILL.

when you say “stop trying to force me to wear a mask,” what you are actually saying is “stop reminding me that my choice not to wear a mask is selfish and ableist, because that makes me feel bad about myself.”

the first point would be a fair request-- much as i think you should be masked, i sure don’t think anyone should hold you down and force it on you. but nobody is doing that.

the second point is not a fair request. kill us if you want. fine. i can’t stop you. but you will look us in the fucking eye when you pull the trigger.

[jaewritesfic]

Melon AU Part 4

Cass is quietly adamant that her new cling-on be taken to the Batcave, no matter the concerns Bruce raises.

If he's honest, his protests fall a little flat even to his own ears. The fact of the matter is that he looks at the midnight apparition she holds and just…can't bring himself to fight very hard.

The creature clings to her like a desperate child, claws curled into her cape in a way that's bound to leave holes. Bruce hasn't caught so much as a glimpse of the face since it grabbed onto Cass, head resolutely tucked into her shoulder. That long sinuous tail is wrapped around her waist and down one leg as if the slightest disconnect could wrench them fully apart.

She was right, it's scared and it needs help.

Bruce almost thinks convincing Commissioner Gordon to lift the police barricade at the end of the alley will be the difficult part, but he's proven wrong. Gordon is more than happy to foist the situation off onto the Bat colony, it's just a matter of figuring out actual transport.

It's not that Bruce doesn't want the creature in the Batmobile. It's that nobody is sure the creature will respond well to someone other than Cass being in proximity to it.

Bruce may be feeling distinctly sympathetic, but he's still not comfortable leaving his daughter totally alone with something strange, unknown and dangerous.

He doesn't want Cass alone with it - them. They probably won't respond well to anyone but Cass being close enough to be in a car with them.

Ultimately this culminates in Bruce pulling the Batmobile around and trying to be very. Very. Quiet.

The shadow creature hasn't raised their head from Cass’s shoulder once, so hopefully as she climbs in the back with her clingy cargo they won't notice they're not alone.

…nobody is going to claim this is a good or creative plan. It's kind of just the only option they can think of.

The creature clicks and whines as she climbs in, aware and nervous about the enclosed space probably, but they don't raise their head or move.

If anything they just wind themselves around Cass a little tighter.

“Shhhh,” Cass hushes gently. “Car. Take us to safe place. I promise.”

Bruce is used to her cowl enough to be able to tell she's glancing at him in the rear view mirror.

Thankfully, the Batmobile can autopilot to the cave. His presence is solely because he refuses to leave her alone with their new…guest. That means he can sign at her.

Did you get a better look at the injuries?

She shakes her head minutely. Hm. Bruce had feared that was the answer, considering how fast the creature had plastered themselves to her.

Do they seem to be losing a lot of blood?

A tiny shrug. Not a yes, not a no. Bleeding, but not gushing. Or maybe she's not sure how much without a visual, though if it was egregious she'd feel it even with the suit.

The heat of it, the slickness.

Bruce decides the shrug is a tentative good sign.

“Let's play questions,” Cass says suddenly, hands rubbing gentle, comforting back and forth patterns against a back so dark it looks like a void. “Nothing scary. Get to know you questions.”

There's no answer, but it doesn't seem to faze her. Of course not. She's Cass.

“Will you play? Tap once yes,” she says softly, tapping the creature's back with her index finger once, “And twice for no. No is okay. You can say no.”

There's a long moment where Bruce watches them in the rear view and nothing happens. Then Cass's cowl shifts in the way that means she's smiling.

“Thank you. Pronouns first, okay? One for she-”

She taps once.

“Two for he-”

She taps twice.

“Three for- oh. Thank you. Good boy. I'm she.”

The rest of the family exposes themselves as listening, quiet murmurs and exclamations over the comms at the new knowledge that their creature considers himself male.

Bruce isn't surprised that his kids have been listening with baited breath.

“From Gotham? One for yes, two for no.”

She hums softly, going back to petting his back gently.

“Me neither at first. Home now, like the back of my hand. Can show you all the best spots. Like burgers?”

There's a long pause. Bruce suspects the creature is having a hard time believing she's talking about and proposing such casual topics.

Eventually she smiles again. “Me too. Will buy you Batburger, I promise. Nectar of the gods.”

An odd little vibration goes through her new friend, audible as well as visible. It seems almost like a weak laugh.

“....bets on shadow noodle’s favorite Batburger order?” Dick asks over comms.

Bruce purses his lips not to huff in amusement. They're almost to the cave, he'd like to stay incognito until then. He wouldn't want to alarm any shadow noodles.

Masterpost

[happy74827]

Forced to Listen

[Dean Winchester x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Dean hated it when you hunted him down for advice, and he also hated that you knew exactly how to bait him into listening.

WC: 1082

Category: Fluff, Ranter!Reader, Mentions of Cheating, Sam being absolutely useless (iconic).

Can you believe that it’s been TWO WHOLE YEARS since I last wrote of him?? I’m so angry at myself 😭😭

『••✎••』

Dean could sense what was coming when he watched you stomp towards him with nothing but a small bottle of beer. The look on your face was one he had come to recognize over the years.

It was the one that said that you were about to coerce him into listening to your woes, and he had no other choice but to do it. The heat outside was unbearable, the kind that made Dean strip off his flannel and ditch the leather jacket, leaving him in his sweat-covered shirt.

But as he stood under the hood of the Impala, trying to get her to start, that bottle of beer was calling his name. The promise of the cool, carbonated drink sliding down his throat, relieving him from the dryness that had settled in his mouth, was something he desperately craved. And you knew that. That's why you were headed straight for him.

"Hey, Dean," you said innocently, the small bottle of beer dangling from your hand.

Dean sighed, his gloved hands pausing as he glanced up at you. He really wasn’t in the mood to listen to you whine about what was going on in your life, but that bottle of beer was too tempting to pass up. It was his favorite brand, too.

Goddamn it, you really were a temptress.

"Two minutes,” he grunted out, holding his hand out for the beer. "I'll give you two minutes."

You grinned, placing the bottle of beer in his open hand. In a matter of seconds, half the liquid was gone, and you were waiting impatiently for him to give you the sign to begin.

After another second, a sigh of content slipped from his mouth, and he nodded, signaling you to start.

You didn’t waste any time. "Do you think I'm a bitch?"

"I think you're a pain in my ass," Dean retorted, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. It didn’t make much difference since his hand was already covered in dirt and grease, but it made him feel a little better. "Don’t tell me you came over here just to ask me that?"

"No, I'm serious, Dean," you insisted. "Do you actually think I'm a bitch?"

You were staring up at him now, the look on your face completely unreadable. You were waiting for an answer, but he had a feeling that no matter what answer he gave, it wouldn't make a difference.

So, he just raised his eyebrows, silently telling you to go on while he took another sip of his beer.

"Dating's hard, Dean," you started, and he already felt a groan coming on. He did not want to have this conversation. "I just don't get it. Why am I not good enough for them? Why do I keep getting cheated on?"

You were pacing around the car as you spoke, and Dean kept his eyes on the beer. As you went on about everything that was bothering you, the more he regretted his decision to drink that damn thing.

"Am I not attractive? Am I not smart enough? What is it, Dean?" You looked at him, hoping for an answer. But when you realized he wasn't paying that much attention to what you were saying, you let out a scoff. "Great, so I'm not even good enough for you to listen to me? God, Dean, you are such a douche."

Dean rolled his eyes and finally looked up at you, the annoyance clearly visible. "Can I get back to fixing up my baby, now?"

"Would you date me?" You asked, suddenly, a hint of desperation in your voice. "Am I worth dating?"

God, you were killing him. He’d rather get heatstroke than continue this conversation, and he was sure Sammy would agree on his behalf.

He could actually see his baby brother from where he stood. He was a few yards away, sitting in the shade. A book in his hand, but his eyes were on the two of you.

Was he…? Oh hell no.

He was laughing.

Sammy was having a good time watching him squirm under your gaze, doing absolutely nothing despite avoiding the work Bobby needed help with.

Oh, was Dean pissed off. He’d get his payback soon, hopefully. It would be whenever he actually gets away from you and fixes up his car. Baby always comes first.

"I mean, c'mon, Dean," you pressed on. "Just give me some advice. You were with so many women, and they were all beautiful and perfect, so what's wrong with me?"

You were pouting, and Dean felt like throwing his beer bottle on the ground and stomping on it. This was the worst two minutes of his life.

"There’s nothing wrong with you,” he finally said, looking you in the eye. "You could be a pain in the ass, but unfortunately, I’m apparently the only one who has to deal with it, so... yeah. You're fine."

"Fine? I'm fine?"

"Yup," Dean replied. He turned back to the Impala, taking the last swig of his beer and tossing the empty bottle into your hands. "Thanks for the beer. Is that all?”

"I just feel… I don't know. I feel like I'm not good enough, ya know?" You said a sad look on your face. "Like there's something wrong with me. Something that's making everyone leave me."

"Listen," Dean started. He looked at you again, but all of his annoyance was gone. The two minutes were definitely up; he could quite literally kick you out of sight, but with the look you had on your face, he just couldn’t do it.

So, despite Sam’s utter lack of help, he was going to do his best to try to make you feel better.

"It's not you, alright?" He assured. "There's nothing wrong with you. If a guy can't see that, then he doesn't deserve you, okay? Trust me, you will have no problem finding someone else."

The corners of your lips twitched, turning into a small smile. "Yeah?"

Dean nodded, giving you a smirk. "If you want, I could always give out the ole hunter's special with your past one. Bobby could use a new rug for his living room."

A loud snort slipped past your mouth, and Dean was satisfied.

"Okay, Winchester," you said. "This is my sign to get the hell out of here."

And so you did, but before you could get even slightly close to the house, he called out to you.

"Oh, and by the way," he said, a small smile forming on his face. If you thought it was going to be wholesome, then you were sorely mistaken.

"Next time you come to me to talk about your feelings, at least have a damn pie."

[leonawriter]

Excuse me while I basically make Azure Throne into a hakukai fanfic.

This got... really long, and veered off from what I intended for it several times, but is basically at heart as I said, a look at Azure Throne through the lens of "what if we work on the assumption that Hakuba knew it was Kaito from the start, and/or they're actually outright flirting."

Hakuba: Kuroba what are you doing here. Why aren't you even in a disguise- oh, I see. This is interesting.

Kaito: Oh god it's Hakuba he's going to see through me like I'm made of cellophane or something. Please don't call me out here. I am pretending not to know you. Shush. PLAY ALONG.

Kaito: Come on please let one of my detectives have SOME faith in me. Restore my faith in humanity. Take the fucking bait, Hakuba.

Hakuba: Oh, that's. That's... I see what's going on here. That does complicate matters. All right, fine. I'll play along. Because I want to find the truth more than I want you arrested.

Hakuba: [Merely pays more attention to the actual suspects]

Kaito: [internally shouting "THANK YOU."]

Hakuba: We need to know exactly where everyone is, what they were doing, and if you'll excuse me I am going to geek out over science now-

Kaito: Okay well watch me explain in detail how Kaitou Kid (who is Not Me, by the way, in case you needed to be reminded) got in here. And let's conveniently not bring up how no one knows how Shinichi got here and Kid left.

Hakuba: Oh, and I anticipated your entire trick.

Hakuba: Because I know exactly how you work and I also know exactly what your clothes are made of.

Kaito: Wow... you're creepy, you know that? This is why I try and send you off on a wild dove chase each time you're heading to one of my heists.

Hakuba: Isn't it funny how I planned to catch Kaitou Kid that way, and instead I caught you two. I'm sure there's absolutely no connection between either of you and Kid... is there? Kaito?

Kaito: Oh but you know you can't say anything until this case is closed. I know you can't.

Hakuba: This means you too, Kaito. I'll be needing your firsthand knowledge of the way things went, of course.

Hakuba: It'll be good to have another actual detective on board for this!

Honestly I can just leave this one be. Kaito is enough of a tsundere that "But, to think Hakuba came back... he should have just stayed and studied in London forever!" is accurate to what I think he'd be thinking right there.

It also matches with the several times (Dark Knight and Green Dragon especially) when he's personally redirected Hakuba away from the heist.

Plus, with his attachment issues (one parent he idolised is dead, the other is barely home), I think Kaito would have a very hard time dealing with Hakuba, who (like his mother) travels a lot, and is... barely there, really. :(

Hakuba: Now, I wonder if you can keep up as a detective when playing one?

Kaito: Oh yeah? Watch me! Uh... I just need a pointer. That's all.

The interesting thing here is that Kaito has played at being a detective in the past. He's even played at being Mouri Kogoro right next to Hakuba here, in the Twilight Mansion case. However... in that case he wasn't needing to play a smart detective, and in any other instance he wasn't technically a "detective" (Magic Lovers Murder Case, where Katsuki Doito is a medical student) or he knows that Conan is capable of solving the mystery if he gives the right hints (Four Masterpieces, when he's being Takagi).

There's also the time when he played Hakuba himself in the movie Private Eye's Requiem, and we don't know how many times he'd have done that, that we haven't seen.

Point is, though, Hakuba doesn't know how good Kaito's observational skills are as a detective and it feels kind of like... if he knows (and I'm sure he has a gut feeling from the start even if he doesn't have evidence) he wants to know- "I can keep up with you, on your territory, but can you keep up with me, on mine?"

With that in mind, the fact that Kaito's only relaying what Shinichi's telling him must be... frustrating, for someone who'd actually be curious what Kaito can do, and I'm sure Hakuba would want to push Kaito to be able to figure things out for himself as well.

But I digress. Moving on.

Hakuba: [Has just seen "Kudo" flirting and being sentimental with Ran, "his" girlfriend, in a way that Shinichi himself says is so spot-on its kinda pissing him off] Oi. Kaito. I thought you were interested in Aoko. Watch it. [Also kinda jealous himself.]

I freakin' LOVE these two panels. This entire sense of "Yeah Hakuba's got Kaito sussed and he's already got half of what's going on with Conan, and yeah the next thing he does is question "Are you really Kudo Shinichi?" it's because of a potential flawed deduction when Shinichi's supposed to be this perfect saviour of the Japanese Police Force.

And in posing the question in such a way, he's allowing Kaito - master of disguise! - to come up with a cover story. Which, of course, he does.

But overall? It's the sense of... actually, just as I said. Hakuba's going "Shh. I'm talking to [him]! Don't interrupt us, okay?" - He's going "I know you're helping him, but I want to know his capabilities. Not yours."

Kaito just calling his ass out like "Hakuba I know you're obsessed with me- I mean Kid- c'mon I know you better than that~"

Also the phrase "Rumoured to have his eyes light up at the mere mention of Kid" more like. Kaito you have seen that in person.

More like I look at it and I'm like, is this Kaito saying "I Know What You Are"?

I know that it's not just them, but it's this nice little touch of the two of them standing next to each other, while Conan is on the other side of the group, and they're both mirroring the other's posture.

Kaito's already thought to himself how he barely needs to change his voice, and it's easy to imagine him barely changing his behaviours but adjusting so that he's more serious and less playing the clown or showman.

In this case, he's fully paying attention to the case (just as he has in previous ones as a witness) and...

He and Hakuba are on the exact same wavelength, with Hakuba finishing Kaito's sentence here.

Again with the twinning. Kaito has a slightly more clueless look about him, I'd say, but that's because he is out of his depth. Other than that? He's just as much taking Hakuba's lead on the case as he is Shinichi's!

The sheer amount of "Kuroba, your alibi is slipping!"

Hakuba's not going to outright cover for something that might be noticed as a flaw later on, nor is he outright going to call Kaito's disguise out immediately when other things are going on. He is, however, going to tease him to hell and back, push buttons, you name it.

And, of course, Hakuba in hearing Kaito's alibi and seeing Conan back it up, will also know that Conan is on Kid's side here even more than before.

Small and simple observation: Kaito is behind Hakuba.

At this point Hakuba in canon and the Hakuba who knew from the moment he laid eyes on him both know that this is Kaito. It's Kaitou Kid.

The start of the case had the crime get pinned on Kid.

Yet - Hakuba's just fine with Kaito watching his back and/or fully capable of doing whatever he likes behind him, knowing full well that Kaito's a skilled magician who'd be able to hide his actions. The obvious point is that he trusts Kaito.

And then - we get to the Flirtening.

I call it that because in canon it's bad enough, with Hakuba clearly only started making moves on Ran to make Kid slip up.

But in a world where he knows it's Kaito from the start? In Hakukai Fanfic Land?

First off- I'd say that this is actually payback.

Earlier on in the case, Hakuba saw Kaito (as Shinichi) flirting with Ran. Thinking back to the very first set of cases Hakuba ever appeared in, and... he'd walked into class for the first time and seen Kaito being mean to a girl, to Aoko, who was clearly hurting, and then tried to be nice to her by saying, basically, "If he won't take you to the concert you wanted to go to, I'll go with you."

Going on him knowing that this here is Kaito? He'd be seeing Kaito flirting with someone who isn't Aoko, and getting very in character, and... basically going "watch it."

So Saguru is a) defensive for Aoko, b) jealous because oi, why are you flirting with her, when he is right here, and c) using this as a means of poking a hole in Kaito's disguise, because sure he's more interested in the truth than he is in arresting Kaito, but that doesn't mean he's above making life hard for him.

In which case...

Kaito going "What did you say, jerk!!" is just as much "oh shit yeah I'm supposed to be being Shinichi right now" as it is "Hakuba why are you flirting with someone else?"

The reaction would be delayed because a) Kaito knows Hakuba's not interested in Ran, or not interested in girls in general, and b) the sheer amount of "what the fuck is happening. what is going on in front of me here" he'd be feeling.

Because for one thing, Conan's down there making attack dog noises, and for another- d'you think Kaito would just reflexively fall back into poker face if he saw the guy he likes/who he knows is interested in him just easily flirting around? I think that ordinarily Kaito would just be like "eh, that's just Hakuba being Hakuba" but I'm also aware of how fragile Kaito's social connections and relationships often are, as well as the rift between logic and emotion.

After this we have a few different things happening at once.

We have Kaito not having asked which cheek Ran had kissed Shinichi on and gesturing to the wrong one, which Ran instantly notices:

Note that the flashback isn't just for our benefit; we see later on that Ran realises probably in this moment that there's something Wrong with "Shinichi" because how could he forget which cheek she kissed him on?

This being relevant because right before that...

He'd told Ran to not "space out" - but with the weirdness going on between him, Hakuba, and Conan, I wonder if it was actually Kaito who knew he was kind of spacing out here! Like, sure, Shinichi's sending Kaito lines, but in terms of narrative and themes...

And in canon, this is where Hakuba first notices the mike and earpiece that Kaito and Conan are using to communicate. Even in a version where he knew it was Kaito from the start, this would still be where Hakuba realises "Hey, what's UP with that kid?"

Hakuba, in canon: Could it be... that those two...

My headcanon for that is that he was meaning to say "are working together," which is the easiest and most obvious/simple conclusion of his sentence.

Hakuba, in fanfic hc land: Hey, why are they working together? I know I didn't warn him I'd be here, but he could have been working with me. That kid already stole some of my reputation regarding going against you, and now this too?!

Honestly, sometimes I remember the times when Kaito has shown himself able to figure out a trick or even a murder trick more or less on his own or at the same pace as Shinichi, and I see times like this when he's shown as needing a lot more help, and I feel frustrated that Kaito's seeming to be dumbed down a little to make Shinichi look better.

But then, I think about how there's multiple times over the course of not just Detective Conan but also Magic Kaito itself, where Kaito is uncomfortable around murders and dead bodies.

Which then starts to make sense of the times when he relies more on his detectives' wits for things like this; if it's a logic puzzle trick that he can treat as one, then he can keep up. If there's blood and bodies and Someone Died Here, which they did - someone died before his heist could even begin! - then his mind has a hard time, skittering around the unnerving parts and not being able to give the trick the attention it needs.

I'd imagine his thought process goes kind of like "Okay okay so if I could think of anything that'd be really useful (but a guy died a minute ago I was out there and doing normal things and a guy died) yeah but if you don't think smart now it's going to happen again or they won't get caught (oh god what if I can't do it) I have to but-" and... so on.

And back to point, but - Hakuba hasn't really seen Kaito in the direct aftermath of him having seen someone die, when Kaito isn't pretending to be someone else.

Technically, he still hasn't here, because Kaito is Being Shinichi.

Dark Knight had Hakuba arrive on scene late, as Kid was already leaving the scene, and in Twilight Mansion Kid was Mouri Kogoro, so even if his reactions were touched with reality, no one could tell what was Kid and what was Kogoro. Here, Hakuba wasn't the first on scene, and he only sees Kaito once Kaito's had a chance to put his poker face (and a Mask of Shinichi) on.

I'd even say that... this being Detective Conan, we've had a chance to see an entire character development arc between Shinichi and Kaito, even if it is still one-sided and not the healthiest of dynamics. We know that Shinichi's not really going to hand Kaito to the police on a silver platter.

But Hakuba? The irony is that in MK canon Hakuba is KNOWN for calling Kaito with helpful knowledge about his opponent (Golden Eye, infamously) and withholding information that would put suspicion onto Kaito's civilian identity (Midnight Crow, at least). And yet in this heist, because we're a) seeing things from Conan and Kaito's perspective here, and b) we haven't seen what Hakuba would do in this sort of situation before, he seems... more of a threat if he outright found them out than if it were just the police (who they can trick) or Hattori (who Shinichi would be able to shush).

Personally, I believe that Hakuba WOULD have worked with Kaito to come to all of the same conclusions that they came to in canon with Shinichi as the POV. Hakuba's a good enough detective, after all, as we even see him doing this in canon, drawing the same conclusions without Shinichi having to whisper in his ear once.

Is Kaito side-eyeing Hakuba because he knows Hakuba's being a little shit over this but he can't say anything because he can't admit that he knows the guy personally as well as he does? Is Conan flailing because he feels like they've been sussed out?

Or is it more along the lines of "Oh, you think you're so smart, don't you? Soooo clever. Yeah sure, after you've been hounding me all case- but don't think I'll let you have the last laugh"?

And now, I'm thinking of Shinichi hearing some of the familiarity come out in their voices around now, if not before, and he's finally realising "Oh- okay so Kid knows this guy. Not just aware of him, he knows him. Oh. Oh shit."

Fun fact: we do not see Conan again alll the way through the explanation of the fireman's carry that Hakuba is doing with Kaito as his partner. The next time we see Conan, it's after they've pinned the criminal in place.

I find this interesting because... in spite of this being a case that Hakuba is starring in - the guy who is well known for asking "Why did you do it?" - it's the victim's wife who asks that, by way of her "But why did you kill my husband!?" and it's Conan who suggests a potential reason.

In a sense, they've both stolen Hakuba's thunder here, the wife by taking his catchphrase and Conan for taking the words out of the criminals mouth before the guy can admit it himself, in his own words.

(Ironically, Kaito would agree with Conan on this, probably, what with him having said "isn't it your job to figure [motive] out?" but as I've said before, I see worth in Hakuba asking for it in the criminals' own words.)

I feel like both I and other people have probably made all the jokes about the "I've got the stamina to keep carrying you for ages" part that I don't need to rehash it that much, haha.

But I DO have other observations.

Kaito: So, you figured it out, huh... Hakuba: Of course!

Like... even way aside from the fact that Hakuba's probably just internally going "you're SO lucky I like you, otherwise I'd have just pointed out that you just flattened your hair the moment I walked in" there's something this reminded me of.

In the translation here, Kaito trails off on an ellipsis, but... in a way, that's a question. It's literally "So, you figured me out?" except Kaito may well have been expecting it even in canon, so it's no longer a question.

What's the significance of this?

Well.

It brings to mind how Toichi asked "Will you be able to stop me?" and Yusaku said "[Yeah...] of course!"

And of course we know that whatever Yusaku was able to do, it was never enough to stop the legend of Kaitou Kid from growing - and we also now know that he almost certainly knew that it was his brother Toichi right from the start.

In many ways it's meant to show how Kaito and Shinichi have taken up their fathers' mantles and become each other's rival... but this moment of "You found me out?" "Yeah, of course!" shows that Hakuba is just as much Kaitou Kid's worthy rival. He is thematically and narratively Kid's rival.

(And this is where I get my post limit for images, whoops!)

So, yeah. Kaito then has a space of about three [3] panels between Hakuba saying "I know you're Kid" and then Hakuba trying to walk and finding his legs are cuffed together.

I'd also say that in terms of pranks that Kaito (as Kid) has played in order to get out of a Situation, that was... a lot more on the immature roughhousing side than a lot of what he does. So much of his DC appearances relies on... action movie stunts? Stuff that's actually really risky? Because he needs to rely on that. But with Hakuba he doesn't have to. It reads more like play fighting.

(Because Hakuba, he knows, isn't going to attack him with a deadly soccer ball or knock him out midair.)

A thought on why he cuffed Hakuba's legs together like he did even if they're on better terms would also be the easy "Kaito knows that Nakamori is there, knows that Hakuba wouldn't be allowed to carry him all the way to the station, knows that something would go wrong, and almost certainly by this point knows that he shouldn't go out in public as Shinichi. So he's just as much going "yeah nope, not doing that, bad idea on SO many levels" as he is "I don't fancy going to jail today."

And, for an ending note: Hakuba at no point seems frustrated or upset that Kaito got away. Not for one single moment.

If anything, I'd say he's just going "Ah, there he goes again. Look at him go." with a fond look in his eye.

[rooksamoris]

💞 — 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐀𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐒.

💞 — in which jamil realizes that no matter how hard he avoid the oasis, the thirst will not disappear till it is quenched.

💞 — jamil viper x reader

💞 — warnings: hurt/comfort type fic. some descriptions of gore to emphasize yearning (the arabs be dramatic, what can i say)

💞 — 1.7k words. inspired by "sawwah" the song by abdel halim hafez. you should listen to it while reading tbh. first in a series of me assigning old school arabic songs to various characters. and yes, arabic speaking jamil is back. the translations are italicized with the arabic, and i changed some lyrics to fit third person, instead of first.

Wa ana mashi fil bilad, sawwah.

And I walk through countries, a vagabond.

Jamil had a job. He was bound to eternal servitude to the Al-Asim family—practically property to Bait (house/clan) Al-Asim. He had a job, and yet he spent his nights away in his mind, wandering like a vagabond. Purposeless, jobless. 

All those nights toiling in the kitchen of Scarabia made him forget purpose and work were different things. He would never call working for that spoiled boy his purpose. He was made for more—to be praised, to rule and command. He deserved more. Jamil deserved more than having to push away his moon, his qamar (moon). 

You were like an oasis in the desert expanse that he called his mind, and yet he walked away from you. He walked away when he desperately needed a sip. When he desperately needed rest and dates from your palm.

“Qad jinint? (Have you become crazed?) I have too many things to deal with. And you’d be better off without the burden of my title. Imshi (Go on/walk off).”

Jamil saw it. He saw the way your expression faltered, the softest twitch in your brow, the smallest tremble of your lips. It was cruel, he knew it, and it hurt him to say it. But in the end, he knew there was nothing else he could say. There must have been a better way to delicately reject your confessions, and yet he took the harshest route. Jamil plucked the dates from your palm and trampled over them.

He hurt himself by doing so, denying himself the one thing he desperately wanted. In the end, it was simple. Mishwar baeed, wa hu gareeh. His life was a long journey that only injured him. He did not want it to injure you as well.

Still, his charcoal eyes would seek you out. He would still ask Kalim about you, wanting to know how the distance was affecting you. Did you become a vagabond as he did? Were you avoiding oases?

Did you ask about the brown-skinned boy who broke your heart? He just wanted to be reassured—tamainu (reassure him)—that his qamar was doing alright. Wa in la’akum habibi, salamuli alai, he wanted to tell Kalim. If you see my love, wish them peace from me.

He would never ask you himself, nor did he get the chance to since you would scurry off whenever he passed by. The one place he could not avoid you was the kitchen of Scarabia, his domain, during one of Kalim’s parties. You were hiding away from the madness, and he had been trying to hide away from you. It was the same spot in which you cooked with him, listened to him, and were eventually rejected by him.

Jamil froze after walking in, and you turned your head up from your phone once you saw him, “I’m sorry,” you said, pushing yourself off of the counter and heading for the other door. You could not face him, not after that rejection. Not after he told you that your feelings were that of a crazed djinni (genie/jinn).

He shook his head and walked to the stove top, turning it on, “Stay. I’ll make chai,” he muttered. He did not even look at you.

You still wanted to leave, but instead, you just nodded. Honestly, you were a fool for the man, for that long dark brown hair which he braided so perfectly, and his aquiline nose which you desperately wanted to trace your finger along, “I don’t want to trouble you—”

“It’s no trouble. It gives me an excuse to get away from Kalim.”

You swallowed and nodded.

The silence was horrifically uncomfortable. The only sounds in the kitchen were the boiling water in the kettle and the sound that the mortar and pestle made while Jamil began to grind the herbs for the tea. Chai, cloves, cardamom—he added cinnamon this time. The scent always made everything more cozy.

Ya qamar, ya nasini. Oh moon who forgets me. Jamil hoped you would have gotten over your feelings for him and forgotten about the rejection, but he could tell it stung. The way you looked around the kitchen proved that enough. He poured the evaporated milk into the tea, let it simmer with the racing of his heart, and then poured both of you cups. He was gentle as he set your cup in front of you, unlike the savagery that he handled your heart with. 

Jamil leaned against the island, his eyes trailing over your face, “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” you blurted, holding the cup of tea. Waseitak, waseiya, ya shahid aleiya, “I promised you—you heard. You saw,” you elaborated, “I’m fine.” Tekilu ala beiyak. You could have told him of the state you were in after the rejection, but you opted for lies veiled by a fake grin.

He understood. He did not let you see past his veil either, “I see.” 

“The tea is great.”

“Thanks.”

There it was, another uncomfortable silence. His eyes said it all, though. Had you looked close enough, you would have seen how they ached to sacrifice themselves for you. He wished his worries for you would leave him alone—he would have gouged his eyes out just to make the aching in his heart disappear. It was curling in on itself, threatening to burst with the violence of a desert storm, sand filled his lungs, suffocating him. The weeks felt like years, and he was just a nomad in the night.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he set his cup down.

You immediately frowned and put your teacup down as well, scared you would drop in, “You don’t get to say that now,” you mumbled.

Jamil nodded in agreement. It was cruel, rejecting you so harshly just to turn around and claim he did not mean any of it. Especially when he still did find you crazy for loving him as ardently as you claimed, “It’s wrong. I know,” he said, looking away from you and to the door where all the commotion was. The music was muffled by the shut doors, making the kitchen feel like an entirely different building, “But I… I feel the same.”

That was another lie. He did not just feel the same, Jamil longed for you. He yearned, his heart ached and his veins begged to be torn out for your sake. Every cell in his body called for your name, his hands begged to grasp your waist, kiss your neck—his hands which artfully painted henna, wished they could trace every curve and every dip on your body.

“Jamil…” you trailed off.

He merely shook his head, “It is because I feel the same that I must reject you. You—you have so much more waiting in your life without me. My suffering should not be yours,” he said, and he said it as if it were the law of the universe. He was a vagabond eternally bound to avoid the oases because the oases were not meant for him. They were meant for Kalim Al-Asim.

Despite all that, he did not push you away when you cupped his face. He did not protest as he drowned. He did not thrash, he did not fight. His body did as it wished, leaning into your hands, “Ya qamar… you are making this more difficult than it needs to be,” he muttered, the disdain dying before it could embrace the quiet air of the kitchen.

You frowned at him—sevens, he wanted to kiss that mouth of yours—and your brows furrowed, “Let me, Jamil. Just let me,” you said. What did you want him to let you do? You had no clue, or perhaps it was just too broad to describe.

Nawarli, wararili, seitak al-habayeb.

Enlighten and show me the path to the beloveds.

He was so weak when it came to you. Before he knew it, his hands were at the small of your back, pulling you closer and forcing you to arch against him as his lips met yours in a fierce kiss. He sighed into your mouth, his tongue slipping in when you gasped in surprise.

Jamil needed you even closer. His hands made their way down to your hips, his thumbs slipping under the hem of your shirt to feel your skin. It was just as nice as he dreamed it would be. What made it all the better was how you kissed him back.

One of your hands gripped his shirt, right at his chest, right above his cruel racing heart, and the other held the back of his head. The quietest of whimpers escaped you as he bit your bottom lip, causing him to groan. 

He pressed you against the counter, causing your hand to slip from his chest and move to hold onto the surface behind you. You kissed him till you could not breathe, “Ja—Jamil,” you stammered when your lips parted from his. 

Greedily, he went in and kissed you some more. Jamil had taken a sip, and now he wanted it all. He only pulled away when your hands pressed against his chest to push him away. His eyes widened and his hands fell back to his sides. He pulled the hood down to hide his face from you as he turned his head, “Sorry,” he muttered.

“It’s—It’s fine,” you replied, fixing your clothes and hair, “Are we…” you let the question hang like a date on a palm tree.

He nodded, “If you’ll still have me,” he replied. What he wanted to do was get on his knees and beg you to use your lips to end his suffering—beg that you use those hands to pull the sand out of his chest.

“Of course, I’d still have you, Jamil,” 

Your words were like a soothing balm. It was the salve that you spread over his burns, over his scars, and over the bruises that his yearning created, “Okay,” he said, and it was all he could manage to say for now. 

He picked up the kettle of tea and poured you some more. No matter what he did, he could not run away from you, his purpose. You forced the vagabond to stop and pulled the title right off of him, before pushing him into the waters of the oasis.

“We have some ma’amoul (semolina biscuit stuffed with date filling),” he says, after some silence.

[comicaurora]

What are your thoughts on guardians vol.3? (If you have watched it) I went into it, expecting it went to the garbage like the rest of the mcu, but I was pleasantly surprised by its creativity, trope subversion, and how it wrapped up the previously unresolved arks of its characters.

That's what I've heard!

The thing is, Guardians 3 could be the most transcendent work of cinema ever made, and I'd probably still feel little to no motivation to watch it at this point. It's not Guardians's fault - it's just suffering from the same problem that superhero comics have been struggling with for decades: no matter how good an individual arc or run is, absolutely nothing good lasts or matters in the long term, and the stories are shaped in such a way that "the long term" is the only thing anyone gets to build towards.

Whenever I complain about the MCU I get a handful of people loudly complaining about my complaining, with the general thesis that if I don't like it I shouldn't watch it or talk about it - if I'm not having fun, just stop engaging with it. And the thing is, I have. I am intellectually interested in why this massive franchise is fumbling the bag so hard, which is why I still check in on it sometimes, but I've long since stopped turning to the MCU for uncritical entertainment. And even the good movies or shows with a lot of interesting ideas - good character arcs, fun concepts, interesting planting for future payoff - don't draw me in anymore, because they're hooked into a massive moneymaking machine that will scrap and squander anything if they think it'll make them more in the quarter. It doesn't matter how good the writing is, because the writers are not allowed to tell a complete, finished story, and they have no control over what happens to their characters outside of their own script.

Captain America's arc was set up from literally minute one to answer one burning question at the core of his character: does a world without a war still need Captain America? After that incredibly basic tee-up at the end of First Avenger, half a dozen movies failed to come up with a reason to say "yes," and now Steve is retired for good after getting fumbled through four different storylines that couldn't even pretend that they needed him (the unused Chekhov's Phone from the end of Civil War still haunts me). The foundational arc of his entire character never happened because nobody bothered to keep track of it past a single movie.

Taika did something interesting with Thor in Ragnarok - take away Mjolnir, force him to recognize what it means to be the god of thunder, give him a very Odin-y missing eye - and the very next movie undid all of it. Just kidding, never mind, here's an eye and a new weapon and also his old weapon again, and in one more movie we're even gonna give him his hair back, probably as an apology for all the completely unironic fatphobia we're gonna slather him in for two and a half hours. I'm not even surprised Love And Thunder was such an overblown mess that barely took itself seriously - why would Taika bother trying to give Thor another arc when the powers that be will just roll it back in six months anyway?

I hear Rocket Raccoon has a fantastic arc in this movie. That's great, and demonstrates that he's being written by a writer that deeply cares about him. But he's part of the MCU, and the MCU doesn't let anything end, so if current patterns hold, Rocket is going to continue to serve as quippy plushie-bait for the next dozen movies and none of that depth is going to come through in the long term. Hell, since they're making Kang noises for the Next Big Threat and Kang's entire gimmick is rewriting timelines, literally none of this is guaranteed to matter. By next year, it might not have even happened anymore.

The MCU has successfully shaped itself into a paradigm where the bright spots of good writing are overridden and lost as soon as the writers room turns over, and that makes it really hard for me to muster up the enthusiasm to watch even a really good movie that's locked into the exact same grist mill as everything else. I'm glad people liked it, I hope it gets to stay good this time - I just have no desire to watch it.

[crushedbyhyperbole]

Cherry Pie Kiss

Slice Three

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You're cornered and chased by Bartholomew's minions. Separated from Sam and Cas, you and Dean make a run for it. Lust finds you both when you're finally safe. Dean rocks your world.

Words: 3.4k

A/N: This is smutty part 3 of what's now looking like a longer series since I've settled on a cute, fluffy and smutty part 4. At this point I don't think I'll ever be sated in my need for this man but Im so not sorry about it 😂

I do hope you enjoy part 3. If you haven't read parts 1 and 2 check out the Cherry Pie Kiss Masterlist. As always, I value your comments and feedback. Drop a dime and let me know what you think.

Warnings: Smut. Canon-typical action/adventure. Running for your lives. Bit of angst.

*** 18+ Minors Do Not Read or Interact ***

Dean Winchester.  You hate him.  His stubbornness and stoic grace.  His tenacity and faith that, no matter what, you guys will get it done if you stick together.  The way his eyes pierce you down to your soul when he stares.  At least that’s what you try to tell yourself, hoping that others will believe it too.  Truth is, you’re just as stubborn as he is, holding onto this façade when hatred is so far from what you feel.

Dean sits behind Baby’s wheel, having stormed away from the Gas’n’Sip in frustration.  His eyes follow your every move and your body language as you and Sam try to convince Cas, for the umpteenth time, to come with you.  Dean had taken it personally when Cas had refused, and after several attempts at reasoning, bargaining, and begging, Dean had given up, choosing to sit out any further attempts at persuasion.

You look over at the black Impala with its radiant chrome and glossy darkness.  The man inside looks away out to road not wanting the hurt, so plain on his face, to be seen.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” you say to Sam, touching his forearm gently as he continues to reason with the fallen Angel.

You feel compelled to at least try to comfort Dean.  Since you two had talked that night in the dingy room-only motel out in Crocker, you had maintained a stable yet strained connection.  You had still been pissed at him for using you and Sam as bait so you had sent him back to his room with another kiss and the promise of “when I’m ready”.  Since then, you two had never been alone for more than a few minutes; there was always Sam, or witnesses, or monsters.

Dean’s head snaps your way when you pull the door open, his face schooled into that smooth mask he wears when he’s hurt but unwilling to be vulnerable.  Cas’s decision has really hit him hard.

Sliding in the passenger side, you angle yourself towards him and reach to take one of his hands which is picking at the fingernails of his other.  Ordinarily, you wouldn’t risk such a gesture but with Sam a couple of hundred meters away and the height of the dash to obscure it, you’re not worried.

Dean allows the contact, his head hanging.  “Cas made his choice.”  His voice is low and gravelly with emotion.

“Doesn’t mean he can’t change his mind.”  You reason, trying not to throw fuel on the fire.

“He knows where I am if he does.”  He states, matter of fact.  “I’m not wasting another breath on him.”

“He’s your best friend.”

“You’re my best friend.”  Dean looks at you and squeezes your hand which is entwined with his, resting on his thigh.  “You and Sam.”

“I’m just some girl you want to fuck.”  You chuckle, and Deans lips quirk a subtle smirk briefly before he replies.

The words don’t come out, however.  Dean catches movement at the side of the Gas’N’Sip, and he drops your hand to turn over the engine, thrusting the heel of his other hand on Baby’s horn as he does so.

Sam and Cas look in your direction and then see the four figures walking quickly and with purpose, coming between them and the Impala.  Shit!  Angels.  Bartholomew’s minions, no doubt.  How have they found you again?

“Son of a bitch!”  Dean hisses, cranking the car into drive, kicking up stones in the gravel lot as the wheels spin, gaining traction to take you to Sam and Cas.

You fumble your seatbelt, sliding on the seat and right into Dean with a grunt as he swerves to avoid a blacked-out Escalade that grinds to a halt between you and your friends.

Sam and Cas are already on the move, running fast towards the gold Lincoln pimpmobile Cas had somehow acquired, Sam waving Dean off as they scramble into the car and peel out of the lot before the Angels could reach them.  You, however, are stuck.  With the Escalade and four fallen angels between you and the lot exit, Dean turns the wheel, locking it out and put his foot on the gas, spinning the car around with an horrific noise from the tyres.  At the back of the lot is a chainlink fence with a gate that leads to a dirt road which split in two, one branch heading to the highway, the other into scrubland that precedes a dense-looking woodland.  You can lose them in the trees.

Dean winces as he ploughs baby through the chainlink gate, lamenting the damage that is sure to be done, and turns the car towards the highway.

“We can lose them in the trees,” you cry, point to the woods.

“Baby doesn’t have the ground clearance for it,” Dean says roughly, manoeuvring the car through a side-on skid with the heel of his hand on the wheel and his other hand gripping the side of the seat to stop himself from sliding as the car spins.  Once straight, he slams his food on the gas and burns rubber onto the tarmac, heading in the opposite direction to Sam and Cas.

You know he’s right about the car.  The Escalade is 4x4 and sits high which gives it the advantage off road in the woods when the trail inevitably turns to a glorified hiking path.  You’re not even sure the highway is a much better option given that Baby is an older, classic car, but you know Dean keeps her in tip-top shape and she’s got a lot of power under her hood.  That being said, the Escalade could be seen in the rearview, weaving through traffic to catch up to you.

The shrill ring of your phone makes you jump as you try to focus on the road and on what’s behind.  You need to be a second set of eyes for Dean while he’s pushing Baby to create some distance from the Escalade.

“Hey, Sam!”  You sigh with relief, reading his name on your display, putting him on speaker.

“This is Castiel,” the former Angel’s flat tone carries from the phone.  “Sam is driving.  He said I’m too slow.”

You grin big.  That’s a classic Winchester brother thing to do.  From the corner of your eye you see Dean smirk.

“Just tell them we’re headed west and haven’t been followed.”  Sam sighed with mild frustration.

“Damn it’s good to hear your voice, Sammy!”  Dean spoke loudly in that extra deep tone he uses when he is running on adrenalin.  You know he left Cas out because he is still hurt, but you also know he’s glad Cas is safe too.

“We’re headed in the opposite direction,” you explain.  “The vehicle followed us and we’re trying to shake them but they’re keeping up.”

“Pretty soon we’ll run out of traffic, and on the open road we’ll never lose them.”  Dean frowns as he hunts in the rearview for your pursuers.

“Maybe you can head into the wilderness, hole up and set traps.”  Sam offers.  “We can turn around and try to catch up.”

“No!”  Dean snaps.  “You’re both safe.  I want you to stay that way.  Get someplace and lay low.  We’ll get this done and I’ll call you, ok?”

“Dean…”  Cas begins to speak but Dean is having none of it.

“I said No!  Okay?  For once, just do what I say.  We’ve got this.”

You hang up the phone without waiting for a response.  You can see how worked up Dean is, his brain running overtime as he tries to figure out a plan while he’s trying to evade Bartholomew’s lackies on a road full of other cars.

The satellite map on your phone shows a complex set of junctions several miles up ahead where this road meets and crosses with two interstates, branching off in multiple places to service a small city surrounded by a cluster of smaller towns.  It looks promising and Dean agrees.

The junction of the roads has raised on and off ramps that weave in and around the support structures of the main interstate, with frontage roads servicing the branches at intervals.  Traffic is heavy and Dean follows a newer model black Cady onto the interstate by one of the on-ramps, only to cut across the lanes harshly and slip onto a skewed off-ramp, hoping the Escalade will follow the newer Cady.  Slowing down at the end of the off-ramp, he turns to take the frontage road in the opposite direction, heading slowly up the on-ramp for the interstate carriage way going back in the direction from which you had come, so as not to rejoin too soon and be spotted on the other side.

You check all around as soon as you crest the on-ramp back onto the road, praying you don’t see the black government-style vehicle.  Dean doesn’t wait to find out, he puts his foot down and puts a few eighteen wheelers between you and whatever is behind you.

“I think we’re clear,” you say after about fifteen minutes of hypervigilance.

“Don’t jinx it, sweetheart.”  Dean keeps his eyes on the road, the wheel clasped in two white-knuckled fists.

Switching from the interstate to a smaller road and then to another road but still taking you away from where Sam and Cas had headed, Dean starts to relax.  He chances a look at you, to find you looking right back.  The tension in his neck and jaw haven’t melted away yet but he doesn’t have that hard look of focused fury that he usually does when in fight or flight mode.  He doesn’t say anything and neither do you, but the glances between you become more frequent as though you’re both checking on each other to make sure the other is okay, needing to visually check each time.

A sign by the side of the road identifies the beautiful landscape to your left as Black Water Natural Forest, and with the sun beginning to set behind the mountains in the distance, it seems a good place to wait out the sunset.  You point to the sign and Deans nods.  He doesn’t argue, knowing you need a place to park-up off road away from prying eyes to get your bearings and make a plan to meet up with your friends.

As the road gets narrower and the trees get more dense, Dean slows the car, casting furtive glances at you.  It’s making your skin burn, the way he looks at you now, with that hunger in his eyes.  You feel it too.  Weeks of tension built between you, and todays threat to your lives now culminating in a deep need for some kind of release.  You lick your lips, breathing shallow and quick as you try to regain your composure, but Dean isn’t doing much better.  You look at him fully and he all but moans when he sees the look in your eye.

A turn off presents itself that leads to a small muddy lot where hikers can park their cars when they venture out into the forest.  Dean brings Baby to a stop so hard your seatbelt catches you, then he yanks it into park and fumbles for the seal lever.  You unclip your belt as the front seat slides back fully and he reaches for you, helping you straddle his lap.

You waste no time, kissing him fervently as you unbutton your shirt while he tries to push it from your shoulders before it’s open.  Breaths are gasps released between kisses, tongues touching, tasting and tempting more passion, and you succumb to the frenzy of heat that’s born of your need to feel something other than fear.  Your need to feel him.

You’re both a mess of fumbling hands and sloppy kisses as clothes are shucked and skin exposed.  You try to stand, your legs either side of his as you unbutton your jeans and he unclasps his belt.

The loud sound of the Impala’s horn echoes out amongst the trees, startling birds so they take wing and both of you into stillness and silence.

Dean looks at you with panic but then grins and laughs, reaching to tug your jeans down your legs until they’re bunched up around your boots.

It’s awkward but you can still straddle him like this and, as you kneel back onto the black leather seat, he lifts his hips to grind himself impatiently against you.  The desperation in your eyes is matched by the eagerness in his.  He is rapt, eyes absorbing the sights and sounds of your body and of your pleasure as you grind yourself against him.  Your slicked pussy drenching his cock as you slide yourself along his length but deny him entry just when his tip catches at your entrance.

Dean fondles your breasts, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your skin until he reaches your hardening peaks.  His kisses become more suckling then, nibbling them and flicking them firmly with his tongue until you’re almost shaking above him.

“You ready for me?”  You ask, breathless.

“Sweetheart,” he treats you to his classic sultry smirk, “I’ve been ready for you since you moved in.”

You grin, knowing he’s been jonesing for you for that long.  Truth be told, you’d wanted him for longer but the hate you made yourself feel for him was an adequate distraction from it.

Biting your lip, you reach between you, taking his wet shaft in hand and positioning it at your entrance.  Your eyes meet as you begin to skink down on him, inching down in a shallow rocking motion with Dean stroking your hips and waist as you work at it.  He resists the urge to thrust up into you at first, allowing you to get accustomed to him.

When you bottom him out, he presses down on your hips firmly, lifting his just enough to give you a deep pleasurable pressure that has you groaning and your eyes rolling back.

You are tight despite being very wet, and the way you squeeze him has him twitching heavily against your walls.

“Fuck…”  he groans as you begin to move, leaning back slightly so he hits all the right spots inside you.

“I’m not going to last long,” you laugh breathily.

“No problem,” Dean says, his hands gripping your hips hard, helping you ride him a little faster now.  “We’ll get you for two.”

He doesn’t even have to reach down to stroke your clit, you come all by yourself, grinding on him with a sexy roll of your hips he knows should be good for you, your clit rubbing against his soft hair.  He can feel you spasming and clenching around him and it feels like heaven, even better than warm cherry pie hitting his taste buds.

“You feel freaking amazing.”  He growls, pulling you forward to suckle on the delicate skin of your neck.

“Right back at’cha,” you sigh against pleasure.

He rolls you to the side, and lays you on your back on the seat, still buried in you to the hilt.  Looking down at your heated face, your skin glowing from your orgasm, Dean thinks you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, with a possible exception of Baby.  Okay, you’re the most beautiful living thing he’s ever seen.

Looking up at Dean, his brow creased in concentration, his eyes dark with lust, you don’t think you have ever been turned on by anyone as much as this man.  Damn, he’s hot!  Riding the adrenaline of the chase, you had been desperate for an outlet.  Now that is out of your mind, you lose yourself in the man between your thighs, you’re focused solely on the feeling of him buried deep, and the rising tide of pleasure.  The windows steam up as you grind and roll your bodies together, and you think you might combust from the heat of him.

When he meets and holds your gaze, your heart almost stops.  There you see more than just lust, more than just the passion between you.  It’s deep and hidden, secret almost, and it surfaces as affection that softens his eyes.  You reach up to stroke his face as his grinding hips keep their measured pace and he leans into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand, closing his eyes with a tender sigh.

His vulnerability in that moment lances electricity to your core and you spasm powerfully around him.  His eyes flash open and he sees you’re close again but he doesn’t grin cockily like he might have done earlier, instead he leans down to kiss you, leaning his forehead on yours as you grip the back of his neck and look into his gorgeous eyes.  With your other hand on his hip, sliding round to his ass you guide the speed and depth of his thrusts and you roll your hips to meet his.

As you guide him to slow down he thinks he’ll lose the pleasure he’s cultivated so far but he can now feel more of you and it’s more intense because it’s slow and prolonged.  He almost laughs at how it changes everything and he gasps with surprise when he starts to feel his orgasm coming.  He knows he needs to pull out but you hold him on place with your hands and your heels.

“Give me everything,” you moan as you feel him swell.  “I need to feel you, nice and deep.”

Dean groans with pleasure watching your eyes sparkle with heat for him.

“I want it,” you almost beg.  “Want you.”

He nods, biting his lip as bends to your desire.

Spurred on by your permission, Dean thrusts deeper until he bottoms out, moaning your name as he comes deep inside you.  Your walls contract as he fills you, your climax a deep rolling pleasure that courses your whole body.  Everything feels so right, he feels right.  The way you two fit, the way he makes you feel.  It’s like a low-key destiny you’re more than willing to succumb to.

Dean doesn’t just pull out and get off you once you’re both done, he flips you so your lay on his chest.  There he holds you and strokes you back and hips, your hair and your face until you lift your head to look at him.  Then he smirks cockily and you swat his chest.

“You don’t have to look so smug about it,” you chastise him.

“Hey, I keep my promises,” he says with that trademark smirk playing on his plush lips.  “Would’a give you more but we’re kinda on the run here, sweetheart.”

“You can owe me, how ‘bout that?”  You push yourself up and try to find your clothes.

He grins at the confirmation that this isn’t just a one-time deal.  “Hell yeah!  Sign me up.”

You clean up with wipes from your travel bag as Dean calls Sam.  You watch the relieved interaction from the front fender of Baby while Dean paces in the dirt a few meters away.  You apply some flavoured lip balm to your kiss bruised lips as he works out the logistics of meeting up and what to do about Bartholomew.

After the call, Dean beelines straight for you, sliding his hands around your waist and burying his face in your neck, kissing playfully.

“I take it we’ve got a few hours at least until we can meet Sam and Cas.”  You thread your fingers through his messy hair, trailing your fingernails over his scalp which he seems to really like.

“Several.”  He says against your delicate skin.

“Whatever are we gonna do to pass the time?”  You smile as you picture the pair of you fucking all over his car.

“I can think of a few things,” he surfaces with a hungry look, leaning back in to kiss you.

Your soft lips claim his once more as you melt into his arms, the kiss heated and full of need.  Dean kisses you with such force it steals your breath and makes your knees weak, and when he pulls back he looks at you thoughtfully.  Licking his lips and tasting you on them, he grins.

“Cherry,” his eyes go to your lips again, “I like it.”

Dean’s talented tongue makes you forget any quip you might have said, as he lifts you onto Baby’s hood and keeps his promise.

[lovelynim]

Language!

Genshin Impact - Itto x Gorou

A/N: This is a little birthday gift I made for a very dear friend of mine, but I thought it wouldn't hurt to share it with you guys as well, heheh.

And, in case you're reading this, ms. valerie, I wish you a happy birthday!!

Love you, girlie, mwah!

Summary: Itto never heard Gorou swearing before, so maybe it's time to teach the general one or two new words...

Word count: 1781 words

Warnings: Swearing.

“You want me to what?” Gorou sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to make some sense out of what he just heard. 

Itto smiled, still standing proudly in front of the general. “Say ‘fuck off’ and I’ll leave you alone. That’s easy, no?” The oni eagerly repeated himself, his eyes beaming with excitement while he waited for Gorou to say the word.

“I already told you to, yet you are still here.”

“No, you didn’t,” Itto chuckled matter-of-factly, clicking his lips while he wagged his index finger in front of Gorou’s face, “you said ‘get lost’.”

Gorou crossed his arms, running out of patience for Itto’s shenanigans. “Same thing.”

“Of course not, pup, you didn’t cuss,” Itto insisted, grinning as it seemed to piss Gorou off even more. Maybe, Itto thought, if he teased the general a little more, he would get him to actually swear. “That is, unless you want to have the great me by your side for a while longer,” Itto leaned forward to have his eyes at the same level as Gorou’s.

“I already told you I have work to do. I can’t waste time like th-”

“Then say it already, pup, you’re the one making things difficult,” Itto chuckled, making sure he wasn’t leaving any room for Gorou to sneak past him and get through the door behind him. “What’s so hard about it, anyway?”

“There is nothing hard about it, Itto,” Gorou muttered, trying to keep his focus on his ultimate goal - leave the bedroom - and not get distracted or baited by Itto’s doings. “Now get lost, please?”

Itto groaned loudly, straightening his posture and finishing the act with a dramatic facepalm. “How did it become even worse?! Ugh, why did you even say ‘please’, pup?!”

“T-to get you out of my way?! Why are you so obsessed with me saying bad words?” The general pouted, his tail curling behind his legs while he averted his gaze. Itto’s reactions were starting to get to him, but not in the way the oni expected - Gorou was starting to get embarrassed.

“Because you never do it!”

Gorou widened his eyes - not in disbelief or shock, but in confusion. The general tilted his head, arching an eyebrow. “What?”

“You never cuss!” Itto frowned, “You’re always getting all the perfect situations to tell someone to fuck off or to eat shit and you never do!”

Gorou’s jaw dropped slightly and, if Itto's explanation did anything, it was arousing more questions and got him even more confused. Gorou shook his head, refusing to give such absurdity the least credit.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“Of course not! Even when it’s just the two of us! You always say ‘let’s make love’ and never ‘Itto, fu-”

“Enough!” Gorou rushed forward, quickly reaching for Itto’s mouth and covering it with his hands. If he was starting to get embarrassed before at the beginning of this conversion, he was totally flustered by now. “I-I get it, you can stop now…”

“Hmm,” Itto hummed, narrowing his eyes before wrapping his fingers around Gorou’s wrists, pulling his face away from the general’s hands. “Will you do it then? Can you say at least ‘fuck’? Just once? It can be a tiny one, an itsy bitsy tiny on-”

“Itto!” Gorou whined, fruitlessly trying to pull his arms back as Itto kept holding his wrists. “E-enough with that, let me go.” He insisted, trying to speak as firmly as possible, not breaking eye contact with his partner this time.

However, instead of complying with Gorou’s requests, all Itto did was to shake his head and sigh. “Guess I will have to do it another way, pup,” he mumbled, almost as if lamenting the fact that he had to come to this.

“What do you me-ahh!! I-Itto! Put me down!!” 

“No can do, pup,” Itto chuckled as he effortlessly swiped Gorou off his feet and took him over his shoulder, carrying him back inside his bedroom. “I mean, unless you-”

“I said ‘no’!” Gorou grunted, banging his fists against Itto’s back as he tried to break free. “L-let me go, you ruffian!”

“Damn it, pup, just call me ‘fucker’ or something like that…” Itto shook his head in disapproval before stopping walking. “Here we are,” he said with a grin on his face before gently pulling Gorou down, laying the general on top of his bed, “last chance, pup, are you sure you don’t want to do it?”

Gorou could only look up to his huge boyfriend, the fact that Itto was straddling his waist made him look even taller than he was. Gorou gulped, his hands clenching at the bedsheets. “...yes, I’m sure of it.”

“Got it,” Itto smirked, holding his hands out in front of his chest, wiggling his fingers just to give Gorou a hint of what was about to happen. When the general opened his mouth to protest, it was already too late. 

Itto was a strong man - a strong oni, for that matter. No one could deny the sheer amount of raw strength he had and Gorou already experienced it one too many times before in a lot of different situations. But Itto always made sure to never use his strength when it came to tickling his favorite dog general. Of course, keeping Gorou inside his grip was something else entirely, after all, it was just convenient to have his limbs pulled away and restrained with just one hand. But the hand doing the actual work would always be gentle. Awfully gentle.

“I-Itto- hgh!! S-stohohop it…” Gorou could already feel the corner of his lips threatening to curl up into an adorable smile. Itto was just tracing shapes against his bare sides and Gorou was already losing it. 

Gorou tried to reach for Itto’s hands, pry them off his sides, but those evil, sharp nails continued to gently stroke his sides, his tummy, his hips. One after the other, over and over. Gorou gritted his teeth, scrunching up his shoulders and pressing his eyes shut, anything to make it more bearable. “P-plehehease… Stop- agh, it!”

“Heh, what did you say, pup? I couldn’t quite hear it,” Itto said, his hands following Gorou’s stomach all around no matter how much he squirmed. The oni smirked, watching the general try to suck his stomach in whenever he circled his navel. “You should give up while I’m being nice.”

“I- hahh… Itto, p-plehease!” Gorou gasped, feeling the giggles stuck at the back of his throat. He curled his toes and kicked his feet, trying to shake Itto off his lap, but the oni was like an unmovable boulder sitting on top of him.

“So stubborn, pup, where did you even learn to act like that?” Itto clicked his lips, stopping the tickling to quickly reach for Gorou’s hands. “Time for phase 2, then.”

“W-wait, no!” Gorou widened his eyes, shaking his head left and right as Itto pushed his hands up, pinning his wrists above his head. “Itto, that’s not fahahair- ahaha, nohoh!!”

“Come ooon, you’re making me do this!” Itto teased, managing to wiggle his fingers against both Gorou’s underarm and rib at the same time. Despite the few bits of armor around his chest, Gorou’s choice of fashion didn’t do much to protect those spots from Itto. Maybe it was time to reconsider his outfit…

“AhahAHa, I-Itto! Enohohough!! EHehe!” With giggles pouring from his lips one after the other, Gorou continued to plead, threaten and argue with his partner, hoping that any of those attempts would actually get him free.

Yet, if there was someone more stubborn than Gorou, that someone was Itto. “Nah, not feeling like it, pup,” Itto beamed, listening to his general’s bright laughter as he tickled that outstretched underarm. “But I have to admit I underestimated you… you’re harder to crack than I expected.”

“T-then-” Gorou wheezed when Itto finally lifted his hand, giving him a short break, “l-let go, Itto…”

Itto felt an arrow pierce his heart when Gorou looked up to him. Cute, gentle and pleading eyes stared right at him, making him feel like the most evil oni in all Teyvat for messing with Gorou like that.

No, Itto! He told himself inside his mind, shaking his head, focus! He needed to do something to avoid looking at Gorou’s face and-

Oh.

“Itto, I really need to go and- h-huh? Wait, what are yo- AGH! N-nohoh!!”

The general arched his back, planting his heels against the mattress when Itto gently pinched the tip of his ear with his free hand. As if that alone was not enough to send the most delicious awful shivers down Gorou’s spine, Itto started to gently blow air against the inside of Gorou’s ear.

“Itto, staha- hnngh!! T-thahat’s aahahawful!” Gorou protested, trying to move his head away as much as he could, but all to no avail. His face contorted in a funny way, the air stream of air giving him a weird, fuzzy feeling. It felt good, but also pretty tickly for something like that.

But Gorou couldn’t give it much thought. Before he could think of something, Itto blew against his ear again, again and again. The sensation was messing up with Gorou’s thoughts, even making him panic a little.

That damned oni…

“O-okahahy! AhAHa, Itto- ugh, f-fucking stop!” Gorou hissed through choked giggles and, just like magic, Itto stopped.

Taking a second to open his eyes, Gorou was met with the oni’s proud gaze upon him - as if he achieved something great. “You did, pup!! See? I told you, you can cuss!”

The general could feel a strong heat spreading over his face, tainting his cheeks with a bright shade of red. “T-that’s- that’s ridiculous!” Gorou grunted, pushing Itto’s hands away from him as soon as the oni released his own. “I-”

“Heheh, you said a bad word,” Itto teased, poking his stomach, “you said ‘fuck’, you said ‘fuck’ ~” He sing-songed, beaming as a kid.

“W-whatever, get off now. I need to go work,” Gorou rolled his eyes, cringing at the idea that he actually said something like that. So improper, so uneducated…

As Itto slid off his lap, Gorou could finally head out the bedroom. On his way out, all he could think was what kind of excuse he would give to justify his delay. He couldn’t possibly say that Itto was keeping him from work because he wanted to hear him swearing, could he?

“Hey, pup,” Itto’s voice broke in from behind. Gorou turned, noticing how the oni was watching him leave, “you’re fucking awesome, heh.”

Gorou rolled his eyes. How could he have fallen for such an insufferable man?

“Sigh, you too, Itto.”

[starlightvld]

Bait & Switch, pt. 5

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 >>

Based on "I wasn't in that tunnel."

Call of Duty, soapghost // CW: angst, Hurt/Comfort, boys kissing, MWIII spoilers

---

Johnny is floating. For the first time in forever, he feels safe.

Held.

Warm.

He stays in limbo as long as he can, eking out every ounce of comfort from the rare good dream. He knows soon enough he'll wake to an ice-cold cell. Perhaps someone will come to torture him. Or perhaps they'll leave him alone long enough that he'll starve.

Until then, he basks. Digs himself deeper into the warmth pressed against him.

"Easy, Johnny. You've got too many wires pokin' outta you to move around so much."

That voice. He knows that voice.

Soap's eyes pop open to a wall of hospital gown fabric and a sliver of pale skin. Familiar warm arms curl around him a bit more tightly, and his heart stutters.

"G-Ghost?"

"I'm here."

Everything comes rushing back — "waking up" from his drug-induced haze with a knife in his hand, Ghost's initial distrust and coldness, and the revelations about his own actions and the years of his life and bodily autonomy stolen by Makarov...

He remembers Ghost's sudden apology, his vow to help Soap figure out what was going on, and his gentle arms surrounding Soap just like he remembered.

It's a dream. It has to be. Some trick by Makarov.

And yet Ghost is so warm. So strong.

He can't bear the thought of going back now.

"Simon." His voice shakes as the panic sets in, thrashing around inside him and threatening to shred him to ribbons from the inside. "Don't let him take me back. Promise ye'll kill me if ye have to. I can't... I can't... I can't—"

The sob that had been stuck in his throat when Simon first curled strong arms around him and held him close rises up to choke him, but his eyes remain stubbornly dry. He coughs and gags, and Ghost's hands stroke down his back as he murmurs soothing words in Soap's ear.

It doesn't matter. The tears won't come. Crying was weakness to Makarov and especially to his goons, punishable by the worst kinds of torture. As he's done hundreds, maybe thousands, of times before, he begins to float away, dissociating from the pain on instinct, but Simon's hard tone slams him back into his body.

"He'll never come near you again," Simon growls in his ear. "Not as long as I'm alive."

"You... believe I'm me?"

"Your DNA matches the records for John MacTavish. That's good enough for me."

He doesn't have time to process the shock of that revelation before then next one hits him fast and hard.

"And it's good enough for us, too."

The additional voice is so wobbly, Soap barely recognizes it. He lifts his head to find wide, watery brown eyes under a familiar blue hat staring at him over Ghost's shoulder.

"Gaz?" Soap whispers in disbelief.

"Hey-ya, bruv. I brought someone else with me, too."

Gaz steps to the side, and a familiar mutton chops and boonie hat come into view. Price's eyes are dry, but there's a deep sadness his ice-blue gaze as he reaches over Ghost to lay a loose hand on Soap's shoulder.

"Soap... I don't really know what to say beyond I'm sorry. It's good to see you again."

The emotions rise up too high. He feels himself detach from the moment, and without the strong emotions to cloud his mind, all he can think to say is, "Why? Why are ye here? I tried... Ghost said I tried to kill you."

"We're here because it's you, Soap," Gaz says in a gentle but confused tone. "Even if you were still trying to kill us, we'd be here doing our best to figure out how to save you. I just wish..."

"We didn't know," Price says as Gaz trails off. "We should've tried to harder to capture Agent Zero. If we'd known it was you, we would have—"

"Not important," Ghost interrupts. "We're all here now, and we're not lettin' the brass get their hands on you."

"Ghost—"

"No Laswell. He's been through enough. Talkin' is one thing, but no interrogations."

It's too much. The words thrown around Soap devolve into mutters and hums as he detaches from the moment. After his time with Makarov, the dissociation comes naturally. He floats away, and...

This moment is everything he ever dreamed about in those dark days under Makarov's thumb. But it's also overwhelming for someone who hasn't felt a kind touch in literal years. He's so glad Price and Gaz proved him wrong, but it's just... 

So. Much.

"—nny? You awake?"

Ghost's voice calls him back, and like always, he can't resist. Doesn't want to. He flutters his lids, the dryness of his eyes letting him know he'd fallen into himself with this eyes open. No wonder the fingers gripping his back feel a bit desperate. He closes his eyes without meeting Ghost's gaze.

"Aye," he whispers. "Here."

"I think we should let Ghost and Soap rest," Price says with a soft, sad smile. "You've both got a lot of healing up to do."

*

Laswell does what she can, but the brass still insist on sending someone to "evaluate" Soap, whatever that means. The evaluator in question, some Major or another, is set to arrive in three days, and Ghost has already made it known to Laswell that he won't be letting Soap out of his sight.

Normally, Soap would be concerned and might even start down the path of spiraling into a panic attack, but he finds he can't be bothered when he wakes up on his second day in the hospital in a pool of his own sweat. Shivers run up and down his spine, and he groans as the body aches slam into him like a tank. Only Ghost's presence and warmth keeps him from panicking at the too-familiar symptoms.

"They're weanin' you off the drugs," Ghost explains in a calm tone, his hands gently rubbing over Soap's damp back. "Tell me if I'm hurtin' you."

"Doesnae hurt," he slurs. "Feels nice."

Ghost's hands are a lifeline, the touch grounding him to the present. There's no way his brain could concoct such an elaborate dream.

Right?

The beeping of the heart monitor picks up its pace. One of Ghost's hands slides up to smooth over his buzzed hair.

"Johnny? Hey. You're alright, love."

"Is it real?" he gasps as his vision begins to darken. "Are ye real? Please..."

Arms tighten around him. Ghost's lips brush over his temple.

"I'm here. I'm real. Breathe with me, Sergeant."

The title rings through Soap's body like a bell as Ghost takes a deep breath, his chest rising under Soap's cheek. Soap takes a strangled breath, too, desperate to follow his Lt's directions. Desperate to make sure Ghost stays.

"That's it. Another."

They breathe together, and eventually, the darkness fades.

"Sorry," he mumbles into Ghost's chest.

"No reason to be sorry. I'd be more surprised — and worried — if you didn't have a screw loose after everythin' you've been through."

Soap huffs a weak laugh. "Thanks, I think."

"You're already doin' better than I was in your place, though it was only months for me, and not..."

Ghost trails off. He's never really talked about his time with the cartel in Mexico. Soap knows the basics — caught, tortured, escaped — but he doesn't know the details.

Doesn't really need to anymore. 

"I get flashes of stuff here and there," Soap says with a shrug, "but I only remember those first few months clearly. Right up until Makarov started pumping me full of these fucking drugs."

As if on cue, another shiver wracks Soap's body. He can feel the sweat building between them as his body attempts to deal with the withdrawal. And yet he's still so fucking cold.

"Sorry I'm such a scabby bastard right now," he mumbles even as he tries to scoot closer to Ghost's warmth.

"Nowt to worry about. I'm no spring flower myself. They're gonna let me shower today, I think, so I'll make 'em let you, too."

Ghost continues rubbing his hands over Soap's damp back, and his lips press into Soap's forehead. The hands and lips remind him of better times, when they'd steal a few hours whenever they could to learn and relearn each other's bodies while desperately chasing release. Soap dares to lift his hand from between them and curl it around Ghost's waist.

"I missed ye so fucking much."

The words slip out unbidden, barely more than a whisper, but there's no way Ghost doesn't hear them. His hands pause for a moment before moving again to press Soap closer.

"I felt dead without you," Ghost whispers back.

A heaving gasp punches through Soap's lungs. "Ghost—"

Ghost gently pushes Soap back enough that he can look into his eyes. "I mean it. The thought of killin' Makarov was the only thing keepin' me movin'... until now."

Soap can't help himself. He knows he's gross and dirty and was trying to fucking kill Ghost a couple of days ago, but he's desperate for the familiar comfort.

He surges up and presses their mouths together.

It's like a flipping a switch — Ghost goes from gentle and calm to ravenous in a split second. His fingers dig into Soap's neck, pulling him closer, while his other arm crushes Soap around the waist. Their mouths meld together, and Soap clings to Ghost just as hard, yearning to climb inside him and never come out again.

God. God, he wants to never leave the safety of Ghost's arms, his presence, his warmth.

The kiss ends as quickly as it began. Ghost pulls back and presses his lips to Soap's cheek and then his brow, panting breaths wafting across Soap's clammy skin.

"I... fuck Johnny. I'm sorry."

"Why're you sorry? I kissed ye first."

"Because you're not feelin' good."

Soap frowns. "Yer the one with the gunshot wound."

Ghost huffs a breathy laugh. "And I'm feelin' it, too. You should sleep more."

"So should you."

Ghost grunts his agreement. They settle down, and Soap listens as Ghost's breathing evens out. It's a comfort, and he lets himself fall into the rhythmic sounds.

The longer this goes on, the less Soap questions whether it's real and the more he begins to worry about the future.

Soap is pretty sure the higher ups will never send him back to England. They'll wait until Ghost's back is turned, and they'll take him somewhere far away where he can be locked up and interrogated the proper way. Or perhaps they'll try to draw out Makarov by sending him somewhere as bait... along with enough C4 strapped to his back to blow up a building.

Or maybe they'll just kill him outright, deeming him too much of a risk for any of that.

He'll fight it, of course. But he's only one man against the might of the British military. And despite the 141's trust in her, Laswell is the type of person to sacrifice her personal feelings for the greater good. He doesn't want to think she'd give him up, but if sending him in means finally ridding the world of Makarov, he has to accept that, for her, it might be worth it.

Except... Soap can't stop thinking about Ghost's admission. That the goal of killing Makarov was the only thing keeping him moving. And he fears what will happen when he disappears without warning.

And he will disappear. Of that he has no doubt.

So he tightens his grip on Ghost's waist, presses a soft kiss to Ghost's scruffy chin, and basks in the warmth and safety of his lover's arms for as long as he can.

<< Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 >>

[spookypete-94]

By Definition

PricexFem!reader

Based on the mission in MW3 with Price and Soap. Price stumbles upon reader whom is protecting civilians while being hunted by what you think is your own kind. Will be a two part story.

CTW for blood, violence, and language.

In the dictionary evil is defined as morally reprehensible, sinful, wicked. If you asked John Price, he would say it is defined by heinous actions. By men and women who can harm others. He himself would fit that definition, but as much as he sees it that way, his inner voice says he does it for the greater good. Part of him will never believe it but it’s how he justifies his actions. A hard sentiment to follow through with.

When General Shepherd dispatched him and Soap to the stadium at Verdansk from an attack of of Markarov, he knew evil would be the simplest way to describe it. In reality, it was a blood bath. Morally reprehensible, more like no morals whatsoever. Sinful and wicked, not even painting the scene to full picture. Ambush. Hate. Death. All better things to describe such ill intent. It was around every corner, him and his Sergeant seeing it decorate the endless hallways and numerous rooms.

The worst part of it though is the civilians thinking they were being attacked by those that had sworn to protect and serve for them. A wolf in sheep's clothing. Terrorists adorned in peace officer’s uniforms. The blue line tainted with the permanent red stain of mistrust, a light that will forever be altered in his mind of a horrendous plan.

The order from the General himself, to take out all of those in police uniforms. Something that felt abnormal to him, shooting ones who looked like he had worked alongside with many times. But if the terrorists had done this and John had been sent, he would consider himself the undertaker. The Grimm Reaper to make things right in the world… no matter how hard he had to justify it.

If John was listed in a dictionary, he would describe himself as well trained. Hesitancy not even close to the vocabulary of words in the list of himself. So, when he found you kneeling in front of a food counter, clad in the blue uniform causing the demise at the moment he was reluctant. You see, your arm was spread around a mother and her two small children. Chest pronounced saying "Shoot me, instead." Teeth bared as if screaming, "I'll bite your fucking throat." if he were to get too close. You weren't the wolf in sheep's clothing. You were the actual thing, the guard dog that did serve and protect. The yellow stripes on the outside of your arm signifying you were of rank, from what he could tell a sergeant. Blood and sweat had been smeared across your face, black powder from your gun down your hands and arms telling him you had been at this for a while now. Your pistol in your other hand, at the open and ready for the next feeding of bullets. Looking at the carrier vest, he saw no more mags in the pockets. You were unable to curb your handgun's hunger even if you wanted to. Finally, lowering his rifle he had trained on you and moving his finger off the trigger, he lifted both his hands up hoping to prove to you that he was not the threat here.

"They are dressed like officers," he said taking quick steps to you.

"Yeah, no fuckin' shit," you spat out in between ragged breaths, puffing out further like a cobra ready to strike. Any other person might have been offended at the tone and choice of words, but to John, it meant you had your wits about still. You had been running, near drained and now only operating on pure adrenaline. As he got closer, he watched as you pushed the family further behind you. His heart ached at the muffled sobs.

"Don' wanta’ hurt any of you," his voice lower trying to find remorse for the ones you were guarding. Your eyes trained on him just like he had been with his rifle. The guard dog is planning her next move of attack even if she has no more bullets. Teeth shred just as well in close quarters, and you were baiting him at the moment come closer so you could prove it. Truly you were feral, but somehow so fucking beautiful to him.

"Do you want more bullets or do you wanta' take my spare?" he asked, trying to find common ground of trust.

"What?" You asked confused, glaring up at him. He was helping you?

"Bullets or gun?" He asked pointing down at the one on his vest, going a more direct route.

"Gun." No hesitation. Just like John.

Standing up fully, he watched as your stance widened. Well trained to keep protecting the family that was behind you. Releasing your famished firearm of its open mouth, you rehosltered it, cautiously taking the one from the man in front of you still feeling like this was a trick.

"The hallway down the stairwells behind have been cleared by us, but you need to treat them like they are still hot, don't know wha' the enemy is up to, but get them to a safe place." His arm lightly patting your shoulder making you look up from the press check you were conducting to confirm that the gun was indeed loaded. The faith and trust you had in others had been taken out at the knees and butchered from the ground up. For who knows how long, you had been thinking your own kind was hunting you. A creature they thought was docile from her given gender in nature. Little did they know, they were trying to catch and kill a dragon. A beast among pretenders.

His eyes showed you the type of man he was. At the moment, he was concerned no doubt, but he was a man true to his word. A beacon through this chaos. "Get out of this alive. I want that gun back."

Was this his way of making light of the situation? Or the fact he was trying to give you a reason to get out alive?

"Captain." The other man that was with him grunted to try urge him along from the screams that were erupting on the other side of the food court.

Nodding, you looked behind at the mother and children behind you. Again, finding the nerves and strength to keep going.

"Let's go," your head jerking the way as the new pistol in your hands helped guide your way securely. John didn't get to watch your back. It hurt that he didn't at least make sure you got out of the food court alive. Instead that inner voice that defends his work, prayed to whatever god was listening. Begging that you freed yourself unharmed with the other three trapped souls from this hell.

To you, all you could hear was your heartbeat pounding in your ears. If you got to look back on all of this and review it, that would be the thing you remembered most, but no one would know. They cannot hear your own heart and feel the amount of fear coursing in your body right now. That man was right however, they definitely cleared their way up here. Bodies were dropped, blood running in multiple directions. It was a dog fight for sure to even make it this far. Who the hell was he? The Angel of Death himself?

Once outside, you had managed to help the family through the parking ramp. Relaxing a little, seeing them run in the direction of safety of what was Point of Command. Finally, you had found the secure safety of your own kind. In the back of the ambulance, you learned that there had been an explosion at the airport. How can there be so much chaos today? What was even happening? The ambulance soon left after your vitals were taken and it was confirmed to have no large injuries. Your Chief gave you the direct order to stand down and stay back, worried you were too shell shocked to respond to the explosion. The unknown man's gun still in your hands, unable to holster it since it didn't fit in any of yours. Sitting down on a bench, you couldn't help but stare down at it.

"Where did you get that gun?" A blonde woman asked kneeling down in front of you. Her hand rested on your knee as she spoke. Clearly, she just understood the carnage you had seen and didn't want to speak to shell you had put up to try to disassociate yourself.

"A man inside gave it to me, was wearing camo," a voice that did not sound like yourself answered. It was raspy, more than likely from fighting for your life inside out. Your lips were chapped and peeling already.

"Did he have a big beard?" She asked, her manner of speaking showing that she was hopeful.

Only being able to nod, you did so a slow motion of up and down.

"John, I found her." she said into a radio standing up.

"Bring her to me," the other side said back. The voice you knew all too well belonged to the bearded man that had given you a fighting chance. Raising the gun up, handle to this woman thinking it was what he wanted back so bad. Instead, she stuck her hand out to you, an invite to stand up.

"He wants to meet you." She clarified. "My name's Kate Laswell. And we have an offer." She was gifting you a kind smile, calm in the storm that had finally lifted. A ray of sunshine through black clouds.

Reaching up for her hand, you took it. Little did you know, everything was about to change.

Captain John Price Masterlist

Part 2

[littleplantfreak]

Say my name - Sakura Haruka

Normally I'm bad with titles but without further ado! A ficlet(?) about Sakura struggling to call his lovely partner by their first name! It's SFW (but still under the cut) btw

I tried to keep it they/them for neutrality but if you find a stray 'she' somewhere that's my bad

(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

“I really don’t know what to do with him Suo! Every time he tries to say it he just freezes and sputters until he calls me ‘you’ or he changes it to another word last minute. Last week he tried so hard he nearly turned purple and gave himself a headache!” whining, you practically drape yourself over the table in defeat.

“Wow…our captain really is shy when it comes to that stuff, huh?” Suo’s holding back but you can tell he wants to laugh. Once Sakura shows up he’ll throw a teasing remark or two in but you’ll still be at square one.

“Maybe a nickname? Or what if you don’t look at him when he says it? What if he spells it out-“

“I don’t think we need to go that far,” interjecting gently before Nirei could start going through an insane list of things that may or may not actually work for the present problem, Suo leans forward, looking at you from across the table. “There’s something we can try that might work if you're up for it."

——

It’s not a bad plan actually, if more simple than you thought it’d be. You’re waiting behind the support wall in the middle of Cafe Pothos, obscured from anyone just walking in. Nirei and Suo are at the same table near the front that you were at before, and Kotoha is cleaning dishes at the sink, though she knows what’s going on and has a ear turned towards the main stage of this event making sure she doesn’t miss a thing.

From where you’re peeking before Haruka opens the door, you can see Nirei’s tense shoulders, both trying and failing to appear casual not that your boyfriend will pay it any mind. Sometimes you're afraid he'll end up like Hiragi and his nervous stomach issues. Suo is the picture of tranquility as he eyes Nirei’s notebook before greeting Haruka. You hear your boyfriend stop, possibly looking around for where you said you’d be waiting for him earlier.

“Where’s-”

“A-ah…”

“Bathroom~,” Suo singsongs smoothing over his partner’s stuttering. “By the way, Nirei’s been wondering about their first name! It seems the notebook page he has on them is incomplete without it…” he’s drawing attention, not to the boy himself, but the pen and notebook he’s gripping on to waiting on Sakura to take the bait. Nirei had opted for silence as he clicks his pen and as if to write it down.

"It’s-" a short pause before he actual says the full weight of your name, matter of factly too, without fumbling it at all and you’re suddenly too giddy to contain yourself.

“S-Sorry I wasn’t listening. Could you say it again?” Nirei squeaks out.

There’s annoyance in his voice as Sakura says it again, and before he can get anything else out, you’ve decided this is your cue.

“Yes, Haruka?” You blink looking at him, poorly portraying innocence but you can tell blood is rushing to your face and you cannot rub your smile off if you tried.

“Oh my~ Sakura you’re so bold calling your partner by their first name!” Red eyes glittering wickedly as he taunts “How romantic!” He gasps with a hand over his mouth. Looking flustered but proud is Nirei, nodding vigorously, and Kotoha giving Sakura a pat on the back in congratulations. You’re proud of him yourself, despite having to coax your name out of him with the help of his vice captains.

He's wide-eyed going between you and Suo, gears clicking in to place that he'd been set up as he settles for firing at the brunette "Wha- you- I'm GONNA KNOCK YA-,"

"Oookay we're heading out now!" Before he starts a fight, you link an arm through his and begin leading him towards the door. He’s puffed up like an angry cat but his body completely yields when it’s you who’s maneuvering him away the cafe after saying a quick goodbye to everyone.

It's quiet, the path you take through town on the way to your house and he doesn't look at you when he mumbles a quiet apology. You aren't quite sure what he’s apologizing for but you stop walking and wait for him to start speaking again.

“Sorry fer takin’ so long to say it.” He’s still not looking at you but your heart breaks a little at how small he sounds. You touch his cheek enough for him to turn and look at you, uncertainty clear in his bi-colored eyes.

“Honey I never meant to rush you. If you’re still working on it that’s okay! I never wanna make you feel uncomfortable,” brows knit together in worry now that you’re holding his face in both hands, searching signs that you took it too far.

“I think I’ll be able to say it now - especially if it makes ya look as happy as ya did at the cafe. Not all the time, but when we're alone I think I can." He’s almost fully settled into your hands now, melting into warmth he’d been craving since he woke up this morning. He always wondered how such soft hands could touch something as rough as him and still continue to make the effort to hold him. You wait for him to finish soaking up his much needed affection for a few more minutes and then you're both walking again, slowed by the urge to stay close for as long as possible.

----

"...and she popped out from behind the pillar and said "Yes, Haruka?"" Kotoha mimics your voice as she's giving Umemiya the rundown of what he missed.

"He's growing up so fast!" He wails theatrically wiping a tear from his eye.

"He's changed a lot since he came here, and even more since they started dating. I think he's getting soft with how fast they were able to drag him away without a fight."

"So he went from alley cat to house cat huh. Nothing wrong with that." he grins digging into his omurice. Kotoha smiles and hums in agreement. Nothing wrong with that in the slightest.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Here's something that's been cooking in my head for a while. So there's a lot of fics where Marc and the reader will have a argument and then Marc will sort of shut out and just leave Steven and Jake to be out as a means to avoid reader, and some have it that while that's happening Steven and Jake then just spoil reader with affection and stuff and then there's some point where Marc just comes out and they talk it out. But hear me out on this one and even feel free to run and do your own things with it-

So let's say that that's a common scenario that happens and that Marc and reader are arguing about something and at some point things boil over a little and they do a whole "Fine! "Fine!" sort of thing. Reader walks away to cool off and maybe go back to the issue later when both of them are more calm but then Marc goes "I guess this is the part where you sit somewhere and wait for Steven and Jake to spoil you rotten!".

And now there's an even bigger problem because now Marc is bringing Steven and Jake into this and that pisses them off and there's a whole argument between them because Jake and Steven are saying that they wouldn't have to if Marc would just man up and not turn every issue brought up into an argument. And Marc is saying that it wouldn't be such a big deal if they just let him sulk and solve it himself without them swooping in and overhearing/seeing them basically fawning over reader. And reader is even more upset because it's somewhat true but because you're still made they want to prove him wrong.

You can continue from here or just leave it. Just thought you'd like to hear it at least

Thank you so much for this ask! It has been fermenting in my mind for days now. I hope I've done it justice ❤️

Spoiled Rotten

Marc Spector X GN!Reader Rating: T Masterlist | ao3 | want to be tagged?

Warnings: arguements (subject matter is not specified), hurt and comfort (heavy on the comfort), typos, rail road sentences Please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 1496

_______________________________________

“No that’s not what I said, you’re not listen-”

“You’re just repeating what you said over and ov-”

“I wouldn’t have to repeat it if you would just li-”

“It’s not even relevant to this, you’re changing the sub-”

“I’m changing the subject? What do you think you’re doi-”

“Stop talking over me!”

“Stop talking over me!”

You both glare at each other, rage boiling over like an overfilled pan. 

Your breathing hard, your lips forced together, just waiting for him to say something so you can both go at each other again. 

You could strangle him, the way he sneered a little as he spoke, that little mocking tone he used specifically for you, the fact that he would never, ever, ever back down. 

Your breathing calmed a little as he stayed quiet, good. His hands were balled into fists at his sides, a few rouge curls had escaped his carefully slicked back hair, breaking his illusion of being oh-so perfect. 

Oh, I’m Marc Spector and I never do anything wrong. 

You loved him, of course you did, and if anyone ever laid a finger on him you’d gouge their eyes out, but good god if that man didn’t know how to get perfectly under your skin. 

He stayed quiet, scowling at you. 

With a deep breath you looked away from him and walked into the kitchen. There was no reason to stay in his presence if he was going to be like this, trying to bait you into talking first like a child. (As if you hadn’t been trying to do the exact same thing to him.) 

You thought about making a comment, saying something like ‘oh, the silent treatment, Marc? Real original.’ But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. And you knew how childish it would sound. 

You stopped in front of the kitchen counter and sighed. Cliché as it was, you couldn’t remember what you had first started arguing about. Or why it even mattered. 

Maybe if you just took a few minutes to cool off and-

Marc’s distinct footsteps sounded as he came into the kitchen. “So, I guess this is the part where you sit somewhere and wait for Steven and Jake to spoil you rotten!" His voice was somewhere between normal and shouting, raising in volume even more at the end. 

He had been trying, and promptly failed, to sound collected.

You turned, anger rising in your chest and throat, “what?” 

“It’s always the same-”

“It is not always the same-”

“We have an argument, you go off and sulk and then,”

“I sulk?” You gestured to yourself, “I’m the one that goes off and sulks?”

“And, then, Steven or Jake front and it’s all ‘oh what has that horrible Marc done to you now.’”  His eyes flicked to the side the second the words left his mouth, the muscles in his jaw clenching and unclenching hard. 

You recognised the movement instantly. Steven or Jake, or possibly both, were saying something. 

Heat rises to your cheeks. “That’s not what happens.”

He glances back to you, the smallest twitch is his forehead telling you that Steven and Jake must still be talking. “Liar.” 

You clamp your teeth shut, trying to stop yourself from saying something you know you’ll regret. 

He was right though, and you hated it. Why did this insufferable man always have to be right? 

You and Marc argued the most. 

Jake didn’t shout, he didn’t like that kind of confrontation. He would go quiet and listen to you when you were angry. For anyone else his silence would have made it worse, but there was something about his expression. How he just folded back, bleeding emotion out of himself until he seemed monochrome against your rage. It never failed to refuse you. You’d both end up talking calmly about your disagreements. 

Steven was the king of sarcasm, and passive aggression when he wanted to be. But when an argument with you was getting too far he would just call a timeout and let you both go your separate ways to calm down. 

On the whole, very rarely did any of you argue, and when you did it was usually about something silly. 

And as you’d been together longer, disagreements with Jake and Steven had lessened to almost nonexistence. While arguments with Marc had stayed the same. 

It always followed a similar pattern: you and Marc would shout at each other and then Jake or Steven or both would come and make it better with hugs and kisses and soft words. 

“Well it’s not going to happen this time.” Marc snarled. 

You looked back at him, realising you had been lost in your thoughts. 

“You're stuck with horrible me.” 

He was goading you, trying to get you to shout at him again. Needing you to yell, to express your anger. He could deal with that, could fight against it. 

You stayed quiet. 

“Gonna give me the silent treatment? Because I’m not good enough for you? That’s real original.” 

You almost laughed then, but just managed to stop yourself. There was no way that could help in this situation. Your shoulders slumped slightly. The problem was, you were both too similar. 

“Sit down.” You spoke softly, and gestured to the kitchen table before walking over to the coffee machine. Marc was the only one who really used it for the fancy milky coffees he still pretended he didn’t adore. 

“What?” He snapped, watching you move. He took a step towards you, his hands flexing in irritation as he saw you switch the coffee machine on. 

You turned fully to look at him, “sit down,” your voice sounded calm and kind, even though you were still fighting with your own exasperation inside. “Or stand, whatever you want.” 

You expected him to snap back with another dig. But to your surprise he swallowed, a small bob of his throat, and sat down on the chair closest to you.

He didn’t take his eyes off you while you made a coffee, the crease in his forehead deepening as he assumed you were going to drink it right in front of him. 

Instead you heard the little breath he exhaled when you placed the cup on the table directly to his right. 

Marc stared at it for a second, dumbfounded. He was so caught up in staring at the coffee that he didn’t hear you step back and open the cupboard, only realising that time had passed when you set a small plate with choco leibniz milk biscuits in front of him. 

“Those are Jake’s.” He whispered. 

“I bought them for everyone.” You leave out, ‘except Steven’ as that was a given due to the milk. 

The biscuits were, however, a favourite of Jakes. And he did have a tendency to eat them all before anyone else got a chance. 

Marc pressed his lips together into a tight line. 

You didn’t want for him to say anything else as you walked into the living room and turned on the television. You spend a few minutes searching through the listings until you found something that matched your criteria. Marc had a soft spot for westerns. 

You clicked on The Searchers and pressed play before grabbing the heavy, fluffy blanket out of the airing cupboard and laying it out on the settee. 

When you came back into the kitchen Marc was chewing on a biscuit. He looked up at you as you entered and for a moment seemed much younger than his years. 

“Come on,” you spoke softly, lifting the plate and cup from the table. 

Marc didn’t question you and followed you into the living room one step behind. 

You gestured to the settee after you put the biscuits and coffee on the table, raising the blanket for Marc to sit. He did, slowly, as if he was waiting for something awful to jump out at him. 

You sat next to him, pulling the blanket over you both. You left a ‘sensible’ space between you. Not wanting to be too far or too close, and upsetting him with the extreme. 

He stared at you, not even glancing at the television. “What are you doing?” He whispered. His expression was nervous, pained, and it chased away the residual anger in your chest. 

“Spoiling you rotten.” You said quietly, The Searchers opening music nearly drowning your words out. 

Slowly, you lifted your arm to the back of the settee, leaving an open invitation for physical touch. 

To your surprise he moved instantly, burying himself into your side and laying his head against your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you and squeezed you tight. 

You smiled and kissed the top of his head as you hugged him back. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled into your chest, his breath hot against your skin. 

“Me too.” You kissed his head again as you both relaxed into each other's embrace and settled down to watch the film.

____________________________________

Thank you for reading!

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[cloudspotterclub]

reckless (j.p.)

Pairing: james x fem!slytherin!reader

Summary: You tend to keep everyone at arm's length, and they are more than happy to stay there. But not James Potter. It seems he's made it his life's mission to make you miserable, but you're usually able to tolerate his petty jabs. That is, until he pushes it too far and uncovers a truth about you. After that, the secrets just keep tumbling out, and James learns that some cuts can't be undone.

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: sooorta enemies to lovers, moderate injuries, cringe banter, slight angst, fluff, ending's a bit meh

a/n: I know I said I might post this in December, but I've just now stopped hating it enough to post it lol I'm sorry!

“Y/L/N.”

“Jesus, Potter!” You startled, scowling when your eyes landed upon the laughing Gryffindor.

James smirked as he looked down the length of the fourth-floor corridor, which was completely deserted. “Aw, what’s wrong? Did the floor clear out the second you stepped in?”

“I know you’re a bit dim, so I’ll spell it out for you. I’m not fond of company, and I came here specifically to avoid the likes of you. Do me a favor and kindly piss off,” you spat, turning back to the book in your hands.

James snatched the book away, strutting around as he obnoxiously read the front cover, “The Philosophy of the Mundane.” He paused, arching his eyebrows. “Hang on a minute, what are you doing with a muggle book?”

You felt your face redden in a mix of embarrassment and annoyance as you stared him down. “It’s not a muggle book. It’s a book about muggles.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Slytherins hate muggle stuff.”

You fought to contain the building frustration within you, knowing James was baiting you. You weren’t going to give in this time.

You got up, walking right up to his chest. “You don’t know as much as you think you do, golden boy.”

The bespectacled boy leaned down, challenging you. “Yeah? What don’t I know?”

You matched his determined glare as you leaned up, your nose barely brushing against his. You allowed your eyes to briefly flick to his lips before meeting his pupils once again. 

“I’d tell you,” you breathed, watching as the daring look began to leave his face.

“But then I’d have to kill you.” You smirked, ripping your book out of his now-lax grip.

“Hey—”

“Don’t tempt me, Potter,” you said boredly as you sat back down on the ledge by the window. “I already want to kill you, it’s just a matter of how soon you force my hand.”

He ignored your threat, sitting across from you in the cramped space. “What was that about, Y/N?”

You pouted your lips sarcastically. “Aw, what’s wrong? Never been flirted with before?”

James shook his head in disbelief, “You were flirting with me?”

You looked at him flatly. “No. Now go away.”

“No, wait, you never answered my question. Why are you reading a book about muggles?”

“Why do you always know where I am? Are you stalking me?” you asked accusingly.

James’ flustered expression was quickly replaced with a cocky grin. “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.”

You groaned, regretting ever trying to engage him at all. You should’ve known James Potter wouldn’t stay rattled for long. “What’s it going to take for you to leave me alone, Potter?”

He clasped his hands behind his head, leaning on the wall behind him. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

“You’re Slughorn’s favorite.”

He snorted. “I don’t care about your stupid club.”

“Stop acting so jealous of everyone in it, then,” you shrugged.

“Come on, Y/L/N, stop deflecting,” James puffed out, “why won’t you tell me?”

You stared at him incredulously. “We’re not friends. I don’t owe you anything. And I especially don’t need to be civil with you, so consider it a favor that I haven’t hexed you yet. Leave while I’m feeling courteous.”

A disbelieving expression sat upon James’ face. “You don’t fool me. You wouldn’t risk detention for anything. Too ambitious for your own good, as your fellow Slytherins say.”

His words stung you in a place you’d tried so hard to never let anyone reach. That familiar rage and shame began to build within you.

Your voice shook as you tried your best to conceal your bubbling emotions. “Shut up, Potter.”

His smirk only grew wider. “So, what is it? Plotting the most effective way to murder muggles once you graduate? Got your Dark Mark already, Y/L/N?”

You gritted your teeth, digging your nails into your palms. “No.”

James clapped his hands in mock excitement. “Oh, don’t tell me you’ve got a soft spot for them now! What did it? Got your eye on a muggle-born, perhaps? No, that can’t be it. The only one you care about is yourself, you’d never care enough to—”

He cut himself off, his mouth hanging open. “Hold on.” The longer he thought about it, the more it made sense. “Are you a muggle-born?”

Fear pulsed through your entire being as James looked upon you in genuine shock. You’d tried so hard to get through school without anyone catching on. You were nearly there—just one year to go and you’d be free from the social hierarchy you’d tried so hard not to play into. Now, everything was ruined because you allowed James to get to you.

Angry, embarrassed tears poured down your cheeks. “You don’t know a thing about me,” you seethed, rushing to gather your belongings.

James’ face dropped as he took in the impact his words had on you. He began to reach for you as you got up. “Y/N, wait, I’m not going to—”

You furiously tore yourself away from him, glaring at him as hard as you could. “I don’t care what you do! Just stay away from me. I mean it.” Your voice quieted as your bottom lip quivered, “You’re a real dickhead, James.”

James was, for once, at a loss for words as he watched your figure storm away.

~

“Oy, Prongs, what’s the matter with you?” Sirius asked, jostling James’ shoulder.

“Huh?”

The long-haired boy frowned. “I asked if you wanted to try that new hex on Snivellus, and you just kept staring out the bloody window. Is Y/N out there or something?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” James asked a little more defensively than he’d intended.

Sirius cocked an eyebrow. “What’s got you so riled up? I just meant you’re always on her case. It’s all you use the map for anymore. Look, I’m all for messing with greensleeves, but she’s a bit of a dull subject. She hardly ever retaliates, and she hasn’t got any friends. Even the other snakes don’t hang around her. Pathetic enough on her own, don’t you think?”

James felt a nagging displeasure in the pit of his stomach. “Knock it off, Sirius.”

It wasn’t often that James felt remorse for his actions, but ever since he’d found you out a week ago, he had trouble feeling anything else. You had looked at him with such fright, as if he was about to attack you. He couldn’t shake the image of your tear-filled face, traces of disappointment evident as you uttered your final words to him. You’d called him worse things before, but you’d never said anything with such hurt and sincerity.

If Sirius responded to him, James didn’t hear it. He haphazardly threw his scarf on as he pushed past his friend. “I need to get some air.”

James briskly walked out of the boys’ dormitories, heading straight for the quidditch field. Maybe he could throw a quaffle around—physical activities usually helped clear his mind. As he made his way past the courtyard, he spotted you slumped beneath the shadow of a tree.

Your knees were curled nearly all the way to your chest, with just enough of a gap left for a book to be propped up against your thighs. James observed that you weren’t really reading it. Your eyes were looking far ahead as you made lazy motions with your wand, absentmindedly growing and shrinking a blade of grass. He took note of the way the other students were seated several meters away from the area you took up.

James ran a hand through his hair, the guilt nibbling away at him once more. This was a new experience for him, one that he wasn’t sure how to deal with. James figured there was nothing a little magic couldn’t fix. He hid himself behind one of the wider columns and stuck his wand out just enough for his spell to hit its intended target.

Your head shot up in confusion as your facial muscles forced their way into a smile. You scanned the courtyard, noticing James’ messy tufts of hair poking out from behind a pillar. Marching your way over there, you tried your best to rearrange your lips into a scowl.

James’ eyes widened as he saw you barreling towards him. Your demented grin was enough to send him running toward his original destination. He knew he was faster than you, but he gravely underestimated your willpower. As he came to a stop just outside the quidditch arena, you crashed into his back, sending the both of you tumbling to the ground.

You used the momentum to pin him down, sitting on his chest as you displayed your unnerving smile over his face. “Potter! Undo this right now!”

James bit back a chuckle as he fished for his wand. “Sorry, Y/L/N, didn’t think it’d turn out so psychotic.” He lightly tapped the corner of your mouth, sending relief throughout your face as you regained control of it.

You rubbed at your jaw, frowning down at him. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I don’t know, I thought you could use a little cheer. You were looking miserable out there.”

“Yeah,” you muttered, “I wonder why. Look, will you stop torturing me and just get it over with?”

“What are you on about?” James furrowed his eyebrows, eyes darting to where your body met his. “You want me to kiss you or something?”

“No, you daft pig!” You reeled, hastily scurrying off of him. “I meant you should stop dangling my fate in front of me and just expose me to everyone already.”

He pushed himself up on his elbows. “What? Is that what you thought I was going to do?”

“Yes? Why else would you have been avoiding me all week? You’re taunting me, and you know what? It’s working. So just take your win.”

James cringed a little as he uttered his next words. “I was avoiding you because I felt bad. You looked so freaked out when I asked if you were a muggle-born. I was never going to tell anyone.”

You stood up, taking a few cautious steps away from him. “Don’t play games with me, Potter.”

“Blimey, Y/L/N, you really do have trust issues.”

“Forgive me if I’m hesitant to believe the boy that planted dungbombs in my bag for a whole term.”

James sighed, tugging at his curls. “Fine, don’t believe me. You’ll feel real stupid when you realize I was telling the truth.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I already feel stupid giving you a chance.”

“It’s a natural urge.” The boy shrugged, getting up and dusting off his pants. “Want to fly around?”

“What? Hey—” James grabbed your forearm, pulling you into the quidditch arena. “Potter, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

He picked out two broomsticks, throwing one at you. “Making you trust me.”

~

“JAMES POTTER, I’M GOING TO KILL YOU!”

James snickered, paying no mind to your horrified expression cast towards the ground, which was now about fifty meters below you. You had been hesitant to get on the broom in the first place—flying wasn’t really your forte—but James promised he only wanted to show you the goalposts up close. To your horror, the second you reached them, he knotted your brooms together and rocketed up into the open air.

His cackles rang in your ears, as did the growing wind. Your hands tightened around the broomstick’s handle, knuckles paling along with your face. After the initial adrenaline rush, you had been rendered silent by the overwhelming fear of plummeting to the ground.

As James got the last few laughs out of his system, he looked over to see your petrified face still staring downward. “Uh, earth to Y/L/N?”

You didn’t respond, eyes glued to the barely-visible field below you.

James’ eyes flitted towards your hands, shaking with the force with which you were gripping your broomstick. Again, he was hit with that annoying sense of guilt that had been plaguing him since your last encounter. He wished desperately for that feeling to go away.

He hesitantly placed a hand on your broomstick, causing your head to snap up towards him. He was struck a little by the intensity of your gaze—not hateful or upset, but pleading.

James offered you a clunky smile, quietly saying, “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Although your grip relaxed ever so slightly, you still didn’t respond.

James frowned, that horrible feeling intensifying. “I’m sorry I lied. I really thought you’d like it up here.” He paused. “I should probably stop assuming things about you, huh?”

You gave him a small nod, slightly perturbed at the strange gentleness in his voice. “Yeah. You should.”

To say James was acting unusual would be an understatement. Since when did he care whether you were comfortable? You looked from his hold on your broomstick to the lines between his eyebrows. Something was definitely off.

“Do you want me to get us back down?”

Your face contorted in surprise and confusion. “Really?”

James gave a small, breathy laugh, shifting his eyes away from you. “Don’t look at me like that, Y/L/N. I’d really like for you to trust me.”

You weren’t sure if it was the high altitude or the new shyness in James’ voice, but you were beginning to feel dizzy.

You blinked at him. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” James tugged at his hair, gaze still averted. “Lately, I’ve been feeling like I’ve been an ass to you. I know you don’t think I’m capable of it, but I am trying to be a better person. And that includes not making your day harder than it needs to be.”

You considered this. “So…I’m some obstacle to tackle in your quest to be all self-righteous?”

“What? No, that’s not at all what I’m saying. Y/N, I sincerely want us to be on good terms.”

You narrowed your eyes, reminded of your conversation the week before. “Is this some hero complex thing? Befriend the lonely Slytherin mudblood so you can look big in front of all your friends?”

James was hit with unexpected hurt. Though he figured he deserved it, he hadn’t realized just how deep his actions had affected you before. The overwhelming shame he felt was only eclipsed by his intense desire to reassure you that he didn’t think so lowly of you. That you didn’t deserve to have anyone make you feel that way. That your pained expression made him want to do all he could to stop you from feeling that way again.

“Y/N, please,” his voice strained, “you have to know that’s not how I see you. I—I’m sorry that I’ve messed up so many times and so badly that you may never believe a word out of my mouth, but—” James stopped himself. But what?

The second you saw James’ face crumble, you knew you were wrong to accuse him of using you.

You waited expectantly for him to go on, trying to control the thoughts threatening to overtake you. You weren’t sure there was anything he could say that would get you to let your guard down. You were determined not to let him weaponize your vulnerability again.

Then again, you’d never see him so distraught. So desperate for you to understand. The soft voice, the wounded expression—you couldn’t tell if it was a performance. Either way, it affected you in a way that you didn’t like one bit.

James took another glance at your stony expression, and any hope he’d had that he could fix things with you died within him.

He hung his head, quietly uttering, “Nevermind. I’m sorry. I’ll take you back down.”

As James guided your broomsticks towards the ground, you felt an odd sense of disappointment. While you were confident it was pointless to hear him out, a small part of you was curious to hear what he had to say.

An even smaller part of you wished your moment in the air wouldn’t end so quickly.

Maybe he was telling the truth. Maybe he really did want to be friends.

Your head spun at the thought. Not because it was so outlandish—truthfully, you occasionally did enjoy the banter you had. Perhaps your unease was because the thought of you being proper friends was…disappointing.

You’d been feeling disappointed often lately, but never in this way.

Although body was turned away from him, his face flashed into your mind.

You’re okay. I’ve got you.

You flushed recalling his soft-spoken words when he made a genuine effort to comfort you.

Dread filled you. Could you actually have feelings for—

“Mr. Potter! Ms. Y/L/N! Detention!”

~

The air was tight with tension as you navigated the darkness of the Forbidden Forest. While you were unnerved by the mysterious echoes bouncing off of the looming trees and shadows that seemed to move every time you looked, you were more bothered by the frost that had formed between you and James.

Madam Hooch stopped abruptly, clapping her hands together. “Right! We’ll settle here, then. This is where I saw a few rogue broomsticks crash the other day. I want the two of you to find all three.”

You eyed the seemingly desolate patch of dead leaves and mossy boulders around you, nervously biting your lip.

James took notice of your stilted demeanor, hating that he’d subjected you to yet another awful experience.

He cleared his throat, speaking up, “Madam Hooch, I think it’d be much more sensible to have us search when the sun’s out, don’t you think? Besides, I’ve got a quidditch match tomorrow and I know you hate to see unrested players on the field.”

The flying instructor didn’t budge. “You should’ve considered that before using school-owned broomsticks and flying around the quidditch arena without permission. I’m surprised you don’t think yourself capable of this simple task, Mr. Potter. As a show of trust, I’ll be waiting just outside the forest. Shoot off a signal if anything happens.”

With that, she took off towards the castle, leaving you with two lanterns and a frustrated James.

He tugged at his hair, kicking at the ground. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Again.”

Your eyebrows knit together as you watched his shoulders hunch. With the way he tried to bargain with Hooch, you thought he’d returned to his usual cockiness. But here he was, avoiding your gaze again.

You shook off your thoughts, picking up a lantern. “Nevermind that. Let’s just find those broomsticks and get out of here.”

James quietly obeyed, walking behind you as you led the way deeper into the forest.

As the minutes went on, the silence between you was making you jumpier than the ominous howls that seemed to follow you.

Why isn’t he saying anything?

You snuck a look back at James, who was still walking with his head down.

This is ridiculous. You hate his stupid, squeaky voice. His unintelligent remarks. His insensitive insults. You hate him.

But right then, you hated the quiet even more.

You stopped. “Um, Potter?”

James nearly ran into you, looking up at the last second. “Shit, sorry. Did you find a broomstick?”

“No, just…are you alright?”

Your question took James by surprise, and he found himself smiling idiotically at you for the hundredth time that day. “I’m alright, thanks.”

You nodded, resuming your trek. “You were being real quiet. Thought you had died or something.”

He chuckled, falling into step beside you. “I assure you I wouldn’t go quietly. You’d know if I was dying.”

“Good,” you teased, “because I’d hate to miss it.”

James lightly bumped your shoulder, small smiles on both your faces.

You weren’t sure if you were ready to let him in just yet, but you were certain you were enjoying whatever this was. You figured this was as good a time as any to get some answers.

“Hey, James? Why do you hate Slytherins?”

He frowned, shrugging. “I don’t. I just pick on Snape because he’s such a dick to muggle-borns.”

Your eyes widened. “But he’s always been cordial with me.”

James scowled. “Because he doesn’t know you’re a muggle-born.” Noticing the discomfort on your face, his voice softened, “He’ll never find out as long as we’re at Hogwarts. I swear.”

You stared into James’ hazel eyes, finding nothing but sincerity behind them. His gaze bore into you, communicating far more than his restrained words allowed him to. It was like a vice that you didn’t want to be released from.

“Thank you,” you breathed, forcing yourself to look at the path ahead.

James tilted his head, keeping pace with you. “You’re not going to ask why I picked on you too?”

You chuckled humorlessly, “It doesn’t take a genius to figure that one out. We’re in rival houses and I’m an easy target. It’s not like you were the first.”

“What? No, hold on—”

You sucked in a sharp breath as James lightly grabbed your shoulders, turning you towards him.

“Y/N, that is not why I picked on you.” He tugged at his dark locks. “I mean, maybe at first. Sirius and I kind of went off on any Slytherin we could mess with during first and second year. It was dumb and I regret that immensely.”

James squeezed your shoulders, taking a small step forward. “But I continued to seek you out for…other reasons. Reasons that I don’t think I was even aware of until last week. When I was a complete dickhead. When I thought I’d done irreparable damage—that put a lot of things in perspective.”

Your heart pounded harshly in your chest. His words and the heat radiating off of him were making it hard to think. “James, you don’t mean…”

James took another step closer to you, forcing you to look up to see his face, which was now hovering just inches above yours.

His voice dropped to a whisper, “I think I do. Y/N, I—”

A loud growl interrupted James.

You both turned to see a large, gray wolf baring its teeth at you just a few meters away.

Your breath caught in your throat. You’d never seen a wolf that size before, at least not in the muggle world. It was easily two meters tall, with bulky muscles beneath every inch of matted fur.

While you struggled to react, James quickly pushed you behind him, shielding you as best as he could behind his larger frame.

“Y/N, signal Madam Hooch,” he commanded, though his voice was still low and tender.

You scrambled to shoot off a burst of light from your wand, which traveled up into the sky and towards the castle.

“Good, now listen to me,” he whispered, “I’m going to distract it while you run as fast as you can back to the castle, okay?”

“What? James, there’s no way you can outrun that thing—”

“Please,” he begged, looking into your eyes. “You might see me do something odd, but I don’t want you to stick around to question it. You need to run the second I tell you to. The second. Understand?”

His authoritative tone left you speechless, only able to nod.

“Okay,” he took a long inhale, “three…two…one…run!”

You took off as quickly as your feet could take you, but you were able to glimpse the scene you were fleeing long enough to see what James was talking about.

Standing in the spot where James had been was a large, brown stag.

Your pace slowed for just a second as it dawned on you.

He was an animagus.

You didn’t have much time to process this new information, desperately running in the direction you came. Whatever his plan was, James wasn’t going to hold his own against a giant wolf for long. You needed to get Madam Hooch before it was too late.

Your lungs burned as you blazed through muddy ground and jumped over fallen branches, your only thought being James. If something did happen to him, you didn’t know what you’d do.

You couldn’t lose him. You wouldn’t.

Just as the edges of the Forbidden Forest came into view, so did Madam Hooch. You frantically led her towards the spot where you’d left James, panting as you explained how the wolf had appeared.

As you arrived back at the scene, you saw the animal readying itself to swipe at the stag it had pinned to the ground.

“Y/N, you find James and bring him here. I’ll drive the wolf away,” Madam Hooch instructed, chasing the creature away from the clearing with a powerful spell.

The moment they disappeared from view, you rushed to the stag. In mere seconds, it transformed back into the Gryffindor boy, but something was horribly wrong.

You gasped, dropping to your knees as you looked over the cuts and bruises littering James’ body. A cut on his temple trailed blood down his face, and the area around one of his eyes was purple. Your breathing quickened as you saw the extent of his injuries, the worst being two deep gashes across his chest. “James. Oh my god.”

He gave you a pained chuckle, voice hoarse. “Surprise. Sorry for lying to you again.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “That’s—that’s not funny. James, we’ve got to go.”

He groaned as he attempted to push himself up, his arms immediately giving out the second his back was off the ground. You slid yourself under him, allowing his head to fall into your lap instead of the forest floor.

James winced through a smile. “Jeez, Y/L/N, if I knew this was all it took to get you close to me, I would’ve gotten hurt much sooner.”

Your mind was fractured, overwhelmed and unable to form a coherent thought. “What?”

“C’mon, love,” he coughed, spitting out blood. “You must know I like you by now. Or do I need to go fight off another wolf?”

The hopeful look on his face was like a knife in your gut, and it was enough for you to burst into tears.

“James, I—you didn’t have to do that! God, I never should’ve left you,” you cried, bringing a shaking hand up to stroke his cheek. Your other hand entangled itself with his, squeezing hard. “I’m so sorry.”

James grinned, leaning into your touch. “Don’t be. What matters is you came back for me.”

“Did you think I would leave you here, you git?” you half-laughed, half-sobbed.

“Nah, like you said,” he took a labored breath, his voice cracking, “you’d hate to miss me dying, right?”

You shook your head, tears spilling out even faster. “No. No, that’s not going to happen. I’ll kill you if you die on me now, Potter. Just focus on your breathing, James, please.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, letting out another low moan of pain. “I’m trying.”

Your grip on him tightened. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

Just then, Madam Hooch returned and immediately levitated James’ nearly-limp form, hurrying the both of you back to the castle. You were numb the whole jog back, only able to stare ahead as Madam Pomfrey tended to him.

“What was that boy thinking, trying to fight off a wolf?” Madam Hooch tutted, shaking her head. “He’s a brave one, but I’m glad you had the sense to run, Ms. Y/L/N. Consider yourselves exempt from further punishment. But don’t let me catch you on the field unauthorized again.”

With a pat on the shoulder, she left the hospital wing.

As you zoned out, you were interrupted by a commotion.

“Mr. Potter, settle down!”

“No, where is she?! Y/N!” James shouted, limbs flailing as he attempted to launch himself off the bed.

You quickly made your way over to him, watching as he stopped fighting and sank back into the mattress. “James, I’m right here. I’m okay.”

He sighed, reaching for your hand. You entwined your fingers once more as you slid onto the small chair by the bed.

“Sorry,” he muttered, turning to Madam Pomfrey, “can she please stay? I might throw another tantrum otherwise.”

“You children will be the death of me.” She frowned, finishing up with his now-bandaged chest. “Don’t get any funny ideas or I’ll throw you both out.”

You turned back to James as she walked back to her desk. His face was considerably less pale, but one of his eyes was still nearly swollen shut. You could feel yourself beginning to tear up again as everything hit you all at once.

James frowned, squeezing your hand. “Can I get through one day without making you upset?”

You shook your head. “No. I don’t think that’s ever going to happen. How do you feel?”

“Awful. The girl I like doesn’t like me back,” he joked, though his delivery faltered.

You looked at him as though he’d grown another head. “First off, that’s not what I meant. Second, you’re an idiot if you think I’m sat here crying over you and holding your hand because I pity you.”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t trust my instincts at all with you. You’ve made me feel so many nasty emotions this past week.” He began counting them off his fingers. “Guilty for disappointing you, ashamed for hurting you, and insecure for liking you.”

You giggled. “Good. You deserve to be as conflicted as I’ve been.”

“What did you have to be conflicted about?”

“I thought I hated you. No, I definitely hated you while I thought you were going to tell everyone I was a muggle-born.” You smiled. “But you didn’t. And then you were nice to me. Granted, your idea of ‘nice’ could use some work, but still. When we were up on those broomsticks, I started to wish there wasn’t so much animosity between us. And then in the forest, I realized I liked having you around. A lot. And then when the wolf attacked—I just knew I couldn’t lose you yet.”

James was smiling so hard, his lip was beginning to split open again. “Fuck, Y/L/N, either I’m about to pass out or you’re making me swoon.”

You shoved his shoulder. “Not funny. I don’t know how you can joke like that when you literally almost died.”

James chuckled, reaching a hand up to cup your cheek. “I don’t know how much longer I can sit here waiting for the girl I fancy to tell me she likes me too.”

You rolled your eyes. “Back up, Potter. I think I have the right to grill you first.”

“About what?”

“You’re kidding, right? You’re an animagus!”

James cringed, averting his eyes. “Yeah, I was hoping you’d forget about that by now.”

“Because you’re unregistered?”

He shot you a look. “What do you think?”

“You could end up in Azkaban for that!”

“I’m far too skilled at getting away with things.”

“Clearly,” you said, thinking back to all the times he successfully sweet-talked professors into getting out of trouble. “How’d you learn to transform?”

“A lot of trial and error. Took me a couple years.”

“How long have you been able to do it?”

“Since fifth year.”

Your mouth hung open. “That’s…kind of incredible. Hold on, are all of you animagi? You, Remus, Sirius, and Peter?”

James hesitated. “It’s not my place to say.”

“Right. Okay, do you have any other wild secrets I should know about?”

A smile crept onto his face. “Maybe. But I can’t possibly tell you everything right this moment. Gotta keep things interesting.”

Your brows furrowed. “Fine. As long as none of these other secrets get you killed.”

James’ thumb grazed the back of your hand. “The agony of waiting for you to tell me how you feel will kill me far sooner than any of my secrets, Y/L/N.”

You sighed. “Honestly, James, could you be any more melodramatic?”

“My melodrama is what kept us alive. Who else would be stupid enough to fight a wolf to save a damsel in distress?”

“Well, I’m not about to argue that you’re not stupid.” In spite of your light tone, the heaviness in the pit of your stomach remained.

James was right. If he hadn’t thrown himself at the wolf, you never would’ve come away from the encounter unharmed. His inflated ego definitely contributed to that decision, but it was a selfless act nonetheless. One he’d done for your sake.

You scanned his battered face, his relentless optimism shining through his features. You used to think this expression was a smug display, a symptom of his belief that he’d come out on top in any situation. But now, his wide eyes and faint smile held no sense of self-assuredness. Rather, they were brimming with tentative hope.

You cleared your throat, wiping the remaining tear tracks from your face. “Let’s get a few things straight. First of all, I am not a damsel in distress. I am perfectly capable of handling myself under normal circumstances. The only reason you had to step in today was because I do not normally get myself into such ridiculous predicaments. You got us into this because of your recklessness. Can we agree on that?”

James nodded. “Definitely an accurate assessment.”

“Right. Which brings me to my next point.” A breath. “Obviously, I care for you too. And I really would like to give us a chance, but,” your voice softened, “you’re reckless with a lot more than just hexes and broomsticks, James.”

James’ smile faltered, the implication of your words clear. He sat up, shifting towards you. “You’re right. I thought our exchanges were all in good fun, but I realize what were jokes to me were deeply hurtful attacks to you. I didn’t mean for them to be, which just goes to show how ignorant I can be. I know I can’t take it all back, but I am sorry for all the harm I’ve inflicted on you.”

His hazel eyes searched yours for a brief moment before he gingerly took your face in his hands. “But if you’ll allow it, I will try my hardest to make it up to you. I want to be someone you can trust not to break your heart.”  You shivered as his thumb ghosted over your cheek. “I’ve never been trusted with anything precious, but I’d like to be worthy of you.”

You were rendered speechless at his earnest declaration. So, instead of replying, you closed the small distance between your lips. James instantly reciprocated, his hands squeezing your waist as he deepened your kiss. Your own hands tangled in his hair, tugging as he lightly nipped you.

You pulled away, slightly dazed. “What are we doing? We’re in the hospital wing!”

“I’m sorry, love. I meant what I said, but I’ve got to keep some of the mischief in my life.” You let out a small shriek as he suddenly pulled you onto his lap. His lips brushed against your ear, “You’re quite the temptation, Y/L/N.”

You were certain your face was beet red, but you couldn’t help the breathy giggle that escaped you. “You are a piece of work, Potter.”

He planted a kiss on your temple, sturdy arms secured around you. “I know.”

Another irritatingly cheeky smile was plastered across his face.

But for the first time, you were looking forward to being the reason for that smile.

[bateman-whore]

“Would you still love me if I was a worm?”

Tw:mentions of sex

Michael Myers

He’d probably stare at you in confusion.

What the fuck did you mean by that?

He would probably say no at first.

But he would say yeah after you complained about it for 45 minutes.

Jason Voorhees

Of course!

He would put you in a little jar and carry you around.

He’d probably end up making you a little enclosure with a little worm bed

Him being extra careful with you

So all in all, work or not he would love you dearly

Billy Loomis

Shuts the conversation down quickly

“Does it matter? You not a worm.”

You don’t bring it up again

Stu Macher

It would be hard but he would try

He would leave you in a little jar of dirt on his desk

He would take you outside every once in a while

But one time during your outside time you almost got taken by a bird 💀

Vincent Sinclair

As much as he would love to keep little worm you around he knows that you would probably live a better life out in the wild :(

Bo Sinclair

Like Billy he shuts the conversation down super fast

“How the fuck am I supposed to have sex with a worm”

Just be glad you’re not a worm because he’d probably end up using you as like fishing bait or just crushing you under his boot.

I honestly have no idea what this is. I had the idea and tried to run with it, idk if it worked lol. If you have a request my ask box should be open and I’ll try! Dividers and GIF are not mine.

Masterlist

[nothomegal]

“The little owl family” (Part 2)

(RZ!Michael Myers x GNReader)

Summary: your and your little sister’s life had an 180° turn when your parents got into a severe car crash, dying on the spot. You, being already past 18 had to figure out how to keep things afloat and give yourself, specially your sister, a good future. And you did! It was hard but you did it and became the absolute hero in the little girl’s eyes. People would often involuntary smile at the dynamic of your two, so wholesome and supportive, the perfect family bond. Bond that a certain Boogeyman noticed as well…

Warnings: Mikey being a bit obsessive(?).

Word Count: 2.8k

Additional info: Gender Neutral reader. (S/N) = sister’s name.

(Part 1) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6)

It's been around a week since the siblings visited the house where the Myers family ones lived. To be honest the visit was kinda forgotten after a couple of days since they had other things to worry about; (Y/N) focused on their work and (S/N) on school and other duties a 6 y/o would worry about, as well on the owl family! Who happily accepted the extra meat the've been leaving around their backyard, they're also pretty sure that some of their babies already hatched!

However, their rather peaceful and carefree life was about to get on a bumpy ride when a certain dark massive figure was able to track them down...

. . .

—"(Y/N), can I ask you somethig?"— your sister asks from the doorway to your room, shifting from foot to foot and holding a dinosaur plushie.

—"Sure."— you say as you pause whatever work you've been doing on your computer and turn towards her. —"What is it songbird?"—

—"How does it feel like being watched?"— she asks.

(Y/N) leans back on their chair with a thoughtful hum.

—"I'm not sure, I never felt it. Though people say it feels like being exposed, no matter how hard you try to hide."— you try to explain.

—"Oh... Like being naked?"—

—"Yeah, kinda. I guess."— you scratch your cheek a bit. —"Why the question though?"—

The girls shrugs with a slightly awkward expression.

—"In scary movies people always talk about it and I got curious. And because Terry won't stop saying dumb stuff, like the Boogeyman is going to come and steal you..."— she admits, her voice sad and quieter at the last statement.

The older sibling blinks a couple of times.

—"Steal ME?"— your eyes wide a bit when she nods. —"Pff! If the Boogeyman doesn't have a pack of oreos and a new drawing tablet as a bait, I'm not going anywhere."— you joke, trying to soothe her.

But the girl just frowns more and out of nowhere runns towards them and hugs them tightly, barely holding back a sob.

—"It's- It's just- "— she hiccups a bit. —"I sometimes have nightmares where you disappear, just like mom and dad. I'm- I'm scared it will become true someday!"— she sobs into your shoulder.

(Y/N) frowns at her words, their heart shrinking inside of the ribcage with every sob that left their sister's mouth. They hug her tightly back and begin to softly caress her hair whilst speaking.

—"Hey, hey it's okay. No one will ever take me away from you. I fought to keep us together ones and I will do it again if necessary."— you say, your voice calm.

—"B-But one thing is arguing with old ugly people and the other one is fighting a monster!"— she sobs harder.

(Y/N) falls silent for a moment, thinking about how to calm down their sister. Eventually they come up with an idea. They gently grip her shoulders and push her back so they both can make eye contact.

—"I don't get it, who are you?"— you suddenly ask.

—"H-Huh?"—

—"I asked who are you? Where is my little (S/N)? The (S/N) who's so bold and brave, the one who promised to protect me and scare the Boogeyman away by stomping on his toes and slapping his elbows, where is that (S/N)?"—

The little girl blinks a couple of times, both surprised and thoughtful about (Y/N)'s words. Eventually her expression changes into a shyer one.

—"Uh... She is he-here. But- But- "—

—"Don't tell me you are going to allow some boy and silly dreams scare and hurt you. Do you remember that one movie with the 'hat-man'?"— you ask and recieve a nod. —"And how did the main character defeat him?"—

—"She... She stopped being afraid of him."—

—"Exactly! The Boogeyman is the same, a creature that feeds on fears. If you aren't afraid of it, it won't be able to do a damn."— you give her shoulders a gentle squeeze. —"Come on sis, we visited the house the monster supposedly lives, you had a smile when we got closer and you were brave enough to calm me down. Can't you see how absolutely amazing you are and how intimidated the monster must be of you and your amazing art skills?!"—

—"Yeah... Yeah! You're right! Who does this Boogeyman thinks he is to scare me?!"— she exclaims, gaze and tone determined.

—"Yes! Screw it! If any monster tries to come for us then we'll work together to scare it away! Just like we did with the 'attic ghost'."—

They both giggle at the mentioned 'attic ghost', who resulted to be a racoon that somehow snuck in there a couple of month ago.

—"But make sure to throw the plunger at the monster and not me."— you pinch her cheek while pouting a bit.

—"Hehehe sorry."— she grins, clearly not sorry.

They talk a bit more, and ones (S/N) was completely calm her sibling finally notices the time.

—"Holy cow on a bicycle, it's long past midnight. You were suppoes to be asleep missy."— you say while standing up. —"Come on, let's put you to sleep, you have school tomorrow after all."—

—"Will you read me the new story today?"— she looks up at you with hopefull eyes.

—"Not yet sweetheart, I still need to finish the last pages, or you want to leave the mystery as a cliffhanger?"— you ask with a teasing smile.

—"No! No cliffhangers, they suck!"— she huffs.

—"Yeah, agree. Just wait a bit more, okay? I'm sure I'll finish it due Halloween."—

—"Oki hehe, can't wait to learn what will happen with the birdies this time!"—

The mentioned tale has no name, it's just a little pile of stories (Y/N) and (S/N) created by accident a while ago. It started as a random drabble when the girl asked 'how would we look as owls?' and that's when it began. Both owl characters, that resembled the siblings but with some subtle changes, living the wildest anventures a kid's brain could formulate, from time travel to having a sword fight with skeletons, and despite the ridiculous plots, the stories were a lot of fun to write, draw and tell, specially before sleep.

And tonight wasn't a complete exception, sure it wasn't the story (S/N) hoped to read but an already written one, it still was a lot of fun though!

Ones the story telling session finished and (S/N) was sleeping soundly, (Y/N) decided that it's time for them to go to bed as well.

They started to do their night routine of cleaning around a bit, but something made them pause when they reached the first floor to turn the lights off. They stopped in their tracks with their gaze glued to the back door, specifically... What was in front of it. It looked like piece of paper, one that been uncrumpled.

With furrowed brows and an uneasy feeling in their stomach (Y/N) makes their way towards it, trying to convince themselves that maybe (S/N) left it there it while playing. But their blood goes icy cold when they see what is on the paper...

A orange spinosaurus with a witch hat and a magic wand.

The older sibling grips the paper tightly as they frantically look around, as if trying to find the responsible of this nonsense, yet they saw or found nothing, or maybe they were unaware of it... Of him.

At some point durning their frenzy, (Y/N) stops in front of the window and simply stares into the pitch black backyard. The owls were unnaturally quiet, no casual 'hoo' or the father flying out to get food, no, there was no sound from them at all.

Giving one last glare into the darkness, (Y/N) decides to take their uneasy feeling and the bird's silence as a warning. With a huff they close the curtains and go toward other windows to do the same, they have no idea if there is an actual threat out there but they will do anything to protect their home anyways, even if that means going full paranoia mode.

Their actions didn't went unnoticed of course, as the being (S/N) was so scared of at first was standing there, in the darkness, this whole time. His head slightly tilted as he observed the older sibling go through another frenzy.

Usually, these kind of response to his stalking would amuse him, seeing the sheer panic in the victim's eyes as they stare into the darkness, desperate to find him and coming out unsuccessful despite him being right under their nose the entire time.

With (Y/N) however... It's different. The look they sent into the darkness wasn't just a simple look of uneasiness or distrust, it was a warning. A warning to fight back and kill whatever or whoever dares to disturb them, to disturb their family, their little sister... When his eyes met theirs his breath hitched, he never saw such cold and murderous yet dangerously determined glare on him, not the one (Y/N) had.

He wasn't even aware of the adrenaline that spiked inside of him, his heart beating hard as his chest rised ad fell with each heavy breath, creating small clouds in the chilly October air. He didn't even realize how much that look affected him, how much he desired to feel it on him again, how obsessed he was with their eyes...

The only thing that bugs him is that (Y/N) is most likely not even aware who they just glared at. The especulations of their reaction when they finally uncover the truth make his mind go wild, wondering what kind of look they'll send him, what kind of measures they'll take to protect their own little 'boo' from him, even though...

He didn't even feel the need, or want, to hurt the little one... Or them.

. . .

—"(S/N)! Watch out!"—

—"Woah!- "—

It was one more day in Haddonfiel elementary school, it was currently recess time and the little girl was playing outside with some friends.

—"You almost got hit again, are you okay?"— a friend asks.

The little girl bites her lip.

—"I don't know... I'm super worried about (Y/N), since last week they've been weird. They try to act normal when I'm around, but... When they think I'm not looking I noticed how serious and scared they seem to be, always looking through the windows and even checking the locks almost five times a day!"—

—"Oh wow..."—

—"Yeah... I don't know why they started to act like that! J-Just last week everything was fine and then boom! They're different!"— she says with concern and a bit of frustration.

—"Maybe (Y/N) got snatched by the Boogeyman and got replaced by a doppelganger?"— Terry says, being right behind her, and suddenly grabs her shoulders.

—"Aaah! No! Shut up Terry!"— she exclaims angrily as she slaps his hands away. —"And no one snatched them away! They're just going through a lot of stress!"—

—"That's what the doppelganger wants you to believe! Bet the Boogeyman had already ate the real (Y/N), and soon he's doing to come and eat you~."— the boy says with a sweet yet mischievous tone.

(S/N) grits her teeth both annoyed and angry at her classmate's attempts to scare her. When the ball bumps into her leg she grabs it and with no hesitation throws it at Terry, purposely aiming at his face.

Miraculosly, the boy dodged the ball last second and with a loud goblin-like laugh he runs away, pleased that he got a reaction from the little girl.

—"Hey! The ball-! "—

—"I'll go get it..."— she mumbles, still a bit frustrated and disappointed that it didn't hit the boy.

The ball went quite far despite being thrown by a 6 y/o. The girl rushed towards the direction where the ball went flying, which was the furthest part of the school playfround, slowing down at the end when she realized the ball wasn´t near the fence.

With a more concerned look she takes one or two steps forward, being just 4 feet away from the fence. Her gaze is focused outside of it in hopes that the ball ended up not too far and she could simply reach it. She suddenly stops when noticed some weird tree trunks at the other side... Huh, she's pretty sure a tree trunk is brown and not dark blue, or wears shoes...?

She begins to slowly drag her gaze up and then realizes that the blue 'tree trunk' is not even a tree, but a person, no, a giant!... Wait, he got the ball! (S/N) was about to innocently step closer and ask for the toy but froze in place when she saw the giant's face, a terrifying emotionless mask that made his eyes appear black, like two endless voids staring into her little innocent soul.

The massive stranger then slowly extends his arm, just enough so his hand goes through the bars, silently allowing the little girl retrieve the object.

The girl swallows loudly as she gives quick glances at the ball, which looked so small in the stranger's big hand, and then at his uncanny masked face. Technically it should be safe to take it, the man's hand is barely going through the metal bars of the fence, all she has to do is yoink the toy out of his grasp and run away.

It should be quick, it should be easy!... Yet her body refused to move...

The giant slowly tilts his head, as if silently asking what's wrong and why she's not taking the object back.

Durning this little staring contest, the world around goes completely silent, which made the already tense and eerie atmosphere turn even more bizarre. The girl starts to remember all these talks of 'stranger danger' (Y/N) would give her, and the advice that stick out the most kept resonating in her mind over and over...

"It's okay to judge at times..."

"...for a reason first impressions are a thing."

"Remember songbird...

"...if someone gives you the heebeegeebees, forget politeness..."

"...and get away from them."

And they're right... This giant is giving her the heebeegeebees!

Releasing the breath she didn't know she was holding in all this time, the girl throws one final glance at the man, her innocent eyes expressing fear and distrust as she turns on her heel and runs away like a spooked kitten, completely forgetting about the ball she was supposed to retrieve.

His head straightened as he watches the girl run away, frantically pointing towards his direction when her friends tried to ask what happened but, of course, he was long gone when they looked.

After this little interaction, he was left with a weird yet unpleasant feeling. The way the little girl looked at him made something inside of his chest squeeze, the same feeling he got as a kid when he accidentally made Angel cry for the first time... Is this what guilt and shame feels like?... He can't tell.

He probably shouldn't have revealed himself like this, so out of the blue. But today he was feeling particulary gloomy, and after observing the two siblings for nearly two week he couldn't help but notice how the little one behaved; so carefree, so curious and enthusiastic about nearly everything, so mischievous yet sweet towards her older sibling, worrying about them, caring for them... It reminded him of 'boo' so much.

Is this really how things would've turn out between him and Angel if they grew up together? If he just could've made the things right that night and prove that he can be a good big brother? He'll never know, not when Angel is somewhere else now, hiding from him, not for long though, he will find her eventually and try again... But for now, all he can do is stay hidden and observe, observe the siblings interact and fantasize that one day him and his sister will share the same strong bond...

One day...

. . .

The bell rang, meaning that the final class finished and the kids were free to go home.

(Y/N) is standing outside the school, near the gates where all students were about to come out. They were calmply waiting for their sister to appear, already changing their moody and tired expression for a softer and brighter one so the little girl doesn't worry.

But their happy mask falls off completely when they see their sister exit through the gates. Her eyes and nose had a reddish tone as if she've cried not too long ago, her face was also pale, pale and filled with fear as if she just seen a ghost.

(Y/N) has no time to even formulate a sentence in their mind when their sister suddenly rushed into their arms and let out a muffed sob, one that she've been probably holding back for a while.

Panicked and concerned (Y/N) kneels in front of the girl and gently take one hand into theirs while the other one is wiping the tears sliding down her cheek.

—"(S/N)? My goodness, songbird. What happened?"— you ask, doing your best to keep your tone calm.

The girl hiccups a bit, letting the last couple of sobs out and eventially collecting herself enough to speak.

—"(Y/N)..."— she says in a shaky and tiny voice. —"I think... I-..."—

—"I think I saw the Boogeyman."—

[bioethicists]

responding to this with my shitty redaction because i'm not comfortable posting obvious bait with people's names in them (particularly dead names) but i just wanted to point out the ways in which this ask is prototypical bait written to purposefully generate drama or controversy (idk if this is in a kiwifarms trolling with right wing motives sense or an 'i love drama' person) by trying to appeal to online leftist culture/the fear of being 'problematic'. i see ppl fall for this constantly + i need people to start learning to recognize the signs instead of either engaging or using this as evidence that leftists are stupid/petty/hypocritical (which many of us are, but in much less amusing ways, unfortunately)

the implication that there is a single founder of the "neurodiversity movement" + that evoking this movement at all (which i don't do + i think it's actually pretty evident that my politics are distinct from the much more bioessentialist politics of those who prefer that term, which is part of what led me to conclude that this is a copypasta) is supporting the founder. tracing a broad social concept to a single individual, then disparaging that individual as morally unsound (by evoking other explosive, petty pieces of discourse, like baeddalism + transandrophobia) in order to provoke doubt, fear or anger. demonstrates a hope that leftists will flinch away from anything associated with anyone 'problematic' without applying any critical thinking.

misrepresenting complex events (or fabricating them entirely- idk if these things happened + i simply couldn't care enough to find out) in a way that hits the pressure points of performative activism (she's being mean to an autistic person! other people of color agree with me! this other person is anti physically disabled people!) while also betraying reactionary opinions through language use/implications (claiming to care about 'transandrophobia' yet deadnaming someone? claiming to care about specific events at specific autism conferences but using terms like "severely autistic"? saying you have spoken to "Blacks, Asians, Hispanics, American Indians" lmao did you type this out based on census checkboxes from the 70s?). the author of this ask is clearly not a member of the activist communities they claim to be from because they accidentally slip into the speech conventions + opinions of a kiwifarms/4chan loser who does a lot of hatereading. this one did a good job of hitting the bingo card of divisive intracommunity issues rn- great research skills, bud! put them to better use <3

reframing reactionary beliefs using leftist concepts. this works because many of us do not have a foundational politic outside of "well, i want to be good, so I'm going to support the things that other people i trust say are good". which doesn't make you bad (there is no good or bad! learn this now + quick, if you really want to play a part in building a better world) but it makes you easy to manipulate + unlikely to be capable of meaningful change. notice that the claims this ask is asserting are, at their core, "people make up microaggressions to cause problems when really they could easily suck it up" + "people fake disabilities and being trans for attention". these are reactionary concerns, no matter how artfully they are dressed in social justice language. kiwifarms in particular was very, very good at this- they loved finding the people they stalked to be racist, homophobic, ableist, etc, not because they thought those things were wrong (it was their hobby to be these things!) but because they delighted in identifying hypocrisy, stirring up drama, + destroying people's reputations.

this is hard to explain bcuz i blacked out the names, but if you have a passing familiarity with fascist/reactionary online spaces, particularly the history of kiwifarms, you will know that reactionaries have their own 'pet leftists', just like we have our 'pet fascists' (shapiro, alex jones, tucker carlson, etc). that is, ppl they obsessively follow, harass, + scrutinize + come to believe are representative of everything that we believe. these ppl are rarely ppl who are actually prominent in our online spaces but online reactionaries often believe we are just as obsessed with these people as they are, but as unquestioned paragons of virtue + brilliance. namedropping these ppl is often an accidental tip of the hat, particularly when the ppl aren't on tumblr, haven't been a topic of community discussion for quite some time, or run in a different circle than us (reactionaries don't understand that there are actually thousands of leftist social groups which have very little overlap with some others- pronouns in bio does not mean someone knows or cares about contrapoints, for instance)

tl;dr this ask is a fantastic example of the rhetorical features bait that someone might actually take seriously.