#please read the whole thing before commenting or I will explode

[emerlovesinvaderzim]

Okay, I understand if anyone disagrees with me on this but I think the Invader Zim fandom is pretty shitty. You know the way people always say there's always a quiet majority and a loud minority? Well this is different. This time it's a loud majority and quiet minority situation. Zim is the main protagonist of this show, is he a good character? No. Does he have flaws? Yes. Do characters need flaws? Yes. Is it good that Zim has flaws? Yes it is. But does the fandom treat his flaws like they're even flaws at all? No, they don't.

The fandom obsesses over Zim and acts like there's nothing wrong with his character. He was seen committing terrorism throughout the show and he acts like he's better than everyone and throws them (Including his robot GIR) under the bus yet they'll always comment on how "cute and small" he is and how everyone just wants to hug him. (even though he'll most likely kill you if you do.) You can still like Zim but please acknowledge that he isn't a good person. He has narcissistic personality disorder.

However, Zim's arch nemesis, Dib Membrane, who is the main antagonist of the show, is also a terrible person. He wants to expose Zim for fame and money and is often seen bullying or picking on Zim at school however the fandom actually acknowledges that Dib is in the wrong for this and people tend to hate him a lot because of this. I know there's a lot of Dib fans out there (myself included.) but even they're able to critique his character and understand he's asshole but Zim's fans don't seem to do the same with Zim. This really annoys me. I've seen people who'll hate Dib for his selfish and entitled behavior but then they'll love Zim for the same reasons. What the fuck?

I had someone tell me Dib being a terrible person is overlooked while Zim being terrible isn't, which isn't anywhere near true. I explained to them why and they just gave me a skull emoji and said "It's not that hard to comprehend, I've seen media where Dib is easy going, chill and nice where as Zim is a huge dickhead." I have never seen that and they never even showed me any proof of fans doing that. There's literally a whole AU called "The lovebug AU" where Zim is a sweet and kind little guy with wings and Dib is mean and cruel. I have never seen an AU where it's the other way around. I have read a read fanfictions where he's a portrayed as this high school chad who's racist and misogynistic and I even read a fic where he was pro-life. I never read any fics where Zim is portrayed that way. The person wasn't lying when they said Zim is portrayed as mean though but when he is portrayed as mean, it's meant to be in a cute and light hearted funny way and when I see Dib portrayed as nice, it's in a dumb and creepy way.

There's a comic called "Trainwreck" (it's a Zim x Dib comic incase you're uncomfortable) where Dib is portrayed as a dumbass and crazy obsessed stalker while Zim, is mean yes, but is also chill and just wants to go about his own day and his cruelty is kinda glamourized as humor in this comic. I also have read stories where they've abused each other but when Dib abused Zim, it wasn't glamourized or made funny but when Zim did it to Dib, it was. This one fanfic had Zim abuse Dib and he held a grudge against him (as he should) but the comments where calling Dib salty for refusing to forgive him and they said they wanted to slap him while I was wanting to slap Zim.

Same with Gaz, I can understand her anger and see why she finds Dib annoying but she's no better than him. She constantly abuses him physically and emotionally yet their dad does nothing about this. I know Dib has also done bad things to her and he has no excuse for doing that. He put a curse on her in one episode and she had every right to be mad at him. I have seen no one defend him for doing that, everyone was pretty mad at him for doing that. Also just because Dib is mean to Gaz doesn't give her the excuse to actively try to make his life more miserable than already is everyday. They're both toxic towards each other and they both make life harder for each other, we need to end the harmful standard that men can't be abused.

I don't hate Zim or Gaz, they're actually two of my favourite characters. I can still critique characters I like, that doesn't make me like them less. I'm still able to critique Dib and I have done it throughout this rant. I won't disregard anyone's experience with the fandom, I promise. They're are Zim and Gaz stans who are able to understand that they're both terrible characters and there are Dib stans who are toxic and won't accept that he's also a terrible character too. It's Invader Zim, everyone in this show is a terrible person. Not just Zim, not just Dib, everyone. The only one who isn't terrible is GIR. I'm just expressing how I feel and what I have seen with in the fandom, please don't take this personally and feel free to disagree with me.

[dandelionprints]

Don't Be Late

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Y/N (lil bit of fluff, angst, tormented Tommy and comfort)

Summary: When Tommy makes a promise to his wife he could never imagine that breaking it could potentially cost Y/N her life.

Warnings: bad language, a couple of slur words as used in the show *not words that I myself deem acceptable!*, a lot of violence, mentions of injuries, blood and death. Reader discretion is advised, do not read if you feel uncomfortable with this kind of content

Word Count: This is a long one coming in at 6,800k

A/N: It's been a while since I've written a full blown fic but I was on a roll so I just went with it! I hope you enjoy, please do like, reblog and/or comment your thoughts on it, I really appreciate the feedback x

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"It's been three days, Pol. Why won't she wake up?"

He leant forwards in his chair, a hand gently grasping  Y/N's as she lay motionless on her hospital bed. Her body was battered with violent purple bruises and cuts covering what seemed to be every inch of her body.

The last three days had been hell, with a mixture of so many emotions running through him  that he didn't know where to put and the not knowing. Worry, anger, sadness. Guilt. So much guilt, it consumed him. 

Tommy wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to forgive himself for not being there to protect her. It could be said that it was a case of "wrong person, wrong time", but that did nothing to subside the sense of dread that filled his stomach whenever he thought about the brutality his wife had been through, all because of him. How scared she must have been on her own waiting for him to come and save her, but he came too late.

"Give her time, Tom. She's been through a lot, her body’s trying to heal, we can't rush these things. Besides, the doctor said this morning that the swelling and bleeding has started to go down so she is getting better. Slowly. We just have to be patient", Aunt Polly delicately placed her hand on his shoulder, softly stroking her thumb back and forth over the newly clean shirt. 

Polly had brought a clean set of clothes to the hospital after seeing that Tommy was too terrifed to leave Y/N at the hospital alone for even a second, leaving him wearing blood soaked clothes for the first day. Y/N's blood.

"I should've been there Pol. None of this would've happened if I hadn't gotten too cocky and dragged John and Arthur down to London to Sabini's club. All this for a fucking business expansion"

He lowered his head and brought his free hand to his forehead, pinching at the sides as if to relieve some of the stress growing with tension there.

"Fuck!", he shouted before quickly covering his face with his hand.

Tommy could feel tears springing to his eyes as he glared down between the gaps in his fingers at the speckled hospital floor. He was so tired of crying in the presence of anyone that wasn't Y/N since the night this whole shit show happened, it made him feel weak knowing other people could see that in fact, yes, Tommy Shelby does have emotions. Y/N  was the only one he'd been able to willingly show any kind of vulnerable emotion to since he'd returned from the war.

The sound of a lighter flicking open followed by the quick sizzle of a cigarette being lit came from behind him as Polly took a drag, before holding it within Tommy's line of vision. 

"Here, take this".

He hesitated for a moment, making sure that no tears would fall, then slowly lifted his head and reached for the now softly glowing cigarette bringing it to his lips and taking a long pull, exhaling the smoke as if it were the stress partially releasing from his body.

Aunt Pol watched him carefully, almost as if she were waiting to see if he was going to explode like a ticking time bomb or finally let his shoulders relax and sink into the chair. She was thankful when he chose the latter, slowly leaning back against the wooden frame, still holding onto Y/N's hand.

"You should go back to the house, Tom. Get some rest. I'll stay with her until you come back", she spoke softly, her own eyes tired from the constant secret worrying she'd been doing as well as sitting with Tommy next to Y/N's bed the last three days.

"No. I won't leave her, Pol. I can't leave her, it's my fault she ended up like this, I can't risk them coming back or the risk of her...", he stopped his words in their tracks as a lump formed in his throat. The tears that had only just subsided now came back, threatening to spill over, "Of her dying. Alone. Without me here letting her know she's safe, that I'm sorry. So fucking sorry"

Polly's face grew empathetic as she saw the pain etched all over Tommy's, the vacant glassiness of his eyes that had only grown darker over the past few days.

"She's not going to die..."

"She might, Pol!", his anger exploded then, the ticking time bomb she'd been waiting for had finally gone off.

The chair scraped on the floor as he stood, letting go of Y/N's hand, before turning to face his aunt who remained seated, not taking her eyes off him.

"How can you be so sure that she's gonna live, eh? How can you be so sure that she's ever going to open her eyes again?"

There was less accusation in his words than it seemed, more like a plead for some kind of reassurance or promise that the love of his life would be okay, that she'd return to the real world again.

Polly stood, then, calm and collected. 

"Because I know Y/N Shelby, and so do you. She's a tough girl, it'll take more than Sabini and the fuckers who did this to take her down. Now, go home and get some sleep. I'll stay here with her, give her a wash and read some of your poetry outloud. The nurses say she can still hear what's going on around her, that she may even end up dreaming of things that are being said so we'll be having no more talk of death. John said he'll take the next shift of watching the door so tell him when you get back to come here. You know he won't let those bastards go anywhere near her if they so much as step foot near the hospital"

Polly’s eyes remained on him like a mother scolding her child until they did what they were told. She knew that he was still reluctatant to leave Y/N's bedside but felt relief when he subtly nodded to her, stubbing out his cigarette and picking up his coat before leaning over Y/N to place a kiss on her head, being careful to avoid the purpling bruise that was forming there.

"I'll be back in two hours, Pol, then you can go home and get some sleep", he said simply, making his way over to the door.

"Not two, six. You need a proper sleep"

He narrowed his eyes at her without saying anything, his lips twitching as if ready to disagree with what his aunt had said.

"I'd say eight but I know you won't be able to stay away for that long. What good are you to her if your eyes can't even focus on what the gun is aiming at? Go. Get some sleep"

Three days earlier

They'd agreed that they would meet at 8pm later that evening, after Tommy finished up with business for the day, where the family car was stored in the garage near the Shelby family home.

"Don't keep me waiting too long", she giggled, stroking his face with the palm of her hand.

"Who says you'll be waiting?", he smiled, taking the hand that was on his cheek and bringing it to his mouth, placing a soft kiss to it.

The Garrison hadn't opened for the day yet but the Peaky Boys were starting to gather at the bar, getting in a pint before the days business was about to begin. John and Arthur were already trying to place a bet with Isaiah about who could down the most pints before blacking out with Arthur claiming it to be him.

"Eh, lads! No more drinking until business is finished for the day, and Arthur, I could place twenty pound on it being anyone but you who could drink the most", Tommy interrupted, leading to a cackle of ladish jeers. 

Y/N laughed before getting Tommy's attention once again, this time placing a finger beneath his chin and gently pulling his face towards hers.

"I know you, Tommy Shelby. You like to be on time when it's for business but business is also what makes you late to see me"

He felt a pang of guilt hit his stomach at her words, he knew she was right. He'd lost count of how many times he'd come home to find her curled up in front of the fire in his office fast asleep. How many times he'd either carried her up to bed or simply placed a blanket over her while he continued working into the early hours of the morning. 

"I promise, love. I'll be at the garage at 8pm sharp"

This time he leant forward and touched his lips to hers, taking in the sweet flavour of her lips that he loved so much.

"Go on, Pol will be waiting for you"

She paused, "Is it bad to say that I don't believe you?"

"I promise, Y/N"

She wanted to believe the sincerity in his eyes but a tiny part of her knew that she'd more than likely be kept waiting out in the cold while he finished up business for the day. 

"Okay", she half smiled, "I love you, Mr. Shelby"

Tommy kissed her then, brushing a strand of hair that had fallen across her face behind her ear.

"I love you too, Mrs. Shelby"

---

It was already dark by the time she'd made her way to their meeting point with only the glow from a firepit in the workshop opposite as the main source of light, rain flooding down onto the pavement outside in typical autumnal British fashion creating the sound of pattering on the old tin roof of the garage.

Y/N sighed as she leant against the black Ford Model T, taking a look at her watch. 8:03pm. 

'Well, it's only three minutes late, let's see if he's here before four minutes late', she thought to herself. 

There wasn't much to see in the garage other than old petrol can's and some oiled rags that had been dropped lazily on the floor, not that she could see much anyway with only the fire for her source. In fact, it only stretched as far as half the length of the garage, where unbenownsed to her there were men that were lurking in the shadows, ready to pounce on the unsuspecting victim. 

"Get 'em!"

The sound of a thick London Italian accent echoed through the cold rickety room and all Y/N could think to do was to cower against the car, waiting to be manhandled in some kind of way, the panic instantly settling into her chest.

It was obvious that the men who now had their fists blowing punches to her face didn't have a clue it was in fact a woman they were beating and not a man, probably due to the fact the fire was doing little to show that she'd wrapped her scarf over her head to stop the rain from ruining her curls. They didn't realise until she mustered enough strength through the continuous punches to let out the loudest scream she could.

It was only then that the men took a step back as the same voice from before bellowed out, "Stop!"

She held her hands up to her face and felt a slick warm liquid quickly covering them, the skin beneath it sore to the touch. Her left eye was blurry from the mixture of what she could only assume to be blood and swelling, but she could just about make out the silhoutte of a slim man with a hat standing near the wall.

The adrenaline was already kicking in helping to keep some of the pain from showing it's full potential, but her fight or flight hadn't seemed to of made an appearance yet. All she could do was stand there, frozen to the spot, her hands still holding her bloodied face.

"You must be Tommy Shelby's missus", spoke the man with the hat, taking a step forward confirming in the dim light that it was who she'd feared it would be. Sabini.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?", he smirked, leering towards her only inches from her face, "Apologies for the misunderstanding, we thought you were Mr. Shelby"

Her heart dropped into her stomach at the thought that this beating was meant for Tommy, that she knew they intended to do more than land a few punches to his face. She spat at the ground infront of Sabini's feet.

"You're lucky it was me and not Tommy, he'd have your eyes the minute you laid your hands on him", she was surprised by how even she managed to keep her voice despite the sheer panic coursing through her. 

Y/N knew it was a lie, that Tommy would be far too outnumbered to take on five of Sabini's men on his own especially without being able to see much.

Sabini laughed, throwing his head back slightly before stopping abruptly and grabbing onto each of her arms.

"You listen here you little princess, I don't think you quite understand the extent of how pissed off I am at your fella. You see, him and his brothers came to my club in London two nights ago. The Eden Club. A well run establishment, I'm sure you've heard of it. Anyway, they caused such a fucking scene that I've had to take matters into my own hands. I was planning on getting to Tommy, show him how scared he should really be about barging into one of my clubs, but it seems I may now have an even better way of sending that message".

Even with the light uneven across his features she could see a sly snarl creep onto Sabini's face, his breath fanning against her skin as he spoke. It was enough to make her want to wretch.

"Right boys, forget about Tommy. I want you to do what you were going to do to Tommy to her"

Her heart flew straight into her throat, threatening to jump out of her mouth at any moment. She wanted to throw up but the best thing she could do now would be to gain as much attention to passers by as she could. She screamed again only to have her mouth covered by Sabini as two men took over the hold on her arms.

"Listen here you little bitch, whether you like it or not, you're getting a beating. If Tommy's not man enough to face me himself and resorts to showing up to one of my clubs instead then this is what happens, someones pretty little face gets smashed in"

"You're a fucking creep! Tommy will be here any minute and I'm sure his brothers will be with him too, you won't know what fucking hit you!", she spat, the venom spewing from her mouth.

Sabini wasted no time in landing a hard slap against her already throbbing cheek making her splutter out whatever saliva she had left. He didn't leave it there though as his gripped both hands around her throat, squeezing as tight as he could.

"We'll be glad to see Tommy and his brothers, we can have a nice little catch up. Those boys couldn't organise a piss up in a brewery no matter how hard they tried so I'm not too worried. Carry on boys"

He let go of her throat leading her to gasp for air, her lungs felt like they were on fire with every harsh breath.

She didn't even have time to brace herself from the punch that was swiftly administered to her stomach, knocking out every bit of air she had managed to gain back, bringing her to the ground with a hard thump. Her head bounced off the ground sending a shockwave of pain running over her skull and down her neck. 

The punches were now followed by the kicks of steel toe capped boots, each kick more painful than the last until she almost felt numb. Where the fuck is Tommy?

She wanted nothing more than to scream out for him, to hear him running towards the men with bullets flying, ready to put an end to this nightmare, but all she could do was sob as the pain coursed through her.

"Boys, hold her up", Sabini's voice cut through the sound of the thumps and thuds, his voice menacing laced with a sneer.

Two men gripped Y/N's arms and yanked her back onto her feet, knees buckling beneath her with one of her ankles too weak to bare any weight. She was pretty sure she had some broken ribs and that her ankle was much the same way but she knew there was nothing she could do about it now. The only thing she could do was let her head loll forwards with sheer exhaustion. 

It was hard to keep her eyes open as her head was pulled up by a harsh grab of her hair, weakness taking over her entire body.

"Look at me. I said look at me!"

Another firm yank of the hair had her gaze just about managing to focus on Sabini, his eyes showing a glint of evil.

"I want you to tell your dirty gypsy husband that I'm coming for him next, if he wants to take over my race tracks then he's gonna have to fight for it"

"You're a fucking pig Sabini", her voice was hoarse as she spoke, her head longing to fall fowards again and let her eyes shut.

"Take my fucking name out of your mouth! 'Ere, Franco, take my name out of this scum's mouth"

She wasn't prepared for what came next as a blade was forced inside her mouth, her cheeks slowly being cut as well as a part of her lip. The taste of the metallic blood filled every tastebud, the only noise she was able to make were muffled groans as the cold metal sliced roughly through her skin.

Her body suddenly dropped to the floor once more, the sound of the mens foot steps starting to fade as they made their way towards the back of the garage and through a hole in the wooden panelling. 

"Don't forget to give your husband my message, if you survive that is", Sabini's spoke, a chuckle following him as he finally left her and made his way out the same way as the other men. 

She had no energy to even cry any more, a numbness enveloping her body and the blood still slowly seeping out of every cut she'd sustained.

She couldn't focus on anything now, the need for sleep becoming too great to keep her eyes open. She didn't even hear Tommy's footsteps quickly approaching the garage a minute later where she lay in a pool of her own blood. All she could do was let her eyelids drop as she slipped into darkness.

—

"Y/N! Oh fuck, Y/N!"

His cries bellowed through the bleak surroundings, the only movement to be seen was the flicker of the flames from the fire in his peripheral. 

“John! Arthur! Where the fuck are you?”, he screamed into the night before turning his attention back to Y/N.

"C'mon Y/N you need to wake up now, c'mon sweetheart", his desperate pleas did nothing as he cradled her head, her blood soaking into his trousers. He could see her chest rising and falling but knew that it was getting slower and slower with every moment that passed by.

It'd only been a minute or so since he'd gotten there but he could've sworn it'd been more like an hour, his heart thumping so hard that he thought it would surely pop out of his chest. 

"John! Arthur!"

Tears were streaming down his face, dripping onto Y/N's blood soaked cheeks, leaving streaks running through the red liquid.

He knew his brothers were meant to be on their way with the promise of a bed at Arrow House for the night. He just hoped that they would be sober enough to help deal with the chaos that was going on.

There was so much blood that he didn't know what to do. Sure, he could leave Y/N and go get help himself, but he didn't want to leave her alone for even a second. He'd already let her down once this evening and he'd be damned if he was going to let her die here alone on the cold stone floor, or have the people who did this to her come back and finish off the job.

John and Arthur came stumbling through the open door of the garage, an arm wrapped over each others shoulders as they laughed about how many women they'd managed to pull that night. As soon as they saw the scene in front of them though, the laughing soon stopped and they both straightened up, their eyes almost not wanting to look at the state before them.

"Who the fuck did this, Tommy? Where the fuck are they? I'll fuckin’ get 'em Tom I fuckin’ promise you, those bastards won't get away with this!" John's hands had grown into fists with his knuckles turning white, the anger twisting his face into pure hatred.

"It doesn't matter right now, John. Just go and get help, call a fucking ambulance!", Tommy looked to Arthur whose expression had turned more into terror than anything else, "Arthur, I need you to get Pol, tell her Y/N's hurt, badly. Tell her I need her here, I need... just get her Arthur, now"

It took a second longer than Tommy would've liked but both brothers soon turned and ran out towards the Shelby family home, their legs wobbling beneath them as they went.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so fucking sorry", Tommy sobbed as he gently stroked her face, pulling her in closer to him. His mind was racing with all the questions he was dying to know the answer to.

He knew he should be worrying about who it was that had done this to her but he was pretty sure he knew the answer to that already, and he wasn't about to waste what time he might have left with his wife thinking about that. No. All that mattered right now was that Y/N was going to live, that her eyes would open and she'd look up at him with that brilliant smile he loved so much to tell him that she was okay, that she was going to survive this.

Flashing lights appeared outside whilst Tommy had his head rested on Y/N's, whispering over and over again how sorry he was and how much he loved her. The pain he felt was all consuming and he knew he'd give anything to be in her position right now, just like it should have been.

Even when the medics came to retrive Y/N he couldn't bare to let her go, he insisted on carrying her into the back of the ambulance and holding her all the way to the hospital. They knew better than to argue with the Shelby man but managed to convince him to allow for her vitals to be monitored on the journey there, her pulse rate rapidly declining.

Polly hadn't arrived at the garage quick enough so Arthur had driven both Polly and John to the hospital at speed, swerving all over the road as they went, the tires slipping on the slick ground beneath them.

When they finally got there they saw Tommy disappearing through the double doors with Y/N still in his arms, a trail of blood on the floor behind him. This was going to be a long night.

—

The doctors had managed to get her heart rate back up to a reasonable pace by the time she was settled into a private hospital room. Fluids were being administered consistently alongside different medicines flowing through the tubes, her wounds now dressed with bandages and a thin blanket covering her black and blue body.

"Mr. Shelby, your wife has been through a terrible ordeal, it's a miracle she's still alive", a tall man with slicked blonde hair and glasses spoke, a clipboard and pen in his hands.

"When will she wake up?", Tommy tried to shake off his annoyance at the doctors statement of the obvious, of course this was a fucking terrible ordeal! Anyone with eyes could see that. He just wanted the facts that mattered most.

"Mr. Shelby, as I said, your wife has been through a terrible ordeal..."

Tommy grimaced, "I fucking know she has, don't you think I can see what's right in front of me? That and the fact I found my wife lying in a pool of her own blood half dead? Just tell me, when will she wake up?"

He was growing tired of not having answers to the main question he had and knew he wouldn't be able to relax until he had a definitive answer.

"The honest answer Mr. Shelby is that we don't know. To be blunt we're not sure if she's going to"

Tommy's heart dropped into his stomach.

"As you know, she's been through...", the doctor paused, not wanting to use the term 'terrible ordeal' again, "A lot. We've taken some images of her brain and we can see that she has some bleeding and swelling. We're not sure that she can recover from something like that, we can only hope that she will. Her injuries are severe, Mr. Shelby. As well as the damage to the brain she also has some internal bleeding, broken ribs, a collapsed lung, brusing to the esophagus, cuts to the inside of her mouth and a broken ankle. We're doing everything we can to ensure that she'll recover from this but it will take time. I'm sorry"

A ringing sounded in Tommy's ears, a noise so defeaning that he couldn't focus on anything right now other than the fact Y/N might not make it through this. His chest tightened and he found himself struggling to breathe, the sheer weight of the words he'd just heard sitting heavy on his chest.

"Are you okay, Mr. Shelby?"

"Leave. Now, please. Leave!"

The doctor wasted no time in carrying out Tommy's order as he scurried out of the room, closing the door behind him.

Tommy fell to the floor, his knee's weak and unable to hold him upright. He clutched his chest as he gasped for the air that seemed to have become so thin in the room. Tears that had gathered in his eyes began to fall and there was nothing more he could do than kneel there on the cold floor as his world came crashing down around him. 

If he'd of been there at the time they'd agreed then this wouldn't have happened, not to Y/N anyway. It would be him laying in the hospital bed in front of him instead of her, or he'd be laying in a ditch somewhere ready for some poor passerby to find when dawn came. 

He knew for a fact that the guilt that was growing in strength would never leave him even if she did make it out of this, that he'd always blame himself for not being on time. 

A small knock on the door brought him shakily back up onto his feet again as he gripped onto the frame of the bed. Tommy managed to wipe away his tears just in time for Polly, John and Arthur to walk into the room. 

He couldn't look at them, only at Y/N laying in the bed. Her lifeless body was slightly sinking into the mattress beneath her, a mess of hair covered in congealed blood surrounded her head.

"Is she going to be okay, Tom?", John's voice quietly cut through the silence like a knife. 

Tommy took a moment before letting out a sigh, the lump in his throat wanting to escape and cause tears to come flooding out. 

"I don't know. The doctor said that she's got bleeding and swelling on the brain amongst other things. They don't know if she's going to wake up".

The room stayed silent with no one wanting to say a word, both for fear of upsetting Tommy further and also because what else was there to say? There was nothing any of them could do to make the situation better or to make light of any of this.

Tommy took a seat next to Y/N's bed side and held her fragile hand, longing for her to wrap her fingers around his, but of course she didn't. Even that alone was enough to make his heart break.

"John. I need you to arrange for the blinders to be on a rotation of a look out. I don't want anybody coming in or out this hospital without us knowing about it. Arthur, take Isaiah and a couple of the blinders with you to London, I need you to find Sabini", Tommy spoke plainly, not taking his eyes off of Y/N.

"Yes, Tom", Arthur nodded, motioning for John to follow his lead out of the room.

"Oh, and Arthur? When you find him", Tommy turned to look at him now, his eyes cold but somehow a fire lit in them, "Bring him to me. Alive"

—

Three days later

As expected, Tommy arrived back at the hospital within four hours instead of the six Aunt Polly had ordered. 

He couldn't sleep. Every time he'd managed to drift off he was soon awoken by nightmares of Y/N's screams as she was repeatedly kicked and punched, the sound each one of the blows made making his stomach churn. He could see her body laying there in a pool of blood with sobs wracking her chest... her calling out his name and him not being able to reach her even though he could see everything that was happening. 

Tommy woke up in a cold sweat, his clothes soaked right through and his hair wet. He decided he was better off admitting defeat than to try going back to sleep, the thought of having to see those images of Y/N whenever he closed his eyes was enough to make his blood run cold. 

His childhood home was quiet when he made his way downstairs. Ada had taken Finn to Arrow House under her watchful eye with Karl, it was better to be in a house that was stocked with firearms than back in London with nothing but a single pistol and where Sabini could be lurking in the shadows. 

John had gone to the hospital to take the next watch and Arthur was somewhere in London seeking out Sabini and his lackeys, waiting to hand him a blow that would make the Italian man wish he'd never come to Birmingham.

Tommy decided on having a bath before putting on clean clothes, taking a look in the mirror before he left. His complexion had almost drained of colour over the past three days with the exception of the dark circles that appeared under his eyes, much darker than usual. 

"God I hope she wakes up soon", he muttered to himself, adorning his peaky cap and reaching for the door handle before stepping out onto the bustling streets of Birmingham, lighting a smoke as he made his way to the hospital.

When he walked through the doors of Y/N's room he noticed something different. Aunt Polly was no longer sitting there with sadness in her eyes, instead she was stood next to the bed holding Y/N's hand, a small smile upon her face.

His eyebrows furrowed with confusion and his pace slowed as he approached her.

"What's happened?" he asked, nervous energy rushing through him.

"She moved, Tom. All on her own, she moved!"

Polly was beaming now, fresh tears sprang to her eyes and she had to resist the urge to hug him.

"What do you mean she moved?"

"I mean, I was reading her one of your poems and holding her hand. Her fingers started to move as if she was trying to tell me she could hear me. She's still in there Tommy"

His heart swelled in his chest although he didn't want to get his hopes up too much, there was nothing worse that breaking your own heart with false hope.

"It might've just been the nerves jumping, Pol. She probably doesnt have control of her body right now", he knew he sounded like dismissive bastard but he couldn't bring himself to believe that Y/N could do that but not open her eyes.

"Stop being so bloody negative Thomas. I'm telling you exactly what I saw with my own two eyes. Read to her yourself, you'll see", Polly scolded him, picking up the pages she'd left on her seat and going to hand them to him.

Tommy said nothing but shook his head towards the pages and instead took a step closer towards Y/N's bed. 

Polly placed Y/N's hand in his and softly spoke, "Y/N love, if you can hear what we're saying then squeeze Tommy's hand, let us know that you're still there".

He held his breath as he waited to see if she'd respond, his eyes watching her fingers like a hawk.

"She's not moving, Pol. You're seeing things with the lack of sleep, go home and get to bed, I'm here now and I'm not going anywhere"

"Don't tell me what you think I may be or may not be seeing and certainly don't tell me what to do. You may be a man now Thomas but I'm still able to lay you across my knee and give you a good hiding", her eyes glared daggers into the side of his head as he continued to stare at Y/N's fingers, unmoving on top of his.

"I'm sorry Pol, I just can't... I just can't stand the thought of having the hope there that she'll show me she's okay if she never actually...", he stopped dead in his tracks.

His mouth dropped open and his gaze widened in shock as Y/N's fingers started to slowly lift upwards before coming back down to rest on top of his fingers, trying to curl themselves around his.

"Y/N? It's okay, I'm here. You're safe", he placed his free hand over hers and leant over to kiss her head, the bruises still prominent, "I'm sorry Y/N, I'm so fucking sorry".

Tommy couldn't hold back the tears that were coming and let them spill out to fall down her cheeks, the overwhelming burst of relief he felt within his soul was like nothing he could explain. 

Polly stood with a hand over her mouth, a smile beneath her fingers. 

"T-T-Tommy?..."

Did she just speak?

His head shot up, eyes wide in disbelief. When he caught the first glimpse of her face he could see that her eyes were slightly open. Her eyeballs had red spots on them where blood vessels had burst, either from the pressure of being strangled or from the numerous hits to the face she'd sustained. He tried to hide the shock that hit him and gently cradled her face with both hands, careful not to press down on the discoloured blotches that lay beneath them.

"You're awake, you're... I-I can't believe it", he stuttered, scanning her face for any kind of expression.

"Y-you... w-w-were... late", she croaked.

It was almost as if he'd taken a stab to the chest as her words met his ears and the guilt came flooding back.

"I know, I'm so, so sorry Y/N, I really am. I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for this, not for as long as I live"

He stifled a sniff as his tears continued, a sob escaping his lips as his face screwed up into pure anguish.

"I-it's... okay", she murmered, taking a deep breath, "do-don't be... s-sorry... I-I'm j-just... glad i-it w-wasn't... you"

"No sweetheart, no. It's not okay, none of this is okay. Because of me, you're lying here in a hospital bed, completely black and blue with internal injuries and broken bones, all because I got too cocky and tried to challenge that fucker. I swear to you, Y/N. I'm gonna put a bullet between his eyes for this, he's not going to get away with it".

He brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face and she smiled softly, the memory of him doing to same back in The Garrison just before she'd left him that day, just before all of this happened…

"H-he said t-t-to... g-give you a... m-message..."

"No, shh shh, it's okay. You don't need to tell me anything right now, you need to rest and get better. You can hardly speak. Tell me anything you need to when you start to feel better. All I care about right now is that I have you, here, alive. No amount of money nor business could come close to how happy I am right at this very moment"

Two Days Later

She'd been awake more frequently over the next couple of days with each day being better than the last. Her bruises had now started to turn a lighter shade of blue with greens and browns dotted through them and the bleeding and swelling on her brain had improved significantly. 

The doctors were stunned at how well she was doing, they half expected her to die within the first few days she'd arrived at the hospital. 

"How are you feeling today?", Tommy asked as he stroked her hair from his position on the edge of the bed.

"A bit be-tter than yesterday", she softly smiled. She couldn't deny that she still felt like absolute shit and that every time she breathed it felt like she was trying to push air through a straw, but she was just relieved that she'd survived this whole ordeal, "Can you h-help me sit up a b-bit please?"

He instantly stood and gently swooped an arm beneath her legs and the other behind her back, carefully lifting her up before sitting her back down on the bed and repositioning her pillows behind her against the headboard. She winced with the motion but tried her best to hide it. She already knew that Tommy had so much guilt eating him up inside, it almost felt like if she showed him that she was in any kind of pain that it was a reminder of how much he'd fucked up.

"Is that okay?"

She nodded slowly, aware of her aching neck with every slight movement.

"Good, it's nice to see you looking a bit more like yourself", he smiled, his eyes studying every inch of her face.

"Sabini t-told me to tell y-you t-that he's coming for y-you next and that I-if you want to take o-over his race tracks then you're gonna h-have to fight for it... I'm s-scared, Tommy"

Tommy moved his chair closer to the bed, so close that his knees were touching the side of the frame, and took her hand in his.

"I promise you Y/N, you have nothing to be scared about. I know that I broke my promise before about being on time and it cost both of us more than I thought possible, but I swear to you, right here, right now in this moment, I won't let that fucker come near you ever again"

A response to that seemed impossible. Of course she wanted to believe her own husband but when he'd already broken one promise, one that had ultimatley almost led to her death, how could she possibly believe that he'd keep this one?

He could see her thoughts running round her mind, her eyebrows furrowing and mouth twitching like she didn't know what to say.

"Look, I know I fucked up massively. I will never be able to explain to you how sorry I am and I'd understand completely if you didn't want to be with me any more, but please believe that I will do everything in power from here on out to make sure that you're safe"

He was almost scared to hear what she was going to say. Did she want to leave him? Was he destined to lose his wife, not by death this time, but from the sheer fact she didn't think he could keep her safe?

"I-I could n-never leave you, T-Tommy Shelby", she smiled, her lips curving up into her bruised cheeks. 

Tommy stood up and brushed his lips against hers, laying a tender kiss upon them before pulling back slightly, enough to still feel her breath on his face.

"Just p-promise me one m-more thing", she spoke, looking into his eyes.

"Anything"

"Don't ever be l-late again"

He grinned, the twinkle in his eyes that she hadn't seen since waking up returning once more.

"I promise"

———

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[stxrvel]

hate is a strong word

summary: you hated Bucky and you were convinced that he hated you back. until one time he was talking to you and it started to sound... lovely? what was happening?

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: 6k

warnings: some bad words, a lot of arguments, a HUGE flashback, a little bit of angst i think? bucky and reader insult each other, reader doesn't like to listen, bucky is easily angered, bucky likes to destroy things when he gets angry but regrets it easily, this is not exactly a healthy relationship(? descriptions of weapons, missiles and buildings being bombed, reader is also very stubborn and likes to put her life at risk… or so.

note: hi guys!! so i came back and i am kinda proud of this one. i think i haven't felt that way in a long time. i gave myself the time to write when i felt like it and it was wonderful, so this came out. also i put the poll for a whole week and i can't change it now >:(, but i think this onsehot fits the angst with a happy ending (im not sure if this fits the angst tho, you gotta tell me) but im gonna try to do something else that fits the vibe, and i'll probably do some other poll to write about someone else. (also i think i should warn you guys that i dont think im that good writing action scenes or tension scenes, so if that's bad i hope you forgive me): anyway, hope you guys like this one!! i love reading your comments so if you want and can, please leave some <33 love you all and see you next time!

part 2

Bucky was really pissing you off too much at that moment. Or maybe you were feeling a little uncomfortable.

He hadn't spoken a single word to you since you had arrived at that tiny house, only shrugged silently and then exploded. You had seen Bucky explode several times before and you admitted that watching him was somewhat entertaining; seeing the faces of frightened people, trying to flee away from his angry face and destructive hands, but physically forced to stand by and listen to his scolding. You used to have fun with that. However, at the time, when you were the extreme recipient of that anger, it wasn't so much fun.

You had already heard a couple of broken glass, shattered wood and metal containers fall to the ground. Maybe five minutes or so had passed and he was barely pausing to look at his artwork. It wasn't too much that he had taken and thrown while you had stayed in the room, but it had all sounded very loud, so you had no choice but to go out and see what he was doing.

You were leaning against the threshold of the hallway to the bedrooms, right across from the living room and kitchen. Bucky looked like he had just finished getting all his anger out when he finally stood silently. He probably thought you were asleep while he was doing all that, as if that sound couldn't wake you up. Was he really that angry about what you had done? You mean, yes, it was very risky, but there you were alive, weren't you?

You felt the best thing you could do was to stay quiet and wait for him to say or do something, because you could risk that angry outburst really coming down in your face. For that moment he had only taken it out on the house, which had nothing to do with your problems, and you didn't want the arguments to start filling the silence that followed his stillness.

But, well, you didn't always do the right thing. That's why you were in that situation in the first place.

“Are you done yet?” you signed your sentence.

Bucky had a tense posture, squared shoulders moving in rhythm with his accelerated breathing. His back was to you, staring at the kitchen counter that had been left completely empty. You knew by the way he was clasping his hands that he was trying to maintain his composure.

“Are you serious?” his voice came out hoarse, a sign of his growing anger.

Maybe you should have stopped there, or when he continued to not turn to look at you, but you just couldn't keep your mouth shut.

“What's your problem, Barnes? Yes, I took a chance, but it's not that big of a deal. It's not for this,” you pointed to the mess around you, even though he wasn't looking at you.

“It's not a big deal, you say?” Bucky moved and you felt yourself watching his angry figure move in slow motion. “What's your problem?”

His beady eyes met yours. You felt a little intimidated by the ripples of annoyance coming off his body, filling the entire room with an unbearable, suffocating tension. His scowl and that strangely calm tone of voice made your hair stand on end.

None of the pieces of glass or splintered wood on the floor looked as dangerous as that expression on Bucky's face. He looked very angry, yes, but there was also something in his eyes when he looked at you. Something like concern… but that was impossible.

“Really, Y/N, what's your problem? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“Now, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“I was the mission leader!” his voice rose, his body moving forward as he pointed his index finger at himself. “And you were supposed to follow my orders.”

“I did, Barnes, I-”

“No,” he exclaimed, again moving closer. “You didn't do anything I asked you to do! Why can't you just…? Argh.”

You moved back a little as he planted his hands on the dining room table. You felt a little pressure in your chest at the sight of him like this, as if defeated and hopeless. Disappointed. But that was a common thing. That's why you used to have individual missions, and that's why you didn't really like working in a team. You mean, it wasn't wrong to do it, but everything always ended up in arguments because nobody liked the way you worked, so it was better to do it alone, right?

Seeing Bucky like that reminded you of how many times you had seen that look on the faces of Steve, Natasha, Tony, Clint, even Thor… It was never welcome nor were you comfortable with what was coming next, but it was the way you worked, how could you change out of nowhere something you had done your whole life?

Maybe you just had to apologize, sometimes that worked. Because you also knew that, knowing how bossy and caring Bucky was, you should have at least held back a little during the mission. Bucky's patience couldn't stand that sort of thing.

“Listen, I'm sorry, okay? I was a little careless, but that's how-”

“A little careless?” he interrupted you, his voice and face incredulous. "You almost got yourself killed."

“We're in this job under that risk, Barnes, that's not news.”

The man in the middle of the mess ran his hands over his face, elated, frustrated and surely overwhelmed. He let out a sound somewhere between a snort and a growl before turning back to look at you.

“Why can't you just listen?”

His accusing gaze enlarged a hole in your chest that you constantly tried to ignore, planting bitter feelings of sadness that you were usually very good at avoiding. But at that moment, for some reason, you couldn't stop your face from twitching at the strong, hurt tone of the man who looked at you as if he couldn't believe who you are and what you do. It seemed like Bucky was always in denial and today he realized that what everyone always told him was true.

That look, that dull gleam in his eye, that expression of understanding… All of that you were used to seeing, but coming from him it felt different. As if you hadn't really meant to cause those feelings, as if you wanted to turn back time to do things differently. The surprisingly incredulous and remorseful look was digging deep into your head, searing itself with hot iron to make sure to haunt you in the future.

At that moment you didn't care if Bucky realized how much his words affected you. Maybe you deserved to feel that way. Maybe he should have known that it affected you too much, that would surely do more than an apology.

“If only you had listened to me, we would have left sooner and without any trouble,” Bucky spoke again after what felt like hours of silence.

You couldn't take him back. It was true.

“Why did you…? Argh. Whatever. I'm going to report to Fury.”

His figure passed you like a blur. You barely felt his presence very superficially before all was silent again.

Your heart ached again. For some reason, it wouldn't stop hurting that it was still beating.

The day before.

“WHAT?” you exclaimed in disbelief and the director's tired look reappeared.

“It's already scheduled, Y/N, I can't undo it. So just go, try to cooperate together and come back in one piece,” Fury leaned back against the back of the chair, putting his feet up on the desk.

You looked at his shoes as if they were to blame for everything.

“It's funnier to think Bucky reacted the same way,” Tony spoke up, sitting in the chair next to yours, a mocking expression on his face.

“Shut up,” you smacked his arm before turning back to the director. “Sir, you know Barnes and I don't get along and knowing that, what makes you think we'll hit it off on a mission?”

Fury shrugged. “A hunch.”

“A hunch…?” you repeated in a low tone, twice as incredulous that the big SHIELD director had just said that.

“That's it, agent, you're dismissed.”

You left his office on your own, not because you had been dispatched. The walk to the housing complex took you longer than ever at that point.

You'd only had one mission with Bucky Barnes once a couple of years ago and it had been a disaster. Your group missions usually ended with a close call, but that time with Bucky it was like going to hell and back.

You two had never gotten along. Regardless of Fury's hundreds of attempts to get along, you had never managed to vibrate on the same frequency. It seemed more like you repelled each other every time you were together, and it was totally justified because Bucky was too bossy and wouldn't let you breathe for a single second. Every second of the mission had to be ruled by him because otherwise he was going to explode into a sea of rage and, God, no one wanted to piss Bucky off in that Complex. However, you were always the first to tell him that his tactics weren't working or that he was too slow and well, naturally, you ended up arguing.

You met Natasha and Steve halfway to the rooms and from the way they both looked at each other before the redhead approached you knew you must surely have a scrunched up face.

“Did something happen?” Natasha asked as soon as she reached your side and started walking at the same pace as you, slightly more hurried than usual.

“Fury assigned me a mission with Barnes,” you spat out the good news, impossibly frowning harder at the mention of that name.

“Oh,” Natasha nodded. “Well, you could try to work things out-”

“What things, Natasha?” you paused, turning to look at her as everything around you turned red. “There's nothing to fix here, because Barnes is a stubborn, obstinate, childish, bossy, stupid man who is incapable of speaking like a civilized adult and only knows how to shout orders everywhere as if he's the bossy one in the Complex. I can't stand him!”

“Wow.”

You heard his voice.

“I hope you know the feeling is reciprocated.”

You turned to see him, his body was leaning against the island at the entrance to the kitchen, in a strategic spot as if you could never realize he was there because your path was to the other side. Natasha watched between the two of you like a tennis match, fearful as if at any moment the screaming would start and she would have to run away.

You didn't know what to do. You were super angry, yes, and you felt your blood boiling inside your veins, too. And you'd said all that stuff to Bucky's face before, and God knows how many times before you'd argued just by seeing each other in the halls of the Complex. Despite that, you felt trapped. The anger was still there, yes, but his gaze pierced through you like a sword.

“Believe me, I don't want to go on this mission with a stubborn, obstinate, headstrong, ignorant, individualist like you either, who cares not for the safety of the team but for her own victory, no matter how she achieves it.”

With his eyes sharp, his heavy footsteps approached you, echoing in your head loudly like the second hand of a clock. He had stopped at a safe distance as he spoke and at one point Natasha had grabbed your arm when it seemed you had tried to approach him as well.

“You're a hypocrite,” you spat at him.

“Ha! Me?”

“You always play the saintly dove, but you know you're not much different from me.”

“I'm nothing like you,” Bucky wrinkled his face, as if the very thought caused him to shiver with disgust.

“You're an individualist, too, imposing your plans on others.”

“You never have a plan! What do you expect me to do, let you go and die?”

“I do have plans! But you don't like them because they are more effective than yours.”

“They're more effective at the cost of risking more of our lives.”

“That's what our job is all about!”

“Our job is about protecting! How are you going to accomplish a mission if you're dead?”

“Well, I've done pretty well so far, in case you haven't noticed.”

“If I had a nickel for every time you've gone airhead straight into danger and ended up nowhere near dead, I'd have as much money as Stark.”

“And if I had a nickel for every time your stupid, slow plans have caused you to lose sight of the target and made you come back empty-handed, I'd be twice as rich as Stark.”

“At least my kill rate is minus five.”

“And my hit rate is one hundred by the way.”

“Are you even listening to what you're saying?”

“That I always finish missions on the first try, unlike you?”

“That you're treating your life like it's something insignificant.”

“Ah, now you care about my life?”

Natasha tightened her hand around your forearm again preventing you from again getting too close to the man who was getting on your nerves. Before he could respond, you spoke again:

“Look, Barnes, to make it absolutely clear to you for the rest of your long life: I love my life and I love my job. I love my life because it allows me to have this job and I love my job because it allows me to have this life. If you have a problem with how I choose to do the job, that's just that, your problem. But don't think you're coming here to give me a psychology lesson to make me believe that I don't value my life just because now you've run out of arguments. It's because I value my life, Barnes, that I always come out of every mission unscathed. I don't put myself at risk because I'm oblivious. I always have everything figured out and that's why everything always works out for me.”

Bucky snorted, his body moving away from yours, but despite that expression on his face he didn't respond again. He gave you a sidelong glance before walking back into the kitchen.

Your shoulders felt a little lighter. For a moment you thought he was going to continue arguing.

Natasha next to you sighed, finally letting go of your forearm.

“Why did you hold me so tight?” you frowned at her, rubbing the part of your skin that was slightly red. “Did you really think I was going to fight a super soldier?”

Natasha shrugged under your gaze.

“We've known you to do crazy things.”

“I wouldn't have stood a chance of beating him even if he gave me the upper hand.”

Five hours earlier.

You hadn't seen Bucky for the rest of the day after that discussion, until the next day when you had to get on the Quinjet and didn't even glance at each other.

Steve was in charge of handling the airplane and, apparently, he was also in charge of briefing you on how you were going to proceed on the mission, because Bucky was too busy drilling holes with his gaze somewhere else on the Quinjet away from the two of you.

Neither spoke when you descended nor when you approached the base apparently in a state of abandonment.

Bucky's mission were flat and simple, but as usual he had no backup plan, because all his backup plans were the same: run away. Bucky had a chick's sense of survival, that's why when things went bad was the time when he would scream at you the loudest.

Just like it happened on that mission.

“This place is deadly quiet,” you spoke for the first time, barely earning a sidelong glance from the man next to you.

You had already finished thermo-sensor checking every floor of the building and it was indeed desolate. Still, you felt a strange uncomfortable chill run down your back.

“Well, that's what deserted means,” Bucky commented, his sarcasm sharp.

You rolled your eyes at him, even if he couldn't see you, and kept walking with your gun raised as you approached the checkpoint.

“I mean I can't even hear birds or crickets, doesn't that strike you as odd?”

“Well, we're on the fourth floor, wouldn't it make it stranger if you could hear them at this altitude?”

“Well, you can hear at this height. Tell me, do you hear anything down below?”

Bucky paused. They were a few steps away from reaching the room. His deadly stare caused you nothing but boredom and you would have ignored him completely except that he let out a sigh, dejected. You detailed him minutely as he seemed to focus his hearing on external sounds.

“There's nothing,” he spoke after a few seconds, his brow slightly furrowed.

“You see?”

“But that doesn't mean anything. We'd better finish this quickly.”

Ignoring the grimace on your face, Bucky moved to step into the room whose door was wide open. You stared offended at his back and felt the urge to smack his big head with the butt of your gun.

“Here it is,” you heard him exclaim from inside.

Sighing you made your way to where he stood. A large display of old computers anchored to the wall.

“You should do it yourself,” you looked at Bucky with a smirk. “I don't handle equipment this old.”

Bucky only snorted in response and moved with his gun to another side of the room, leaving you in complete silence to do your job.

You moved quietly and sat down in front of the machines. You plugged them into the power source you brought in your suitcase and in a few minutes they began to work.

The mission was simple. There was one of the old HYDRA bases that contained specific information that Fury needed to find. Up to that point, they had searched about seven abandoned bases without any success. So there you were with Bucky, at the eighth base they had identified, digging through old commands and in another language trying to find the information they needed.

Ever since they left the Complex that morning you were convinced you would find nothing. They had already raided several bases and there were still a few more to go. The probability that you would find that information at that time was…

Bingo.

“Got it,” you exclaimed to Bucky.

You heard his hurried footsteps and then felt the warmth of his body next to you.

“Is that it?”

“Just a folder.”

“And why does it load so slowly?”

“It's an old computer, Bucky, it works at its own pace.”

Bucky gave you a sidelong glance. “Wish you understood me like you understand that thing.”

“Aish,” you pouted by way of mockery. “Jealous, Barnes?”

The aforementioned just snorted.

The load was running at forty percent and truth be told, yes, it was too slow. But you could do nothing but wait, there was no way to speed it up.

Bucky paced back and forth behind you and you just watched the green lines move as if that helped at all. But, well, what else could you do?

At one point, as the charge was about to reach eighty percent, you heard interference on your communicators.

“Argh,” you shook your head and raised your hand to move the device a little away until the sound died down. “Steve?”

There was no response.

You turned to look at Bucky, who had the same quizzical expression.

The interference returned and then you heard Steve's voice distorted.

“… of… moment!”

“What the fuck is he saying?”

Bucky remained silent, tapping the device on his ear as if that would fix it.

But you saw it before you heard Steve's voice again.

A clump of people through the window. A freshly loaded cannon.

“Barnes…”

And at that moment, Steve's voice filled them with clarity.

“It's an ambush! Get out of there now!”

The quickness of the impact didn't let you process what was happening. Less than a second after hearing Steve the ground shook beneath your feet. The cracks in the floor started small and then swallowed you apart.

You held onto a beam, barely lucid enough. You propelled yourself upward, swinging your forearms over the patch of ground that was still intact. You heard Bucky's grunts in the distance. He was surely all right.

You heard him call out to you too, but as soon as you could sit down on the ground, the first thing you did was to reach for the pendrive.

Your heart was pounding, so hard it might as well have flown out on its own. Your breathing accelerated, with adrenaline rushing through your body was the only thing you could feel. At that moment you felt capable of anything.

You stood up quickly to look out the window again. The people were gone and the cannon had been destroyed.

It was at that moment that you realized that Steve was still talking on the communicator.

“I'm fine,” you replied, after being able to decipher his words amidst the constant buzzing from the sound of the explosion and the dizziness you felt at the sight of the hole next to you.

“Okay, you're both fine,” the Captain spoke again.

“Y/N, you can get down from there and get to the floor below. I'll catch you.”

At the sound of Bucky's voice, you moved away from the window.

Bucky had landed on the floor below, and yes, from where you were you could jump up and you'd probably have nothing but a cramp.

“How's it going up there?”

“Well, the shields are holding up okay, but I've got poor vision. I think they're regrouping somewhere else.”

You looked around.

Most of the floor had swallowed up the computers, but the main one was still loading the document. You could see the green from where you were. It was at ninety-seven percent.

But it was dangerous to get too close. The pendrive was dangling from the main computer which was about to succumb to the cracked floor.

There was some concrete left in front of the computers that you could walk across, so, without a second thought, you mapped out a mental guidance plan and moved forward.

“Y/N, what the fuck are you doing?”

“I'm getting the pendrive.”

“What? Are you insane? That side of the floor isn't going to support your weight!”

“Yes it will. I know how to do it.”

You started walking all over the remaining edge of the floor in front of what was left of the computers. Small pieces would break off as you passed causing Bucky to hiss.

“Y/N, you'd better stop and get down right now. There's still a risk of them firing again.”

“I'm gonna get it, Barnes.”

“Y/N! Get down, now!”

Ignoring his command, you held onto the remaining wall in front of you as you continued on your way, almost reaching where the pendrive was, about to fall into the abyss.

Ninety-eight percent.

“Y/N!”

“Fucking hell, Barnes, will you shut the fuck up? Your yelling is breaking my concentration.”

“You want me to just stay quiet while you walk to your certain death?”

“I'm not going to dieee- ahh-”

Your left foot, the one in front, wobbled as a piece of the floor came loose. You clung tightly to the wall as best you could, breathing deeply to calm your racing heart. Panicking at that moment wasn't going to do any good.

“God, I can't believe this,” you heard Bucky's voice, muttering to himself. “Now are you really going to get off?”

His voice sounded reprimanding, but agitated. In the midst of that mess, you wondered for a moment if he was really worried.

“I'm almost there.”

You heard him grunt in the distance.

You kept moving your feet in the direction of the main computer, this time more cautiously and more slowly. The floor all along that edge was too cracked, on the verge of falling. You were surprised it had lasted this long.

At that point, Bucky started talking to Steve, but you kept your full concentration on not falling. Maybe Bucky was right and you really didn't have any regard for your life, but…. No, no. You were very sure of what you were doing. You couldn't give up without trying everything. Maybe for Bucky it was too risky, but that was your life. And you knew you could do it.

Ninety-nine.

You had reached the critical point on the ground.

The voices of the two men were becoming too overwhelming, so you quickly took off your communicator and stuffed it in one of your tactical pants pockets.

“What the fuck did you just do?” Bucky exclaimed, a considerable distance away. He wasn't as far away as you thought.

“Your voices are distracting me!”

Good. You were close. Maybe from there you could reach it… if you stretched a little… a little more… a little- Whoop. Nope. You weren't that close. Another chunk of floor fell and with it everything around you shifted. The concrete was so unstable that it tilted further into the abyss after your not at all incredible maneuver.

You had to get even closer.

You had to use plan c.

But for that, the pendrive had to be one hundred percent charged and you weren't sure you could wait for that. Or well, you weren't sure the floor would hold. You had to be quick.

You heard Bucky behind you, but his words were carried away by the wind. You couldn't focus on him because that would be too distracting.

So, arriving at point x, you executed your plan as quickly as possible.

You ran. Even if the world was falling down, you ran. In the direction of the pendrive. The green number didn't change. You took a deep breath. You felt the sparks fly around you. The sound of the ground cracking was going to haunt you in several dreams.

You picked up the pendrive. You would have a few extra seconds as you leaned over and climbed over the computers to gain momentum.

The bing of the computer filled you with a rush of adrenaline.

One hundred percent.

You jumped. You held your breath for a second. Nerves built up in your throat. You felt like you were going to lose consciousness for a minute. Maybe you heard Bucky in the background, you weren't sure, but knowing him he was probably still scolding you.

In the midst of a deep exhalation…

Your feet hit the ground. You rolled. You moved quickly as you turned to see that the ground was still falling. You got up and ran.

You ran until you collided with a solid body. Bucky was shaking your shoulders.

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" he exclaimed, his face angry.

You could hear Steve's voice through his communicator because of how close he was.

“Shit.”

He grabbed your arm and you ran again.

Somehow, Bucky managed to get you out of the building as they bombed it again. You had a gunfight the moment you touched the cold snow.

You moved alongside Bucky like a symphony, aiming and firing with your gun until you managed to get away.

When you noticed that you kept going and kept running…

“Where's Steve?”

“If you had your fucking communicator on…”

Bucky grabbed your hand again to keep running.

You quickly reached a shack that looked abandoned and the man next to you wasted no time in letting go of you and running in the direction of what appeared to be a garage. There was a motorcycle.

You reached into your pocket only to realize that the communicator had been destroyed.

And Bucky looked too angry to want to talk.

“Get on.”

He drove all the way into town, but he didn't stop there.

You were on the road for at least about two hours. You had no idea where you were.

Somewhere along that trip, Bucky stopped in front of another abandoned shack and from there he pulled out a car. He set the bike on fire.

You went back on the road, for at least another hour.

Until you reached a small town and Bucky finally stopped in front of a house that didn't look so neglected.

“They destroyed the Quinjet's shields at missile point. Steve had to leave. We'll stay here until I can get through to Fury and we know what to do.”

His voice gave no room for retorts.

Present.

Well, yes, you were a bit reckless during missions, but so what? You got what you needed thanks to your incredible action plans and always came out unscathed. If you didn't do that during missions, how far behind would they be now in their knowledge against the enemy? They would probably be sitting ducks. Bucky didn't see that.

You two didn't talk for much of the afternoon and evening. You had spent it in the living room, trying to avoid the mess he had made to get something to eat and rest. You had perhaps slept for about three hours when you woke up and saw him sitting in one of the dining room chairs. The room looked cleaner than before.

Bucky sighed when he realized you had woken up.

“I'm sorry I yelled at you.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Earlier when we arrived. And for all the mess,” he averted his gaze when you leaned on your forearm to get a better look at him.

“Don't you think it was the least you could do?” quizzical, you sat back on the couch.

“Weren't you the one who said I don't know how to talk like a civilized adult?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Sometimes.”

“Well, now I want to. That's why I deeply apologize for reacting that way.”

You remained silent, not really knowing how to answer him. On the previous mission you'd had with Bucky, when the whole mess was over and you were quietly in the Quinjet taking it all in, Bucky had only said “you're fucking crazy” to you before exiting the aircraft. There was no scolding, at least not from him, no complaining, no yelling. Just that. And with that you stayed for a week because you never even saw him again.

Despite the number of times you had heard that, you couldn't see it that way. That was your job, that was what you did and you didn't dislike it. You had done it forever, it was basically your way of life and you had always done it excellently. You trained and practiced for situations like that, that's why you were part of SHIELD's risk management team for so long. You used to risk your life like that to save other people and it didn't bother you. Now you were still doing it, also to save people. There was no dark reason behind it. You were contributing to a common good and that was enough.

“I guess I haven't made things bearable for you either,” you admitted with a hint of remorse.

“No, never,” Bucky shook his head in agreement.

“I'm sorry I scared you,” the words slipped from your mouth. You wanted to say something else, but, well, that had to work.

Bucky let out a short laugh. His head jerked in sync, his shoulders loose as if he didn't have a care in the world. For a moment you felt like you were somewhere else; maybe in a living room, some alcoholic beverage in one of your hands as one of your favorite songs played softly in the background, and Bucky. Bucky sitting in front of you, just like that moment.

Wow. What the fuck was that?

“You apologize for my reaction, but not for what you did?” his sly grin was getting on your nerves. You preferred it when he wasn't trying to upset you at the point of smirks. You never thought that was a weapon he could use against you.

Feelings.

Ew.

No, I hate Bucky Barnes. This is unacceptable. Mind, get your shit together.

“Well, I tried to do that earlier and you didn't care. I don't know what you want from me, Barnes,” you turned your head away, nonchalantly playing with your hair to avoid seeing those light eyes again.

“You'd better leave it at that. I couldn't take that knack away from you if I tried for years,” the sigh that accompanied his words reminded you of something you'd thought of when you were in the building. His face still looked calm, but a little upset by the wrinkle between his eyebrows.

“Why do you care so much about that?” you asked him directly now that you had the chance.

You looked at him as he turned his head away, his eyes roaming over your face, confused.

“Are you asking me why I care about your life?”

Puzzled, you shrugged. His look almost made you think that was a weird thing to ask, but was it really? “Yes. Well…. You hate me.”

“What? I don't hate you,” Bucky shook his head, his face more contracted than before as if you'd said he had cat ears on his head. He looked almost offended.

And that was the really strange thing.

You mean, almost as long as you'd known Bucky your relationship had been based on fights and demeaning adjectives to each other. That he would say that made even less sense than you asking him why he cared so much about you. He had to be pulling your leg.

“What? But I hate you because you hate me,” you explained vaguely, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. That was one way of putting it; that is to say, Bucky never gave any indication that he didn't hate you. Or well…

“I don't hate you,” Bucky shrugged, his nonchalant expression confusing you that much more. “You're just a little… insufferable sometimes.”

You rolled your eyes. “That's just a synonym for hating.”

“I don't hate you,” he repeated, this time turning to look you in the eye. For a moment you felt like your breath caught in your throat and you were going to choke. “I know we argue and say a lot of things to each other, but… hating is too strong a feeling.”

“Are you really serious?” you shook your head to get the extraneous thoughts out; that wasn't the time to make a discovery, to realize you had lived a lie.

“Yes. And just to make you more sure, I wouldn't mind hanging out with you outside the Complex,” Bucky blurted out, matter-of-factly.

Your head went blank.

“WHAT?”

Several seconds stunned.

Bucky barely cracked a smile at your dumbfounded expression. It sure looked like you'd actually seen cat ears grow on his head. The things he was now saying… they didn't make sense. “You dislike the idea that much?”

“Do you want to not say things so drastically different every moment? You're changing my perception of reality.”

Bucky kept his small smile and you had to swallow hard to ignore the warmth that settled in your chest. It wasn't welcome, not at that moment. The sound of that music in the living room in your head was getting louder, as if your own mind wanted to mock your surprise.

“Well, back to your question,” Bucky moved his hands nonchalantly over his lap and your eyes followed his movement unashamedly, “I don't see why I shouldn't care about your life. We are partners, after all.”

Partners? After all you had been through? Were you partners? Did Bucky believe that?

“Are we?” you didn't try to hide the incredulous tone that accompanied your words, because it already sounded like you'd just stepped through the door into a parallel dimension.

“Sure,” Bucky nodded to emphasize your words and the calm expression on his face became more familiar with each passing second. Could it be that that had always been the reality and you had been deprived of it? “We've known each other for five years.”

“I always thought you hated me…” you mumbled to yourself, looking lost because your head recalling every fight of the last few years, since you met him, every tongue out and every exalted word, but his incredible hearing clearly picked up what you said as if you had murmured it in his ear.

“Surely it was a mistake in communication.”

“Mistake?” you frowned at his reassurance. “You always called me stubborn and childish every chance you got.”

“I thought we were annoying each other. Although, of course,” his face became a little more serious, “there were times when I knew you hated me intensely. You said really hurtful things, what was I supossed to do? That's why I never bothered to talk to you like this. You did hate me.”

“Because I thought you…! Argh.”

Bucky smiled again.

“You're the insufferable one, Barnes.”

You hated the way your head snapped back to that image in the living room, so peaceful and calm, so serene and warm, the moment his barely noticeable smile hit you again. You had barely managed to get those words out of your mouth before you felt yourself running out of breath again.

Were you asthmatic?

And why was your head suddenly filled with platonic thoughts you'd never had before in your life?

What the fuck was happening to you?

“This is the longest civilized conversation we've ever had,” Bucky spoke again, his gaze wandering somewhere in the room.

Yes, that was true. Whenever you talked for this long it was always to argue and say hurtful things to each other. But you were too surprised by everything he had said, because just yesterday he told you that he didn't want to come on this mission with you either and in his eyes you were sure you saw something like what you felt. Something of hatred, when you saw your eyes through his.

Did you just… imagine it all?

Did you think he hated you because you hated him too?

Or maybe you wanted to convince yourself that he hated you. Maybe it was easier to deal with that than with the idea that you…

Oh no.

No, no, no. There's no fucking way that's it.

But then Bucky stood up and with his smug, know-it-all, hateful look, with that sly, evil grin, like he'd always known everything, like he was squirming around enjoying your confused stare, he held out his hand to you and said:

“Shall we fix something to eat?”

Oh, no, you were screwed.

--

a/n: thank u so much for reading!! <3

[chukys-mouthguard]

“Fiiiiine. I’ll do it. For you. Just for you.” wyatt johnston! his gf who is very reserved and grumpy and they have been together for awhile but keep their relationship very private and wyatt just wants her to have a wag jacket and come to the playoffs games in it and let everyone know he’s taken

Prompt: “Fiiiiiine. I’ll do it. For you. Just for you.”

Note: this request! omg i literally could visualize this the second i read it, got me all giddy haha 🫶🏼

“You’re joking?”

Staring at Wyatt as he held up the bright green denim jacket with his number 53 boldly painted on the back, you shook your head adamantly.

“Babe please? I asked Sarah if she could get one done for you too, even though you told all the girls no.”

He pouted his lips as he pushed the jacket in your direction, but you crossed your arms over your chest. Not giving in that easy.

“Wy, we have been through this. You know I like us keeping things more private. The second I wear this jacket that’s thrown out the window.”

Setting the jacket down on the kitchen island, he took a step towards you and reached for your hands. “Babe…I get it. Believe me I do. It’s a whole lot easier keeping things private. You don’t have to deal with the comments and opinions of people possibly judging you. All the fangirls hating you simply because you’re my girlfriend. But I love you, and it would mean the world to me to see you in the crowd wearing my number on one of these jackets. Plus I get to show off to everyone that you’re my girl.”

Seeing the smile on his face you were like putty in his hands. He always knew how to play you like a fiddle and get his way, one of the things you loved to hate about Wyatt.

“Fiiiiine. I’ll do it. For you. Just for you.”

Wyatt gave himself a fist bump as you grabbed the jacket off the counter, retreating to your bedroom to put it on. Making him wait impatiently as you wanted the first look at the jacket on.

Staring in the mirror a blush came over your cheeks as you couldn’t help but smile. Seeing the Johnston name above the pocket, paired with the mirroring Texas Hockey on the other side. And of course the largely printed 53 on the back. Despite your want for a private relationship, you couldn’t help but feel proud to wear Wyatt’s number. To support your boyfriend on the biggest stage of his sport. Letting everyone know that you were his, and he was yours.

“Babeeeee come on! We are gonna be late.”

Wyatt whined from the kitchen as you spritzed on a bit of perfume, completing your outfit as you slowly walked down the hall to rejoin him.

“So? Does it look okay?”

His smile couldn’t have been any bigger or surely his cheeks would explode. “Baby…I need you to wear this every day for the rest of your life! Seeing you in my name and number, damn it does something to me.”

He pulled you into his chest by the belt loops of your jeans, his lips on yours before he lightly bit down, teasing you as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Slow your roll cowboy, you’ve got a game, remember?”

“Oh come on, we could make it quick. But leave the jacket on.”

He winked as he dove back in for another kiss, only to be met by the palm of your hand.

“How about you score me a goal tonight and you’ll get whatever your heart desires?”

[lihhelsing]

Part 4 - Catfish Steddie

Author's Note: This part turned out to be bigger than I expected, so I also decided to take this to AO3. I'll update when I have the link, but I'll keep posting over here too, and doing the tag list at the end. Thanks for reading! Look out for two more parts after this one!

Now on Ao3

It's not that Steve didn't care that someone was using his face to catfish people. He knew, from how little Eddie wanted to discuss it, how it affected him. How it messed with his self-image and his ability to trust others. 

Steve could feel it in the way Eddie always seemed to be ready to bolt from him. He offered something real and then pulled back again. It was a slow back and forth that Steve didn't mind, because he knew what he wanted. 

Eddie. He wanted Eddie. 

He felt the way he retracted every time Steve complimented him, hiding behind jokes or self-deprecating comments. Steve tried to reassure him, and he felt like he was winning. 

But when Eddie called the catfish number, that he still had on his phone under Steve's name for some reason, it was like every inch they had walked towards each other had disappeared. Eddie retracted again, as if he was certain he was reading the situation right when he possibly couldn't be. 

"I don't understand," Eddie says at first and Steve tries reaching out for him, seeing the exact moment Eddie flinches away. 

It hurts more than he can admit. 

"Eddie, let's talk about this," Steve says, but he can see it in Eddie's eyes, how he just wants to run out of there. 

"Why do you have two phones?"

"It's not my phone," Steve says calmly. Eddie's not calm. 

"It's in your house. Your couch!" his voice comes out a little strangled, and he jumps from the couch, the other phone still gripped hard in his hand. 

"Can I see it?" Steve raches his hand, but Eddie shakes his head. "Please. It's not mine, I swear."

But Steve can see how his words go through Eddie and doesn't really make an impression. It's just words, especially if he doesn't try to see how crazy it would be. Why would Steve invite Eddie over to his place and not hide the phone better? 

Why would Steve be so careless about the whole thing? 

"Eddie, I swear. This phone is not mine. I have no idea what's-"

"I have to go," Eddie says, his hands are shaking and Steve wants to hold him and make him listen but Eddie is not in the mood to listen and Steve can't force him so he just nods, lets the fight leave his body and Eddie hurriedly gets his things and leaves. 

Before closing the door, he drops the phone on the table and doesn't look back. 

Steve thinks his heart could explode from how fucked up he feels right now. 

x

It's not really surprising, but Steve doesn't sleep at all. He tries a couple of password combinations and when he gets to Chrissy's birthday, the phone unlocks in his hands. 

Steve is scared as he scrolls through it. 

Robin always seemed nice, even if they weren't all that close. Sometimes Steve even thought they were friends. He didn't have much experience with those and most of his friends were kids that he used to babysit when he was in high school, but he thought he and Robin could've been friends, somehow. 

Maybe he was wrong. 

But when Steve pulls on one of the only apps he sees on the phone, he feels… 

He doesn't know how he feels as he looks at a profile with his picture and name on it. There are a bunch of chats in there and he sees himself flirting with lots of girls - and guys. 

He doesn't remember mentioning to Robin he's bisexual, but she must've picked up on it for some reason. Steve doesn't mind, he feels comfortable with his sexuality but he doesn't feel comfortable with a bunch of people thinking they are talking to him when in reality… 

It's not surprising that he doesn't get much sleep, really. 

x

Steve is in his room when he hears the front door unlocking. It's still before nine and Robin doesn't usually come home that early on the weekends. She likes to spend the day with her girlfriend Chrissy and Steve gets it. 

He listens carefully as she walks inside, doesn't even stop to take off her boots, so Steve hears the click, click, click as she moves through their tiny apartment. He hears rustling sounds and then.

"Shit," Robin's voice is low, muffled by the closed door. Steve thought a lot about how to do this and yet he feels sick to his stomach. "Where the fuck did I put it?"

He gets up and slowly makes his way to the door, opening it a little. 

"Robin?" he asks. Her head snaps in his direction and she looks panicked. 

"Steve? What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep. Is everything ok? You look-"

"Yeah, yeah! Everything's great," Robin forces out a smile. "I just forgot something Chrissy really needed and you know her, she gets really mad at me and I need to fix it, otherwise she will hate me forever and I-"

"I don't know."

Robin frowns. "What?"

"I don't know her. You never… Introduced us."

Steve doesn't know what he's saying, but neither does Robin. She looks frazzled, on the verge of a breakdown. Steve can't say he's not enjoying it, though. 

"Well, we should. You know, do something, the three of us!" Robin is talking frantically now, her voice taking on a high-pitched tone that shows Steve how desperate she is. "Anyway, we can decide on that later! Don't worry about me, just go back to sleep! I'll be super quiet!" 

She finished her sentence whispering and smiling at Steve, but he doesn't buy it. Her smile is completely fake and her hair is a mess, sticking up to all sides. 

"Ok," he says, playing along. He moves to close the door and Robin isn't even looking at him anymore. She's kneeling on the ground and looking under the couch. "Oh, Robin?"

She almost hits her head as she looks up at him. 

"Did you happen to be looking for this phone?"

Steve holds it out for her and she squints her eyes, processing, and then all the color gets drained from her face. 

Steve can't say he hates it. 

x

Robin fidgets nervously with her hands as she and Steve sit side by side on the couch. The phone is almost burning a hole through their table and Robin hasn't tried anything too crazy like grabbing it and running away. 

Maybe even someone like her can tell when she lost a battle. 

"So… Care to explain?"

Steve tries to keep his tone neutral but from the way she flinches, he knows he failed. Robin takes a deep breath, then another. 

"I'm sorry," she says, not looking at him. Steve raises a brow.

"For what? Catshing people? Using my picture and my name without permission? Lying to my face?" He sounds so angry he barely recognizes his own voice. Steve is not a guy to get really angry, he's good at taking a punch, but this feels… Too much.

Robin shakes her head. "All of the above?"

The worst of it is that Steve wants to laugh. Robin looks outright miserable and his entire chest feels heavy when he remembers how Eddie looked at him, but this is too crazy for him not to laugh. 

"I'm really sorry Steve, I didn't mean-"

"Can you just… Not? Just tell me. Why? Why me?" He says sharply and has to pinch his hand to try and get himself in check. He already knows there's nothing Robin can say that will make this ok to him. 

It's not only that she lied to him. She used him to lie to other people. She hurt other people. But she made Steve think he was doing something wrong. She watched Steve try and try and try knowing she would never let him in because she couldn't stand the guilt. 

Robin sighs dramatically. 

"It started as a joke, I swear. When you first moved in, I kept telling Chrissy how you looked like a hot model from a magazine. How I had never seen a guy so good looking in my life and mind you I don't like guys. But you're… You know, objectively attractive."

"Uh… Thanks?"

"Chrissy found that super funny. She said you must've been one of those guys who were always hooking up with girls and I agreed. Like, it took me six months to gather the courage to ask Chrissy out and I still wasn't sure she was going to say yes, and then Chrissy was saying how you probably didn't have this problem because anyone would say yes to you."

Steve frowns at her. Robin has a tendency of rambling and talking really fast and Steve feels he's not following. 

"So it was a prank?"

"I mean… Yes! At first. Chrissy and I wanted to see what it was like to be you on Tinder. You know, how many people we would match with, so we just swiped right non-stop. On the next day, there were thousands of messages for you."

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose and he sees a faint dust of pink on Robin's cheeks. She's embarrassed. 

"Chrissy laughed and moved on, but I kept thinking about it and I started talking to people there because why not? It was kind of addictive, being someone else. I know it's wrong and honestly I have no interest in anyone other than Chrissy, but it was fun to like, make up this whole persona and just see what people would do. I was curious about life as Steve Harrington. It must be easier than trying to flirt as, you know, me."

"And Chrissy doesn't know?"

Robin shakes her head. "She thinks I dropped the whole thing, but I couldn't. So I got a new phone, I deleted everything from my phone and I just kept going. I wanted to know how long it would take people to want a date. I started analyzing data, and I thought it would be a good study subject. But it's like I said… I only have eyes for Chrissy. I don't even like men. It was just… A test, I guess."

Steve exhales. He has to be honest, this is way more complicated than he thought it would be. It still doesn't make it ok, and it still confuses the hell out of him.  

"Robin, this is fucked up."

"I know ok? But there's just this… Adrenaline thrill. Of creating a personality for you, talking to people and seeing how they act, how they flirt with someone that looks like you. I never experienced any of that because I'm awkward and weird and I like girls. I told one of my professors I was doing it and he said it was fascinating. I couldn't just drop it. He wouldn't let me drop it. He kept saying how I had a chance of a lifetime with it and I just… How the fuck do I say no to that?"

Steve knows it still doesn't make it ok, but he's starting to feel sorry for Robin, so he tries to hold on to the anger. It's easier that way than if he tried to understand her. But there's still this one thing that doesn't make sense. 

"But how the hell did that evolve into you setting up a date with Eddie? And that's why you kept telling me to not go out with him isn't it?"

And that… That felt awful. He liked Eddie. He had liked him from the start and because Robin fucked up he had felt a little unsure about asking him out. When she finally speaks, she's not looking at Steve. 

"I didn't set up a date with him. I knew I could never do that because there was no way I could keep up the farce if I started doing it. But I should've been more careful. One of the pictures I set up on your profile had the coffee shop in the background. It didn't take a genius to make the connection, but I never thought he was just going to show up like that!"

"Well, that does sound like Eddie," Steve pointed out and he was assaulted with mixed feelings. An ache spreading on his chest as he thought he might never see Eddie again. Because of Robin. 

"I panicked when I started getting weird messages from him saying like 'surprise' and 'stop messing around' and I didn't get it. I sent a bunch of question marks and Eddie never got back to me. I figured it out after you told me what had happened and, well, you know what happened next."

After that, Steve stays silent for a long time. Robin keeps fidgeting with her hands as if she's waiting for a death sentence of something. 

Steve feels… So many things. He's mad at her, of course he is. But the frustration right now feels so much bigger. Even if Robin thinks it's easier being like him, Steve is tired of all that comes with it.

And Eddie was the first person in a long time that saw Steve in a different way. Sure, he might've started talking to not-Steve for his looks, but right now Eddie knew him. And Steve wasn't ready to let that go. He had no idea how to fix it and his head was pounding with lack of sleep and Robin was… Talking. Always fucking talking. 

"Robin!" he said, his voice going up an octave and making her shut her mouth. He got up from the couch and pressed the heels of his hand on his eyes. "I'm just… Please delete the whole thing. I don't care what you're going to tell your professor, but I'm not your little experiment. I just wanted to be your roommate. Maybe even your friend.But right now I just… Just leave me alone, please."

Steve walks to his room without looking back and he only hears when Robin leaves the apartment, a couple of minutes later.  Previous | Next

[miniimight]

first off, I just wanna say how I love how you write izuku like??? my sweet boy doesn't get much appreciation and I'm just obsessed with the scenarios you've made with him 🤭💜 second, would it be okay to request a scenario in which the bnha boys (Deku, Bakugo, any other if you want!) who's been dating the reader for a while but it's a secret relationship- which suddenly gets revealed?

thank you! can't wait for more of your writing! 💜

SECRET RELATIONSHIP GETS REVEALED ! the secret relationship between you and your pro-hero boyfriend gets revealed to the public

with deku, bakugo ( pro heroes )

notes ahaha izuku is definitely one of my favs and ur so right when u say he doesn't get enough appreciation :( but i'm here to change that lol ! thanks for requesting ! idk if this is what you had in mind but i hope you enjoy it nonetheless <3

your boyfriend didn't want his relationship with you to go live because one, he's legitimately one of the most hated heroes by villains and two, the media won't ever leave you alone. he found it better this way, for both of your sakes.

it worked for a while, and though the both of you had to make little sacrifices here and there, the arrangement was more than perfect. that was until someone tipped the media off with one (1) very rare photo of you and boyfie out and about in disguise (a terrible one, at that).

photos of the pro-hero's new companion dominated the internet and everyone was wondering who the mystery person was.

it happened so fast that you and your boyfriend were out of the loop. in fact, you and your boyfriend were out on a secret date when the news exploded.

IZUKU

izuku zipped his crossbody bag up and fitted a black baseball cap tightly on his head. his green curls were hard to miss regardless of any disguise he thought up. he flashed you a determined smile. "ready for our day out, love?"

"born ready," you mimicked his way-too-serious tone. "but won't you relax a bit?"

at your comment, his shoulders stiffened. "why, do i not look relaxed?"

he was standing like his friend, iida—almost robotically, like a sentry who was on high alert. you could see the tired circles under his eyes though the shadow of the cap made them almost invisible. his casual outfit covered one of the essential pieces of hero gear; his gloves. it was almost as if he was expecting something bad to happen.

you drifted to his side, an amused smile on your face. "we've done this before, izu. nobody will notice!"

"at least i have a better chance," he raised an eyebrow at you, spinning you around in his arms. "your disguise is non-existent."

"hey, i'm not the super-famous pro-hero that everyone adores." you stuck your tongue at him, making him smile reflexively.

"it's not my fault i'm so charming."

"oh my god."

a little more bickering and a car ride later, you both arrived at the museum you had planned to tour. the guide handed you pamphlets after welcoming you to the grounds, informing you that she'd take you around the exhibits in a short moment.

"oooh..." you flipped through the brochure, excitement bubbling through you. "there's a lot of things in here."

izuku rested his chin on your shoulder, trying to read as fast as you were flipping pages. his hand enveloped yours in an effort to stop you from turning the pages at a lightning pace— "honey, can you go slower?"

you giggled and thumbed the whole pamphlet, making a little buzzz sound as you did so. "weren't you at the top of your class, izu?" you shrugged nonchalantly. "just read faster."

his hands snaked to clasp around your stomach from where they rested on your waist. an uncontrollable laugh threatened to bubble out of you. "really, 'just read faster'? a little cheeky today, aren't you, love—?"

"uhm... couple at the back, please refrain from pda as there are children around." the tour guide cleared her throat. a crowd had gathered for the next tour around the museum and it appeared as though they were ready to start.

you and izuku jumped away from each other as if you were caught by a teacher in high school, your cheeks heating up from embarrassment.

"sorry, miss." izuku mumbled in a low voice, head hanging. he gave you an amused smile that you returned with a huge grin, accepting the hand he held out for you.

halfway into the tour, the group grew so bored they retreated to the comfort of their phones. hanging around the back, you thought it unusual that so many people began to glance backwards at you and your boyfriend, whispering among themselves.

you caught glimpses of their phone screens, questioning why the hell your face was on them.

you nudged izuku's side to tell him just as the teens in front of you spun around, screaming "it's deku and his s/o!"

you and izuku froze like deers in headlights as the commotion spread through the group.

wait, how do you know? the news just made a story about it today. there's a picture of them here! and besides, he's wearing the same disguise.

you gave izuku a pointed look and he smiled sheepishly at you. "what the heck should we do?!"

"deny it??" he said, though he didn't seem sure of his answer. "that photo?" he talked to the crowd again. "not her."

"yeah, i get it all the time," you chuckle nervously, playing along. you shrunk into his side. the attention was sending shockwaves through your body.

the kids weren't buying it. "well, you're obviously deku." one deadpanned.

"me?" a boxy grin spread on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "no, i'm just... not him..."

seriously, didn't they have specific media training classes at UA for this kinda thing? you rolled your eyes at his response.

"who else has green hair?!" another crossed their arms. "you're so deku."

you both held up your hands, as if caught red-handed by the police. you squeaked, "we're just two random, normal strangers having a date in a museum, promise—"

a kid waddled up to deku's side and pulled his signature gloves out of his pants' pockets, holding them up triumphantly. yours and deku's head slowly turned to watch it unfold before looking at each other almost comically. a long pause followed.

"it's deku and his s/o!" the kid yelled, pointing a chubby finger at the two of you. the whole vicinity was alerted to the famous hero's presence.

you clung to izuku's arms and the swarm encroached on your space, clamoring for autographs, information, pictures—anything they could get their hands on.

to your surprise, deku wasn't the only center of attention. you were asked your name, age, and occupation, where you grew up, if you knew 'their' deku in high school—

izuku's upper arm came under your bum as he leapt back from the crowd at lightning speed, yelling a very apologetic sorry! as he zoomed the both of you away to safety. you screamed as you hung over his shoulder.

he parkoured his way up the museum building, crouching on the roof. it wasn't the first time izuku used his super speed with you in his arms, but holding you like a sack of potatoes wasn't the best position—not if you liked your neck.

he set you down and smoothed your clothes, his hands flying everywhere accompanied by a thousand apologies.

your hands caught his wrist and you gave him a pointed look. "how did they find out? we were super careful."

his concerned expression quickly turned unimpressed. "sweetheart, you have no disguise."

"they believed i was just some random person after we denied it. they already knew you were deku!" you retorted, flicking his cap upwards and allowing the tufts of green to spring out.

he opened his mouth to respond before he snapped it shut. "it's not my fault i'm hard to miss..." he muttered.

you softened and moved closer, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning into his chest. "i'm sorry, jus' a little on edge."

his hands rubbed your back soothingly before he hugged you back. "it'll be okay." he felt something cold against him and he looked down to see you pull out your phone, pressing it against his body as you got to the bottom of this. "hey—"

"it's all over the news, along with katsuki and his s/o." you hummed, scrolling through article after article.

"hey." he repeated firmly. he gently tugged the phone from your hands, slipping it in his pocket. "it'll be okay. i'll make sure you're protected, not that you aren't already, and we'll get you a new apartment, closer to mine."

you sighed. "i'm not really worried about that."

he gave you a concerned look, wondering if he needed to look into your lack of self-preservation. "...you're not worried about someone potentially attacking you?"

you rolled your eyes, lightly swatting his chest. "well, duh, but i know no one can really get past you and your brigade of hero friends." you waved off his concern. "i'm worried about the paparazzi and gossip channels—what if everyone decides i'm not good enough and they pressure you to leave me? what if—"

"i'm going to have to stop you right there," he gave one of those self-proclaimed (but also, he wasn't wrong) 'charming' smiles as he cut into your rambling. "being with you is my conviction. no one's gonna pressure me to do anything except marry you one day."

you blinked, a huge grin spreading on your face. all your worries were gone when you let his words sink in.

izuku realized what he really said. "or... something like that, you know?" he muttered under his breath, color rising to his cheeks as he looked away.

a moment passed as he held you on the museum rooftop, the date turning out much different than expected. he gasped out of nowhere, jostling you out of your thoughts. his little giggle made you suspicious.

"kacchan just texted me something really interesting; he got stuck in traffic and is trying to hide out in his car—oh."

"what?"

he turned his phone to you. it was a post titled 'NEW!" and underneath was a very blurry photo of you and izuku on the rooftop at that very moment.

you scrunched up your face. "your fans are weird."

he laughed openly. you stared at him with such adoration that you hoped the press got a picture of his blissful face so you could fawn over it later. "have you even read the things they're saying about you?" he kissed your forehead. "i have a feeling they're gonna grow to obsess over you more than me."

BAKUGO

you heard the impatient jangle of keys as bakugo called after you. "we're gonna be late for our res, baby, get your beautiful ass in the car."

you giggled as you stuffed the last of the stuff you needed in your bag. you exaggerated a gasp and wagged a finger at him. "take me on a date first, mister."

he rolled his eyes. "i am literally trying to do that right now, but someone ain't listenin."

"fine, damn, i'll go on a date with you." you huffed, keeping up with the bit as you walked past him, tossing him a playful look over your shoulder. he smiled softly, following closely.

you got in the car and watched him with starry eyes. he was focused on starting the car and setting the music, but all you could think of was how good he looked in a turtleneck. he had so much faith in that face mask, though, as you'd told him multiple times that it was a really bad disguise.

"you're starin'." he glanced out his window before pulling out the parking spot.

heat rose to your cheeks. he held his hand out and you laced your fingers in them. he squeezed your hand.

the ride was smooth and calm, the hum of the engine complimenting the mellow yet catchy songs playing. you were jamming out until you realized you hadn't moved in a while.

you ducked closer to the windshield. the light was red, and the traffic was piling up. you pursed your lips, glimpsing at the irritated drivers around you.

"looks like we might not make our res, huh?" you mused. bakugo hummed.

"it's whatever, betcha they'll still take us anyway." he grinned mischievously.

you squeezed his hand, chastising him. "kats, you can't use your 'i'm a famous hero' card on date nights."

"m'just teasing, baby." he chuckled softly, leaning back in his seat. his head rested on his shoulder as he gave you a look. "better get comfortable."

you laughed and let go of his hand, turning fully in your seat to face him. "kats! keep your eyes on the road!"

"why? i wanna look at you." he smirked.

snap!

a bright flash made both of you freeze, though bakugo reacted quicker. he sat up in his seat, leaning over the wheel as he peered out your window at the car beside you. the two girls in the front row were fawning over the picture they just took.

he glared. "a couple of fans, i guess?"

you breathed out a sigh of relief. "thank god i was facing away from—"

snap!

you squeaked in surprise and reflexively covered your face. you leaned back in the seat to see a couple other teens laughing triumphantly over their rare photo.

bakugo observed your shock and panic silently before he laughed, thoroughly amused.

you groaned, slumping below the windows. "i was talking when they took that picture, i'll look distorted." you whined, voice muffled behind your hands.

he tsked. "i'm sure they got your good side, babe." he was trying to act calm but really his mind was racing at a million thoughts per minute. he had tinted windows. he made sure to make an appearance this morning so people would think he was out hero-ing for the whole day. was this a freak occurance, or...?

you opened your phone and were flooded with articles upon articles of you and bakugo on your dates. in hindsight, yes, those disguises were really bad. those pictures were low-quality but anyone who was anyone would be able to recognize bakugo's spiky blond hair.

everyone was speculating who the mystery person was and how their relationship would be, etc etc. you groaned again as you held up your phone to bakugo.

"what?" he whispered, breaking out of his thoughts.

"come down here," you motioned for him to join you below the window.

he scrunched up his face. "... i'm not doing—"

"come down here." you hissed, pulling him by his shoulder to crouch below the window's line of sight. he blinked, not entirely surprised or against the action. "look!"

he scrolled through, some news pages looking familiar. he sighed. "my agency was starting to talk about these rumors."

"why didn't you tell me?!"

"i thought they'd handle it!"

you pouted and he softened, kissing your cheek. "no one's gonna get a hold of any bad pictures of you, promise. i'll make sure of it."

you smiled. "really?"

he grinned, lovesick. "yeah." so what if the whole world would know you're his? he could deal with the details later.

muddled banging made you jump.

"dynamight, is that your s/o?!" the girls from the car over squashed their faces to the window, cupping their hands around their eyes.

you screamed and dynamight gave them a what the hell look.

he blast through the car roof, holding you by the waist as he soared upwards with loud pops behind him. landing on a nearby roof, he checked to make sure you were okay. all he was concerned about was the frown on your face.

"what, you not comfortable with everyone knowin' bout us?" he asked, voice soft.

you perked up, shaking your head. "no! obviously not. i'm just..." you curled your knees to your chest. "you're a hotshot and you have so many people after you. dunno if i meet expectations."

"who cares?" he scoffed indignantly. "you exceed mine. that's all that matters."

you giggled, your sad disposition quickly morphing into a smile. "yeah?"

"yeah." he assured you, pushing your knees down and swinging them to the side. the momentum made your whole body twist so that you were parallel to him. he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you leaned into his embrace.

"now i gotta call that nerd so he can move our car. we're causin' more traffic."

bonus:

"kacchan!" izuku chirped, his s/o on his back as he floated in the air. bakugo's face twisted up as if the green-haired boy wasn't one of his best friends.

"hey." bakugo jerked a thumb at his very broken car. "can you take care of that for me?"

"yeah, i got it." with his gloves on, izuku initiated blackwhip. the tendrils snaked around the car and hoisted it into the air, freeing up that lane once again. "did you suddenly get exposed out of nowhere, too?"

bakugo snorted. "yeah, ain't that a coincidence?"

izuku chuckled softly as he nodded. "yeah, super weird."

who could've gotten the jump on two of the most famous heroes' love lives, anyway?

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do- Part 3

Masterpost of ao3 link and all parts. wc: 1263

“Sorry for intruding on your haunt! Total accident. Please don’t disembowel me. Sorry again,” Dick read off the card that had been tucked into the gift basket. He glanced from the card, to the rest of the assembled batclan, and back to the card in confusion.

Of course Dick had insisted on coming with Jason to check over Crime Alley. Of course when they found the basket Dick had insisted on bringing it back to the Cave to be tested for poisons—

“They’re bathbombs, who’s going to fucking poison bathbombs.”

“We’ve seen weirder, Jaybird.”

—and so of course the whole family was there now.

Before Dick had even let them move the basket, he checked it out for basic booby traps. (To be fair, this was the first thing Jason did too.) Once the basked had been to the Cave, it was checked over, again, by various Bats. Then, Tim had taken all the contents to run a chemical analysis on the chocolate and bathbombs (seriously, who poisons bathbombs?). And finally, Bruce gave the all clear on examining the basket itself.

Dick had snagged the little card out of it’s little envelope before Jason could even make a grab for it and read off the message. “’Please don’t disembowel me’? What the fuck, Jason.”

Jason raised his hands up with a shrug. “Don’t ask me. Sure, ‘please don’t behead me’ I could get—” he ignored the slight flinch that caused from Tim and Bruce— “But pretty sure word has gotten around that killing isn’t really my sort of MO anymore.”

Thankfully the computer beeped before they could get into all that.

Again.

Tim read over the results before announcing, “Report came back clean on everything.”

“Huh.” Dick seemed actually surprised by that. Jason was feeling really fucking done with his family.

“Perhaps a chemical inside the bathbombs that will explode when exposed to water?” Damian suggested.

Really fucking done.

“We do all get how messed up it is that your brains go there, right?” Duke asked. (Duke might be Jason’s favorite at the moment.)

“Can’t be that,” Tim said, ignoring Duke’s comment about their mental stability with practiced ease. “I took a sample core all the way to the center. It really is just a basket with bathbombs and some chocolate.”

“Sweet,” Stephanie said as she made a lunge for the box of chocolates. Jason quickly pulled the basket and its contents out of reach.

“Back off, it’s my gift,” Jason said with a snarl that was only half for show. As much as he had calmed back down, he still felt tense— like there was a heavy weight in the center of his chest.

Damian gave him a wholly unimpressed look. “Why? Do you deserve it for, and I quote, not disemboweling someone?”

“I mean, I haven’t,” Jason said with a shrug as he grabbed his helmet; the gift basket was tucked securely under the other arm.

“Jason, we have to talk about this,” Bruce said in that tone of his; the one that implied Jason was making a stupid mistake. The one he always seemed to have—

Jason shook the thoughts away. He didn’t need to tempt the Pit today by doing down that path. He could feel that green tinged anger lurking on the edge of his mind already. He kept heading to his bike. If he got out of here, the temptation to pick a fight would go away. He knew that. He just had to make the choice to walk away from the fight. “Fuck no. Look. I’ll check my system and put up new cameras or some shit, okay?”

The footage on every camera he had up around the exterior of his apartment had either shown nothing at all or had glitched out into a fuzz of static. There had been someone at his door— a slight person, dark clothing— but that's as much detail as they could get. Which was, sure, concerning, but seemed like no harm no foul. (Not that the rest of the family agreed with that assessment.)

“I’ll bring over some better cameras in a few days and check through your system,” Tim said, already turning his attention to the task.

Jason didn’t want that.

He didn’t want anyone else messing with his system. But he was starting to understand that having his hands on the information of his family was Tim’s way of showing he cared. Jason hated it, but he understood it, so he’d allow it. He owed Tim more than a little acceptance. He owed Tim so much.

“Sure thing, Replacement.”

-----

Jason spent hours going over every inch of his place when he returned. None of the traps or markers had been triggered to show that anyone had actually come inside his space. The feeling he had experienced at dinner hadn’t come back. All that he felt was a slight unease and that was easy enough to dismiss as lingering feelings from earlier in the day. It wasn’t any worse than a Pit hangover.

Finally, satisfied that his place was secure, Jason sank down onto his couch with a huff of air.

The gift basket mocked him from where it sat on the coffee table. He’d dumped it there when he first came in, ignoring the odd present in favor of making sure that his place was safe. It would have been convenient for someone to break in and set up a trap while they were off dealing with the basket, but no one had. Now both him and the Pit were settled and the basket was still there.

Who the fuck gave bathbombs for not being disemboweled?

Leaning forward, arms resting on his knees, Jason plucked out the card. It was a simple thing, just a bit of cream cardstock in a little envelope. No logo or distinguishing features. The writing was a scrawled, half cursive— just this side of legible. Distinctive, but not any handwriting that Jason recognized. It wasn’t signed.

That would have been too easy.

That was the real issue of it all, wasn’t it? Who would leave a note like that for him? Jason Todd shouldn’t be getting a note like that. Red Hood, sure, he could understand getting such a message. He hated it a little, now that he was further away from the worst of the Pit Rage, but he got it. But him as Jason? Reclusive, miraculously returned son of Bruce Wayne? Jason shouldn’t have anyone afraid of him like that.

It spoke to someone knowing of his life as vigilante turned crime boss turned vigilante again, and that was dangerous. It was dangerous for him. It was dangerous for his family. It was dangerous for Crime Alley.

It was just another fucking thing he had to deal with. As if it wasn’t enough to having only recently, officially, returned to the living. There was also the work he was trying to do as Red Hood, the work he was trying to do for Crime Alley as Jason, and the effort of trying to spend more time with his family (preferably without stabbing anyone). Now he had this mystery too.

Maybe the bathbombs actually were a good gift and didn’t that idea make him scowl. When was the last time he’d actually taken some time to just relax? It had to be a while with the size that his ‘to read’ pile had grown to was any indication.

He could use one. They were just bathbombs.

He could run a warm bath, relax, crack open a book, eat some chocolate… and just try not to worry for a bit. Nothing was going to be solved tonight. Bruce had ordered him off patrol— which normally wouldn’t stop him, but Cass had given him big worried eyes too. There were no other pressing matters. His apartment was secure…

Fuck it. He grabbed the little basket and headed to the bathroom.

Time for some self care.

-----

AN: We'll likely get a Danny scene to cap chapter 2 off, but I though this was a nice little bundle to post! And my poor migraine is going to get even worse with the Artic front so wanted to get this posted~

Thank you all for such a lovely response on the other parts! This will be going up on ao3, but I want to get at least three chapters done first to get a little buffer. Everyone who asked should be in the tag list (as of yesterday), but if I missed you, or you want to be added, just let me know in the replies!

Stay delightful my darlings!

@fisticuffsatapplebees | @thegatorsgoose | @wolfeyedwitch | @lazy-bouqet | @confusedandghostly | @glomsk | @kailithiel | @bahfev | @d4ydr34min9 | @claudiashq | @someonebored0100 | @pastalavistamf | @samgirl98 | @angelheartgamer | @lehana37 | @spiteismymiddlename | @rosecinnamonbun | @demon-cat-goes-woof | @violet-catsarelife | @trickerdi | @avelnfear | @undead-essence | @basilf1res | @amillionandonefandoms | @stealingyourbones | @sarcastic-yami | @bun-fish | @aconitewolfsbane | @dontfightmecauseillcry | @omgnectarina

[cinnamon-galaxies]

𝐂𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧

Pairings: Alastor x gn!reader Summary: In which Alastor tries to get rid of you by giving you a dangerous task and explores your room once you have left. What he discovers are things he wishes he could unsee... Warnings/Tags: explicit and suggestive content but no smut, 18+, MDNI, gn reader, Emberlynn-coded reader, unrequited love, reader is obsessed with Alastor and he can barely handle it, second-hand embarrassment, cringe, like, lots of it, exaggerated descriptions, comedy, mentions of violence, murder and death, very brief mention of suicide (Alastor barely keeps his sanity), fandom slander and random references (you either get it or you don’t), Alastor needs his own warning, humiliation, a whole bunch of passive aggressiveness and sarcastic remarks, trash-fic Wordcount: 6.5k A/N: This is a spin-off to my other Emberlynn-coded reader story ‘The Simp’. It can be read as a standalone, though I suggest reading the original first for a better understanding of the reader’s messed up personality and their complicated relationship with Alastor. This one escalated a bit more than I planned. It was originally meant to be much shorter, but I ended up having way too much fun writing it. Comments, Likes and Reblogs are always appreciated!

Masterlist

   It was a morning like any other in the hotel. The air was still and tranquil, the residents just beginning to stir as they readied themselves for the day ahead. Alastor strode through the dimly lit halls, his mind set on a singular destination: your room.

   A familiar weight settled in his stomach, a feeling that had lingered since the day he claimed your soul. Your insufferable presence had become a constant in his existence, haunting him with a mix of irritation and curiosity. He braced himself for yet another day filled with your exhausting demeanor, yet he knew he had an important task to assign to you.

   As he approached your door, he could already hear the faint sounds of movement within – your usual morning routine, perhaps accompanied by some melodramatic humming. The thought made his insides twist, but he reminded himself of the necessity of the task at hand.

   In front of your door, Alastor closed his eyes and took a deep breath to prepare himself for yet another one of your annoying tirades, then knocked. Once, twice – the door opened when he moved to knock a third time and he almost punched the air. Immediately, his crimson eyes darted down, and there you stood, already dressed despite the early hour, with an eager grin plastered on your face, your expression brightening like an unexpected sunrise breaking through the clouds.

   “Good morning, Alastor!” your squeaky voice disrupted the early quiet of the hotel and Alastor cringed inwardly, his ears twitching at the painful frequency. He opened his mouth to retort with a dry greeting, but before he could utter a single tone you already interrupted him, the words spilling from your mouth like an accelerated record, “Is something wrong? Do you need my help? It’s still so early in the morning and you knocked on my door – I mean you never knock on my door, so there must be something wrong. Is there anything wrong? Do you need my help? Please let me help you, Alastor!”

   Instant regret grew inside of him as he tried to keep up with the neverending flood of your words that were uttered so fast he barely managed to understand what you said. He just stood there, staring at you with his mouth slightly agape, overwhelmed and the wheels turning in his head as he tried hard to piece together the fragments of what he caught from your extensive monologue.

   “Uhm…” He blinked, staring at your worried but also anticipatory expression, the adrenaline heating up your face like a tomato, making it appear as if it was about to burst. He imagined your head exploding and withheld a chuckle, the mere thought of all your blood and viscera spilled around your room a delightful image in his head.

   “Well, my dear, I do in fact have a task for you,” he eventually said, his voice much calmer than he felt. He always relished the stillness of his sleepless nights, when you finally left him alone, allowing him to unwind from the stress you constantly stirred within him. If he weren’t already dead, he’d probably be at risk of a heart attack from your relentless annoyance. Seriously, how could someone as utterly miserable as you be so exhausting? Maybe he should consider seeing a therapist before he completely snapped. It wouldn’t be long before he lost all the control he’d worked so hard to maintain. He could feel it, deep in his bones – the silent scream of agony echoing within him.

   You immediately straightened your back at his words, crossing your hands behind your back in anticipation. “Oooh, a task! Tell me! I’ll do it as soon as possible!”

Here's the missing part filled in:

   “I sure hope so…” Alastor muttered beneath his breath before he tilted his head to the side and responded much louder, “Well, it is something of high importance…” he drawled out, the radio static in his voice crackling, and he could swear he saw your eyes gleam.  

   “What is it, Alastor-kun?” you interrupted him, and Alastor’s eye twitched, though he did not further elaborate, choosing instead to let the moment linger with a teasing smile.

   “Well, you see… I need you to fetch something from Cannibal Town. There’s a butcher on Carcass Lane who sells the most delectable venison in the entire Pride Ring. I need you to grab some for lunch. Here’s the address and the list of items I need.” He handed you a crumpled piece of paper, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes, and you snatched it from his hands, pressing the note almost against your face while you read it.

   Alastor raised his eyebrows as he watched you literally absorb the information, then you looked up and nodded exaggeratedly.

   “I'm on my way!” you declared and scurried past him, the wind of your fast movement causing Alastor's hair to flutter. He turned around with a narrowed eye and crooked smile, a look of irritation on his face, but you had already disappeared behind the corner before his eyes could follow. He stared in the direction you just disappeared for a few more seconds before his smile widened into a predatory grin, flashing his sharp and pointy canines with a sudden, exhilarating thrill that sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine. This was an easy success. You really were so desperate to serve him that you were stupid enough to run to Cannibal Town alone. You, a small little creature, pathetic and completely helpless, were nothing more than prey for the people in this part of the city. Maybe, if he was lucky enough, you'd get eaten before you even reached the butcher shop, and thus a problem would've been solved without much effort on his side. Genius.

   Still standing in the doorway, he turned back around. Alastor had never dared to knock on your door before – because of obvious reasons which have just been confirmed to be true. But now that you were gone and hopefully not returning, he got curious. Without further thought he entered your room and closed the door behind him, turning on his heels to take a look around. His eyes widened with every detail that caught his eyes. Bright pink and violet walls clashed with white polished furniture that could've been sourced from a doctor's office. The cabinets and shelves appeared almost sterile compared to the atrocious clutter in and around. Dozens – no, hundreds – of plushies and figurines were crammed into the tiniest of spaces. It was a chaotic explosion of color and fluff, a seemingly random assortment that defied all attempts at organization. The shelf was filled with books and boxes that were somehow puzzled into the space like some kind of a real life Tetris game. The walls – dear Satan, the walls – were suffocatingly plastered with posters in colorful palettes that showed a wide range of grotesquely exaggerated, wide-eyed monstrosities. The eyes of the characters – if they could even be called that – were so enormous that they seemed ready to fall out of their skulls, while their breasts rivaled their heads in size. It was as if the artist had taken every ridiculously hyper-sexualized fantasy and spilled them out on paper to create those unnatural horrors of eyesore that depicted an unhealthy and disrespectful portrayal of the female body. How were their waists so small? Did they even have organs in there? Alastor raised his eyebrow as he eyed the pictures. Some of those creatures bore animalistic features with cat ears, bunny tails and other appendages like they were common in hell, yet seeing the mere addition of those features on such grotesque figures was more than unsettling to him. The others were probably supposed to be human but their proportions were so out of control they looked like misbuilt mannequins from the fashion store of mistrust.

   Alastor's eyes drifted further across the wall until they landed on the image of a pale man with sharp pointy ears and curly white hair who was mid-bite on a woman's neck, the blood pouring from the wound and running over the woman's chest in a subtle yet intendedly suggestive way. The text read ‘Baldur's Gate’.

   What in Hell's name was a ‘Baldur's Gate’?!

   Before his mind could even attempt to comprehend this madness, his gaze landed on another poster with the same writing and same world – but this one featured a woman swooning in the arms of what could be an octopus-man hybrid.

   Alastor blinked, horrified. Yes, that was indeed an octopus with glowing eyes and squirming, slimy tentacles wrapping themselves around the poor woman as though she were just another victim of this abhorrent nightmare. Wait – were those tentacles caressing her?!

   He gagged, the taste of bile appearing on his tongue. “This is disgusting,” he hissed, a shiver running down his spine. He could barely process what he was seeing. ‘Baldur's Gate’? Hell, maybe you belonged there. Maybe he'd be doing you a favor by sending you straight into that absurd world where vampires, octopus-men, and God knows what else ran free, far away from him, where you could fulfill your worst fantasies of–. He neglected the thought before he could finish it, his stomach churning and the threat of another gag rising in his throat.

   But then, his eyes caught something worse. Yes, worse. Somehow the room found a way to outdo itself. Layered posters plastered the other wall – yes, layered – leaving almost no surface of the actual wall visible underneath. And the images – Satan help him –  the images were so obscene, he couldn't withhold himself from widening his eyes in shock. Muscular men – half naked and grotesquely exaggerated – posed with claws, fangs, and the most ridiculous expressions of primal desire imaginable. Texts like “Alpha” and “Bite me, baby” screamed from these posters. But the final blow came from a particular poster showing a dripping wet, absurdly muscular mafioso leaning into a shower, a caption in giant, sultry text reading, “Are you lost, babygirl?”

   Alastor's jaw practically unhinged as his eyes widened in horror.

   What. The. Fuck.

   He averted his gaze, barely suppressing another gag, and found himself standing in front of a shelf, hoping for some brief moment of sanity. But no – his hopes were shattered. The shelf was packed with small figurines or more cat-girls and octopus men, between them some green-haired man holding two Katana in his hands and one between his teeth. How the hell could he even fight like this? This didn't make any sense at all. And – was that the sculpture of spaghetti with a face?! He stared at it with one eye widened and the other narrowed, his lids twitching under the pressure and his smile was shaped into a confused grimace. Why the Hell did you have spaghetti on your shelf?! But of course that wasn't all. Between those figurines were even smaller creatures that looked like they'd crawled from the very bowels of an overactive, perverted imagination. With a roll of his eyes and a deepening sense of disgust, he glanced at the books. Big mistake.

   How – just how could every single corner of your room be even worse than the last?! He was barely able to keep himself from laughing as he read the titles of the books that were stuffed into the tightest of spaces. Each one was worse than the one before: “Bound by Blood and Lust”, “Slave to the Beast”, “Taken by the Overlord”, “Marked by the Alpha”, “The Alpha's Virgin Omega”... and even more dreadful titles. “My Immortal” was the most normal of them all. But even a harmless title could hide one of the worst stories in all of history. If Alastor knew one thing, then it was that one should never judge a book by its cover – or in this case: title.

   He took a deep breath, stepping back from the shelf, his gaze still locked on the chaos around him. He found himself standing before your desk, turning with a low hum, eyes scanning the mess of paper stacks and notebooks with a bizarre mix of morbid curiosity and utter disgust. Your room was like a car crash – something no one wanted to witness, yet impossible to look away from. In a nutshell: It was absolutely atrocious.

   With narrowed eyes he took one of the paper stacks in his hands and shuffled through the pages. Most of them were notes and doodles, some better than others, but the majority looked like the deformed mannequin creatures from your posters – only more disturbing. Their eyes, grotesquely oversized and much rounder and bigger than the ones from the posters, were filled with far too many reflections, giving the eerie illusion of tears, yet each character wore an unsettling grin, twisted and unnerving, disturbingly similar to his own at its worst. He continued his expedition through your mess, not surprised to find some drawings of himself but shocked by the sheer quality and painstaking detail you had put into them. Then, his breath caught in his lungs. His eyes widened, pupils constricting in disbelief as he stumbled upon yet another drawing of him – this time, barely dressed, with a lewd speech bubble in the corner. ‘Oh, don’t be shy, little one. I promise, this is one signal that’s sure to reach every part of you…’

   He instantly flung the papers aside, recoiling with a loud, distorted radio screech. You truly were a creature of Hell. Did your parents even love you? They must’ve been really bad people if they managed to spawn such a fucked up creature like you… Maybe it was a good idea to just leave the room without exploring your personal belongings any further. Not even getting mauled to death by bloodthirsty dogs was as traumatizing as the deep, dark abyss of your mind. But before he could turn away, something caught his eye. A pink notebook that was adorned with glitter stickers and handwritten quotes lay right in the middle of your desk, a few pens strewn around it as if you were just using it. He knew he shouldn’t. Every single look was worse than the one before. He knew this flashy notebook would most probably hide even more stuff he would regret to ever have seen. However, there was a quiet little voice that tried to lure him into doing something he knew he would regret.

   With caution he approached the desk again and reached out his hand, his finger tips grazing the surprisingly soft material of the cover. He held his breath as he took it into his hands and opened it. The first page was adorned with hearts and tiny flower doodles, the image of a cathedral radio in the corner. In the middle of the page stood written in flourished cursive: “Static Lust – A Dark Romance Fanfiction”. Underneath, your name.

   He frowned. What was a fanfiction…? With a bad feeling in his guts he turned the page and began to read your surprisingly neat handwriting. His eyes flew over the words, taking in every sentence and he cringed inwardly at the badly written plot. The story was ridiculously self-indulgent, starring you as a tragic figure that was kidnapped and brought to Hell by none other than… him.

   Alastor blinked when he read his name, wrinkling his nose and inhaling a deep breath. Of course. He should’ve known. Fan-fiction. Knowing how hard you were in love with him should’ve prepared him for what he was about to discover.

   As uncomfortable as he felt, he continued this little venture into the literal intonation of your deepest thoughts. Somehow, it amused him. It was as if he was reading your diary, just more messed up. And most definitely pushing his boundaries. 

   You portrayed him with a personality that couldn’t be farther off from reality: a lovesick obsessive who wanted nothing but to corrupt you, possess your soul and your whole being. He couldn’t believe what he was reading. The sheer absurdity of it all – the dramatized seduction, the over-the-top description of his passion for you were unbearable to read. Yet, he couldn't stop himself from continuing the story. His eyes continuously trailed over every sentence, soaking in the words as if his life depended on it while his heart sank deeper into his guts. His expression was completely motionless and his already pale face drained of even the last bits of color. The worst was: it didn’t stop here. As the story progressed, so did your so-called ‘romance’.

   His fingers trailed along my jaw, claws grazing my delicate skin as he kept his gaze locked with mine, crimson eyes boring themselves into my very core as if he was reading my soul. I felt completely naked under his gaze, caught between desire and a flicker of fear at his imposing form.    “Be mine,” he growled with a deep sultry voice, the radio static gone and his hot breath grazing against my cheeks. Sharp teeth glinted from behind his smile, a silent threat yet so intriguing. The danger, his power, his possession were palpable. Everything left me completely breathless and a shiver ran down my spine, causing the butterflies in my stomach to flutter wildly around. It was a tingling feeling, one that jolted electricity through my veins and into the depth of my core.

   He swallowed hard at the description, nausea taking over his stomach, replacing the appetite he just had for a tasty bite of rotting venison. He would never say something like that to you. He would never do something like that to you. And most importantly, he could never love you. He wasn’t even able to love. But even if he were, he'd be more likely to fall for Lucifer than he would ever waste a single thought on you.

   ‘Be mine.’

   He let out a huff. You were already his. Certainly not in the way you wanted it to be, but he owned your soul. Which meant he could do to you however he pleased. But nothing similar to this bullshit from your writing, obviously.

   Alastor’s eyes narrowed as he continued to read and the story development was truly as bad as his characterization and anything else. The more he continued, the more his eyes widened in horror. It didn’t take long for the writing to turn explicit – vulgar and smutty. Each sentence was dripping with suggestive language, painting a picture of you and him in intimate situations.

   I couldn't resist him any longer, the way he dominated the room, the power in his every movement. My heart raced as he leaned in closer, his voice a seductive purr that caused my hairs to stand up. “You were a naughty little thing,” Alastor whispered, his lips brushing my ear and his voice dropped to a baritone that vibrated in his throat, “and you deserve to be punished.”    I shuddered, feeling my entire body tremble in anticipation. “Alastor…”    “Uh, uh, uh,” he brushed me off, his nose grazing the skin on my neck while his hot breath sent shivers down my spine and right into my core.     “Say it. Say, ‘Punish me, Sir,” he commanded, and I–

   Alastor slammed the book shut for a moment, closing his eyes as if to cleanse himself from what he had just read. He let out a sharp exhale, then opened the notebook again with a resigned sigh, morbidly fascinated by the sheer audacity of your words. His smile became brittle, twitching as he forced himself to read on.

   Alastor pressed me firmly against the wall, his finger tracing a line down my neck, the touch gentle but brimming with control. I felt his sharp claws graze my skin, leaving faint red marks that would serve as a silent testament to his claim over me. I remained still, terrified that the wrong move could turn his claws from teasing to lethal.    “So naughty…” he growled in my ear, his voice sending a shiver down my spine before he stepped back, creating a cold distance between us. The sudden loss of his warmth sent a chill through me, goosebumps prickling across my skin as I resisted the urge to reach for him, knowing he wouldn't tolerate such disobedience.    Alastor’s intense gaze swept over my body, lingering on every inch, and I could feel the heat pooling between my legs, the wetness trailing down my thighs. “Strip,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for hesitation. I obeyed without a second thought.

   This was absurd. This was disgusting. This was absolutely disturbing. This was how you viewed him? A domineering, smoldering lover? The mere idea was enough to make his skin crawl.

   He gagged once more, the mere thought of touching you making him recoil in pure revulsion. This went beyond simple disgust. It was something far deeper. What was any of this supposed to be? Did you actually believe he could ever reciprocate your twisted feelings? Were you truly so desperate that you wrote an entire book about him doing such indecent things to you? He couldn’t comprehend it, and it only worsened his already low opinion of you. He knew he shouldn’t have read it, but did you honestly think he wouldn’t find out eventually?

   Part of him just wanted to die again. To disappear and never return, to tear out his eyes and brain and offer them to his equals in Cannibal Town. Was there anyone in Pentagram City who still performed lobotomies? He definitely needed one after this monstrosity of an insult to all literature ever created.

   He flipped through pages in haste, no longer bothering to read the entire story, just skimming over a few lines here and there. With every word, it became more unbearable. The grotesque images your writing forced into his mind were intolerable, destined to haunt him for the far future where they would resurface in his rare moments of sleep and flash before his eyes every time he looked at you. It was obscene, nonsensical, and revolting. Violating not only his sense of decency but also his personal boundaries.

   What started off as a toxic fast-paced back and forth between the two characters turned out to be nothing more than a pure over-sexualized scandal. You and Alastor would do it everywhere. In the bed, in the shower, in the hotel's parlor, on the counter of Husk's bar – even on the balcony while you glared up at one of Vox’s drones, knowing damn well the television freak would watch. He even found a chapter in which he took you into his radio station and broadcasted your moans all over Hell, so everyone knew that you belonged to him. 

   “Ah, Alastor-kun!” I moaned in both pain and pleasure.

   “Punish me, Mister Radio Demon, Sir!”

   “Ah, harder, deer-daddy!”

   “YAMETE KUDASAI!!!”

   He slammed the book shut again and dared not to open it again. What. The. Actual. Fuck. Was wrong with you?!

   His face was white as chalk, his eyes twitched and for the first time in decades, his smile had disappeared and instead, his face was adorned by a completely and utterly traumatized grimace. This was… this was an affront to his dignity, to his entire being.

   His thoughts raced like a whirlwind as he imagined every possible way to make you regret this. To punish you – not in the way you do desperately wanted – but actually punish you in the most gruesome and painful ways he could imagine. Over the decades, Alastor got creative with his murders. Maybe he would even discover new ways to torture a soul before tearing it apart, shredding it into pieces to ensure not only your death but to erase your existence from history entirely. Perhaps he’d even find a way to prevent you from ever being born at all.

   Fuck.

   But until then, he would keep his rage silently hidden inside of him, deep behind the walls he had constructed to maintain his control.

   Alastor let out a laugh, though it was more out of frustration than amusement, the sound hollow and laced with irritation. Of all the souls he could have ended up owning, it had to be yours – lovesick simp with a disturbing penchant for writing self-indulgent filth. Oh yes, you were destined to be his punishment. The punishment Alastor most probably deserved in his afterlife. But before he could continue his train of thoughts, he got interrupted.

   “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!” your frantic voice shattered the silence of your room as you burst through the door, nearly knocking it off its hinges. Alastor flinched, startled by the sudden commotion. His head turned a full 180 degrees to face you, accompanied by the snapping of bones and sharp crackle of radio static, and you froze mid-step, locking eyes with him.

   You blinked once, then twice. “Oh, Alastor! I'm so sorry!” you cried, your eyes glistening with tears. “I’m so, so sorry! I screwed up!”

   He stood there, holding your notebook, his expression frozen like a deer caught in the headlights. His heart raced in his chest as you hurried toward him, trembling slightly.

   “I went to the butcher, but I forgot my purse at the hotel! I had to come back for it!” you rambled, breathless, and Alastor’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I’m so sorry I won’t have your supplies in time! Please forgive me, Alastor! Or punish me! I’d love to be punished! I–I mean – I deserve to be punished! I can also punish myself if you prefer! Just forgive me for being so stupid!” you pleaded, completely oblivious to the fact that Alastor stood in front of you with your most mortifying secret in his hands. 

   Tears streamed down your face, but Alastor just stared, mouth slightly agape, yellow teeth peeking through as he stood there, overwhelmed. He held your notebook in his hands, the disturbing contents trapped between its thick covers, while you rambled on about a forgotten purse and your desire for punishment. All the while, you remained utterly unaware of the true embarrassment in front of you.

   “Uh…” Alastor exhaled at a loss of words.

   You gazed up at him with teary, wide eyes, then your eyes slowly drifted down to his hands. Realization hit you like a train. Your eyes widened and grew so big in size that they rivaled with the creatures on your posters, the color from your face draining, turning your skin from pale to snow-white in an instant.

   “No...” you breathed, your voice weak and barely above a whisper. You shook your head slowly, stepping back, repeating the word in disbelief, as if doing so could undo the reality before you.

   Alastor's initial shock dissolved into a wicked grin. His pupils constricted, and the glow in his crimson eyes intensified with a dangerous gleam. Watching your horror unfold, filled him with a surge of dark satisfaction and the thought of simply torturing you felt far too mild now. No, this reaction was much more satisfying, much more delicious. His eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as an idea took root. This wasn't just good. It was perfect. The situation was playing right into his hands.

   “Well, my dear, it appears that you've stumbled into quite the predicament, huh?” his static-filled voice broke the uncomfortable silence and he turned around fully, tilting his head in a derogatory manner. “Care to explain?” He asked, his fingers tapping against the book one after another, the sound of his claws clapping against its surface a haunting melody. His voice was much too light and way too cheerful for what he felt on the inside, but it was the perfect way to confront you with the danger you just put yourself into. It made him hard to read. It put him in charge.

   “Well… uh… uhm…” you stumbled, momentarily speechless. Alastor could see the wheels turning in your head and he noticed your pale cheeks turn a red color that was almost as vibrant as his coat.

   He took a step closer and tilted his head further, almost holding it at a 90 degrees angle. “Well…?”

   “I– it's not what–” you started but Alastor interrupted you.

   “Save this nonsense. This is exactly what it looks like, dear. Now, tell me, what is this thing you're so ashamed of, huh?”

   You began to fumble with your shirts, fingers fidgeting with the fabric as your breaths grew more ragged. “I–I–It's… a diary!” you shouted that last word. “A diary! Yes, yes! Nothing more! Just a few thoughts about my life at the hotel!” you tried to save yourself from this situation, crafting a lie that was so obvious that even the most stupid person would've seen right through it. And, after all, it's not that Alastor didn't just read page after page with an abhorred expression. But you didn't need to know. Not yet. He'd let you squirm a little before dropping the bombshell. So, he just raised an eyebrow and turned the notebook in his hands, eyeing it from all sides with faux curiosity. “Is that so?” he drawled and you seemed to shrink under his looming presence and intense gaze.

   You nodded hastily, your whole body vibrating with the simple movement. “Yes! Yes…”

   “Well…” Alastor paused for a moment, glancing down at the supposed ‘diary’ and then darting his eyes at you from under his lashes, a quick flicker of mischief dancing across his features but no less intense.

   You swallowed. And Alastor could see your throat jolt up and down.

   “Well,” he repeated, “if it's just about the hotel, then I guess you wouldn't mind if I take a look.” He moved his hand to open the notebook but your panicked voice interrupted him.

   “No!”

   He stopped his movement, thumb and index just touching the upper rim of the front over. He raised an eyebrow, feigning surprise. “Oh? And why's that?”

   “Because… because… it's not good. It's just… bullet points and quick notes. Nothing special, really! Just ugly smearing and shitty drawings!” You explained in a rush, nervously shifting your weight from one foot to the other while you bit the corners of your cheeks and your hands kept fumbling with your shirt.

   Wait. Drawings? Alastor blinked. There were illustrations in there too?! He swallowed. Hard. Though his expression did not reveal any of the discomfort that crept through his veins like a venomous snake on the hunt for something to eat.

   “Oh come on, they can't be so bad!” Alastor assured while he made sure his fingers lingered at the very same spot, a silent threat that he could – and would – open the book any second.

   Tears welled up in your eyes again as you stared up at him with pursed lips, a pleading expression on your incredibly blushed face as you silently, yet loud enough for everyone to hear, begged he would put it aside and dismiss your personal belongings. 

   You folded your hands in front of you as if praying to some God, your voice barely above a whisper, “I mean it, Alastor. Please don't open the book. Please…"

   Oh, this was delicious. This was so much better than any torturing method he had imagined just mere minutes ago. Your pleading expression, the fear in your eyes, the way you so desperately tried to keep him from opening the book while you were completely unaware of the fact that he had already read its contents. That he knew about your deepest, dirtiest desires, your pathetic longing for him that must’ve affected you so strongly you spend hours and hours of your free time to create something this atrocious… He could see your body tremble. He noticed every inch of your skin on fire, every single hair standing on edge. He smelled the panic that surged through your veins and heard the blood rushing through your arteries, powered by the frantic beating of your pounding heart in your chest.

   The silence between you stretched on and Alastor enjoyed every second of it, reveled in this moment of utter uncertainty. He heard your ragged breaths, how you tried to force yourself to keep your breathing as steady as possible, fighting against the tears that glistened in your eyes. Alastor realized you resembled the drawings he’d discovered in that chaotic stack of paper, and his grin grew even more sinister, exposing his sharp fangs in all their menacing glory.

   It was at this moment he knew time had come to drop the bombshell. To reveal the truth to you and humiliate you with the product of your own creativity.

   “‘Deer-daddy’, huh?” he casually quoted one of the lines from your story and he saw you twitch, his sadistic satisfaction growing even stronger.

   “What?” you whimpered in shock but before you could say more, Alastor opened the notebook and flipped to the very page where he read it, turning the book around for you to face your own writing and pointing with his clawed finger at the line.

   “Here it is, ‘deer-daddy’,” he repeats again, tapping against the page twice. Then he inhaled deeply, raised one eyebrow and looked at you like a disappointed parent. “First off, I am not your father,” he clarified, his tone still casual, a subtle hint at the hidden danger underneath his facade. “And secondly… Wouldn’t that make the whole plot of your story a little… incestuous…?”

   The trembling of your body intensified and your breaths got quicker, impossible to control as you found yourself at the brink of hyperventilation.

   “Oh, come now, dear. Why so nervous…?” he drawled and your lips began to tremble.

   “You…” you started but your breath caught in your throat, your voice trembling as much as your body. “You… read… it…?”

   Alastor fell silent for a moment, his burning red eyes taking in your pitiful state. Then his smile widened, casual yet unnervingly so, before he cheerfully exclaimed, “Of course I did! How could I resist this flashy little booklet you so obviously displayed in the middle of your desk? I simply had to read it!” He closed the book and thrust the cover into your face, an exaggerated gesture meant to highlight its eye-catching design. The stickers you had playfully plastered on now seemed to mock you for forgetting to hide it away.

   Holding the book closer to himself again, he shifted his gaze between it and you. “But let’s be honest, dear. Your storytelling could use some work.” He opened the book again and flipped through the pages. “You started off strong with your self-insert and their dramatic backstory – it caught my interest at first. But come on. Kidnapped into Hell? By the Radio Demon, due to a ridiculous Halloween bet gone wrong?” He raised an eyebrow at the sheer absurdity of the plot before he continued, “First off, summoning me to Earth requires much more than a little pentagram, some candles, and a radio. I deserve better sacrifices than that. And do you honestly think I’d find a pathetic little human being, especially one like you, interesting? What could you possibly offer in return for my favor besides your fragile soul? I’m not the kind to wait years or decades for a death so a bargain can be fulfilled. It’s simply… inconvenient.”

   You stared at him, dumbfounded, as he critiqued your writing like an editor at a publishing house.

   “And kidnapping someone just because of their ‘tempting nature’ and without further motive? That’s quite foolish. What if the Sins found out? Or other powerful beings in charge?” He stepped closer, glaring down at you with a still raised eyebrow, his casual demeanor betraying a hint of enjoyment in your discomfort. “Don’t you think they’d come after you if they learned that a human managed to survive a descent to Hell? Honestly, you’re missing quite a thrilling plot here.”

   Alastor’s eyes flicked over the pages, taking in fleeting words without truly reading. He didn’t need to reread to recall the errors and striking details; they were burned into his mind – probably for the rest of eternity. As he took a deep breath, he stumbled upon a lewd drawing of you and him tangled together on a desk – something he must’ve overlooked before and wished he could forget now. So, there were illustrations in this book. You didn't lie.

   Blinking, he turned the page, pushing aside this humiliation for a moment to continue his critique, “While your writing style is surprisingly enticing, the rest of the story lacks character development, thrill, and depth. It could have been executed much better – if we ignore the fact that it centers around me being your beau and engaging in... inappropriate activities while indulging in exaggerated displays of carnal desires. You’re a filthy little thing, aren’t you?” He chirped, glancing at you with anticipation, waiting for you to form a response. But you were speechless. Not a single word managed to leave your lips as you just stared at him, dumbfounded, your mouth agape and eyes widened in horror and confusion.

   Alastor sighed. “Oh come now, dear. If you can be so bold to bring such an imagination to paper you can surely just answer my question.”

   “I–,” you stuttered, pausing to gather your strength to do as he commanded. But instead, the words tumbled out as an apology. “I–I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude–”

   “Uh, uh, uh, dear!” Alastor interrupted, waving his index finger in front of your face. Your eyes squinted, tracking its movement. “We both know you’re not ashamed of intruding on anything related to me. Considering you’ve been following me around with those doting eyes of yours ever since the day you begged me to take your soul. You’re a bold little creature, utterly devoid of dignity, feeling the need to humiliate me in the process.”

   He closed the book and handed it back to you. Your trembling hand snatched it from his grip, and you hugged it protectively against your chest, closing your eyes and taking deep breaths to steady yourself. Meanwhile, Alastor continued his scolding, stepping closer until there was barely a foot of distance between you. He tilted his head, looming over you like a predator, eyes narrowed and teeth flashing.

   His voice dropped, growing darker with each word, the static crackling around him making the air feel charged as he hissed, “I suggest you cease this violation of my privacy before I make sure you regret every little thought you’ve ever dared to indulge in regarding such frivolities.”

   For a fleeting moment, his eyes turned an abyssal black before returning to their fiery hue. It was a subtle threat, yet clear as day. He lingered, staring down at you, savoring your pathetic state, before shadows engulfed him, pulling him into darkness until he vanished completely, leaving you alone in your room with just your thoughts and the memory of the consequences of your inappropriate behavior.

   Yes, he definitely needed that therapist.

[changenameno]

Bitter Truth

(Complete)

Summary:
You knew that August Walker was a dangerous man. Of course he was. As an Agent, he had to kill people. But you’ve always assumed he only did it, to protect and for the greater good, until you knew better…
Without question, your fiancé, was John Lark. Psychopath. Mass Murderer.

Pairing: August Walker & Fem. Reader

Warnings: ANGST, no comfort all hurt

Word count: 1K

A/N: I apologize in advance but also I kinda hurt myself with that one so…🙈🤷‍♀️….As all my other stories so far, it’s not proofread, any mistakes are my own. Please be kind, comments/reblogs are much appreciated…Thank you❤️✨

! Neither August Walker, nor Mission Impossible: Fallout are my own creation!


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Packed bag in hand, tears were streaming down your face, probably looking exactly as pathetic as you felt. August wasn’t standing far off, only a few steps away from you.

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He knew the moment he came home that something wasn’t right. On a normal day he would have come home to your sweet voice happily greeting him and the delicious smell of whatever you’d cooked for dinner.

But not today. Today it had been eerily quiet when he stepped foot into your shared home.

All his hard training, made him immediately assume the worst, or what he’d thought the worst would be. Someone had found him and held you hostage in the house.

Soundlessly he locked the door behind him, pulling out his gun. He continued down the hallway, his instincts telling him to turn left and into the living room, instead of going upstairs.

His electric blue eyes scanning every detail of the room, looking for clues. For a fight, for anything out of the ordinary.

There was a lot to take in, and all of which was out of the ordinary. On the usually empty, huge coffee table, lay opened letters haphazardly strewn across it. The phone abandoned on top. The TV switched on, playing a scene repeatedly, albeit muted.

Again and again, his own furiously contorted face stared back at him from the screen. Showing not August Walker, but John Lark during his last successful mission. Holding the detonator of a bomb in his right hand. Minutes before the hospital would explode and everyone within would be no more.

A million thoughts raced through his mind, a million possibilities of what had happened. But one thorough glance at the letters — which at closer inspection was only one letter — told him the truth.

He proceeded towards the table and lifted up the first page, beginning to read.

|| Dear soon-to-be Mrs. Walker,

Or shall I say Lark? ||

August’s eyes widened, lips tight, face now mirroring the fury on screen. Who dared? Who had filmed him and found out who he was? Just to destroy, the only precious thing he’d ever held close to his heart.

Then he heard it, uneven foot falls coming down the staircase, someone sniffling all the while. At once setting his body into motion. As if on autopilot, he put his arm with the gun in hand, behind his back and headed toward the hallway.

Drowning in your misery, you didn’t notice him right away. But when you did, you froze, staring at the man you’d called August.



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Packed bag in hand, tears were streaming down your face, probably looking exactly as pathetic as you felt. August wasn’t standing far off, only a few steps away from you.

Neither of you said anything. His silence confirming what you already knew.

Blurry-eyed, your gaze wondered up his impossibly sturdy legs, to his broad chest and finally reached his handsome bewhiskered face. Swallowing thickly when his sapphires were already fixed on you.

Desperately wanting it all to be a lie. Hoping beyond hope he could explain everything. Wishing it, to be untrue.

Yet for the first time his eyes held nothing but the whole truth. August tried blinking away the burning sting of the forthcoming tears.

Inhaling deeply to somewhat calm the chaos in your head and heart you finally broke the silence,” You know, what hurts most?”

He stayed silent, shocked at how frail and distant you sounded. As if you were far away, detached from reality, from him, drifting off into the cold abyss of indifference.

“Mmh? Not the lies. Oh no, not the lies. But the fact that you made me fall in lov-ve with you,” your voice slightly wavering on the very word you despised most at the moment.

His forming tears threatened to spill over, with every broken word you whispered. Tearing at the pieces of his own shattered heart.

You continued with a pained smile,” Made me fall in love, with a mass murderer.” Disgust clearly reflected on your face, making him grip his gun tighter, his right hand still behind his back. Knuckles turning white.

He couldn’t let you go. He couldn’t. You’d be a huge risk, knowing the truth. His right hand began to tremble, finger on the trigger. The internal battle he fought, came to a swift halt, as he heard you, unlocking the door.

Your back was to him, your left hand holding the door open. Before you took another step, you turned to face him one final time. Eyes raking over his figure, widening as you took in the tell-tale signs of his position and stance. Was he going to shoot you?

Against you better judgement a sad, soft smile curled your lips, breathing, “Goodbye, John Lark.”

Then you slipped out, closing the door behind you.
You were gone.

He stared, unblinking at the spot your lovely face had been in, seconds prior. Hearing a loud clang, as his gun hit the wooden floor.
Collapsing onto his knees. Crumpling.
Tears freely streaming down his face.

Truly the worst case scenario had just played out in front of him. The entire time his throat so constricted with grief, he’d been incapable of uttering even a single word…


🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨🔨


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[1000roughdrafts]

Fic request!: Dean and Reader have been engaged for a long time and are waiting for the perfect time to finally get married. On what should have been an easy hunt with the brothers and Cas, reader is mortally wounded and in their last moments together, Cas marries them (I mean, angels should have that authority right? lol) as Reader dies in Dean's arms?

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: slight violence, dying!reader, blood, slight gore, angst

Dean X FemReader

We round the corner of an abandoned building, and not even this fierce wind could break the dark, thick fog of tension that sits among the three of us. Neither I nor the Winchesters have a clue what we're up against, or if they do, they haven't filled me in. I just know it's demonic and killing innocent people.

We haven't exactly been getting along lately, and if not for the danger that constantly looms around us, I'd have made a joke to Dean about acting like a married couple before we could even tie the knot. But the worst part about the frustration that we feel is the impulsivity that comes with it. The pissing contest of heading into hunts we know we're not prepared for, but are too damn prideful to say so. And somehow the anger leads us to believe we're stronger than we actually are.

I want to convince them to turn around and leave, but I realize that it's too late when Dean kicks down the door, his gun aiming every which way before his foot could even land back on the ground. Leaves rustle under Sam's quick steps as he follows behind Dean like a dutiful soldier. I'm told to stay close, but I'm immediately distracted by the smell of something rotting and the graffiti on the wilting walls. There are words like 'kill', 'die' and 'run' written in red and the hair on the back of my neck stands.

“Y/N!" Dean quietly shouts.

I jolt to look in his direction. He motions with furrowed brows and two fingers for me to move in, and I reflexively roll my eyes. I realize I'd been absentmindedly twisting my engagement ring around my finger.

We shouldn't be here. I know it, so why don't they? Or do they and they just don't care? I stare at Sam internally begging him to turn my way, for him to see the fear in my eyes and help me convince Dean that we should leave, tell him that something just doesn't feel right, but when he does look my way he only shoots a sympathetic smile. I roll my eyes again.

Anxiety clouds me. My chest feels tight, and air feels thin. My vision gets blurry, and I can feel the anger inside of me trying to claw it's way to the top, but all the while I can feel myself weaken, my guard down. I carry on, walking towards where the brothers are and I can smell my threat before I see it. Sulfur. I quickly turn to attack, but feel a piercingly sharp pain in my side.

With a yelp, I instinctively place my hand over the area that burns to hold pressure on it, but it scares me how wet my hand feels, and when I pull my it up I can see that it's drenched in blood.

I manage to croak out Dean's name before I fall to my knees, collapsing on the ground. The last thing I see before my world goes black is Dean kneeling down next to me, repeatedly and terrifyingly shouting my name as Sam fights off whatever it was that attacked me.

Laughter echoed in the halls of the bunker as Dean chased after me. We ended the game in our room, and trapped between Dean and the wall I had no choice but to succumb to him. Roping me in his arms, he tickled me until I begged through tears and a smile to be let go.

When I could catch my breath, my eyes met his gaze, and the whole world stopped around me. I took a few steps back to drop onto the bed, watching Dean as he plopped down next to me. I felt warmth throughout my entire body as he leaned to kiss me.

I could just explode I was so overwhelmed with love for him and for this moment, that when he pulled away I couldn't control my voice. "Marry me, Winchester." And my eyes widened when he quickly sat up.

He propped himself up on his arm, "what?" he said with one eyebrow raised.

"I'm serious, Dean," I chuckled, sitting up to turn my body towards him. I placed my hand on his leg, feeling him relax under it, "I have never felt the way that I do about you, for anyone. We have no idea when our last days are going to be, and in this line of work it could be tomorrow for all we know. I can't bear the thought of dying without you as my husband."

---

I hear my name in Dean's voice from a distance, but I'm surrounded by total darkness. I try so hard with all of my might to tell him I'm here, that it's okay, but the words don't come. It takes all of my strength to open my eyes, but they burn. Everything burns. I don't even try to suppress the scream that bellows out of me.

Taking as deep of a breath as I can, I'm scared for myself when it sounds and feels like I'm breathing a water and air mixture. "What's happening?" I manage to say, but Dean puts a finger to my lips.

"No, no," he soothes, "no, don't talk. It's okay," he says so gently, and as he maneuvers me into his lap I cry out in agonizing pain. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says, then his voice switches into a shaky, fear filled command at Sam to call 911 followed by a yell for Castiel that hurts my heart almost as much as my wound hurts.

I feel myself slipping in and out of consciousness, but I'm brought back every time by Dean shaking my body in his arms, "hey, no! Stay with me, Y/N!" I feel his arms twitch around me, and I know he's frantically trying to figure out his next move. "Hey, stay with me," he pleads.

"Maybe we should get her talking," Sam's voice suggests from the other side of me. I keep my eyes shut. "So we know she's still here," he says.

Dean's hot breath hits my face as he lets out a heavy sigh, and I sway with him in his arms as he shakes his head no.

"Cas! Finally," Dean's voice is excited, but hesitant as Cas remains quiet. "Cas! Heal her!" Dean grunts, and what follows is more silence. "Cas!"

"Dean, you know I can't do that," Cas says somberly, a cold brush of air hitting me as Cas walks over to our side.

"Why the hell not?" Dean shouts with enough force to rattle me in his arms. I grunt from the jolt of pain it sends through my body, but he ignores me.

"I'm limited on my powers," Cas whispers. “Heaven, they-“ but he’s cut off by a scoff from Dean.

I feel myself weaken more and more with every second that they bicker around me, and I don't even have the strength to contest it. They're voices grow distant, and my muscles relax as I'm brought back to unconsciousness.

"I know you're not the marrying type, Dean, but-" I said, losing confidence in myself, and as if he realized this, Dean quickly straightened himself out to hold his palms up at me.

"No, no, it's not that. I'm just... I'm just a little surprised is all." Without letting me respond, he walks to his dresser and the drawer creaks as he opens it, the smell of old wood filled my nose as he rummaged around in it.

He turned to face me, and in his hands was a small, black box. His eyes softened, and he knelt down to one knee, "Y/N, I have been wanting to ask you this, maybe since the day we met," he chuckled. "And I had a whole speech prepared, but I think you got me beat," he laughed again, "and left me nearly speechless. So, Y/N, yes, I will marry you," he said.

--

The terrified shouts of the men around me brings me back to them, and thank God for that. My eyes still burn, and I clench them even tighter, forcing a tear I didn't know was there down and over the bridge of my nose.

I try to clear my throat to speak, but it's like it gets caught on something, and I cough to get it out. Dean quickly raises me up to a sitting position, which is excruciatingly painful.

"Y/N," Dean's voice shakes.

I take a few deep breaths in to clear my airway, and fight to open my eyes. They only open to a squint, but I take what I can get. I glance at Sam, then Cas who keep their eyes on the floor in front of them. My head tilts back as I look up at Dean. His eyes are trained to mine, his eyebrows pressed tightly together, as are his lips.

"Marry me, Winchester," I squeak, and I can see his face instantly relax.

"What?" he says, then the corners of his lips curl down. He nods gently and the tears he had been holding back come pouring down. He looks up at Cas, who immediately understand and kneels down next to us.

"Allow me," he offers, placing his hand under my cold fingers, and his other on Dean's shoulder. "Y/N, do you take this man to be your husband, to live together in holy matrimony," Cas begins, and my lips quiver at the words 'live together' because it finally hits me that this is the end of that.

Cas continues, voice a little louder to overshadow the sobs that break through Dean's chest. "To love him, to honor him, to comfort him, and to keep him in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, for as long as you both shall live?"

"And even longer," I say, my eyes, even blurry, moving to Dean's in time to see tears slip down his cheek.

Cas turns his attention to my other half, "Dean, do you take-"

"I do," Dean eagerly states when he notices my breathing has slowed exponentially. "Skip to the end," Dean pleads.

"By the virtue of the authority vested in me under the laws of the Lord, I now pronounce you husband and wife". Cas sucks in a breath, and lets it out slowly. "You may kiss the bride."

Dean brings me closer to him, and his lips are hot and quivering against mine. I pucker to kiss him, but I know my lips don't move by the way his press deeper into mine to accommodate it. My breaths are even slower now, and I can feel myself slipping away again, no matter how hard I try to fight it.

I draw in a long, cold breath, trying to hold on as long as I can. "I love you, Dean," I say and as the breath escapes me, so does my light.

"I love you, t-"

----

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[poppitron360]

tbh i find you annoying but thats just my opinion. you're allowed to do whatever the fuck you want. good for you. my own opinion - based on petty standards and prejudice and a bit of jealousy - is not a reflection of reality and should not affect you. keep having fun.

also please don't block me because you're posting about something i like and it's not very well known and i just needed to get this out because id explode

… Okay?

This ask is fascinating to me and I have SO MANY QUESTIONS. Imma disect your comment like a lil bug real quick, if that’s okay with you?

If it doesn’t affect me why did you tell me? Like what was the purpose of telling me that you find me annoying? What validation does that give you?

Like you took all that time and effort to 1) seek out my blog 2) read enough of my posts to come up with a REALLY REALLY GOOD BURN LIKE WOW THAT IS SO CLEVER 3) Click on the ask button 4) write this comment 5) CHANGE THE FREAKING FONT- Like you went through the whole process of highlighting that line of text, clicking the “minimise” AND the “strikethrough” buttons and THEN 6) pressing send and you didn’t stop to think ONCE “hey… why the hell am I doing this?”

It always baffles me when people tell me these things like they think I’m not already painfully aware of it. Like I know that I’m annoying to some people THAT’S WHY I’M HERE!!! I have found the one community of people that find what I’m saying interesting!

I’m not posting for YOU I’m posting for THEM. You think I give a shit what you think about me? Are you THAT self-centred? Maybe my posts aren’t tailored to you, and that’s fine! Not everyone is making content specifically for your consumption, and might just be marketing to a different audience. If you’re not pickin’ up what I’m puttin’ down, that’s okay. Maybe I’m just not putting it down for your specific needs.

You know, before I joined Tumblr, a comment like this would have sent me SPIRALLING. But now I’ve realised that there is actually a place and a people to whom I am entertaining. I just gotta find the right audience.

One of my favourite inspirational quotes ever is by Einstein and it’s that “everyone is a genius, but if you judge a fish by it’s ability to climb a tree, it would think itself an idiot” or words to that effect. Yeah- my talent for spinning Leo Valdez round my brain like a candy-floss machine until it eventually turns into content isn’t necessarily “fun at parties” or useful for getting a job or good for… y’know… anything applicable to the Real World™️ but here I’ve found where I CAN put it to good use! And a year ago I didn’t have that.

Before Tumblr, my lil fishy body was struggling ‘er way up that tree. Here, I’ve found my ocean!

Not sure where this metaphor is going in relation to the topic of you finding me annoying… I guess fish me doesn’t feel like such an “idiot” now that I’ve found where I belong? Like I know that my talents are niche but SOMEONE likes ‘em. Actually quite a lot of people like ‘em, judging by my follower count. And I didn’t get this far by just having a cute cat pic as my pfp, but by actually building my skill and working hard! And I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished. SO FUCK YOU!!! HUZZAH!!!

I’m aware of how much of an asshole I sound like, but honestly? I am proud of myself. And my girl deserves her moment.

I feel a little bad responding guns-ablaze bc your hate comment was legitimately kinda nice and considerate?

But Also- how weird is this as a hate comment? Like you’re being insulting but you’re also saying you like my stuff? Geez, it says a lot about you that you can’t even send anon hate correctly.

If you wanna keep reading my stuff, go ahead! You just either gotta power through whatever weird complex you have about me, or just don’t read it. I don’t really see what good sending me this ask will do. Whatever gripe you have, put it aside. Like how I put aside your lack of capital letters in that comment, knowing that my stupid obsessive thing with Grammar shouldn’t affect how I treat other people, and that that is my OWN problem to deal with.

I’m being silly here. I’ve just never had the confidence to roast my haters before. I’ve never had haters to roast (online, anyway) so forgive my overzealousness. If you couldn’t tell- I was a theatre kid and still am…

In all seriousness, I like how self-aware you are that you’re being prejudiced and jealous. And I’m kinda curious as to what specifically you’re jealous of? But that’s just to boost my own ego.

I’m aware that I can be a little intimidating sometimes, particularly in a written form of socialisation. I like grammar, okay? I like rules and guidelines and careful, creative choices to show emotion and how you can break the rules in certain ways to give depth and nuance to the character and find the pattern of letters and characters to communicate what you’re feeling over a written format and-

If you couldn’t tell by all the fanfics I write- I also have a passion for writing.

Also, what specific prejudices? I’m genuinely intrigued. Is it specifically based off of one of the protective characteristics (under the 2011 Equality Act)? Or is it more just the way I behave? Or is it something I said? Like don’t be shy I don’t want vague I want DETAILS!!

And I realise that me writing a whole freaking dissertation on your comment just PROVES your point that I’m annoying but I. Don’t. Care. I’m having fun. I can’t help that I have a lot of Thoughts And Feelings about things. It’s just how my brain works. Also, it is currently 1:23am where I live, so brain go brrr. If you made it this far, anon, I salute you! Thank you for taking the time to hear me out even though you think I’m annoying. That’s honestly a good quality to have. Here, have a sweet 🍬

And I know that that was… intense, to say the least. Oh BOY do I know that I can be intense. But genuinely- GENUINELY- I’d love to sit down and have a discussion with you on this because it truly fascinates me how other people perceive me. And, if you’re comfortable coming out of anon (if not, that’s fine) I’d like to learn more about why you think these things. Not necessarily so that I can change- but it’d be a great opportunity to see what I can learn about myself through what you think at me. I know it seems like I’m mad- I’m really not! I’m just captivated by the world and how others look at me.

Anyway, thanks for hearing me out, and I hope to have good conversations with legitimate constructive criticism in many posts to come! Never stop being passionate. Just maybe direct your passion to something more positive. Thank you so much for the ask, this was a really good thought experiment for me.

[jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue]

What if... you were the Kingpin and they were the detectives? Bonus chapter | BTS OT7 au

Prev

This was supposed to be a drabble... but 7.8K words later (insert facepalm here)

Warnings: stockholm syndrome? Suggestive scenes, yandere tendencies, alluded noncon (kissing)... kidnapping (depends on your perspective), smut but not smut, mentions of death, angry Hobi, angry Tae, bruises, injuries, corruption, stalking, unhealthy obsessions, control.

Playlist : Chills (Dark Version) - Mickey Valen & Joey Myron, Friends - Chase Atlantic Captain Namjoon, Detective Hyung line, Officer Maknae line

He hadn’t said a word since he entered the ward three hours ago, flipping between ignoring you or staring at you so intently you could feel the pressure of his gaze like an uncomfortable weight. There was no sign of emotion or thought on his face, unless it was anger whenever you moved or spoke. Hoseok found the whole thing amusing, wondering when the young officer was going to explode. They both sat on either side of your hospital bed, today you managed to sit up and although you wouldn’t admit it, you were thankful for the morphine that dulled the ache in your injuries. 

You glance at the detective for the umpteenth time in question when Taehyung almost growls, his eyes on the floor, his jaw clenched hard when you try to speak to him. Hobi has to fight back the laughter, how does he tell you Tae was punishing you in his own way for your recklessness. Not allowing himself to talk to you was a punishment for himself too, for the fact they could’ve been too late. He exhales through his nose harshly, you swore there was steam.

“Okay seriously what is your problem?” Your voice was still hoarse, but it had only been a day since you woke from the attack and after three hours of his petulant behaviour, you had enough. You tried being patient but being stuck here because of them wasn’t making patience your strongest suit. “Seriously, I didn’t ask to be he-”

You almost choke on your words as they fly back down your throat at his glare. Coward, a small voice inside of you mocks, but even behind that voice you could feel the undertone of weariness. You’re so glad your men can’t see you now, although you’re not sure they’d survive a second of Kim Taehyung’s wrath themselves.

You break eye contact first with a scoff, trying to build back your authority in a situation where it didn’t matter. If one of your underlings looked at you like that, he would have a bullet in each eye no questions asked. This Officer was seriously pushing you to your limits. Fine, if he wanted to behave like a two year old for no good reason, you’d ignore his little pathetic display. 

Hobi watches your jaw clench in anger, finding the silent fight between you and your expression amusing. 

“Can you get your ridiculous Captain on the phone?” You say to Hoseok without glancing at him, your attention spent on flicking aggressively through a magazine. 

“Why little love, are you upset he hasn’t come to visit?”

You scoff again but he swears he can see you try to hide a sense of embarrassment from your features. Maybe he hit the mark, Namjoon would be pleased to hear of it. 

“I’d like to know how much longer I’m going to be serving my sentence for,” you roll your eyes, every word containing a spiteful bite despite the weakness in your voice.

“He’s busy,” Hoseok disregards the comment entirely, eyes on his own book although he hadn’t read a word since arriving. Why would you want to leave? Did Jackson hit you so hard in the head you forgot what happened? The sound of kissing teeth makes you glance at Taehyung, narrowing your eyes at him before you now give the older male your attention. 

“I. Don’t. Want. To. Be. Here.”

Hoseok’s eyes darken as they find you, he leans closer, rising from his chair until his face was in front of yours. 

“I. Don’t. Care,” he says with as much conviction as you had, his tone dead serious, warning you not to challenge him but you were always one to defy those who tried to control you. Your shocked face contorts into anger. 

“Fuck this,” you mutter, shoving the bed sheets off you as you swing your legs down. As you’re about to rip the IV from your arm, a grip on wrists stops you. Hoseok’s face is blank when you stare daggers into it. 

“Have you looked in the mirror?” There’s a weight in his voice that you had never heard before, his amused veil wiped bare to reveal his true disposition. His eyes glance down at the bruises he tried to ignore until he was forced to acknowledge them. He tried to keep the atmosphere light since his arrival since you were recovering, but of course your bratty nature would force his hand. 

“Nothing I haven’t dealt with before,” you snap back, breaking your wrist out of his hold since his grasp slackened at your words. It cut him, to think of you getting hurt and they were unaware of you suffering alone. 

“You’ll leave when you’re better,” he says, signalling that it was the end of the argument but you could never just let things be, not when the control was out of your hands. 

“I’ll leave when I want to.”

He closes his eyes for a second after he watches you rip the IV out of your arm, trying to control the surge of anger and disappointment. You were lashing out, that was all, he would have to exercise his patience. 

You move too fast, forgetting your own condition as you jump off the bed. Or maybe it was the drugs that had dulled your senses including common sense and reason. Whatever it was, its magic didn’t last long, you stumble pitifully when you try to stomp away, trying to hold yourself up proudly until a stabbing pain in your side forces you to crumble.  

“Can you stop!” 

You’re held up against his chest as he glances down at your now bleeding wound, the movement having pulled your stitches apart. You’re dizzy, looking up at the swaying figure of Taehyung, or was the room spinning? He seemed solid, the rest of the world moving in circles around you. Finally, he spoke to you. You don’t realise you’ve sighed in relief, staring up at him. He could give you his scolding expression all he wanted, you just wanted to hear his voice. 

You don’t fight him when he takes you back to the bed, ranting loudly with so much aggression even when Hoseok grabs the doctor to close your opened stitches. He holds your hand as they work on you, even as he hurls furious words at you. 

“Why are you so stupidly stubborn? Stop behaving like a brat! You’re acting like we’re keeping you here for the sake of it, like we enjoy seeing you like this,” behind the anger you can hear the hurt, the sadness hiding behind the rumbling deep tone. “How many times do you need to nearly die before you realise you’re not invincible!”

You didn’t say a word, taking every stab of his complaints, squeezing his hand when the needle pierced your skin. He stops then, kissing your hand a hundred times through the pain. It’s only when the doctor leaves he hides his expression behind your clasped hand, his head bowed low so his hair covers his eyes. He’s still, too still. 

“You looked like you were dead,” his voice breaks and you can hear the tears before you feel them on your skin. 

You must look like a deer in headlights when he meets your gaze again, unable to comprehend he was crying over this. The others hadn’t so you just never expected him to, or considered he would. 

He sniffs, his tears flowing freely and he doesn’t stop them. You don’t know why you feel compelled to, but you wipe them away with the hand he wasn’t holding, reaching over carefully. He nuzzles into your hand, seeking comfort after revealing his vulnerabilities, bringing the other hand to his other cheek. 

“Don’t do it again,” he scolds you as harshly as he can before he starts sobbing. You watch him breakdown between your hands, the sight gripping your heart in a way you weren’t familiar with. It made you ache, you actually felt like apologising but the words were stuck on the tip of your tongue, your stubborn pride refusing to let them out. 

“Come here,” you say softly instead, shuffling carefully back to make room for him. He doesn’t hesitate, crawling into your arms quickly like he craved to be held. You play with his hair when he presses his face into your chest, his arms wrapping around you tentatively, aware not to hold you as tight as he wanted. You hoped he couldn’t hear how hard your heart started beating, or the rate it was galloping at as a reaction to his proximity.

Just as you’re trying to calm down, you’re startled by Hoseok pulling your other arm around the officer, so you were comforting him properly. 

“Taehyung be careful,” he warns, before leaving you both alone for a moment. He needed to update the others on your behaviour and the consequences of it anyway. They weren’t going to be impressed to say the least. 

“I wasn’t there,” he breathes, his lips coming away from your chest so you can hear him, but his forehead and eyes still nuzzled there as he relived it. “I just saw you being carried out like a body.”

He shudders against you, the onslaught of tears making it harder to get his words out. He thought he was going to have to plan your funeral, the thought plunged him into a deep abyss he was still crawling out of.

“Do you know how long we were waiting for you to wake up?” He cries, “We didn’t leave your side until Namjoon hyung forced us too, when they said you were stable, but I didn’t believe them.”

Tears pricked the corners of your eyes and you blink them back fast, it wasn’t the situation that caused them to water but the raw heartbreak in his voice. 

“I just kept thinking, what if they were lying? What if you didn’t wake up?”

He remembers how Jimin and Jungkook had to drag him out on the Captain’s orders, as he begged them to not make him leave you. No one gave into his tears, not the detectives, not his fellow officers. Safe to say he didn’t talk to anyone until now. He wouldn’t forgive them for taking him away from you either. 

—

It had been a week… you were going crazy. The only human contact you had, if you could call them human, were your police officer turned babysitting bodyguards. Or the hospital staff that didn’t say a word to you. You tried a couple of times to make conversation, but they all glanced with worry at the men blocking your exit and discharge which made things clear enough. Hell, you had done similar things in your line of work, but it was still odd to be the one stuck in the cage rather than the one with the key. 

You watch the clock on the wall turn to 8, something about it both soothed and irritated you. The fact time was moving, there was proof of it, but you were stuck in the same loop of a day over and over again. 

“Love, you need to eat a little more or Jin hyung’s going to kill me tomorrow,” Yoongi sighs as he watches you pace the room, Jungkook standing at the door way poised and ready to catch you if you try to run… again. 

You had to stop underestimating them, it was what foiled your plans over and over. So you look at the facts, for some reason these men were interested in you. And the one thing they wanted from you so far, that you could tell, was your attention. They seemed to crave it in fact… So what if you gave in? 

You already tried fighting your way out which proved useless in your current state, especially when there were two of them and only one feeble mess of you. So the seduction tactic it was, it was a bit outdated for your liking but a classic foolproof method nonetheless. 

Jungkook and Yoongi watch the furrow of your brows as you stare at the floor with your pacing, like the answer to your escape was written there and you were reading intently. They could see a scheme form behind your eyes, already sighing internally for the next fight. Yoongi was so close to just lacing your IV with something to get you to settle the fuck down, as much as he loved your antics on a normal day, he didn’t appreciate them when they were slowing your recovery.

Jungkook on the other hand didn’t mind your prison break attempts, he took it as a little game you played with them, like a grown up version of kiss chase. And sure enough, every time he caught you he would kiss you, getting bolder each time he did.  

“I’m not hungry for food,” you mutter, rolling your eyes. You were hungry for freedom.

“If you eat a little, we can go out for a while, how about a walk in the park?” Yoongi suggests innocently. Did he seriously expect you to take the bait? Your eyes narrow, giving him the side eye as you pace past him, that was not going to work twice Min Yoongi. 

He bites his lips to stop from chuckling too loudly, he knew you wouldn’t fall for that again, he just wanted a reaction from you. 

You stop your pacing with a sigh, head tilting back as you groan out your frustration, before you turn your gaze to the guard puppy blocking the door. 

“I don’t know why you’re standing there like a prison guard,” you scoff in disbelief. “As if I’m going to outrun you in this state.”

Jungkook tilts his head, a distrusting look in his eyes as he takes in your nonchalance. 

“You’ve tried ten times before, and opened your stitches twice.”

You roll your eyes again, who was keeping count? But that was the opening you were looking for. 

“Maybe I just like getting caught,” you shrug, taking a step towards him. You see his jaws slacken as he gets caught in your suggestive stare, like a doe in headlights. His gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Or maybe I like being punished.”

He watches your eyes travel down the length of him, his blood following until there's none left in his head, it makes him fuzzy, his every focus on you. Your gaze is slow to move up to his face, as if you were savouring the tone of his body and every muscle he had to offer you. There’s a dare in your eyes, you haven’t closed the distance between you, you were making him do it. 

“Come on Kookie,” you tease, watching his eyes glaze over at the pet name and how sweetly you called for him. “Are you going to keep making a girl run for your attention?”

You tilt your head to the side, grinning as you hum in question. You turn to Yoongi, manspread on the chair like an invitation. His tongue peeking out to wet his lips when you look at him, hooded eyes shamelessly checking you out, calling you to him. He grins, shaking his head softly. He knew exactly what you were doing, the younger officer did too, he just didn’t care. 

“Maybe I should just play with Yoongi instead.”

You bite your lips to stop yourself from chuckling as Jungkook finally moves towards you. You’re engulfed in him in a second, his palm on the back of your head as his lips find yours urgently. He moans deep into your soul when you reciprocate, you hadn’t done that before and it made him want to lose all thought and reason. The hand on your waist squeezes tightly, like he was checking you were real, this was real and not another wet dream. He groans against your lips again, not coming away from you for a second to breathe, this was so much better than anything he could have imagined, the taste of you on his tongue, he always craved it and now he was never going to let it go. 

“Jungkook, you’re both recovering, slow down,” Yoongi mumbles, trying not to sound affected as he watched you both, his expression bored but the way his fingers dug into his thighs would give him away if you looked at him.

His words take a second to sink in, a frown on your face as you tear away from the maknae, a needy whimper escaping his lips as they try to follow yours but you push him back. Your attention snaps to Yoongi instead, holding the desperate man at arms length while he tries to fight the space between you away.

“What do you mean by both recovering?”

He doesn’t answer. You look at Jungkook with accusing eyes, fire in them that makes him look at you with a pout. He hadn’t been listening, why were you suddenly so upset? 

“I asked you if you were hurt,” you grit your teeth, trying to contain the rage that ignited in your chest. He denied it, you remember, or had he avoided giving you a direct answer? His limbs have settled by his side, watching you tentatively with his doe eyes, like a child being scolded.

You tug his top up, revealing his abs but you can’t admire them when they're covered in bruises. Faded, but still there, even after a week. Your mind flashes back to that night, remembering how badly he got hit, of course he was going to be injured and yet the idiot behaved like he was fine. You were set like a volcano ready to erupt, burning rage on the tip of your tongue ready to set him alight but he beats you to it. 

“I didn’t want you to worry,” his eyes gloss over as he says it, a sad pout defusing the bomb that was a millisecond away from exploding, your anger fizzling out when he looked at you so pitifully. Your gaze falls back to his wounds, trying to understand why it affected you so much. Your men have died for you before, and while it was upsetting, it was also their jobs. These 7 men that have infiltrated your life have no ties to you, but they saved you that day. 

“Stop getting hurt for me,” you mumble, your finger tracing around the bruise, avoiding his eyes completely. 

“Never,” Jungkook promises proudly, taking your hand away from his injuries, kissing them as he admired the way you tried to avoid his gaze. “I’d give my life for you, little love.”

You roll your eyes as if he were joking, but you could hear how sincere his tone was, and it scared the shit out of you. You seriously needed to get your wits about you and leave.

“Sit on the bed,” you tell him too softly for it to be a command. He does as he’s told without letting go of your hand, pulling you along with him as he sits in front of you. 

“Shuffle back,” you tell him, and he does, eyes looking up at you like saucers when you straddle him, your fingers on the nape of his neck. You tug his head back by his hair, his adam apple bobbing again at the change in tension, but this time it was within your reach. You never found a man’s throat so sexy before. You press your lips to it, grinning when he openly moaned at such a small action. His hands find your hips, gripping so tightly you wondered if you were going to get matching bruises. 

You kiss his jugular, biting softly before chuckling when he swears with a groan, trying to ground himself but he was past intoxicated when it came to you. 

“I want this off sweetie,” you tug his top again, whispering in his ear like it was a dirty secret. 

He fumbles to take his top off in a hurry, afraid you could change your mind any minute, the fabric brushing his hair into a mess. The sight has you stifling your own sounds, but what has your arousal dripping is the look in his eyes. He looked drunk, his droopy eyes trying so hard to stay open and take you in but wanting to close so he could savour each feeling you were giving him. 

You peck his lips, and he keeps them pursed for you, asking for another. You smirk, kissing the corner of his mouth, giving him a little of what he wants before working your way down his neck, finding the junction where his broad shoulders began. 

“Oh f-fuck-”

His hands pull you flush against him when you start sucking on the skin, swipes of your tongue cooling the sting of each bite. He starts rutting his hips up like a reflex, he whines like he’s begging for you, wordless but the desperation is there loud and clear. 

You hold back your own sounds of approval when you feel his length pressing and brushing against all the right places despite the clothes between you. You could lose yourself to this, but you try to keep your head clear, even if every sound coming from his lips made you want to fuck him on the damn bed, be damned if anyone sees or hears. Your fingers find his hair again, tugging it back harshly to ground yourself.

You hear a chuckle beside the debauchery you were making, almost forgetting about the feline eyes watching you. He glances at the string of saliva still connecting you both when you pull away, swallowing air to keep himself composed when he meets the raw carnal energy in your eyes while the man under you stuck his head into your breasts, unable to handle being so far apart. You stroke the back of his head with a laugh, your stare still on Min Yoongi like you were going to pounce on him too, and he hopes to hell you are. 

“You scared away all the staff,” he comments, gesturing to the glass doors of the ward. You have to bite back the grin of victory when you confirm his words, keeping your wits about you. There were still a few people from what you could gather, but you could deal with that. 

“Hmmm,” you acknowledge as if the news meant nothing to you, looking the detective dead in the eye, “it’s your own private show Yoongi.”

You watch the way he rubs his thigh, eyes on the tent in his jeans that look uncomfortable. 

“Or were you hoping for a part,” you mumble, gaze fixed on his length as your mouth watered. You exhale slowly, how touch deprived were you, when all you could think about was putting him in your mouth. “Turn off the light Yoongi, I don’t want you to arrest me for indecent exposure.”

He chuckles, happily turning off the lights with the switches next to him without taking his eyes off you. The message in them was clear, your move.  

Jungkook claws at your thighs when you start to climb off him, a series of disapproving jumbled nonsense tumbling out of his mouth.

“N-no Noon-a sstay,” his arm pushes your chest against his, locking you against him as he tries to kiss you again, lips clumsy but passionate as they find yours. He hums into your mouth like he had a craving fixed, losing himself to the sensation. Your hand finds his throat, squeezing around the skin it could cover. His lips part in a groan, clouded eyes staring into your own. He gulps, you can feel the movement against your palm, pushing him back until his lips were only grazing yours.  

“If you want me,” you whisper. “You have to behave.”

He shakes his head desperately when you start to move away from him again.

“Be good for me Kookie, come on,” you try to placate him, pulling on his belt, “take these off for me while I go look after your hyung, okay?”

Yoongi’s surprised by how he listens to your soft instructions, but he can’t focus on that when you're striding towards him. For a second he really wants to give into this, believe that this wasn’t a scheme and you were accepting their affection for you. But he knows better. That didn’t mean he couldn’t indulge a little. 

He bites his lips when your hooded eyes look down on him, taking in his pretty features with a smile. You lean down, a hand on the armrest beside his own to support yourself, fingers of your other hand softly stroking his hair back as he tilts his head to look up at you, your faces inches from each other. You look like you’re admiring him, your gaze flickering across his face as you take him in. You trace his cheek, the slow process making his hands clutch the arm rests as he holds himself back. He wanted you to kiss him too, but he wanted it to be your choice, for you to make the first move and claim him. He wanted his love to be reciprocated, for real, but he’d take this illusion for now. 

“You’re so pretty Yoongi,” you whisper sincerely, your gaze on his lips as your thumb brushes where he had bitten. 

He thinks it’s a dream when you finally close the distance, differently to what you had with Jungkook, your lips soft against his. You pull away too soon but he lets you, your eyes searching his for something, whatever it was he’d give it to you, whatever you wanted. His hand holds onto the back of your thigh, as if he was scared you would pull away too far. 

“Do you know how often I would get into trouble, hoping I would find myself in an interrogation room with you,” you confess with a smile, it reaches your eyes, little creases under them where your cheeks fill. He looks for the lie in your features, and either you were too good at it for him to spot your tell, or you were giving him the truth he longed for. 

“Is that why you would grin so happily when I walked in little love,” he smirks but it turns into a gummy smile when you nod emphatically. 

“I wanted to see my pretty detective,” your eyes glance down at his lips again. His smile fades, his mouth parted as the term repeats in his head, stuck in a loop like his favourite song. Your detective…. Your pretty detective. 

If you were playing him you were doing it a little too well, like you knew exactly what they wanted to hear, what would make them lose their minds to their dicks. 

“Let me see my pretty detective Yoongi,” you croon to him, hand on the button of his jeans, undoing it slowly while maintaining eye contact. 

You kiss him again, more urgently this time, fingers pulling down his zipper, brushing against his cock. His hips jut at the sensation, his blood pounding in his head threatening to cut off all sense if he didn’t pull himself together. His hand wraps around your wrist to stop you moving any further, but he keeps kissing you, more fervently not wanting to cut you off completely, just enough to keep an ounce of his wavering sanity and control. 

He lets you pull away for breath, leaning your forehead against his as you try to fill your lungs. 

“You’re still dressed love,” he comments, the insinuation in his voice clear. He loved you, but he didn’t trust you. 

You giggle, and his lips lift at the sound, revealing to you just how whipped he really was. It was okay if he didn’t trust you, you didn’t need his trust right now.

“Should we fix that?” You ask, he lets you go as you take a step back. You wiggle your hips a little, laughing when you hear a frustrated groan come from the bed. You’re thankful Jungkook still has his boxers on when you sneak a peek at his figure, the light from the corridor enough for you to see him, but still making it dark enough that navigating in the room would be difficult. His eyes don’t leave you as he lays on the bed, wanting you to straddle him again. That was one boy in position. One last thing left to do. 

“Shall we all do it together?” you suggest playfully, hoping they’d take the bait. It was such a shame you couldn’t indulge them all the way, maybe another day. 

Your fingers play with the hem of your top, pulling it up slowly to reveal your skin. Both men watch intently, brains running blanks.

“Come on,” you push, pausing with the material bunching under your boobs. You pull it up a fraction, the lace of your bra did little to cover your skin. You were annoyed at the selection they brought to the hospital for your stay, calling the perverts out, but it had its uses now you admit. 

“Kookie take your boxers off, Yoongi your jeans,” you instruct them carefully, “I don’t beg boys, be good for me please.” 

The statement was contradictory, you knew, but it worked. Jungkook fumbles on the bed, trying to take his boxers off clumsily. The cool detective finally gives in, pulling his jeans down. The second they’re at his ankles, you make a run for it.

For the first time in all your escape attempts you actually make it out the door, but there’s no time for victory, you don’t think it'll take them long to put some form of clothing back on and chase you. Even still you couldn’t help the glee on your face, that is, until you’re lifted in the air much quicker than you had anticipated. 

What the fuck? You try to look behind you at who the culprit was, catching a glimpse of a very naked Jeon Jungkook on a reflective surface, face burning as you realise he really did run after you in his birthday suit. Damn… you hadn’t accounted for that, not when there were still some nurses and ward clerks around. Wow, he really had no shame. 

You know he’s pissed when you can see all the veins protruding out of his arms where he held onto you, the pressure making it hard to breathe. You still try to kick out of his grasp, but he doesn’t seem phased as he walks back into the empty ward. Unceremoniously you’re chucked on the bed, two sets of disappointed and glaring eyes on your form clearly despite the darkness. 

“I was wondering when that was going to happen,” Yoongi states as he zips his jeans, letting you know, you didn’t have them fooled for a second. 

“I was hoping she would wait until after the fun,” Jungkook grumbles, still very much naked you realise. You look away before it pulls your attention, chest beating hard as you stay quiet. 

Well that was definitely fun, but your plan was foiled. 

“I trust you realise what you’ve started, little love,” Yoongi chuckles, returning to his original position in the chair like nothing happened. “When the others hear about this… they might not be able to hold back.”

He laughs when your head snaps toward him, eyes begging for him to not say a word or you were going to have hell to deal with when the rest of them demanded your attention. Oh you had royally fucked up… You could already hear exactly what they were going to say, the way they would whine and complain until you gave in. 

You still had no idea how long this prison sentence was going to last, and you had inadvertently made things so much worse for yourself. 

—

“Good morning little love!” Jin says extra loudly, waking Jungkook from his slumber in the chair, his body leaned over so his head was in your lap. The boy must’ve been uncomfortable in that position but he didn’t seem to mind.

“Jin,” you greet him curtly, but your heart was already beating wildly in anticipation. You eye him cautiously, trying to hold onto your mask.

Jin had… his own ways to try and heal you. And he swore they were working, which is why he didn’t let up, not listening to reason when you argued you were naturally healing and his hocus pocus physical therapy was bullshit. He didn’t even wait for Yoongi and Jungkook to leave, already climbing onto the bed with no hesitation, the pair chuckling in amusement as you try to hide your embarrassment, the magazine you were pretending to read held higher to cover your face. Your shield gets snatched away from you, the detective giving you a stern look before an expectant one, his eyebrow rising when you didn’t rush into position for him. 

You gulp, trying your best to stubbornly glare at him. 

“What is he doing?” Yoongi mutters to Jimin, intrigued by the staring match you both had going on. 

“Hyung's new medical treatment,” Jimin snickers with a wide grin, finding the whole situation entertaining as he sat beside the bed where Yoongi previously was. 

“Love,” Jin says patiently, ignoring the conversation. “Lie down.”

The change in his eyes is what has you almost listening before you catch yourself. That soft look that turned dark with the promise he would bend you into behaving like you were a puppet on string. 

“Pervert,” you mumble, looking away with an eye roll to hide the fact you could physically no longer keep your gaze on the man, effectively forfeiting the staring match. 

You hear him sigh, but refuse to see his expression, crossing your arms in complete defiance. 

“Yah, can you two hurry and leave,” he huffs at you previous babysitters, “little love’s feeling shy with you both here.”

Yoongi grins smugly as Jungkook laughs before smirking wickedly. 

“I don’t think that’s it hyung,” Yoongi teases, gummy teeth on show as you send him a warning glare. “You didn’t see our darling last night.”

“Ahem,” Jungkook clears his throat to get everyone’s attention, before complaining rather dramatically, “my neck’s feeling a bit itchy.”

He pulls down his neck line of his top, pretending to scratch the skin, baring his neck to his audience so no one could miss the mark you left. He smiles gleefully, looking innocent despite his intentions. You actually facepalm, ears starting to burn at his antics, especially in front of Jin who now was eerily quiet. You were maybe slightly possibly too intimidated to look? You were the scary mafia boss outside of these walls, but completely at their mercy in these circumstances… as much as you hated it, that was the truth to your current predicament, and you were slowly learning to accept it. 

“I want one,” Jimin whines, tugging at your arm, pulling your hand away from your face, leaving you uncovered. Well here was karma…

“I think we should leave now Love,” Yoongi sounds too impressed with himself, especially as you scowl at him. 

“Have fun with the hyungs,” Jungkook laughs evilly, enjoying the mess he was leaving you to clean up after your antics last night.

You watch them leave, wanting to follow them. Why couldn’t they take you with them, you were feeling so much better, why were they holding you hostage here, just to torture you with their attention. 

“Heaven, I think you should lie down now,” Jimin suggests, his eyes on Jin while yours still couldn’t meet him. You dare a glance, finding the man in question staring a hole into your skull. 

“Lie down,” he commands before adding, “now.”

The younger of the two giggles at the pout you wear when you finally give in, of course rolling your eyes before you do. He sits more comfortably, waiting for the show to begin, his right foot coming to rest on his left thigh, his right elbow on his knee, resting his jaw in his palm as he leaned close to you. You could see the amusement in his eyes as they turned into happy crescents at your misfortune. 

Jin lies on top of you as if it was the most natural normal thing in the world, you stare intensely at the ceiling, trying to focus on anything other than how touch starved you were, close to diagnosing yourself with Stockholm syndrome. That must be it, why you actually liked feeling his weight along your torso, it was because you were stuck here with limited exposure to actual human beings and not these crack cases. 

There’s a second of anticipation that has you fighting the urge to squirm until finally his lips press against your throat. You feel him smile at the sharp intake of breath through your lips, your fingers desperately playing with the sheets to stop yourself from touching him anymore than you already were. He works on the bruises there slowly, inspecting them closely, noting with a pleased hum that they were fading. He doesn’t tell you he can feel your heart thumping against him, even though he wants to tease you about it. He pulls away from you just enough to inspect your face, chuckling under his breath at how intently you were staring at nothing. He sends Jimin a look before diving back into your neck, resuming his slow paced kissing. 

You feel fingers on your cheek, little caresses calling your attention, tilting your head to look at the officer gazing down on you with his full attention. He smiles when your eyes fall on him, his own heart racing. He still can’t believe he has you here, in his reach, where you can’t pull away. 

“Your bruises are fading little love,” Jimin states airily, watching your dilated eyes, wanting nothing more than to drown in them. “Hyung’s technique must be working.”

Normally you would scoff, you would deny it with so much passion and conviction it would hurt them, but you don’t even muster an eye roll. He can see the fight in your eyes simmer to nothing, a softness in them he rarely was privileged to see.

And then you take the sight away from him but he doesn’t mind when it comes with a small whine, your eyes closed, head tilting back as you try to hold the sound back. Jimin’s other hand claws into his leg, unable to handle the way his blood suddenly pumped south. 

“I thought you were meant to heal the marks, not make more,” you call Jin out, trying to sound put together but it still comes out slightly breathless. 

He lets out a guilty chuckle, although he feels no apology for his actions when you react like that. He can feel you tense when he does it again, his parted lips sucking on your skin, his tongue painting you. Finally your hands press against his arms, as if you were pushing him back, but there’s no force behind it. He doesn’t think you realise you’re holding your breath, only releasing it when your lungs force you to. 

You couldn’t ground yourself, no matter how hard you tried. You hated feeling vulnerable and these so called police officers were peeling your thick skin back layer by layer until they got to see every inch of you. And the worst part of it was you wanted to give in. 

A shrill ring makes you both jump, Jin finally pulling away from you when the noise is followed by vibrations felt in your legs. He groans in resentment at the interruption, pulling his phone out of his pocket as he climbs out of the bed. 

It takes you a second to get your bearings back, your eyes wandering to Jimin who’s stare hasn’t broken despite the rude interlude to his favourite show. Your skin tingles at his gaze, a weird mix of soft intensity in them making that vulnerable feeling increase tenfold. 

“Yah why do you pick the wrong times to call?” Jin seethes through the phone, looking over at you as he speaks. With both sets of eyes on you still lying down, you felt your limbs gear into motion, sitting up and pushing your embarrassment out of existence. You seriously needed to get out of here before you lost all shred of your dignity and pride. How were you going to face your men and lead them into criminal chaos after this? Who knows what was happening to your empire when you were stuck here playing some sick game of house. 

Jin sighs through the phone, walking over to you and holding it out or you to take. 

“It’s for you,” he grumbles, pacing the room when you take it from him. 

One look at caller ID has your nerves on edge, little butterflies in your stomach that you shoot down one by one. 

“Nice of you to visit your favourite criminal,” you say in place of greeting, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “You didn’t even send me flowers, but it’s so good of you to call.”

“Yoongi tells me you’re misbehaving, little love,” he says through the line, revealing why he was prompted to call at all. “Can’t you behave just this once, for me?”

Your heart thumped so hard at his voice you’re sure Jimin and Jin heard it going off the sudden smirks on their faces, or maybe it was the look on your face you were now schooling. You swallow before answering, berating yourself for reacting. It was always your bad behaviour that made the Captain pay you any attention you realise, what you were going to do with that information, you didn’t know just yet. 

“I’d like to see you try to make me behave, Captain Kim,” You challenge. “Come and give it a go, I’d like to see you fail.”

He chuckles, the sound making you want to smile too but you fight it. 

“Are you missing me that much Love?” 

The audacity and confidence in his tone makes you want to deny it outright. If you were, you would take that confession to the grave. 

“Mmmm I’ll show you just how much if you agree to let me go,” you tease through the line, watching Jimin bite his lips at your tone. “Come on, you can’t be that concerned if you send your underlings to do your dirty work.”

“Did she just call us underlings?” Jin spits comically but outraged, eyes turning into angry saucers as he starts ranting at Jimin about your ungratefulness. 

Namjoon turns quiet, it has your confidence faltering, eyes on your bed sheets as you pick at a nonexistent stray thread. Insecurity was a new feeling, and you didn’t like it. You didn’t even know why it reared its head, but something was forcing you to gain his reassurance. 

“You really have no idea, do you?” he breathes through the line after what feels like a lifetime. “Be patient love, I’ll show you just how concerned I am.”

“Promise?” You try to sound like you were joking, your inner voice berating you for behaving so weakly, but you blamed it on being stuck in this place. It was a side effect of your current situation, you weren’t in your throne right now, you were recovering and it wasn’t just your body that needed healing. 

“I promise,” the deep timbre of his voice that could rival Taehyung’s made your heart flutter against your wishes. “Now be good.”

“I can’t guarantee it,” you reply, feeling the end of the conversation nearing, and you didn’t want it to. 

He chuckles again unsurprised, and you wish he was here for you to witness it. 

“I have to go, little love,” he says, knowing exactly what you were doing. 

“So go,” you say as nonchalantly as you can. “Who’s stopping you? I’m a busy woman anyway, running an empire and all- oh wait no, I’m stuck here.”

Your eyes narrow as if he could see you, hoping you filled your voice with enough venom to cover your previous vulnerability. 

“Well since you’re recovering so well I guess we can give you a reward,” he states. “Leave it with me, I can’t have your empire crumbling, you would never forgive me.”

“Or just let me leave.”

“No.”

You huff, passing the phone back to Jin without a goodbye, turning away from them, trying to conceal the fact that your heart ached for reasons unknown to even yourself. 

—

You’re asleep when Namjoon steps through the ward doors, the lights are all off, only the dim hum of them peered through from the corridor but he could see your figure perfectly. Taehyung was asleep beside you, it both warmed his heart and struck a chord of jealousy in him, watching the officer holding you so tightly against his chest, slotting behind you perfectly. Yoongi doesn’t say a word in greeting, just nodding from his chair to acknowledge the new presence, his arms crossed as he stayed guard. 

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea,” Yoongi whispers his discontent as Namjoon’s thumb brushes against your temple and cheek, watching you breath with a silent fondness. 

He only gives the older male a look, not piercing but a testament to his decision being final. He leaves his gift on the bedside table, turning away from you to leave while he still could. He had been away from you for too long, the abstinence carved a cavity in his chest but he had little choice in the matter. 

The higher ups were watching him, he still had an inquiry about that night, covering it up was proving to be more difficult than he hoped. Not to mention the bribes he was pulling to make the matter go away, he barely had time to eat in the day or sleep at night, but it would all be worth it when it was over and dealt with. 

Yoongi watches him leave, noting the tiredness in his eyes, the slouch in his form, glad that their Captain was handling it and trusting him completely that he would. The worst case scenario running through their minds was imprisonment, they barely could keep tabs on you in the world. How were they meant to, if you were stuck in one site, and they were chained away in another?

His eyes fall on you, the peace in your features as you sleep. They would never let it come to that. In his peripherals, Namjoon’s ‘gift’ catches his attention again, the detective almost scowling at it. Your phone taunted him with the reminders of what came with it, they just took you away from the dangers of that life, why was Namjoon letting you handle your business when the only thing you should be focusing on is rest. He grumbles to himself. At least it would make you happier in the morning.

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[evilwickedme]

Losing my mind at the kids reading Bruce/Batman fic

No cause I actually think about this stuff all the time. The Waynes are celebrities!!! Depending on your preference they could be international celebrities or local celebrities, but Bruce and Tim have both been the CEO of an international conglomerate worth billions, Bruce at the very least has to have been on the cover of TIME magazine and had a billion interviews about how-to-be-successful even though, you know, he's the definition of a nepo baby. So between the Waynes and the Batman being two of the most important cultural exports from Gotham, and the fact that WE openly funds Batman, there's gotta be some really good stuff in the celebrity and superhero RPF fandoms, right? It's just sort of obvious that people will start shipping them

So. Who brings it to the Batfam's attention? There are several possible avenues. I personally think it makes the most sense for Tim or Steph to have found it. They're both around 17-19, they went to school and had friends, so yeah, they're on social media. Tim has to have an online presence that's semi professional and so has a secret second account on all websites and apps, but Steph goes full fucking feral on main. I think Tim gets @ - ed a lot by weirdos, including people tagging him in their Tim Drake/YN fanfiction (sidenote do not do this in real life. Please don't do this in real life), but for that reason it might actually be that his blacklist is a mile long. Like he simply cannot see the word fanfiction on his Twitter feed. So Steph is the one that finds the one million BruBats fanfiction. She sees it mentioned and hunts it down. And then she sends it in the batkids GC and shit EXPLODES

Dick is very much like, a person with better things to do than be a weird gremlin online and he's never actually seen a fanfic before. He's heard of it because he gets asked weird things sometimes, but this is effectively his introduction to the world of fic and he's horrified. He steals Damian's phone so he won't see it which just makes Damian all the more curious and determined to read it. It gets physical

Steph and Tim take turns reading it out loud to Cass (Steph does Batman's voice, Tim voices Bruce) who finds the whole thing a little baffling. Neither Brucie nor Batman are particularly similar to her adoptive father and the concept of fic is a little out of her wheelhouse, although Steph does a very good job explaining the basic terms and reasons for its existence to her

Babs knew all along. This wasn't new to her. She's read worse things while doing research for cases

Duke reads the whole thing in one sitting (ish, it's really long). It's actually really good and he leaves some really thoughtful comments on the characterization and slow burn. The author doesn't reply but does cherish those comments forever

Jason wrote it Jason doesn't interact with the GC but babs literally hacked his phone to prevent him from leaving it so he opens it once a week to mark it as read and leave and he happens to open it in the middle of this shit going down and decides to check it out. He accidentally clicks on the relationship tag however and sees things you can't unsee. He literally runs over his phone and vows to go off the grid from now on

[neptuniadoesstuff]

Doodle Hell #idk01

(CW/TW: Bl00d, G0re/the consumption of raw flesh, & disturbing imagery (Also scaring).) (Don't click "keep reading" if you don't wanna see the images or are uncomfortable with seeing my art)

Some art I made again. Haven't done a Doodle Hell Thing in awhile so this kinda took awhile but meh, who cares, this is all in good fun (well minus the coloring part tbh)

Anywas here's the whole list of the drawings but by themselves.

1-1: Harmona having a chat with his Overseer "Kotori"/Peter. (Yes Harmona is REALLY tall like around... 10 ft?)

(Harmona (Weird Black masked borb god) is mine while Kotori/Peter (Blue haired Borb) belongs to my friend A)

(TW/CW: Bl00d)

2-1: Namria's first experience of actually myordering someone even if it was for self defense.

3-1: Hehe wholesome goobers. (Short Mailman & his very tall Lizerd wife)

(Dia (Tall Lizerd) is mine while Petrus (Short ahh Mailman) belongs to my friend A) (A is more of a nickname for my friend whom I kinda wanna keep anonymous but you'll normally see them sometimes commenting on my stuff, also they requested me to draw this so A I hope u enjoy it)

(TW/CW: The consumption of deff not sus meat, Bl00d, & just... g0re... yeh this is prob my most morbid piece of art so beware..)

4-1: Ravens monching on one of their victims they recently myordered but then bro was caught in 4k by a bystander.

(Ravens belongs to my friend A)

5-1: A portrait draft of Nep incase I wanted to draw smtn in the future.

(Nep is my sona & main Mascot)

(TW/CW: Slightly Disturbing Imagery)

6-1: Deff just a normal tree... Not a living being that can myorder you & take yur form if it wants to- (Mirage for Scale)

(Both of these 2 characters are mine. Mirage (Green Guy) is just a Noirvillah ver of my 2nd mascot, JJ)

7-1: A Squimsh Scug! (Haven't drawn Scugs in a while especially in my screb days so this is a refresher tbh)

(This Scug was based on a old friend of mine's sona WAY before she changed it but I miss teh Squimsh tbh)

(TW/CW: Gnarly Scars all over Chris' Face)

8-1: Uhhhhhhh..... Chris doing the Ricardo Milos Pose bcs CHRIS DEFF WOULD DO THAT TBH! (& maybe Ryan but he don't exist in ASGD, only in Egolandia, one of my other stories) (Yes I know he has boobs but not all guys who are Trans need to have a flat chest, it's like saying all Trans woman need boobs when some of them can be flat. It might give them gender dysphoria which is bad.... But Chris really does not care if he has BOOBS tbh.)

(Chris belongs to me)

9-1: A moment before teh frikin Coca Cola Espuma frikin explodes in Luthen's Face. (& his brother Kastell trying to stop him before it happens)

(These 2 belong to me but are teh adopted sons of King Malice who really does not care for both of them so Kastell has to take care of his brother who is like 6 years younger than him...)

Credits:

Every single frikin Character here either belongs to ME or was created/designed by ME!

Art: Mine of course.

Program: WELL YOU KNOW IT BY FRIKIN NOW! IBIS-MCFRIKIN-PAINT X!

Bubs' TOS: Plz don't repost/steal, trace, or recolor my art WITHOUT MY PERMISSION! If you do, I'll take yur femur and pelvis.. SO, DON'T THINK ABOUT IT! (The PNS on my blog's pinned post clearly means "Please No Steal" plz follow that rule.) If you do post my art on anything like yur blog or somewhere else (With my permission) PLEASE CREDIT ME!

[dangerously-human]

for the fic writer game: 3, 4 for take his hand, 8, 20 for merry metamorphosis (am I trying to make you write pregnancy fic... maybe), 27 for ch2 of here's a safe place, 37, 49

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

I write a lot of family life for traumatized characters, stuff that requires a lot of intentional growth but also leaves space for tenderness. Love me some literal sleeping together, too. I mostly write post-canon, and a lot of introspection. And I think I'm always working off of an assumption of redeeming the narrative, in a sense - not that things will always go well, but they will always have meaning. It's the Christian worldview, I suppose.

4. What detail in [Take His Hand] are you really proud of?

Honestlyyyy, I could wax rhapsodic talking about this fic and how it came to be. Lucy's chapter may be killing me a little bit, but there were parts of Lockwood's that truly feel like they came from outside of me (we've talked before about the Holy Spirit influence on this one). I know I already mentioned this in my reply to your comment, but the fact that Lockwood was praying with his old rosary beads from when he was a kid when the call from Penelope Fittes comes in says a lot. It's a nod to (part of) what Lockwood chose to pray about, after all those years of distance - the right opportunity to invite Lucy to come home - and it also ties the success of the company to a lasting legacy for the Lockwood family, which is such a key aspect of understanding Lockwood himself and just what he's trying to include Lucy in. It also says that he unpacked the literal box of memories, however painful, even if he's not 100% ready to unpack the metaphorical one - except he has started to, he's praying and acknowledging the God he feels let him down (or maybe the other way around, depending on the day), and he's doing this thing that reminds him so strongly of Jessica and their shared grief. It's not "solved," Lockwood still has a long way to go and a lot of Jacob-like wrestling with the Lord to do, but at least he's stopped running in the opposite direction and actually let himself feel something - which is what the Black Winter is all about, in his arc. I could go on about this for ages, truly.

8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?

Captives Come Home by Run Kid Run is just BEGGING for Other Side fic, - please, the number of times the lyrics repeat stuff about creeping shadows and the other side! - and maybe I'll write it eventually but I'd be equally happy to read it if someone else did. Would love to see it start with Lockwood and Lucy's first crossing ("There's hope inside that box you close/That only opens when your life explodes/On the other side, come home"), then tackle when the whole crew is there ("Don't you know you gotta get up/Get up and find a way back home?/So hold on tight, let's go/Leave behind false sense of hope/Where creeping shadows call your name") and then focus on post-canon efforts to clear the fences so the captive spirits can finally reach their final destinations ("As I'm waiting for the world to end/I'm clinging on to oxygen/I'm pulling captives by the hand/Come home, come home"). I have not shut up since my first read through TCS about the Harrowing of Hell imagery and, yeah, I just think I deserve this one, as a treat.

20. If you wrote a prequel to [A Merry Metamorphosis], what would it involve?

I know I already said this to you the other day, but bestie, do I have good news for you! Next (new) project on the list is literally this. 😆 To be fair, it doesn't exactly take a lot to encourage me to write pregnancy/kidfic, lol. But yeah, been thinking a lot about protectiveness and what that would look like for Lucy and Lockwood as they prepare for a baby, and how that would interact with their work (logistically and emotionally), considering they're still pretty young when they have Ivy.

27. How long did it take to write [Here's a Safe Place to Lay Your Heart Down ch. 2]? Describe the process.

FKlejgklaegl well. According to the date I created that Scrivener file, parts of that chapter were written in early September, and I just published it to AO3 last weekend, so you can do the math. Here's the thing about Lay Your Heart Down: while the core themes/message remained the same throughout, it went through several iterations in how I conceptualized it, and that made the writing process AGONIZING, because it was a constant repetition of knit/purl steps and untangling and reworking. (I don't knit, so take my metaphor with a grain of salt.) Honestly, this mostly came about because I kept asking myself if The Necklace counted as an engagement ring in Lockwood's mind, which obviously I kind of answered in Woke Up in a Safe House Singing, and that pivoted to a very vivid idea of how Lockwood would think about picking out a ring for Lucy and what it would look like and why. So. That could have been a drabble, but I also have a lot of feelings about the Touch/possession scene in the second episode, and that had to go somewhere!! And overlapped a lot, thematically. So a lot of the Lockwood having a self-isolating freakout stuff from ch. 2 was written first, plus the bit immediately after THB with the broken headphones and remembering watching Lucy dancing. All that used to be together in one chapter, which was going to be sandwiched between Lockwood picking out the ring and a sweet future scene that featured the ring somehow - the narrative started out even less linear than it ended up. (That final scene is now its own WIP.) Then I ended up with all the canon-era relationship development in the first chapter and the second could focus on that core conflict, Lockwood panicking about those lines from the show - "he gave me the ring, he wouldn't hurt me" - but in the context of all the various ways he could get Lucy hurt, because old conflicts (internal and interpersonal) tend to reemerge at transition points like the engagement period. A couple things that got me unstuck with this chapter were actually writing out more of what happened on the job that went wrong, letting Lucy be more upset (while still understanding), working out that Lockwood's fear this time was less about Lucy getting hurt and more about being the reason for that happening, and drawing direct parallels to Fairfax and Annabel (which in turn let me work in that good stuff about devotion and mutual belonging).

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

I'm not shocked Onward, Ontologically has gotten very few eyes on it - if nothing else, Continuum is a tiny fandom, even less active now than when I was originally writing for it, plus Kiera and Alec are a complicated ship (I'm often curious if they would still be a rarepair if the fandom were larger, though - I could see it going either way). It worked for my Yuletide recipient, though, and that's all that really matters. I really like the quiet domesticity of it, and that it leaves space for the S3 conflict between Alec and Kiera to remain somewhat unresolved - I like complicated, and I don't think an easy resolution would have been realistic after everything these two went through and did to each other, and the tangled doppelganger web.

Within this fandom, one I wish got a little more love was Smoke & Shield. Gen is usually a bit, idk the right word, quieter? So I wasn't expecting as much excitement as with my Locklyle works, but I do think it's a really good character study of Jessica and her relationship with her little brother. I got some truly lovely comments on it that tell me it still found an audience to resonate with, though!

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

Well, since you attacked us all with baby fever, here's a snippet from the "Lucy learns she's pregnant with #4 via George's powers of observation" fic. (I don't think I've posted this bit before? Idk, this is the problem with lingering WIPs!) I've been WIP-hopping a lot, but this is one that's gotten a bit more focus lately:

With arms outstretched to take one twin off my husband’s hands, I explained, “I’m not even sure yet myself. It honestly hadn’t occurred to me until George said something, but…” My voice got smaller as I finished, “I think he might be right.” Transfer completed, Lockwood let his hand linger, then drop to hover just over my belly. At the open wonder on his face, I blushed. It wasn’t as though we hadn’t done this part before - twice, in fact - yet it seemed even at the mere possibility, he couldn’t help looking at me like I was made of something magic. To be fair, that wasn’t all that far off from Lockwood’s normal.

[miya-y]

Rain Dumplings is angry - Bakugou, grateful.

A short story where Bakugou is being shunned by the media and you impulsively post something in his defense.

Black Reader x Bakugou Katsuki

English is not my first language. If something is wrong, blame the translator, please.

Fem!Reader but sometimes different pronouns appear in the translation, so forgive me (English is kind of confusing for me, really)

that's it, have fun.

I got the image from pinterest, credits to the artist <3

“Hey Dumplings, have you seen Uravity's new accessories collection yet? I bought the Saturn set and I feel like the most adorable person in the entire universe.”

The caption accompanied the photo of him with the aforementioned set of necklace and earrings, in pink, contrasting with his black skin. Your curly hair was tied up in a poorly improvised bun, but you didn't care.

You had a somewhat well-known profile. When he first came to Japan a few years ago, it was a bit difficult to get used to everything. Culture, Language, behaviors… everything was so different! The only thing you could hold onto to maintain normalcy was hero merchandise. There was some feeling of “safety” when you wore a hero-themed outfit. Just your emotion, maybe, but being connected to some hero symbol made you feel like you could take on the whole world and win.

Uravity's merchandise was special, mostly galaxy-themed, always full of planets, stars and the signature pink of the pro hero. They were cute and well, you liked cute things.

“Miya”, as your account was known, was one more escape from all the tiring routine you established after graduating. Her job was demanding and living alone was… lonely. Creating an account on a social network to share about your passion for heroes and everyday silliness was just an idea, but it ended up flowing and you enjoyed interacting with the audience 一 even if it was very small.

But well, you didn't want it to be big. You liked to give your unfiltered opinions and a large audience meant a lot of people would come to comment negative things, and negatively enough your job and your boss, you don't need that shit anymore.

After posting the photo, you started scrolling through the feed, reading a few news stories. One of them caught your eye. A company was suing Pro Hero Dynamighty for moral damages after he shouted… inappropriate things at a journalist in a live interview. You frowned, seeing the comments criticizing #2, and decided to go watch the original video before commenting anything.

Shit.

But what daughter of a…

Of course he would curse her! How dare she?!

You didn't even give much thought to your actions as you wrote a huge piece and published it furiously. Well, it was those impulsive decisions you were always grateful for not being well known for.

一 Argh! It almost ruined my appetite. No more cell phones for today, seriously. 一 You grumbled, hanging up the phone and placing it on the dresser next to the bed, before taking out Uravity's set and putting it away. 一 What do I order for dinner?

一 o0o 一

一 Dude! This is so manly! Hey Bakubro, you have to read this!

Katsuki's look was enough for Eijiro to know that if he handed over his cell phone, the blonde would blow it up in his face.

The backlash from the interview case had completely ruined Katsuki's mood. To make matters worse, the Agency decided to remove him from his activities while the matter was resolved, putting him in a damn office. Kirishima didn't blame his friend. He often commented that Bakugou could be a little more gentle in interviews, even though the blonde hates participating in them. But this time, he understood.

Mentioning the war against All For One was practically a Taboo when interviewing any of the heroes who participated in it. But that woman was insisting, even too much. No wonder Bakugou exploded with her. But unfortunately, all people were seeing was that Dynamighty was rude, boorish, and a pro hero who yelled at "innocent women" on TV.

The public was driven by the media and the media hated Katsuki. He was always rivaled with #1, Deku, and tried to make him the opposite of the One for All user. A ridiculous thing, since both were friends, but unfortunately, many people believed.

一 Eiji! I saw what you sent me! 一 Ashido burst into the office, with an excited smile 一 Finally someone with common sense! I could kiss this girl when I see her.

一 What the hell are you talking about now, Raccoon Eyes? Better get the Shit Hair and get the hell out of here!

一 Blasty, you need to read this 一 Ashido didn't have the same sense of survival as Eijirou, but to his credit, his phone didn't get blown up 一 A hero fan profile commented on his interview! And it's supporting you, Bakubaby! Also, a lot of people have shared it and now it looks like we can finally get this damn company back.

Bakugou arched an eyebrow.

一 Send me this. And get out of my office.

一 Right, right 一 Mina nodded with a smile, fiddling with her phone and then pulling a reluctant Kirishima out of the room 一 See you later, Blasty!

With the door closed, Bakugou was finally able to enjoy the silence. The last week had been hell. He wanted to blow up that damn company for screwing him over like that. Everything was so tiring in the hero's life and he still has to deal with idiotic people who try to gain profit and fame off of him.

A notification on his phone wakes him up, and on the screen, he sees a message from Ashido:

"Se você não visualizar logo, eu estarei de volta lá!"

一 Tch, that idiot.

Bakugou unlocked the phone and opened the message. There was a link and he clicked on it and was taken to his profile.

一 Rain Cookies. What a shitty name.

He looked at the profile picture. You're cute, he had to admit. The curly hair framing the round face, the wide smile and closed eyes. He swallowed the next statement, though. He wasn't thinking you were cute, shit.

“Eu estava assistindo ao vídeo da entrevista original com Dynamighty e uau! Eu queria dizer sinceramente que ele tem todo o meu apoio. Quer dizer, garota? Você nem deveria estar neste trabalho de merda. Pessoas como você deveriam estar em uma grande lixeira, isso mesmo. Qualquer um tem acesso aos vídeos de guerra All for One, caramba. Se você quer saber mais sobre isso, procure, seu idiota. Ainda não acredito que você fez uma pergunta tão estúpida como "Qual foi o seu sentimento ao acordar e saber que um herói deu a vida para salvá-lo?" ou “Como foi morrer enquanto lutava contra o maior vilão que a Era das Peculiaridades já enfrentou?”

“EI SEU ESTÚPIDO! DEIXE-ME LEMBRAR QUE ERAM APENAS CRIANÇAS! Dynamighty tinha apenas dezesseis anos quando toda essa merda aconteceu. E você quer saber qual foi o sentimento dele? Não consigo entender que tipo de pessoa pergunta sobre o sofrimento alheio só para ganhar um pouco de fama. Vou gravar a cara dele porque se eu te ver na rua eu mesmo te dou um soco. Isso vale para qualquer jornalista ou pessoa que se atreva a perguntar ou lembrar da guerra para algum dos heróis, você é um lixo, fedorento e mimado. Não humano. Eles já sofreram o suficiente e certamente carregarão cicatrizes eternas em seus corações e corpos por causa do que o All for One fez. Eles não precisam de ninguém para lembrá-los do que aconteceu."

“Incluindo sobre Dynamighty. Vocês podem reclamar da personalidade dele mas nunca tentaram entender né? Apesar de sua grosseria, ele nunca foi desrespeitoso com ninguém mais velho. Você não o verá xingando em suas entrevistas ou programas infantis, ou gritando com pessoas aleatórias. Se você quer algo macio e fofo, ótimo, concentre-se em pessoas fofas e fofas. Não tente impor aos outros a imagem que você acha ideal. Dynamighty é um incrível herói profissional que salvou inúmeras vidas e derrotou mais vilões do que qualquer outro herói. Não serão vocês, seus merdas, que irão derrotá-lo. Lutou muito para chegar até aqui. Pare de ficar no caminho dele."

Oh shit.

Bakugou didn't even realize he was holding his breath as he read the huge text the girl posted. The air left slowly when he finished reading, still processing everything. Someone understood. Someone who didn't even know him personally, who wasn't part of his friends or family, was fiercely defending him on a random social network. For the first time that week, he felt his mood improve considerably.

Looking at the likes and comments, Bakugou saw that many people were sharing. He grunted when he saw that his parent company's official profile had shared it as well. It had definitely been Mitsuki, because along with the share, there was a comment: “If I see this motherfucker on the street, I'll punch her too. Thank you for looking beyond what the damn media is saying @raincookies”

He had to remind his mother that the company profile should not be confused with her personal profile. But a slight smile sprouted on his lips as he reread the comment from the blonde who was identical to him.

Clicking on his profile again, Bakugou didn't even realize what he was doing before he actually realized what he was doing. In the private chat, not caring if it was his official account, he left a message, small and simple, but that really expressed what he was feeling at that moment.

"Thank you."